Perdita

by Joan Smith

  It all happened so fast, there was no stopping her. She whipped her hand out, holding a pistol. She raised it, her hand trembling, causing the gun to wobble. "Don't!" I shouted, just as Stornaway leapt up to try to get it from her. He was directly in her line of fire. There was a sharp clap that sounded like thunder at close hand; there was one little leap of flame, then Stornaway lay very still on the floor. He had not uttered a sound as he fell.

  "My God, you’ve killed him!” I could not move from the sofa. I sat, frozen like a statue.

  She dropped the gun, nearly hitting him. “It was self-defense!” she said. Through the fog enveloping me came the realization that I was to be the murder­ess. At the moment, it did not seem to matter much. I willed myself to stand up, to go to him.

  I bent over his immobile form, where he lay, crooked, on the floor. There was a hole in his jacket, with blood oozing from it. I found I could not touch him. “Get Steddy. Call the doctor,” I said, in a hollow, stranger’s voice.

  It was Perdita who kept her head, who tried gin­gerly to open his jacket, to see what damage she had done. A very cursory examination showed her the wound was beyond her powers of helping, and still I could not touch him, not in any helpful way. I took his hand, as I crouched there on the floor beside him. The Steddys came, man and wife. The husband was sent off for a doctor, and still I could not seem to move. Mrs. Steddy ran to assemble hot water, clean bandages, basilicum powder, to ready a bed for him abovestairs.

  “Sit down. Have a glass of that wine, miss,” Mrs. Steddy suggested, drawing me to the sofa. "Fainting away won’t help.”

  “He is not dead, Moira,” Perdita told me. She was sobered to a state of fear and concern. “I didn’t kill him. Why was he fighting with you?”

  I patted her hand, speechless, then got up and went back to Stornaway. I stayed with him till the doctor came. The two men carried him upstairs. There was a deal of rushing about the house, during which Perdita was of very little help, and I of none at all. I had time for every sort of remorse. I had been criminally irresponsible to have set out on this course from the beginning. I should have taken Perdita back home when Aunt Agatha did not come to Chippenham. Nothing but evil had come of my ac­tion. I had submitted her, an innocent child, to the company of infamous people. I had ruined her, and my own, reputations. I had killed Stornaway.

  “If there is a trial, Perdita, I did it. I shot him.”

  “No, I did it. Moira, is there such a thing as governess-defense? I mean, it was not really self-defense, but I was defending you. He looked as though he meant to kill you, or was trying to rape you. Which was it?”

  "I don’t know, my dear. Neither one has been tried on me before.”

  "He really is wicked, isn’t he? You were right to warn me. I never thought him to be this bad. It has taught me a lesson I shan’t forget, ever. No matter how nice and obliging men seem, if they are called rakes in the world, I shall know how they can turn.”

  "Yes he is wicked. And I am worse.”

  “I am the worst of the lot,” she said, but not with her customary pride at being the most. She was very downhearted.

  * * *

  Chapter 17

  It was a long, long afternoon with nothing to do but wait. “Should we not send for his family?” I asked Mrs. Steddy. “In case . . ."

  “It’s not so serious as all that, miss. He’ll pull through. Her ladyship don’t know about this place, and he’d rather keep it that way.”

  “Did the doctor say he would live?”

  “Oh, aye, he did. He don’t want him moved an inch though. Steddy is in the dismals he ever let the girl have his gun. He thought she meant to take a shot at the rabbit, you see. That’s how he come to do it.”

  The doctor descended, his face sober but not totally despondent. He carried his black bag. He ap­proached Mrs. Steddy to give her instructions. Perdita and I went along, to learn if there was anything we could do. “He’ll need plenty of care. Lost a good bit of blood, but he’s young and healthy. I’ve written up instructions for you, Mrs. Steddy.”

  “I want to help,” I said. The news that he would recover was better than a tonic. It was a chance to make up for some of my crimes.

  “You would be the young lady he spoke of. His lordship wants you and the other girl to leave im­mediately. He is very insistent upon it,” the doctor said.

  "We cannot leave. He needs every help.”

  “The Steddys can help him. I shall come by a couple of times a day at first. It was his last word, before the sleeping draught took effect, that the young ladies were to be taken to London, today. He has given Steddy instructions exactly how it is to be done.”

  “You mean he is asleep! We won’t be able to speak to him before we go?”

  “He won’t awaken for a few hours. It will only upset him if you are still here. He does not want to see you, ma’am. If you are worried about his lordship pressing charges, you need not. He explained that it was an accident,” the doctor told me, but with a knowing look, and a rude one, telling me tacitly we were not worth protecting.

  After this speech, I went to sit on the sofa with Perdita till Steddy came down to outline the plans for our remove to London. "The wife will go with you in his carriage, for the looks of it. She is to stay overnight at his London house, and come back next day. He asked me to tell you he is sorry, Miss Greenwood, to beg your pardon.”

  “Sorry?”

  “About the misunderstanding. He said you would know what he meant, and he don’t believe a word about Browns or Joneses, or Alton—that it was all a hum. It don’t make much sense, does it? On t’other hand, he was not delirious.”

  “What can it mean?” Perdita asked, her brow pleat­ing in confusion. “I think it is a trick, Moira. I don’t trust him.” The pendulum had swung from no cau­tion to a foolish excess of it.

  “We must wait till he awakens and find out,” I suggested, with a wary look to Steddy. He nodded his head in satisfaction.

  "He won’t like it—much!” He cocked his head on the side and winked.

  I do not know what Steddy made of it, but to me there was no mystery. Stornaway did not believe my story about being pregnant. His concern for our getting to London before nightfall suggested he had even come to believe the rest of our claims, that we were ladies in distress, creatures to be protected, and not a pair of the muslin company. He knew their way of dealing very well. They did not take steps that were likely to throw them in the path of the law. Who ever heard of a lightskirt shooting a lord, in defense of her own or her sisters’ tarnished vir­tue? Only a lady, or at least a bona fide gentlewom­an, would behave so properly!

  "Let us leave while we can,” Perdita suggested, rather strongly. "He said he would not press charges. Let us go to Alton’s, Moira. We can write from there and see how he goes on."

  “Maybe you should go to London.”

  “I will not leave you alone with him, after what he was trying to do!”

  “Stay, then. The fat is already in the fire. Things cannot be much worse for us.”

  “No, but they could be better, if we went to Lon­don,” she answered.

  After all my remorse at having led Perdita astray, I was tempted to take, or send, her to London. But I had wronged more people than just her. Stornaway too had been misled, and nearly killed into the bargain. It would really not do to have Perdita singing this ballad through the city, as she might well do, once she got away. She could come to no harm here now, with Stornaway flat on his back, and myself to watch her. At the back of it all, of course, was the purely selfish desire to hear what he had to say now that he knew I was not Molly, but a woman who was half respectable at least.

  At five-thirty Mrs. Steddy served us a light snack. At six Steddy took a bowl of soup up to Stornaway. I meant to go up when the bowl was brought down. I depended on Steddy to let him know we had not left, to prepare him for the sight of us, after having been ordered away.

  My hope was that Perdita would remain bel
ow. To my surprise, she did not offer to join me. She had been jolted into such a fit of caution she did not even want to see a rake. “If you need me, just shout, Moira. I shall be within hearing, right here in the parlor.”

  “I can handle him, now that he is half dead.”

  “He might have a gun,” she mentioned, perfectly serious.

  “I don’t think so. Steddy took it away.”

  My fear, when I saw him, was not for my safety, but his own. He looked deathly pale, as he lay on the pillow with his eyes closed. I advanced quietly to­wards him. One eye opened, to regard me diffident­ly. He lifted his hand, held it out towards me. I put mine in it. For a moment we remained silent, looking self-consciously at each other, not knowing what to say.

  “Thank you for staying. You shouldn’t have.”

  "I know. I wanted to make sure you are still alive.”

  "Only the good die young. I am not much good, am I, Molly?”

  “You are going to be all right.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Don’t try to talk. Rest. Save your strength.”

  For about a minute he followed my instructions, closing his eyes. I was becoming uncomfortable, leaning over the bed, and looked around for a chair. His eyes opened and gazed at me. “Is there some­thing worth saving it for?”

  “Of course there is. You have got several years of hellraking to do yet.”

  "With you? Otherwise I shall just cock up my toes and go now.”

  “I am going to get a chair. I have a crick in my back.”

  “Bring it close. Very close. I want to hold your hand.”

  I pulled it up till it was touching the side of the bed. He smiled, and reached for my hand again. “You are not the sort to kick a fellow when he is down, so I am going to indulge in a little self-booting, all right?”

  “Kick away.”

  “If you get too disgusted, just call April to pull the trigger again.”

  “She is waiting below with the gun cocked.”

  “Good for her. You were right about me. I am every worthless, despicable thing you said. Born to privilege and wealth, and never did a worthwhile thing in my life. I had too much, too soon, too easily always. I took what I wanted, and when I was through, tossed it aside without a thought or care. I never did grow up, which is probably why Perdita’s penetrating question at noon made me so violently angry. It sounds a hedonistic enough life, but you would be surprised how little happiness it has brought me. Like being at a fair for years. I had begun to realize it, had determined to settle down, get married, do all the proper and expected things.”

  “Don’t fatigue yourself. You are talking too much.”

  “No, please, hear me out. I want to get it off my chest. The Catholics know what they are about, confessing their sins and wiping the slate clean. You are to give me absolution when I have finished. You will not be so heartless as to beat me in my weak­ened condition. It is now or never. There was no one I wanted to marry, so I chose the belle of the Season, Dulcinea. Top of the hill, daughter of a duke, rich, a good girl, you know, not my sort at all. Perhaps that is why my decision fell like a noose around my neck.

  "Stafford and myself discussed it many times. He reached the watershed at the same time as me, both headed for the altar. Then I met Perdita, and you, on our last wild spree. That is all it was to be, just one last fling. I did not want to get tied up in anything lasting. It was extremely disobliging of you to come into my life so late, Miss Greenwood, and in the disguise of a scarlet woman, to fool me.”

  “The thing is, while you were having your last fling, we were having our first. It was a wretched muddle, from first to last.”

  “But think if we had not met at all! That must be our consolation. You were the first thing—lady!—I ever came across that I could not have. It first intrigued, then enraged me, and finally convinced me that I would have you, whether you wanted me or not. Well, I was conceited enough to think you did want me, actually, but were only being a little distant to bring me to heel. It is a good thing I am flat on my back, or you’d knock me over. I see it in your eyes. My behavior has been unforgivable,” he said, then looked at me expectantly.

  “There were reasons . . ." I said, in an exculpatory way.

  “Really I am waiting for more than absolution. You are supposed to tackle that metaphysical im­possibility now, forgive the unforgivable.”

  “Bear with me a moment. The impossible takes longer than a second.”

  “I may take a turn for the worse at any moment. I see the Grim Reaper in the corner there, hiding behind the curtain.”

  “That is a shadow, Stornaway.”

  “Even the shadow of death is enough to set a fellow trembling and making all manner of good resolutions. But I mean to keep them!”

  “Very well then, I shall forgive you, if you forgive me.”

  “You mean her, the brat. I not only forgive her, I laud her good sense and resolution. Also her aim, but I think that was an accident.”

  “It was. She never held a gun in her hands before. She did not mean to hurt you.”

  “No, she meant to kill me painlessly. How did you come up with that wicked idea to tell me you were enceinte? I had already turned you into a virginal lightskirt, in my mind. One tumble from the pedes­tal, perhaps two at the most. Then to hear you say you didn’t know who the father could be . . ."

  “Daugherty taught me the trick. He let on to me he had gotten rid of you at Kingsclere by that ruse, claiming Perdita was in such a state. Did you really give the old faker a thousand pounds?”

  “Yes, you know what happens to a fool and his money. But I got nearly half of it back.”

  “Maybe I could go to Mother Gaines and . . ."

  “No! Stay away from him! I will be happy to sponsor the arts a little.”

  I could see he was upset by my visit, becoming more excited than was good for him. After a short while, I arose to make my leave.

  “You must go first thing tomorrow morning,” he said. “No one need know you were here the night. We shall put about the impression you went directly from Grifford’s to Alton’s. I shall call on you there, as soon as I am able.”

  “We won’t be there long.

  “Let me know where you go, then—Brighton, or whatever. We shall discuss it tomorrow before you leave.”

  “All right. Good night.” I leaned over to pat his hand, as anyone will do to an invalid.

  He grabbed my fingers, squeezed them. “I wonder if I have a fever. Would you mind feeling my brow?”

  It felt warm to my touch. “A slight alteration,” I told him, concerned, though not alarmed.

  “My heart is palpitating too. Feel my heart.” He moved my hand to his heart and held it there, at which point I realized he was not so much ill as bent on flirtation, even when he was flat on his back in a sickbed.

  I turned a knowing, discouraging eye on him, while searching my mind for a setdown to humor an invalid. My fingers felt the strong, rapid beating of his heart, with not a sign of a palpitation. His good arm reached out, encircling my waist. “Now for the lips,” he continued softly, as he crushed me against him for a passionate embrace that raised my own temperature higher than his, and set my heart to wild palpitating.

  “You are not feverish; you are deranged,” I said severely, pulling myself up, with some disappoint­ment that he was not well enough to overpower me.

  “No, I have come to my senses. Sleep well, Molly.”

  "I shall, if the canary on top of Lady Marlborough’s bed does not keep me awake.”

  “They didn’t put you in that room!”

  “Why, I understood it was the one especially se­lected for me!”

  A light laugh followed me out the door. “No, for us!”

  * * *

  Chapter 18

  I was in no hurry to court sleep. I had much to consider, as I lay in the fancy canopied bed, beside Perdita. Her restlessness did not help, either. De­spite Stornaway’s willingness
to call the shot an accident, she was envisioning herself on trial. “You must take your place in the dock and defend my good name, Moira,” she said, in her heroine’s voice, rel­ishing every ridiculous moment.

  “You would enjoy the notoriety of being a murder­ess, but there will be no trial. An accident occurred.”

  “I did it on purpose!”

  “It was an accident that you hit the target.”

  “I think it ought to be reported.”

  “If you say one word, Perdita, your father will come straight to London and take you home to marry Mr. Croft.”

  “He would not have me, after this,” she said, quite happily.

  Eventually she slept, which left me free to build all manner of conjecture on my recent conversation with Stornaway. Being no heroine myself, I was not obliged to misunderstand his intentions. I did not fear for a moment that he would change his mind, call the police, or say a word in Society about our scrape. Neither did I believe he would continue wooing me unless he intended to do the right thing. He was not perhaps so worthy a gentleman as one could wish, but he was not an outright scoundrel. I was besotted enough to believe his professions re­garding reformation.

  My concerns really centered on other people than Stornaway. A man in his position would be sur­rounded by a large family, who had very likely higher ambitions for him than marriage to a gov­erness. His near-engagement to Lady Dulcinea hinted at it. He had not courted a lady whom he obviously did not like above half without some prodding from home. He had mentioned a mother, long ago at Marlborough. A large party she had been throwing, so she was a social-conscious lady. A countess might well take exception to a woman who had been in close contact with actresses. Then, too, there was the ill-advised run-in with the Duchess of Sarnia and her daughter, who were a part of Stornaway’s social circle. What would they have to say of the earl’s marrying such a creature as myself? Plenty, when their own daughter was jilted into the bargain.