My Favorite Things

by Lynsay Sands

  If she were honest with herself, Prudence would admit that after each affair she had wasted several minutes lying abed at night fantasizing that they had shared more than a dance. She imagined that she had seen a certain something in his eyes as they had moved about the dance floor, and that he would someday sweep into her life and save her from the embarrassing situation her father was dragging them all into. But that had been before she learned that he actually owned the establishment her father favored for his destructive behavior. Oh, she had known that he owned some sort of hall, but she hadn’t realized it was one where gambling took place—or that it was the exact one her father spent most of his time at. Prudence had stopped fantasizing about the man the moment she had learned that. Well, all right. So she hadn’t stopped fantasizing about him, but she had taken to berating herself most firmly afterward for doing so.

  “Well?”

  Pru turned her attention back to Eleanore at her friend’s impatient prompting and shrugged. “It was a kiss, Eleanore. Just a kiss.”

  “Uh-huh. Just a kiss that distracted you enough that you did not even notice you were losing your trousers.”

  Prudence felt her face flush with remembered embarrassment, then shifted impatiently and got up to pace again. “Can we not concentrate on my problem? What am I to do now? Plunkett will not let women in and would not be fooled by my being disguised as a man again. I must find another way to get inside.”

  “Can you not just confront your father at home, Pru? Surely that would be easier than—”

  “Nay. He leaves the moment he arises.”

  “Catch him on his way out then.”

  “I have attempted to do so, but he continually evades me. Yesterday I waited outside his door for two hours. I left to visit the privy—for just a minute, mind—and he slipped out while I was gone. I think he must have been watching out his keyhole and waited for me to leave.”

  “Hmm.” They both fell silent as Eleanore pondered this news; then she murmured, “Perhaps you should try a different approach.”

  “What do you mean?” Prudence stopped her pacing and turned to eye her friend with interest.

  “Well, you have said that he drinks first, then gambles?” When she nodded at that, Ellie suggested, “Well, if you could prevent his drinking, he might stop gambling.”

  Prudence considered that briefly. “Think you that would really work?”

  “Well, the one does seem to follow the other. Does it not?”

  “Aye.”

  The other girl shrugged. “So if you stop him from drinking, mayhap the gambling will seem less appealing.”

  A smile slowly blossomed on Pru’s face at her friend’s logic. It seemed sound to her. “Eleanore, you are brilliant!” she pronounced at last, making the other girl flush with pleasure. “But how?”

  “How?”

  “How am I to prevent his drinking? He does most of his imbibing out of the house.”

  “Oh.” Eleanore fretted over the problem briefly, then suddenly got to her feet and hurried from the salon. Prudence watched her go with confusion and even stood, uncertain whether to follow her friend or not. But before she could reach the door, Ellie was rushing back into the room, a book in hand.

  “What is that?” Prudence asked.

  “One of my mother’s books of general advice. It includes a medical dictionary. I thought to see what it advises regarding imbibing intoxicants.” Leading Prudence back to the settee, Eleanore settled there, waited until Prudence had arranged herself beside her, then held the book between them and began riffling through the pages, muttering under her breath. “Intoxicants, intoxicants, intoxi—No intoxicants, but they do have intoxication,” she said with quiet excitement, and lifted the book closer to her face to read. “‘Although literally meaning “poisoning of the blood by alco—”’”

  “Skip over that part, Ellie, and find what they suggest to rectify the problem,” Prudence urged impatiently.

  “Suggestions.” Eleanore scanned the long paragraph, reading various words aloud as she went. “‘Imagination is excited’ . . . ‘symptoms’ . . . ‘delirium—’” She scowled impatiently. “Nay, all they say is that ‘in cases of poisoning, vomiting should be induced by a subcutaneous injection of apomorphine.’”

  “Apomorphine?”

  “An emetic,” she explained.

  “Oh.”

  “But your father hardly drinks to the point of poisoning himself.”

  Prudence snorted. “Nay. Not himself, just our lives.” She was silent for a moment, misery making her slump; then her head slowly lifted, scheming obvious on her face.

  Eleanore eyed her warily. “I know that look. It usually precedes trouble. Prudence, what are you thinking?”

  “Think you that there are such things as oral emetics?”

  Ellie slammed the book closed, alarm clear on her face. “Prudence!”

  “It is perfect!” she cried excitedly. “A bout or two of drinking that leaves him hanging over the chamber pot ere he gets too sotted might cure him of any desire to drink and thereby end his gambling!”

  “Pru!”

  “Oh, do not look at me like that, Ellie,” she snapped with irritation. “I am desperate. I no more wish to end up in debtors’ prison than you would. He will ruin us with his drinking and gambling. He has been doing both steadily since John died. I am sure that if we could but keep him sober for a day or two, he would regain enough of his wits to realize what he is doing to our family.”

  “But—”

  “How would you feel if it were your father?”

  Eleanore fell silent. Prudence watched several expressions flit across her friend’s face until resignation settled there. Placing the book on the settee between them, the girl stood and silently left the room.

  Prudence promptly picked up the book she had left behind and leafed through it, looking for gambling, betting, and excesses, but none of those terms was to be found. It seemed such was an ailment of the soul, not the body. Sighing, she had just set the book aside when Eleanore hurried back into the room, a large bottle gripped tightly in her hands.

  “What is it?” Prudence asked curiously as her friend handed it to her, her lower lip caught between her teeth.

  “Do you recall when Bessy had a sour stomach?”

  “Bessy?” Prudence shook her head with confusion. “Your horse?”

  Eleanore nodded. “At the time the stablemaster was sure she had eaten something she shouldn’t have. He procured this to help her remove it.” When Prudence stared at her blankly, she sighed and elucidated. “This concoction encouraged her to bring it back up. It is an emetic.”

  Prudence’s eyes widened incredulously. “You think I should give my father a horse emetic?”

  The other girl hesitated, looking uncertain. “Perhaps it is a bad idea.”

  “Nay!” Prudence stood and moved swiftly out of reach when Ellie tried to grab the bottle back. Crossing the room, she peered at it with fascination. “A horse emetic.”

  “Prudence, I do not think . . .” Eleanore trailed her across the room anxiously.

  “But it is perfect. It should have the same results with Papa, do you not think? How much did your stablemaster give Bessy? And how long before it took effect?”

  Ellie grimaced. “A couple of spoonfuls. It took effect immediately, but a man is much smaller than Bessy. I do not think more than a drop or so should be used. I—Oh, Prudence, I do not think it should be used at all. This was a terrible idea. Please just give it to me and let us forget this.”

  “And shall you visit me in debtors’ prison?” Prudence asked quietly, turning to face her friend. Eleanore paused, a struggle taking place on her face, until she gave in with a sigh.

  “How will you administer it? For your plan to work, if it is going to work at all,” she added dryly, “he must receive it while he is drinking. He does that at the club, for the most part. You just finished regaling me with your last foray into Ballard’s. After tonight Plunkett wi
ll be on the lookout for you. Disguising yourself as a man will not work.”

  “Aye,” Prudence murmured thoughtfully, then slowly smiled. “Plunkett will never again let me through Ballard’s front door.”

  TURNING AWAY FROM the ale barrel, Prudence took a few steps, then paused to scowl down at her chest. Muttering under her breath, she balanced the tray with the single mug of ale in one hand, using the other to tug uselessly at the neckline of the white top she wore. Honestly, it was as indecent as could be, she thought impatiently, and wasted a moment wishing she had worn one of her own gowns. Of course, that was impossible. She had seen for herself that all the girls wore the same costume: the red skirt and rather blousy white top with a scoop neck. But this one seemed extremely scooped to Prudence. Her nipples were nearly showing!

  Realizing it was a wasted effort, Prudence gave up tugging at the top. She had had to work hard for the use of the indecent outfit for the night. Well, not the whole night. Pru had assured the girl she would need to take her place for only a matter of moments, just long enough to get a message to the man she loved. That was what she had told the girl. Of course, the truth was that she wanted a way to deliver the emetic to her father, but she could hardly have told Lizzy that. The servant’s gratitude for Pru’s intervention with the hawk-faced man had stretched far enough for Lizzy to agree to loan her gown to Prudence and let her briefly take her place as a servant inside Ballard’s, but she suspected it would not have done so had the girl known Pru’s true intentions.

  Prudence had salved her conscience about the lie by telling herself that it wasn’t a complete falsehood. She did love her father, and the emetic was a message . . . of sorts.

  Deciding it was a sad day indeed when a woman began lying to herself, Prudence moved out of the kitchen, then paused to peer around the club proper. She had waited outside the back entrance of the establishment the night before, doing her best to ignore the fact that she was standing in a dark, stinking alley as she had waited for the place to close and the workers to leave. Most of the women had left in pairs or groups. At last Lizzy had straggled out, all alone and one of the last to leave. When Prudence had recognized her as the serving woman that the hawk-faced man had been manhandling, she had pulled her cloak closer about herself and proceeded to follow. Trying to move silently, and staying in the shadows as much as possible, she had trailed the girl up the alley leading from the back of the building around to the front. She had followed Lizzy along several roads, grateful to know that Eleanore’s driver was following her for protection—even more grateful that her friend had insisted she use the coach and the family’s discreet driver for the excursion.

  Once far enough away from the club that she thought no one from it would witness the exchange, she had approached the girl with a story of true love hampered by disapproving parents and her need to get a message to her lover. Lizzy had been sympathetic, but the girl was also the pragmatic sort and hadn’t been willing to risk her job to aid in the escapade. Prudence had been forced to resort to bribery, doing her best not to wince as she had bartered away a necklace of some sentimental as well as monetary value. It had been a gift from her grandmother when she was still alive. But if the plan worked, it would be well worth the sacrifice, she assured herself. And she was determined that it would work. Of course, Ellie was positive that it would not. She felt sure that Prudence would be recognized and escorted from the property. But Prudence was of the opinion that no one paid any attention to servants. Neither Stockton nor her father would give her a second glance—she hoped.

  There would be no negative thinking now, she remonstrated herself. So far everything had gone without a hitch. Lizzy had met her as promised, entered Eleanore’s borrowed carriage, switched clothes with Prudence, and told her, Just walk in like ye belong. Grab an ale, so it looks like ye’re working, find your lover, give him the message, and get back out here so I can get back to work. And don’t get caught. I could lose me job if aught find out about this.

  So Pru had walked in, doing her best to look as if she belonged there, grabbed an empty mug, then slipped back outside, where she had carefully administered a couple of drops of Bessy’s tonic to the empty mug from the bottle presently strapped to her thigh. She had worried over that part. The bottle Eleanore had given her had been rather large to cart around unnoticed, so she had had to find a smaller one to place the liquid in. Then she had suffered a quandary about where to keep it. It had to be somewhere within easy access. Tied tightly to her thigh, upside down with two pieces of cloth, had seemed the safest place, which appeared to be working. She had doctored the empty mug, replaced the bottle, and slipped back inside, walking boldly up to the open ale barrel to fill the mug with yeasty brew.

  “Well, now, what have we here?”

  Prudence had just spotted her father at one of the tables when her view was blocked by a rather large, leering man. Forcing a smile, she tried to step around him, only to find her path blocked and herself maneuvered up against a wall.

  “You must be new. I do not recognize you.”

  Prudence nearly groaned aloud, but caught herself. She truly did not need a half-drunk lout to pester her. “Excuse me, my lord, but I must deliver this drink.”

  “Ah, now, don’t be so unfriendly.” The man gave her a smile that Prudence forced herself to return, but then he moved in and reached around to grope her behind in far too familiar a fashion. A squeak of alarm slipping from her lips, Prudence immediately grabbed at his hand.

  “I just happen to be in need of a drink myself.”

  She glanced at him, her mouth open to demand he unhand her, when she realized he had taken the mug from her tray and was lifting it to his lips. “Oh, no! Do not—”

  Prudence paused, her mouth agape. The irritating patron had poured the drink down his throat with one gulp.

  “Mmmm.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and smiled at her. “That was refreshing. Thank you, luv.”

  Pru snapped her teeth closed with vexation, then snatched the empty mug from him. “You are not welcome. Now I shall have to fetch another.” She tried to step around him, but found him immediately in her path again.

  “Now, now, none of that, Lord Setterington,” a deep voice said quietly nearby. “You know patrons are not allowed to bother the girls.”

  Recognizing the voice, Prudence stiffened. Lord Stockton. Panic rising within her, she stiffly kept her face forward and moved around the man Stockton had addressed. This time the odious man did not try to prevent her, and Pru was able to rush back to the safety of the kitchens. Once there, she frowned at the sight of how busy the ale barrel was. There were three women awaiting their turns at it.

  Unwilling to risk one of the other servants recognizing that she didn’t belong, Prudence turned back and cracked the door open to peer out to where Lord Stockton and Lord Setterington were still conversing. The two men seemed rather chummy, which didn’t bother Prudence as much as the fact that Setterington didn’t appear the least bit affected by the tincture she had put in the ale. She watched for several minutes, turning her head away and moving to the side occasionally as servants entered and left the room. Members of nobility might not deign to notice servants, but servants surely noticed each other. After several minutes she gave up waiting on her unintentional victim to show signs of taking ill, and glanced back to the barrel. There was no one by it. Even the cooking staff was gone. But, then, they had finished their shift and left before she had arrived. Prudence had planned it that way, finding out what time the kitchen staff finished, and arranging to meet Lizzy after that.

  Reaching down, she felt along her upper leg for the bottle holding the emetic, then glanced out the door again. Setterington and Stockton were still talking, and no one appeared headed in the direction of the kitchens. It seemed safe to fill the mug again. Letting the door slide closed, she turned and hurried to the ale barrel. She started with the drops first, for fear that someone might interrupt if she did it the other way around.
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  Setting the mug on the half lid that had been left on the barrel, she quickly rucked up her skirt and slid the bottle out. Letting her skirt fall back into place, she undid the bottle, held the lid between thumb and finger, and slid the other three fingers of that hand through the handle of the mug, lifting it to put in a couple of drops of the potion. She hesitated a moment, then dumped a good splash of the liquid in. The two drops she had put in the other drink were taking too long to work—if they were working at all. Obviously more than that was needed to affect a body properly.

  Prudence started to try to put the lid back on the emetic then, but with the mug, lid, and bottle all in hand, it was awkward, and she ended up dropping the lid. Clucking her tongue in disgust, she set both the mug and the small bottle on the barrel and knelt to look for her missing lid. It, of course, was nowhere in sight. Thinking that it must have rolled into the shadows against the wall behind the barrel, Prudence shifted to her hands and knees and crawled around, then swept her hand over the dark floor between barrel and wall.

  She heard a deep male voice say something, but didn’t really catch what it was, so was wholly unprepared for the sudden slap on her backside. Squealing, she jerked to the side, crashing into the barrel, then straightened on her knees and peered around in time to see one of the male servants swaggering out of the room through the door that led to the alley behind the building.