by Julia London
Furthermore, the coach that would carry them to King’s Lynn was due to leave at five o’clock, but did not pull out of the public station until almost ten past six. By that time, Ellen was in danger of being violently ill, as she was less and less able to endure the fear of being discovered.
Natalie was not in a humor to visit an old friend, as Ellen explained they were doing, particularly if it required such an early rising. She complained that her bum hurt from sitting on the hard wooden bench, that the air smelled terribly, that the man sitting across from them was taking up more than his fair share of foot space, that she was hungry—had Ellen thought to bring anything to eat? It wasn’t until Ellen snapped at her to silence herself immediately that the girl slid down on the bench and began to sulk. Let her, Ellen thought irritably. It wasn’t as if she found this journey particularly comfortable or carefree, for God’s sake. She was scared out of her wits, quite uncertain what would become of them, and hoping that they didn’t end up murdered or in a poorhouse. She was doing this for Natalie’s sake, even if Natalie didn’t know it, and the least the child could do was not fuss so very much!
By the time they arrived at King’s Lynn late that afternoon, mother and daughter were hardly speaking to one another. But when they emerged from the coach and drew clean air into their lungs again, Ellen forced herself to smile and buck up for Natalie’s sake. She straightened her daughter’s clothing, tried her best to wash the smudge of Agatha’s cake from her cheek. Dear Agatha, she’ll fret so! Yet Ellen wouldn’t allow herself to think of Agatha now, or any of the myriad consequences of what she had done or more important, Liam…although she could hardly keep from it, alternating between guilt and fear and an emptiness inside her that seemed to grow deeper with each passing mile. No, she couldn’t think of that now.
At King’s Lynn, having ascertained the direction to Peasedown Park, Ellen picked up one portmanteau, then the second, nodded at Natalie to do the same, and smiled brightly. “Lovely day for a walk, isn’t it?” she remarked, and began marching in the direction the clerk had indicated.
The afternoon was coming to a rather chilly end by the time Ellen and Natalie, both exhausted and covered with the dust of the road (and Ellen’s hems soaked through, the result of their taking a more direct route through a meadow), came to a halt on the edge of the long, circular drive. They stood there in silence, awed by the massive eighteenth-century Georgian mansion. Of course Judith had described her home in her letters, and certainly Ellen had gathered it was quite large, but she had not imagined this.
“It looks like a castle,” Natalie opined. “I rather think a princess lived here once.”
“Hmm, perhaps.”
“Do you suppose Captain Lockhart will come and find us here?”
A pang of regret in her chest, Ellen shook her head. “No, he won’t come here, darling.”
“Are we going to stay?”
“For a time.”
“I’m very hungry, Mother.”
“Well then! I should think it time to announce our arrival to Judith!” she said with forced gaiety, and put her hand out to Natalie, free since they had abandoned their luggage at an old thatched hut they’d passed, and together, they walked the last few yards to what Ellen hoped would be their salvation.
There were thirteen steps leading up to the massive oak door that marked the entry to Peasedown Park (this, courtesy of Natalie, who counted the steps aloud). They took a moment to ensure their clothing was as presentable as possible, given the circumstances, and just as Ellen reached for the knocker, the door was swung open. A man wearing the usual costume of a butler stepped out onto the landing with them and bowed deeply. “Madam? How may I be of service?”
“Ahem. My good sir, please tell Lady Peasedown that her old friend, Miss Ellen Farnsworth, and her daughter, Miss Natalie, have come to call. I dispatched a letter informing her of our visit a fortnight ago, but as it happens, I have come much sooner than I anticipated.”
“Do you mean to say, madam, that Lady Peasedown is not, then, expecting you?”
The flutter of panic started in her belly; horrible images flashed through her mind, not the least of which was she and Natalie sleeping in that wretched cottage up the road. “Oh, no, not at all! She is expecting us, certainly…just not today,” she attempted to clarify.
“Very good,” he said again, bowing low. “Would you please step inside?”
Although Natalie was looking at her with an expression of trepidation that matched the feeling Ellen had in her gut, Ellen ushered her inside, behind the butler, afraid to be left on the stoop.
“If you will be so good as to wait here, I shall return forthwith,” he said, and with a click of his heels went striding off down the long corridor that stretched before them, leaving Ellen and Natalie to gape at the most magnificent house Ellen had ever seen. She held her breath in awe; the floors were marble, the candelabras gilded and sporting dozens of beeswax candles. The walls, covered with a silk of blue and gold, matched the intricate hand painting on the wainscot. The doors that lined the corridor were framed in Greek arches; above each were scenes sculpted from mythology, as best she could guess. In between the many doors was a variety of consoles sporting hothouse flowers in large vases, a collection of life-size portraits, and a smattering of armor.
“Mother, it is a castle!” Natalie whispered excitedly, squeezing Ellen’s hand. “It’s just exactly like Laria!”
“Ellen!”
The sound of Judith’s voice was like music to Ellen’s ears; the lilt in her old friend’s voice was just as cheerful as it had been so many years ago when they had been inseparable. It was a sound, in fact, that very nearly drove Ellen to her knees, so overcome with relief was she. But she managed to keep from sprawling on the floor, instead whirling about toward the sound of Judith’s voice. There she was, with the butler close on her heels, rushing toward her, looking so young and lovely and happy.
“Oh my stars, you’ve finally come!” she cried as she rushed forward and wrapped Ellen in a strong embrace. “I’ve so longed to see you! And when I missed you the last two times I was in London, I was frightfully worried I’d never see you again!”
Ellen had, of course, been in London when Judith had come, but had been too embarrassed for her friend to see the truth about her life.
“Oh, Ellen, you’re still so beautiful, aren’t you!”
Ellen laughed. “Darling Judith, how kind you are! You are the beauty among us, and you’ve always been so.”
Judith gave her a playful wave of her hand and looked down at Natalie. “Oh my, this can’t be little Natalie!” she exclaimed.
“Yes, mu’um, I am,” Natalie said in all seriousness. “We’ve come early.”
Judith laughed gaily as she leaned down to hug Natalie and kiss her cheek. “Look at you, darling, just as lovely as your mother.”
“Oh, Judith, really!” Ellen exclaimed. “I look a fright, and really, for that I must apologize—”
“Nonsense! Where are your things? You’ll want to change out of your traveling clothes, and—Goodness, Filbert! Is there water on the lawn?” she exclaimed, eyeing Ellen’s hem.
“Quite my own doing,” Ellen instantly assured her. “Natalie and I walked.”
Judith looked up, obviously confused. “Walked?”
“Yes,” Ellen admitted reluctantly, knowing how odd it must seem. “From King’s Lynn. We…we, ah, couldn’t carry our luggage so far,” she said nervously, forcing a little laugh. “So we, um, left our bags in the abandoned cottage up the road.”
“Oh, no!” Judith cried. “That won’t do at all! Filbert!” she cried, whirling about to the butler. “See to it that their things are fetched at once! And have baths drawn for both of them! And, oh dear, find Clara, will you, and send her up to me. Ellen, you look a bit smaller than me, but I think we should find something to suit you. As for you,” she said, tweaking Natalie’s nose, “I’ve a daughter just your age. Her name is Sarah, and she’ll have som
ething you can wear until your things are brought. Come on, then, you two! We’ve much to do before supper!” Judith said brightly, and linking arms with Ellen and Natalie on either side, escorted them down that elaborate corridor toward the grand staircase spiraling up to the rooms above.
Exhausted and on edge, Ellen spent the rest of the day waiting for the other shoe to drop. When she wasn’t feeling the horrible, relentless guilt for having betrayed Liam, or the more painful sting of missing him, she was fretting about her next move and waiting for someone, anyone, to discover what she had done.
And now, dressed in an expensive gown of lavender silk, with little orchids attached to the empire waist and along the hem, she waited. She hadn’t worn anything that fine since the summer of her demise—it was so lovely that she vaguely expected someone to rush into the dining room at any moment to demand that she relinquish it at once. But no one came; instead, she and Natalie feasted on beef so tender that it melted in their mouths. Still she waited for disaster, and later, in the family drawing room where they sipped little thimbles of wine, she waited. She remained on edge, certain Natalie would do something in her play to upset the Peasedown children, but bless her darling daughter, she did no such thing, and skipped out the door in her borrowed green frock when the governess came to take the children to bed. Yet Ellen continued to wait—this was too good to be true, almost inconceivable for a woman who, with no prior experience in criminal behavior, had tied a man up and stolen his treasure with relative ease.
Yet here she was, sitting in a room large enough to be a ballroom, on a settee that Judith had proudly told her had once been at Versailles, beneath a ceiling adorned with frieze cherubs and doves, carpets so thick one actually had the sensation of walking on grass, and real fires crackling in twin hearths. Judith and her husband, Richard, asked nothing about her unusual journey. They just seemed genuinely concerned that she was comfortable.
She was not comfortable, however, and in fact, was afraid to sleep, so sure that Liam would snatch her in her dream. Then again, she was afraid not to sleep, for that was, unfortunately, the only way she could see him again. But sleep eluded her; her heart and mind were filled with anxiety. Had the beastie been discovered missing? Did her father know she was gone? Did Eva? Had Eva told their father about Vauxhall Gardens? And what of Liam? Where was Liam?
The next day, Ellen was feeling terribly out of sorts from the lack of sleep and building anxiety, and it was in the midst of her trying to think clearly that Judith finally broached the subject of her unexpected call to Peasedown Park. They were strolling the grounds together when Judith twined her hand with Ellen’s and asked, “You’ll stay at least a fortnight, won’t you?”
Yes! Yes, a fortnight, a month, a lifetime! “Oh Judith, I should not want to impose—”
“Silly thing! It’s no imposition! I am so delighted to finally have you all to myself. Your devotion to your father is admirable, darling, but how long have we been writing and promising one another we’d one day be together again?”
Ellen laughed. “Years, I should think.”
“Yes, years. Ten of them, to be precise.”
Yes, ten years. Natalie was almost ten now.
They walked on for a few minutes more before Judith exclaimed with much exasperation, “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Ellen! I know.”
Panic assailed her—how could Judith know? No one knew save Liam! How could she have been found out so quickly?
“We’ve been the best of friends since we were little girls. Did you think I’d not suspect? Or that I’d not hear the gossip?”
“Wh-what?”
Judith rolled her eyes. “Ellen, darling, I know. But it doesn’t change my opinion of you, not in the least. However it happened, I am certain you were not at fault, and certainly no one can blame poor Natalie—”
“Natalie!” Ellen exclaimed, horrified.
“Yes, Natalie!” Judith said, drawing them both to a halt. “I know her situation plainly. Richard knows, too, but he’s not the least concerned. Of course we would never tell Sarah and Charles such a wretched thing, you understand.”
Ah-ha! Now it dawned on her—Judith was speaking of Natalie’s illegitimate birth, not her theft of the beastie. Not her betrayal of Liam. “Oooh,” she said on a long sigh.
With a kind pat to her hand, Judith resumed their walking. “As I said, it makes not the least bit of difference to me. I’ve known for quite some time, actually.”
“Have you?” Ellen asked weakly, so relieved that Judith didn’t know what she had just recently done to be appallingly unconcerned that her dear friend knew the truth about Natalie.
“Well of course! I mean, there you were, the darling of all the balls, and suddenly you’re whisked away to Cornwall! And that awful Millicent Hayfield—you remember her?”
“Of course. She debuted the same Season I came out.”
“Well, a few years ago, I was in London, and I happened upon her at a tea. She was agog with her news, as she called it. Horrid woman, terribly disagreeable, wasn’t she? She delighted in telling me what everyone else suspected about you—that there was no husband in Cornwall, nor any tragic and untimely death of the mysterious man. That you had born a child—well, no point in repeating such vile rumors. I certainly would have liked to have pushed her to the ground and done something awful to her gown, but I pretended not to mind at all! And do you know that was precisely the thing to do, for Miss Hayfield was quite perturbed that I had not the least reaction!”
“Oh. That’s…thank you, Judith,” Ellen said weakly, uncertain what to say.
“But I would be less than completely honest if I said I weren’t a bit cross with you all these years,” she added with a sniff.
“I’m sorry, Judith, but surely you can understand my reluctance to admit the truth. I would simply perish if you thought ill of Natalie.”
“I would never think ill of Natalie, darling. After all, it was hardly her doing that brought her into this world. No, dear, I was miffed at you. I would never speak of something so indelicate, but I was quite miffed that you were…well…less than circumspect. Do you understand?”
Oh, yes, quite clearly, so clearly, in fact, that Ellen was at a loss as to what to say. How was it that so many people were angered by her actions, that so many had come to believe they had a right to be angry? Did they not understand that she had been punished dearly and for the rest of her life?
Judith smiled, squeezed her hand affectionately. “But never mind, Ellen,” she said in a congenial whisper. “What’s done is done, of course, and there’s not a thing we can do to change it. I’ve quite put it behind me!” she said cheerfully, as if it was somehow very magnanimous of her to put Ellen’s past behind her. As if she had somehow been injured. “You will stay at least a fortnight, will you? Stay as long as you can! Your father won’t mind to be parted from you, will he? He shall manage on his own?”
Somehow Ellen managed to somberly assure Judith that he would indeed do quite well without her, and in fact, had encouraged her to be away for as long as she needed. Which reminded her of the question most burning in her head and making it ache—just how long did she need? Or more precisely, where in God’s name was she going to go from here?
The Peasedown governess, Penny Peckinpaugh, did not particularly like children, and furthermore, did not particularly like the Peasedown children. But being governess was her lot in life, and Penny dreamed of being a grand lady herself one day, so she endured the little monsters in her charge. However, the addition of the third child, Miss Natalie, had her contemplating a request to review her wages. The girl was a liar, constantly telling stories and becoming quite cross when the other children didn’t believe her silly tales of kingdoms and princesses.
On this particular day, the cold north wind had ceased to blow, and Penny had ushered all the little beasts down to a small lake that was popular among the locals for picnicking. She had ordered a basket for the children (and a flagon of wine for herself) and
had told them to go off and play. As they scampered off, she admired a man strolling along the edge of the lake. He was a big man, well over six feet, with dark wavy hair that hung to his shoulders. Within the confines of his greatcoat, which looked to be of the military of some sort, he cut quite a powerful figure. Even more important, from where Penny was sitting, he looked to be rather handsome in an unconventional way.
She came up on her knees, was adjusting her bonnet when Miss Natalie came skipping toward her. This was not the time for the child’s ridiculous stories, and she instantly told her to run on and leave her be.
“Oh, I wasn’t coming to speak to you,” Natalie informed her gravely. “I was off to say hello to my friend, Captain Lockhart.”
“Who?” Penny asked, gaining her feet, her eyes on the stranger.
“Captain Lockhart. He’s come to rescue my mother.”
Dear Lord, not that again. “What nonsense!” she said sharply, with a harsh look for the girl. “Shall I convey to your mother what ridiculous lies you are telling?”
The girl looked crushed. “But it’s not a story!” she insisted, and with her lower lip trembling, she suddenly ran off, toward the man.
And much to Penny’s surprise, the man leaned down, picked her up as she came rushing into his arms, and held her high as he twirled her around before setting her down again. Her mouth agape, Penny watched as he went down on his haunches, spoke to the little wench for what seemed like several long minutes, then suddenly stood, leaned down to kiss the girl’s cheek, and went on his way.
Miss Natalie came running back to a stunned Penny.
“What is this?” she cried at the girl, horrified. “Are you in the habit of accosting strangers?”