by Joanna Lloyd
• • •
They had taken the carriage rather than riding, for comfort as well as to carry the goods they must purchase. The horses had pulled out of Riverside’s front gate onto the main track when William spoke.
“Electra?” He paused. “Can I ask you a — er, quite personal question?”
Electra looked up, met his eyes and smiled. Today William could ask her anything. There was nothing she would not share with him. She told him so.
“The first night I kissed you, you were terrified.” She stiffened. “I thought I repulsed you but after what we have shared, that seems unlikely.”
Not that. Her heart began to race and her mind screamed; ask me anything but that.
“Each time I touch you, I have felt you struggling with some demon. Tell me what it is and we can face it together.”
She took two deep breaths and twisted her hands into the fabric of her skirt. “You’re right, there is something. But it is not you. As my husband, you deserve to know, but I don’t think I can speak of it just yet. Can you give me some time?”
“Of course. Of course, I should not have raised it.”
Disappointment at her inability to trust him flickered in his eyes.
She wanted to trust him with her secret. She would, eventually. But for now she wanted to enjoy the light mood between them, didn’t want to ruin it with her past.
Electra poked him playfully. “Will you visit Molly today?”
“Certainly, if it will make you jealous,” he countered.
She laughed. “Seriously though, Will, I don’t mind if you do. In fact, you really should. It has probably been some time since you looked in on her.”
“Then maybe I will. You could come with me,” Electra shook her head. “Or you could have coffee in town.”
“I’m sure I’ll find something to do. I want to call in on Mrs. Grenville anyway.”
• • •
Three hours after arriving in town, they met outside the post office. William arrived first and found he was eager to reunite with his wife. He watched with pleasure as she walked toward him from Button’s Coffehouse, enjoying the slight swing of her hips, the graceful movement of her slender body. She chewed on her lower lip, frowning in thought. He wondered what disturbed her. A picture of her walking toward him unclothed formed in his mind, his memory easily recalling every line of her naked body. He forced a breath into his lungs to calm himself. As if the intensity of his thoughts had penetrated her musing, Electra looked up and he watched, enchanted, as the afternoon sun shone from her eyes.
• • •
Her mind was overwhelmed with the revelations of the morning, unable to believe the number of stunning coincidences. Then looking up, she saw his tall form push away from the wall on which he was leaning. He sent her a look of such intimacy, the rest of the world blurred and she flushed from the roots of her hair to her toes. It took all her self-control not to fling her arms around his neck and kiss him shamelessly. Instead, she nodded politely and threaded her arm through his, breathing him in as they walked toward the carriage.
As he handed her up, she asked, “How was Molly Preston?”
“Very well, as it happens.”
She kept her face impassive. “I can see you have more to say.”
He turned to face her, stroking her hand as he spoke. “I have something to ask of you but I’m not sure if you will think me out of line. Will you hear me out?”
“You’re making me nervous, Will.” He frowned, fidgeting with a parcel beside him. “Go on, get on with it,” she said.
He gestured to the driver to move on and plunged into his story.
It appeared that when he arrived at Miss Bridie’s, asking after Molly, he was shown to a small room in the back of the house. There, bent over a large ledger, was Molly Preston. He was startled to discover, not only could the girl read and write, but she also had a love of figures and sums. Having just discovered this, Miss Bridie had made use of her. Molly excitedly told William she now earned her place in the house by keeping Miss Bridie’s books instead of selling her young body. Her only regret was the limits of her knowledge. She wondered if William knew where she could learn more of numbers.
He looked at Electra, his face inscrutable. “What do you say, Electra? You told me of your skills with numbers and if you agree to tutor Molly, it could keep her off the streets. Together you and I could give her a future so different from the one she looks forward to now.”
It was his last statement that decided her. He wanted them to do it together. Molly was not someone he was keeping separate from her.
“I would be willing to try. If we don’t get on or I don’t feel comfortable, I will choose not to continue. Would you accept that?”
He cupped her face with his two hands and drawing her toward him kissed her long and deep. “You really are unlike any other woman, aren’t you? I will send someone to her in the next few days inviting her to the farm.”
His hand rested comfortably on her thigh as he relaxed back into the seat. Moments later, he turned toward her again. “And how was your morning in town? Rich with gossip, I imagine.”
She smiled, raising her eyebrows, wondering where to begin. “To tell you the truth, my morning was one incredible event after another.”
“I am all ears, my sweet.”
“I’m still making sense of it myself, but it began at Mrs. Grenville’s shop.”
• • •
Mrs. Grenville exclaimed with pleasure as Electra walked through her door, turning her like a child to examine her closely.
“Oho!” she said, narrowing her eyes, “I see it. I see that blush of love and a lot more besides.” Her knowing laughter made Electra want to slink back out of the shop.
Clara Grenville suddenly stopped laughing and stared intently at Electra.
“Is something wrong, Mrs. Grenville?” asked Electra.
“I fear this will sound ridiculous, but I feel I know you. I mean, other than when you came to my shop the last time.”
“Really? But that’s impossible,” said Electra.
Mrs. Grenville shook her head. “Perhaps you show my creations to such perfection that I feel a familiarity with you.” She stood up and moved toward the back room. “Let’s have a cup of tea and a chat.”
As Electra regaled Mrs. Grenville with the events at the governor’s dinner dance, the woman seemed preoccupied.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Radcliffe, but I can’t seem to let this go. You see, you remind me so very much of a grand lady who regularly commissioned my services many years ago in England.”
Electra looked up from her tea. “Oh? Do tell me about her, Mrs. Grenville.”
“Ah,” she sighed, “it was a sad story. The dear lady died in childbirth, her only son dying with her. She left her husband and a six-year-old daughter.”
Something about these words sent a quiver of anxiety through Electra’s body. She looked up, her voice hoarse. “How terrible for the family. What did you say her name was?”
“She was Lady Gascombe, wife of Viscount Gascombe of — ”
Electra’s cup clattered to the floor, shattering. Her eyes were wide with shock.
“My dear, my dear,” said Mrs. Grenville bustling around, clearing the shattered cup and running for a cold cloth for Electra’s head. “Whatever is the matter?”
“Y-you knew her. You knew my mother?” stammered Electra.
“The Lord have mercy. Of course. Of course. You are the image of her. How could I have missed it? If possible, you are even more beautiful than your mother.”
Electra breathed deeply to still her trembling body. “Please. Tell me everything you remember about my mother. Everything,” she whispered.
Clara Grenville explained she had been Lady Gascombe’s personal seamstress for a number of years and they had formed the sort of friendship possible with such an arrangement. Electra hardly breathed as Mrs. Grenville described Lady Gascombe’s characteristics, looks, social activ
ities, talents, and acquaintances. Things her father had not the heart to speak of. For the first time since she was a child, Electra could conjure images of a living, breathing person, rather than a dim shadow. Mrs. Grenville opened doors to her mother’s character previously closed to her by her father’s refusal to discuss his wife. Sometime later Electra looked down to find she was clasping Mrs. Grenville’s hands as they spoke. Both faces were wet with tears, as Electra asked her next question.
“My name. I have always wondered at my name. My father gave me an explanation but I can’t help but wonder if there was more to it. Did my mother ever speak with you about it?”
Mrs. Grenville sat back and smiled. “Ah, one look at your mother would tell you there was Greek heritage not too many generations back. It was not just her looks; it was her passion. So un-English. Much like yourself, my dear.”
Electra clasped her hands together. “I knew it. I just knew it.”
She hesitated before asking her next question, and then, feeling emboldened by their shared history, took her chances.
“Could I ask how you came to be here, Mrs. Grenville?”
Clara Grenville patted her hand, nodding, “Well, like yours, it’s not a happy story.” Electra indicated that she shouldn’t continue, but the woman smiled and brushed away her concerns.
“I took up with a scoundrel named Jack Grenville. A real charmer he was. Even married him.” She pursed her lips. “He wasn’t content with making an honest living and got caught pilfering from his boss. I won’t bore you with the details, my dear, but he was sentenced to transportation with a spot for his wife thrown in. So like the lovesick fool I was, I accompanied him. We had only been here six months when he died of the bloody flux.”
Despite the woman’s brisk tone, it was obvious she had loved her husband and still missed him. “I can imagine only too well what it must have been like in a strange country on your own,” said Electra. “Why did you not go back to England?”
“I didn’t have money for the passage home and the town was in need of a good seamstress so I set up shop. And here I’ve stayed. Business is booming and I find I actually like the place.” She tilted Electra’s chin and looking directly into her eyes, “And by the look of you my dear, I’d say you’re beginning to like the place as well.”
Heat flushed Electra’s cheeks and before she could respond, the bell rang over the door, announcing another customer.
Lady Percy moved forward to embrace Electra, pleased at finding her in town. Her business with the seamstress was brief; confirming the size of the buttons on her new gown. Within moments of concluding her discussion with Mrs. Grenville, Lady Percy, who insisted Electra call her Susanna, had commandeered Electra, swept her out the door and down the street toward Button’s Coffeehouse.
The two women had not spoken since Electra’s visit to Susanna’s home while William was at the Hawkesbury property. On that occasion, Susanna, in her forthright way, had elicited the details of Electra’s imprisonment, transportation and marriage to William. In return, she had promised her own colourful story at their next meeting.
While they sipped from cups of steaming coffee and nibbled on fluffy white scones with jam and clotted cream, their earlier, easy camaraderie re-emerged. Once the trivial niceties had been dispensed with, Electra placed her cup on its saucer and reminded Susanna of her promise. Susanna scanned the room for potential eavesdroppers. Satisfied with the scarcity of patrons, she drew Electra closer and began her story.
Susanna Baines’ mother had been a lady’s maid. The lady, fascinated with the beauty and intelligence of her maid’s small daughter, had charitably allowed the child to be tutored with her own children. The children regularly presented plays to the family and visitors. It seemed Susanna was a natural performer and regularly stole the show. Predictably, she went on to pursue a life on the stage and became rather famous. She played mostly at the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane and now and then at Covent Garden. It was very fashionable for young male aristocrats to keep company with the most sought after actresses, which is how she met Percy.
“Percy was quite cocky,” said Susanna fondly, “and assumed I would fall over myself to be seen with him. He would treat me to lavish meals, hoping the entertainment would continue after the food,” she winked.
“Oh goodness. But, Susanna, an actress? I would never have guessed. Go on, tell it all,” said Electra excitedly.
“Well, naughty Percy already had a mistress and a fiancée.” Electra raised her eyebrows, laughing at his audacity, as Susanna continued. “His father, the Marquess of Knightsborough had great plans for his younger son, Percy. Had in fact arranged with the Spanish count, Garcia Maria Delgado de Arroya y Valle, for the betrothal of his daughter, Isabella Esperanza, to Percy.” They both giggled at the count’s name.
“I expect they both had something to gain from it?” asked Electra.
“Naturally,” said Susanna. “The count saw the contract as an introduction into English society and the business prospects which accompanied it. The marquesse sought to boost the diminishing family fortunes.”
“I’m a bit confused as to your place in all this,” said Electra.
“I don’t blame you,” laughed Susanna. “Actually, I didn’t care about the mistress or the impending marriage. My ploy was to secure a wealthy patron. But it all went wrong as we both fell hopelessly in love, and then I discovered he wasn’t wealthy after all.”
“Oh dear, what did you do?”
“Of all things, we eloped. It provoked a scandal of mammoth proportion. His father was furious. Poor Percy had burnt his bridges so thoroughly he was forced to accept a position in the West Indies, running an outpost of the family’s shipping and import/export business.”
“And you went with him?”
“Of course I did. I loved the silly man. But the count demanded financial compensation for the slur to his reputation and his daughter’s honour. Percy, God bless him, undertook responsibility for this payment.”
“So how did you end up in New South Wales?” asked Electra.
Susanna explained, that with Percy’s entrepreneurial flair and business acumen and her enthusiastic support, their wealth increased tenfold. They paid off the debt and soon became the darlings of colonial society in the Indies. When Percy decided to expand the business to the colony of New South Wales, their reputations preceded them. They were received with open arms by the excitement-starved settlers. Susanna admitted to flouting all social protocols, providing the tight knit community with outraged gossip, flamboyant fashion, and an aristocratic disregard for what anyone thought of them.
She took another swallow of her coffee. “The delightful part of it all is Sydney society suspects my origins are a touch tainted, but the story has been told in so many ways that the truth has been long lost. No one is game enough to ask me outright for fear of my displeasure; so my past becomes further embellished with each new arrival and the mystery surrounding me deepens.”
Electra laughed. “No wonder you took a liking to me. It would have been like meeting a kindred spirit.”
“If I didn’t like you so much, I could even be envious of you,” said Susanna.
Electra looked at her questioningly.
“Since the Governor’s Ball, your social standing has risen considerably.”
“Goodness, how silly. I was sure I had managed to insult almost every person present.”
“Yes, well, there was that,” said Susanna laughing, “but your noble lineage was exposed and your air of mystery heightened. I tell you, I am struggling to best you now.”
They collapsed in giggles at the ridiculous situation; Electra clutched her sides while Susanna wiped tears from her eyes.
When they were finally able to control themselves again, Susanna sat back in her chair and regarded Electra for a moment. Then with an air of purpose, she leant forward. “There is something else that connects us Electra, and although Percy has asked me not to speak of it, I think I must.”<
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“Oh dear, it sounds serious. Do I want to know?”
Susanna sighed. “It concerns a man who I believe is your uncle, Carlton Shipley, the Viscount Gascombe. Am I correct?”
Electra felt her face drain of colour. “Yes, you are correct.” Her voice was almost a whisper, “It seems I am besieged by ghosts at every turn today.”
At Susanna’s hesitation, Electra gestured for her to continue. There were gaps in the details but at the least, Susanna was able to give an overview to Electra.
“Percy worked in the family business before he was shipped off to the West Indies. With Percy gone, Gascombe saw an opportunity for himself. He volunteered to act as the marquesse’s local agent and procurer of goods for export to the colonies, in Percy’s place.”
Electra shivered, sensing where this was heading. “Yes, he is an expert at profiting from other’s misfortunes.”
“The marquesse’s financial situation had worsened. Further, he had lost a number of his ships to both the French and piracy. So he was more than a little desperate at this point. Apparently, your uncle knew a captain who would transport the goods for no fee but wanted a share of the profit. Percy’s father jumped at the deal.”
“I really don’t think you need to tell me more. There is not an honest bone in Carlton’s body. The man thieved from his own brother; the marquess would not have stood a chance,” said Electra.
“You’re absolutely right. The man acted true to his nature. He and the captain fleeced the marquesse and were stupid enough to think they would get away with it.”
Electra’s eyes widened. “Please tell me they will not.”
“Percy, his father and other associates are presently gathering evidence to charge him. And I assure you there is an abundance of evidence of theft and corruption on both Gascombe’s and the captain’s part.”
“Oh, Susanna, I can’t believe this,” gasped Electra.
“Dear, Electra, I had felt terribly guilty that Percy was pursuing a man I knew to be your uncle. Until last week when the governor happened to mention to Percy that it was Gascombe who had orchestrated your arrest and imprisonment.” She looked at Electra, who nodded in confirmation, remembering the shame of that day. “This is obviously not an easy topic for you to discuss. Let’s leave the matter and speak of more enjoyable activities.” She patted Electra’s knee and turned to order more coffee.