by Jackie Ivie
The nun eyed her. “You didn’t steal that?”
“Of course not. Look at my clothing. Do I look like a thief?” She gestured to her once-clean shirt and the dirty white burnoose she’d shredded at the bottom. Perhaps she shouldn’t have mentioned anything – the clothing didn’t even fit.
“I promise on all I hold holy that I didn’t steal these coins, or my clothes, Sister. I swear it.”
She gripped the nun’s hands. Her own were dark in comparison, covered with grime and smoke. The sister looked down at their entwined hands and then back up. Averill released her and bowed her head. It was useless. No one was going to help. She waited for the nun to leave.
“Regardless of your need, I don’t believe you can walk. Not yet. Your feet can’t support you. You need rest. I’ll find conveyance the instant the doctor allows. And you may make a donation to the church with your coin if you like.”
The sister swept from the room while Averill stared wide-eyed. She hadn’t even thanked her.
~ ~ ~
The throbbing worsened. No matter how she held her feet, or tried to think of other things, the sensation grew. Averill spent the next two days and nights dealing with agony. The bed frame rattled as she gripped it. Pain grew to encompass everything. It dulled the sounds of screaming. It went past tears. It almost blinded her to the sight of the burned mass of flesh in the next cot over. That body was burned to an unrecognizable lump. She couldn’t believe he still lived. In comparison, she had little to deal with. That’s what kept her silent.
Dr. Abrahm had visited. He’d made a clicking noise with his tongue as he pulled up a stool and lifted her right foot.
“I hear you wish to leave us.”
Averill had nodded. She couldn’t answer. She was afraid the only sound would be a scream. She sucked in breath, and fought to keep the agony to herself. She had to appear well enough to leave. The doctor might refuse to help her otherwise.
“Well. I can’t say that we don’t need the room now that the battle is starting.”
He’d wiped a noxious smelling cloth across her foot, staining it as red as Harvey’s tincture of iodine had once done to Captain Tennison. Averill wrenched her jaw closed and bit down on her lip to deflect pain. It barely worked. Then she’d looked over at the mass of burned boy beside her. His face was the only untouched portion. So calm. So peaceful. He already looked dead.
She envied him.
The agony had reached her thigh before the doctor finished. She forced herself not to react as he started on the other foot, although she couldn’t prevent a jerk as he applied salve. He hadn’t seemed to notice.
“You’re a very good patient. The sisters have need of more like you.”
He’d finished and looked down at her as if expecting an answer. She couldn’t talk with her teeth clamped shut. That’s when the first thump came, sounding like thunder at a distance. Dr. Abrahm shook his head.
“The fire was an accident,” he said. “And now listen. They maim and kill each other on purpose. It makes no sense.”
Averill concentrated on the booming noise as it came again. She hoped it wasn’t harming Tenny. Tenny. Maybe if she envisioned him safely aboard his ship, she could force away her own circumstance. Her pain. Helplessness. She was surprised when it started working.
“I hear you want to reach an inn. One outside the gates. You understand how foolish that is. Yes?”
“I must get there, Doctor. It’s not a question of want.”
Her voice croaked, and was deeper than his. She hoped he wouldn’t try and stop her. She had to reach her art supplies, and if she was truly lucky, the horses would be there as well. Those were the only connection she still had to Tenny. Somehow she had to let him know she’d survived.
Despite Harvey.
The doctor had sighed and smiled slightly. And then he’d answered with words that sent her heart soaring.
“Then we must get you healed quickly, mustn’t we?”
Averill watched him leave. Sweet heaven! They were going to help her. She would get there, and Harvey’s action would be for nothing. The relief almost overrode the pain. Almost.
~ ~ ~
The inn looked the same. Dilapidated. Forlorn. Averill had the driver stop before the rickety building and actually managed to get down unassisted.
“This is for Dr. Abrahm.”
She gave the man two coins and waited until he drove out of sight before hobbling toward the stables where her supplies should be. It was bad enough she could barely move, without anyone else being aware of it. The boots they’d given her were several sizes too big, but without them, she was unprotected. Her feet might open up and begin weeping again. Besides, as the sisters had teased, the bandages made the boots fit, albeit awkwardly.
Her heart warmed when she saw her supplies, amid all sorts of other baggage. And there was Pegasus. And two horses. She’d been right about one part. Now, she needed to be right about the other. Tenny had to retrieve his horses before he left. She intended to be ready for him.
“I knew you’d come here.”
It was Harvey. Averill’s hand went to her throat. Her eyes narrowed. She swiveled to face him, grimacing slightly as the movement jarred her feet.
“You certainly took your time. Did you have trouble finding it? Is that what happened? You get lost?” he asked.
“Where’s Tenny?” She tried to speak confidently. Her voice was little more than a whisper. And it hurt her throat.
“At his post. We’re at war. He’s a captain in Her Majesty’s Royal Navy. He doesn’t have time to think of other things…and that includes you.”
“You lie.”
“I’m sorry, girl. Really, I am.”
“Sorry?” Her brows rose.
“Don’t you understand, yet?” he asked. “I’m trying to spare heartache here, not cause it.”
She didn’t know what to answer, so she didn’t. She just glared at him with an unblinking gaze. He sighed heavily and started talking.
“I’m not simply Captain Tennison’s valet. I’m the Earl of Tennison’s man. I’ve had the responsibility for young Andrew since he entered Eton. It’s not an onerous duty. He has a way about him. Of course, you’ve noticed that. All the women notice that.” He smiled, but she refused to return it. His smile faded. “And so I had to step in and stop him from making a mistake like…well. Like—”
“Like loving me?” she interrupted.
“He only thinks he loves you. Last year, it was a set of twins, Burmese girls. The year before…I believe it was a Spanish singer who caught his eye. Before that, it was an entire troupe of gaiety girls on loan to the East India Company. I never know who’ll take his fancy from one year to the next. The boy has a lusty nature. Surely you noticed. You’re not his first. You won’t be his last. I’ve lost count. The lad more than sowed his wild oats. He reaped them afterwards.”
“You’re wrong!”
Her rebuttal came out as little more than a whiff of sound. That angered her more than his words. He was wrong. He had to be. This time was different. Tenny had told her so. He loved her. Why else would Harvey keep her survival a secret? What harm would it do if Tenny knew she lived?
“No, miss. I’m not.”
Averill met his eyes and then lowered hers. His looked strangely moist. Sad. As if he pitied her. She wouldn’t accept that from him. Ever.
“Andrew Tennison will be an earl someday. I don’t know if you know what that means. I’ll try and explain. An earl is a peer of the highest order. The position and title come with great authority, immense wealth, and a shoulder-load of responsibility.”
“He told me.”
“Did he, now? Perhaps he also mentioned that he must marry…and when he does, it must be to his social equal. Oh…he’ll have his pick. They were already hounding him. That’s one reason he fled England for this God-forsaken country. Won’t matter. It’s his duty. It has nothing to do with how he feels. Do you understand yet? The only position he can o
ffer would be his mistress. Is that what he promised you?”
She shrugged. She didn’t truly know.
“Is that what you want? Because I must warn you, he has capricious tastes. What I listed before was but a sampling.”
His voice softened. The straw she studied so intently went to a blur of yellow and tan. She blinked rapidly until it was clear again.
“Perhaps being his mistress would be acceptable to you. I’ve no doubt its leagues above what you’re used to. But…there’s a bit more to it. A mistress can be a credit to a man. Andrew has claimed several. All beautiful. All womanly. All...uh. I’ll try and explain without giving offense. It won’t be easy.”
He stopped. Averill waited, watching as gooseflesh roved her arms. They were accompanying trembling she couldn’t quite control. He finally spoke again.
“The women in Andrew’s life have all been uh…clean. You know…bathed. Pure of skin. Healthy. They were discriminating women. All of them. Not one of them lived as a street rat, slept with camels, or sold themselves for coin.”
Averill flinched. She hoped he didn’t notice.
“What I’m trying to say is…if Andrew claims a foreigner for his mistress, it isn’t so bad. You’ve got more than that against you, though. You’re of...uh, uncertain descent, we already know you rarely bathed…and God alone knows how many men you’ve lain with.”
Averill’s hands balled into fists. Tenny had told her none of it mattered. He’d reassured her. But she’d known at the time that it wasn’t true. Deep down, she’d known it and feared it. She’d known.
Harvey was still talking. Averill missed the first part of his sentence.
“...could cause immense damage. It’s amazing the power public opinion has these days. It wasn’t a problem in years past, but...who knows? The cartoonists are scurrilous and the newspapers abound with rumor-mongers. There’s nothing they like better than writing an expose on one of their prestigious lords.
“The scandal might be more than even I could repair, especially if there were children...had you considered that? And what will happen when he tires of you? What then? Would he find you another protector? Would you accept that from him? Is that what you want?”
She shook her head. The straw was back to a blur. She didn’t dare blink.
“I’m sorry, miss. Truly I am.”
And this time, she believed him.
“Here. I paid your passage back to Cairo. It’s aboard an Egyptian ship. Take your canvasses and paints. Andrew wants me to bring back the finished ones, but I can say the innkeeper stole them. Here.”
Averill lifted pain-drenched eyes. He was holding out a piece of paper. She knew now that physical agony was nothing when compared to what she could feel in her heart.
“I...I have coin that Tenny—I mean, Captain Tennison, he...he left it with me.” She reached under her burnoose for the bag.
“Keep it. You’ve earned it, I would say.”
“No! You keep it. I’ll take nothing from any of you. I wasn’t bought, nor did I give myself for coin.” Her voice was a little croak of sound. Diminutive. Small. It was all she possessed.
“I didn’t mean that, child.”
She threw the bag at his feet. She couldn’t see if it landed there or not.
“Take it. All of it. Or the innkeeper can have it when he decides to clean out his stable. I’ll take that ticket. Somehow, I’ll earn enough to reimburse you. Now leave me. Quickly. The sight of you foreigners makes me ill.”
Her voice died by the time she finished, but she knew he heard. She hoped he’d leave soon. She wasn’t capable of moving, just yet. She watched him set the ticket on the ground and pick up the bag of coins.
“May God go with you,” he said.
She spat at his feet in reply.
PART THREE: REVELATION
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“All right, Averill. Are we ready to begin?”
Averill checked the light against the drapes behind Lady Brighten’s head. The contrast was extraordinary. She gripped a palette in her thumb and forefinger and mixed paint on it.
“Are you sure you want my head tilted this far?”
“Yes, my lady.” Averill kept her voice subservient and soft-toned.
She was trying to achieve the shading of the drapes behind Lady Brighten. It would be some time before she felt confident enough to start on the woman’s reddish-blond hair. The deep blue of the drapes Averill had chosen was striking against Lady Brighten’s skin tone and coloring. The portrait would be interesting for that reason.
Unfortunately, her heart wasn’t in it.
For several moments, she dabbled with one shade of blue, then another, as she prepared. Lady Brighten had been very surprised when Averill had arrived at her doorstep the previous month – ill-kempt, her feet bandaged in rags, and her face drawn and haggard-looking. But Lady Brighten had taken her in. And that was what mattered.
“That Sen-Bib character came again this morning,” Lady Brighten said, “asking again if I’d seen his helper. I had to send him away. Honestly, Averill! Disguising yourself as a boy…and for so long! However did you find the courage?”
Because courage is a strange thing. What the lady found courageous was really just a means of escape.
Averill had sailed on the boat alone for a full week, dressed and acting like a boy, while doing her best to stay hidden. None knew of her injury. Any hint of weakness would have meant her death. They would have taken everything from her, including her clothes, and thrown her overboard.
It turned out that Harvey had paid passage on an Egyptian raiding vessel. Averill smiled bitterly to herself now as she added white to the blue paint. She’d barely managed to avoid two ambushes only by knowing so many languages. Either Harvey was stupid, or he’d intended Averill to have such trouble.
“Are you sure this is the right dress? I have others…more…um. Stylish.”
Averill glanced at the ivory lace. “It’s very lovely.” She looked back at the palette. Now that she had the blue of the drapes, she decided to add a dab of vermilion for mystery and depth.
“Speaking of…you really should let me give you some dresses, Averill. I can’t have future clients seeing you in trousers, even if they are beneath your smock. It’s beyond shocking.”
Averill sighed. Lady Brighten was right. And Averill would need the commissions in order to repay Harvey. Aside from all that, there was her child to consider.
Peace descended on Averill as she thought about the baby. Her emotions transferred to the canvas, making the drape folds shimmer. She painted green tinges at the edges, while reddish tones highlighted the folds. It was beautiful. Serene.
“I need to stretch, Averill. I swear, you’re a difficult taskmaster.” Lady Brighten yawned.
“Very well.” She wiped paint from her brush.
“May I see it?”
“Of course.”
Averill stepped back. She smiled as Lady Brighten gasped.
“Oh, my! That’s lovely! I never would’ve seen such colors in those musty, old drapes. You are truly gifted, Averill. Truly.”
Averill nodded and stood to one side, waiting for Lady Brighten to leave so she could take out the piece she really wanted to work on.
Lady Brighten had given her this room in which to work, then they argued over Averill’s stubbornness about payment. She insisted on giving Lady Brighten at least one of her paintings in exchange for room and board. Lady Brighten had finally agreed, and been given the one with fluffy clouds and the mystical horse, Pegasus, in it. Averill disliked parting with it, but it was all she had. But she refused to be indebted to another person as long as she lived.
“I hear the sunshine is brilliant in Venice, Averill.”
Lady Brighten called the words over her shoulder as she left the room. She knew if she stayed, Averill would argue. Lady Brighten insisted on leaving Egypt, especially with Mohammad fighting a war he couldn’t win. It was all the lady spoke on. And she wanted Averil
l to accompany her. But how could she? There, she’d be surrounded by foreigners with titles and position.
And that might include Captain Tennison.
She seemed plagued by thoughts of him. Even Lady Brighten had added subconsciously to it by commented on Tenny. Twice. Each time Averill’s heart had pulsed while her breath caught. The lady hadn’t noticed. She didn’t seem to notice much. Then again, Averill was in a position of glorified servant, and far beneath her.
“Too bad I don’t have a handsome man to put in this portrait with me. Did you ever chance to see Tenny...I mean, Captain Tennison?” Lady Brighten had asked when they first started. “If I recall correctly, he stopped at Sen-Bib’s one day. He’s a very handsome fellow. A wonderful catch for some lucky girl. Why, if I were young and unwed...”
Averill never saw a spouse. The fact that Lady Brighten was married was a surprise, but Averill said nothing.
The second time was when Lady Brighten had seen the strange knight that was at the center of Averill’s storm picture. The likeness to Captain Tennison was hard to miss.
“I like it, Averill. It reminds me of someone, a man of whom I’m truly fond.”
Lady Brighten had looked it over with a dreamy expression that matched her words. Averill had quickly turned away. The lady hadn’t noticed that, either.
Now Averill was to have Tenny’s child. It caught her completely unaware, but restored her at the same time. No one could take a child away. None could deem her unworthy. It made the passing of time bearable, too.
Averill stroked the place where the child was before turning to her painting. This one seemed to call out to her. She’d started it on the enormous canvas one night when she couldn’t sleep. It was her dream knight. He seemed to loom right out of the canvas. He was taking on Tenny’s likeness more and more. She’d painted him mounted on Sabin. White touched the blaze on the horse’s head, glimpsed through the chain mail. His dark reddish coat shone as if he’d just been brushed.
Averill hummed as she painted, losing track of time so that when a maid knocked for supper she was squinting at lack of daylight. She threw down the brush in anger at having to stop. And having to face reality again. She didn’t know why she waffled about Lady Brighten’s request. She already knew the answer. She couldn’t stay in Cairo. Her child wouldn’t be safe on the streets, and she’d never leave it at an orphanage.