by Jo Beverley
“At the sign of the dove, Dun Street.”
“When I said to read the letters, I meant the entire contents.”
Claris stuck out her tongue again, and this time he saw it. He grinned.
“I’d tell you to read the letters,” she said, “except that I don’t want to drive. Shall I continue?”
“By all means. But every word.”
Claris found her place.
Our rooms are pleasant. We have two bedchambers and a parlor in which we also eat. It has an outlook over a field. Our landlady, Mistress Stallycombe, is very respectable. She provides breakfast daily and clean bed linen once a week. She will also provide a dinner if requested, at extra cost. I suppose we are comfortable, and there are parks nearby, but it is not at all like village life.
I must not repine! We attended a play last night. So magical, my dear Olivia, and so dramatic. I wish you were here to share such excitements. There were some parts that I felt not quite proper, but Nora commanded me not to be a bumpkin, and most of the company was amused, ladies as well as gentlemen. Your dear friend, Clarrie.
Poor Aunt Clarrie,” Claris said, folding the letter. “She would have been much happier marrying a local man.”
Something was teasing at her mind.
“The next?” Perry prompted.
“Did anything in there strike you as significant?”
He glanced at her. “No. You?”
“I feel there’s something.”
“Did you read every word?”
“Yes.”
“It will come to you later. Read the next.”
She unfolded the single sheet and read it out, beginning with the same address and the date, May 25. It related a trip to St. James’s Park, and paying a call on a Lady Steventon.
“She seems to expect Miss Pellew to know the name,” Claris said, “so she was probably a local lady. We could go back. . . .”
“Not today. I can find out about Lady Steventon in Town. They would have been hoping the lady would be their entree into better circles. We’ll find out if that worked in the next.”
Claris refolded the second and went on to the third. “A trip to Ranelagh Gardens.” After she’d read to the end, she said, “Clarrie thoroughly enjoyed that. Would I?”
“Illuminations, music, and fireworks?” he said with a smile. “I assume you would, and I will enjoy taking you there.”
Claris reflected his smile, no longer regretting the length of their journey. They were alone together with a shared purpose, in harmony. It seemed so easy to be in harmony with him, despite her prickly nature.
“The next?”
She unfolded and read it. “Ah, here we are. ‘At Ranelagh I met a particular gentleman. He is an acquaintance of Lady Steventon’s and very fine. He has such charming manners and a delightful smile. . . .’” She looked at Perry. “Giles? I’d never have thought him charming. I suppose his portrait shows good looks.”
“As Miss Pellew said, charm requires some effort. A rake finds it worthwhile to make the effort. Does Clarrie name him?”
“Not in this letter.” Claris read an account of an assembly where a certain gentleman paid marked attentions and went on quickly to the next.
“They won’t disappear if you don’t read them fast enough,” Perry said. “Attention to detail is key.”
“I’ve read you every word. If only she named her admirer.”
“Let’s assume it was Giles. Do you think she was completely pleased with him?”
Claris read over the letter in her hand. “I don’t know. She remarks on how pleased Mother was with him.” She frowned at the decorative lines of Clarrie’s writing as if they could reveal more than the words. “Mother was in control of this. She was pushing Clarrie toward Giles as much for her own sake . . .”
And then it came.
The point she’d missed all along.
“Perry, look at this!”
He drew the horse to a stand. “At what?”
Claris thrust the letter at him. “The writing! It’s nothing at all like the writing on the curse.”
He whistled. “It isn’t, is it? When you first saw the curse, you said the writing was similar to your mother’s, only smaller.”
Everything fell into place.
“Mother wrote it. Oh, yes, I can believe she could invent such vitriol. But, Perry, I can also believe that she could create a curse that would have effect!”
He rescued the letter from her clutching hand. “How could your mother know how to do that? Even if a curse is possible.”
“Perhaps hating fiercely enough makes it possible. I know I’m unreasonable about this, but it matters.”
“Only if you believe in it.”
“Don’t you? Not at all?”
His hand tightened on hers. “Occasionally. In the dark of the night, and only because it would be just if betrayed innocents could wreak vengeance. But then I see that there’s no justice in the workings of this. The innocents suffered the most.”
“I’m sure my mother rejoiced in each death.”
“But didn’t cause them. They were ill luck as much as the pestilence that visited Wellsted. Please try to believe that.”
“I’ll try.”
He kissed her gloved hand and released it. “There’s one more letter.”
He set the horse in motion again as Claris unfolded Aunt Clarrie’s last letter. She expected dark drama, but it was another light recounting of London entertainments. The only hint came at the end. “‘I will soon have exciting news to share with you, my dear friend. . . .” I wonder how it played out. Wouldn’t you think she’d have written to Miss Pellew after the spurious marriage?”
“She was probably told not to. That it must be secret for some reason. Giles was still quite young, so perhaps he warned of trustees who would object. Hers wasn’t a unique story back then. Only the vows were necessary, and rakes exploited that with false clergymen and cronies as witnesses who’d later deny the vows were ever said.”
Claris put the letters neatly together and retied the ribbon around them. It was now thinning and weakening with age.
“Poor Aunt Clarrie. It would be a sin, but I could hate my mother for what she did to her.”
“She was probably convinced that she was doing the best thing for her sister. That’s the worst about people like that. They are sure of their own righteousness.”
Claris thought back. “Yes, that’s the word. Even when doing vile things, she was sure she was righteous. She never, ever made a person happy, and when she saw happiness she sought to destroy it. She made Father ban the maypole.”
“It does have pagan, and even vulgar, connotations.”
“I’m sure that was her argument. When she died, he reversed the ban and a number of other petty restrictions she’d insisted on.”
“Because he wanted to wipe her influence away,” he said. “I could almost be sorry for Henry Mallow. If there’s truth to the notion that suffering on earth reduces suffering in the afterlife, he might now be in heaven.”
“He certainly tried.” Claris tucked away the letters and revealed something she’d never told anyone. “He whipped himself.”
“What?”
“I came upon him once, in the church late in the evening. . . .”
Perry took her hand and halted the horse again.
“Peter had fallen and banged his head. It swelled and I went in search of my father. He was kneeling before the altar, bare from the waist up, with only the light of the setting sun upon him, swinging a many-stranded whip, muttering prayers for mercy.”
“That must have shocked you. Could he have been the clergyman at the supposed wedding?”
“No, he became one shortly before moving to Old Barford.”
“A false witness, then. How old were you when you came across him?”
“Fifteen, I think.”
“You are a remarkable woman to have survived all you have.”
“I had no choice. I had the
twins to care for.”
“And now I will care for you and your brothers. Let your burdens pass to me.”
She looked at him, absorbing his words. He was offering true support, and she could trust him as she’d never felt able to trust anyone before.
She squeezed his hand. “Thank you. You can’t know what that means to me. Together we can make Perriam Manor a happy home for our children and our children’s children.”
She instantly regretted the implications of that and wasn’t surprised when his lips twisted a little, nor when he said, “I will always do my best.”
He was still devoted to his London life, and she must count her blessings. Her many, many blessings.
* * *
They were home just in time for dinner. Claris would have preferred a peaceful time to think over many things, but Athena and Ellie were in the drawing room and Athena demanded to know what she’d learned. Claris regretted telling her the purpose of the expedition.
She told them, but not about the revelation of the handwriting.
“On that curse,” Athena said, “was there any mark that could be blood?”
“I don’t think so.” Claris looked to Perry for confirmation.
“Not even a blob of ink. Very neat, all in all. Why?”
“As you are still fretting about it, I consulted someone who interests herself in superstitions. I’m told that a curse requires blood, preferably used as ink, but if that’s not possible, a drop.”
“Thank you for asking,” Claris said. She’d thought her grandmother entirely wrapped in her own affairs.
“I hope you are now reassured that Giles Perriam was unfortunate by chance.”
“That points to an unjust God,” Claris protested.
“So do the deaths at Wellsted, and the families killed by fire in Whitechapel not long ago. We live in an unjust world, Claris, and must survive as best we can. The meek do not inherit the earth, and indeed, what would they do with such responsibility?”
That made Claris laugh. “You should write a commentary on the Beatitudes.”
“That would get me whipped at the cart’s tail. I’m more interested in commentaries about the injustices perpetrated against women. You left last night before Miss Sprott read Sarah Fyge’s ‘The Emulation.’ An excellent piece. ‘Say, Tyrant Custom, why must we obey / The impositions of thy haughty Sway; / From the first dawn of Life, unto the Grave, / Poor Womankind’s in every State, a Slave.’”
“Not Empress Catherine of Russia,” Perry pointed out, “nor Maria Theresa, Holy Roman Empress.”
“And much good they’ve done for the women in their dominions.”
“A woman’s fault, not man’s.”
The debate shot backward and forward. Claris met Ellie’s eyes and saw the same resigned amusement.
Claris agreed with Athena in principle, but she couldn’t become passionate about it. Her passions flowed into Perriam Manor and the child within her.
And the man who’d given her both.
The man who was enjoying the spirited debate as much as Athena.
The man who loved the rich tapestry of London life.
* * *
In bed that night, sweetly in his arms, she finally told him. “I believe I’m carrying a child.”
“You know so soon?”
“I’ve known for some weeks.”
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I’m pleased, of course. I know you want a child.”
How to answer his question? Not with the truth, that she’d been afraid he wouldn’t want to pleasure her in this bed if there was no purpose.
“I’m not sure,” she lied. “Something to do with the curse.”
He shifted to hold her closer. “No wonder it’s weighed on you with a child already on the way. I truly believe it’s hollow, my dear. You have nothing to fear beyond life’s normal hazards. We have nothing to fear.”
She turned to kiss him. “I like ‘we.’ Our home, our child, even if you must often be away.”
“I will do my best to be a good father,” he said, but she heard the underlying tone, that he doubted how good that could be.
She snuggled closer.
She’d find a way.
He would visit Perriam Manor for at least the thirty days a year, and in between she would visit London. There was the problem of his male-only rooms, but perhaps they could afford to rent a house like this frequently.
She would find a way to have this sweet togetherness most of the time.
Chapter 36
In the morning, they fell out.
Over breakfast Claris said, “Today, Dun Street.”
“I’ll take you, but not today. I have matters to attend to.”
“I can go alone. I’ll take Alice.”
“It’s not safe, and nor is this obsession. Put any thought of a curse out of mind and think of our baby.”
Claris put down her cup. “We know Aunt Clarrie didn’t cast a curse, but my mother might have done. I need to understand, and explanations could lie in Dun Street. I can’t bear delay.”
“But you must. I forbid it.”
“What?” She stared at him. “So you turn tyrant now? Exerting your husbandly authority?”
“In this case, yes. I’ll try to find the time—”
Claris thumped the table so that crockery rattled. “And if you can’t, I’m to forgo this opportunity?”
“Yes!” He rose. “There’s nothing more to discover, and you need to put it out of mind.”
He left before she could make a retort. She grabbed the sugar bowl and hurled it to shatter on the door. And then burst into tears.
Ellie hurried in and gathered her in her arms. “Dearie, dearie, what is it?”
Claris sniffed. “I don’t know! Perry. The curse. Aunt Clarrie . . .”
“There, there; there, there. It’s likely the child. Makes for funny moods.”
Claris blew her nose. “Do you think so?”
“Even Thenie was weepy at times.”
“That’s hard to imagine.”
“True, though. You need to avoid things that upset you.”
“Like the curse.”
“That’s right. There’s nothing to it, dearie, and if there was, what could you do?”
“My marriage was supposed to end its power.” She still hadn’t told Ellie and Athena that the curse was her mother’s work, and she didn’t want to. It brought it too close to home.
“There, then,” Ellie said.
“Yet it haunts me all the same. And Perry forbade it!”
“Forbade what?”
“My going to Dun Street to learn more.”
“What’s at Dun Street?”
“It’s where Mother and Aunt Clarrie lived when in London.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“We found people in Wellsted who remembered them, so why not there?”
“What do you hope to learn?” Ellie asked.
“Something. Anything. How Aunt Clarrie was when there. How she died. Perhaps then I can put her shade to rest. Yes, that’s it. I feel as if I owe something to Aunt Clarrie.”
“Well, then, why don’t we go?”
“We?”
“You and me. Your grandmother’s gone off to a meeting about the rights of women. I excused myself. I find it all a bit silly.”
“I’m sure it’s not. Husbands can be cruel oppressors and are supported by the law.”
“Talking isn’t going to change that. It’ll need bloody war.”
“I hope you’re wrong.”
“So do I, but I prefer to do things that can be done. We need to know how to get to Dun Street. Do you have an address?”
“At the sign of the dove, and there’s the landlady’s name. Stally-something. I’ll reread the letters and find out.” She hugged Ellie. “Thank you! I’m sure I’ll feel at ease when I’ve followed this last thread.”
Claris hurried upstairs and took out the letters.
But then she hesitated.
Perry had been so firm on the subject.
She shook that away. Say, Tyrant Custom, why must we obey / The impositions of thy haughty Sway.
She would not be ruled by a husband. That had been clear in their agreement. She was to be independent. Just because they’d consummated the marriage, just because that was so sweet, just because she loved him . . .
Oh, she did, she did.
But that couldn’t be allowed to weaken her.
She found the right letter. Mistress Stallycombe. An unusual name that would be remembered. When she returned the letters to the drawer, she saw her pistol case.
She opened it and took out the gun. It was still loaded from the journey, but she’d emptied the firing pan for safety. She poured new powder there and carefully settled the pin.
How to carry it, though?
It would fit in one of her pockets, but she didn’t like the thought of it there. What if by some mischance it went off? It wasn’t cocked, but accidents could happen.
She found the cardboard box in which the mended stockings had been delivered, lined it with handkerchiefs, and nestled the pistol there.
When she went downstairs, Ellie said, “What’s that?”
“An excuse. More stockings to be mended.”
Ellie shrugged, but when they were outside she said, “You don’t need an excuse to leave the house, Claris.”
“I know, but it’s done now.”
“Let me carry it.”
“No. Did you get directions?”
“Yes, but the stocking mender doesn’t lie that way.”
“I’ve heard of a better one. How far is it? Should we take a hackney?”
“Not unless you’ve lost the use of your legs. We can go most of the way across the park and I could do with a good walk. I’ve sat around too many fancy salons in the past few days.”
Chapter 37
Perry regretted the argument as soon as he was out of the house. He’d return except for that smash of china. He’d give her time to calm down. In any case, he was expected at Malloren House to review the situation. Claris should understand that he couldn’t devote every moment to her whims and fancies.