by Eris Adderly
As much as it relieved him to hear her calming from her earlier upset, Rowland didn’t understand how this odd party was going to help them, and he said as much.
“Don’t you see, Rowland?” She straightened, doing her best to look him in the eye in the dark. “It’s perfect. There will be so many faces hidden behind masks, no one will know who’s going where or top from bottom. You can find me there and we’ll slip away before anyone is the wiser.”
His heart swelled with pride at such clever words from his angel. Framing her lovely face with both his hands, he kissed her again, wanting to consume her with approval.
“Brilliant,” he said. “You surprise me every day, Elinor.”
She wriggled on his knee at his words and threw her arms about his neck, and for a time they fell to dappling each other in sweet, hopeful kisses.
“How will I know you?” he asked once they settled. “You’ll see me in black with the face of a raven, but how will I find you?”
“I’ll be in grey and white,” she said, leaning her head against his shoulder. “I had a mask made to look like a dove. Since that’s what you always call me.” He could almost feel her blushing in the dark, and he stroked at the back of her hand with his fingertips.
Something in him began to coil about, however, the first burn of venom lapping at his insides. His throat tightened.
“That sister of yours will be there … won’t she.”
It was not a question.
“Yes, Rowland.” He could tell by Elinor’s voice she’d rather he’d not brought it up. He found himself unable to resist another jab.
“And what will she be dressed as? A serpent?”
The Devil himself?
“You’re horrible!” She aimed a half-hearted swat at him, though he suspected the vehemence of her protest was dulled considering her current disposition towards her elder sister. “She’ll be in russet and black. She chose to have a mask fashioned after a fox.”
Rowland harrumphed to himself. A fox. Almost as appropriate as his guess of ‘serpent.’ His mind was not truly on costumes, though.
“I think I may know how we can find our way to Amsterdam,” he told her. “Once your father finds you missing, Bristol Port will be watched. My brother is assistant to the Harbourmaster, you know—he’ll be the first one your family will seek out once they realise what’s happened.”
“Then what will we do?” she asked, her voice offering complete faith that he would have an answer as she tangled her slim fingers up in the dark queue of his hair where it trailed down his neck.
“I’ll have a carriage waiting. I’ll find you at this … masquerade … and tell you where to meet me. We’ll leave for London and sail from there instead, where no one will be looking for us. I’ve enough money saved, I’m sure of it. I’ll take everything, to be safe.”
“Oh, Rowland! Will we truly do this? I want to be yours but … my family? Yours? Will we ever see them again?”
“I don’t know, Love,” he said, truthful though it pained him to be. Rowland gathered her against him, burying his face in the smooth skin under her jaw, hiding from the possibility she might change her mind.
He could feel her pulse against his lips, and he let its warm rhythm calm him as he waiting for her next words in the silence.
“We’ll go,” she said at last. “It’s the only way. I love you, Rowland.”
“And I love you.”
Yes. The only way.
His mind whirled with ravens and doves as he held her. Ships and carriages, and his eyes clenched tight in the darkness. Foxes and single drops of blood on the road between here and Oxford. Nothing further would be allowed to hinder them.
The only way.
* * * *
The Hatchet Inn was noisy, but it suited him well enough. Graves wanted to be away from his family this night, from any of his normal circles for that matter, and so, as he often did when his affairs were troubling him, he called upon Bernard Helsby.
“It’s only three days, Graves. You’ve only to stay with your first plan, which is mad enough, if I do say. There’s no need for all the rest.”
Helsby frowned into his mug, avoiding Rowland’s eye as he prodded his friend towards reason.
“Isn’t there?” Rowland’s voice was tired as he leaned back against the wall of the common room, sloshing his own drink in lazy circles.
He eyed the man sitting next to him, sturdily built and, as his clothing indicated, not of the same social sphere as Rowland at all. Helsby’s father had been farrier to Rowland’s family, among others, for ages, and the two had been boys together. Though one had followed in his father’s trade and the other had gone on to Oxford, they always seemed to know how to find each other when an ear was needed on either side.
“You’ll have the girl!” the other man said, looking up at last. “This other bit? Revenge? It’s pointless! Just sail for Amsterdam and have done.”
“It isn’t revenge, Friend,” he tried to explain, setting his own mostly empty mug back on the table, “It’s only a preventative measure. She’s maliciously fouled my plans twice now. Who’s to say she won’t find some way to do it again? And we’ll be in Amsterdam before my Elinor is any the wiser.”
“Do you hear yourself, Graves?” Helsby hissed at him, darting a quick glance about the room. “This isn’t some business matter, old friend. What you speak of is … well, it’s murder!” He huffed out the last word in a low breath, and now Rowland, too, cast an eye about. A man shifted position at the end of the long table, but he appeared to be somewhere near sleep with his head in the crook of an arm. Hearing a faint snort from the drunk, Rowland turned his attention back to the one person he trusted aside from Elinor.
He sighed, pushing his fingers through his hair. “I know. I know what it is, Helsby.”
“Then don’t do it!” the other, more sober man snapped at him under his breath. Rowland turned his head to the side and blinked at his friend. The room swam a bit and he decided this would need to be his last drink for the night.
Reassure him, Rowland. It was a mistake to think you could confess such an idea, even to him.
The merest hint of a laugh heaved out of him and he graced his confidante with a wry look. “You know I won’t, Helsby. Can you imagine such a thing? I’m merely furious and full of ale.”
The other man shook his head and mopped at his brow with the back of a sleeve, downing another draught as though his friend had put him in need of it. “You’re full of something, Doctor Graves, I’ll warrant you that. Just you dress up as a … as a … crow was it?”
“A raven.”
“Yes, a raven, and steal away with this dove of yours and be a happy man far away from Bristol. And get some sleep, for pity’s sake. You look wretched.”
“You’re right, Helsby. You’re always right. Especially about the sleep.”
The two men finished their mugs and talk turned to other subjects, but Rowland felt the sour taste of guilt on the back of his tongue. He’d let his friend believe it was the drink talking and that he was not serious at all about his intentions for the elder Barlow sister.
It was unfortunate for nearly everyone involved that this was not the case. His mind had been humming all evening with frightful schemes and, to his increasing dread, even thoughts of his angel, Elinor, could not banish them. An end to the cause, he thought, could surely be an end to the symptom as well. And if there was one thing Rowland Graves knew how to do, it was to find a cure for that which ailed.
* * * *
The scullery was a distasteful place for a woman of her status to be skulking about at this hour of the night, but it was the first room accessible from the servants’ entrance and so was the easiest place for her to meet the coachman. At least it was if she wanted to keep their meeting secret, and she most surely did that.
“Did you follow like I asked?” she said, taking a step backwards to lean against the door to the yard, pulling the young man after her by the lapels of
his livery coat so he stood in unseemly proximity. His throat moved as he swallowed in the candlelight.
Such a beast, to be led around by the nose this way.
“I did, Mrs Barlow.” He didn’t back away from her, though. Judith knew he’d be tempted by her offer of more than what was proper.
“And did you learn anything useful, David?” Not only did she call him by his given name, but she arched against him now, and watched as the subtle move caused him to struggle with keeping his hands to himself.
Generous with the trowel this evening, are we, Judith?
“It seems …” He leaned in, and she allowed him to rest a hand at her waist.
A small price to pay.
She kept the inviting smirk on her lips.
“What does it seem?” she said, voice barely a breath, tilting her head just to one side, exposing the length of her throat. He took the bait and bent his face to her neck, inhaling all that he was infatuated with, all that was above his station.
“It seems he intends to flee Bristol with your sister.”
It was not news a body wanted to hear when some man, a servant, was brushing his lips under one’s jawline. Judith curled her lip in disgust, though the coachman didn’t see it.
Somehow, it hadn’t come as a surprise. Rowland Graves was a determined man. Perhaps not so much as Judith Barlow, he might soon discover. There was no possible way she could allow him to leave with Elinor.
She schooled herself into an appropriate veneer of feminine surrender as the male body she’d tempted pressed more fully against her. The hand that had been at her waist had now found its way into her hair. The coachman would do anything she asked, as long as he continued to believe he had a chance.
The things I put up with! Is he … is he hard? Heaven, give me patience.
“Is that all, David?” Her voice was still a honeyed purr, betraying none of her inner irritation.
“No.” His lips had moved to the top of her shoulder, and she shrugged, nudging his mouth away so he would finish his thought. The knave was bold now, and undeterred, but he spoke all the same between kisses at her collar bone. “I think … he may be planning … to kill you.”
There it was. Judith didn’t care what the coachman kissed now. She knew this had been coming, as well, and the last of her suspicions were forming together.
Once or twice she’d seen it. Doctor Rowland Graves had that singular, subtle dark flash in his eye. The sort that, if a person knew what they were seeing, spoke of a man who was capable of unspeakable things. Likely no one would have noticed it aside from Judith. She knew the look all too well. It stared back at her each day in the mirror.
She sighed. It was about time to push the eager David away from her again. His hands were becoming a bit too free.
Her sister wasn’t meant for Rowland Graves, a fact the man hardly seemed to realise. Perhaps it was time for Judith to stop being … subtle.
* * * *
“What do you want, Judith?”
“To speak with you, Sister.”
“If you must,” Elinor said, a cold, stubborn tilt to her jaw as she sat still for the busy hands and heated tongs of her maid. The servant buzzed about, curling and piling up golden hair on top of her head in preparation for the evening’s festivities.
“Might it be in private?” she asked, eyeing the hovering maidservant.
Her younger sister narrowed her eyes in the mirror and gave an irritated sigh so pointed, it nearly ended in a growl.
“Very well,” she said, and turned to the maid who had stepped back, curling tongs still in hand. “Hope, will you please leave us?”
The girl graced her mistress with a nod and scuttled out of the room. Her quick steps said she was eager to remove herself when lightning all but crackled in the air between both sisters the way it did now.
When the door closed behind her, Elinor turned on the low stool where she sat to face Judith, arching a brow in her direction.
And we begin.
“I know about you and Doctor Graves,” Judith said.
To her credit, Elinor actually sneered at her. Sneered! It seemed her sister might be growing a backbone after all these years.
“Of course you do!” Elinor said. “Do you imagine me blind? I know you spoke to Father. I know it was you behind those awful rumours that cost Doctor Graves his professorship. And now I’m stuck in this ridiculous engagement, and his career is lost! Just what do you believe you’re playing at?” She appraised Judith from top to bottom as she said these words, as if she weren’t sure who she was addressing.
“Sister, I—”
“Don’t call me that! You are not my sister!”
Judith ground her teeth. This was to be expected. She pushed on.
“I am only looking out for your well-being,” she said, taking a supplicating step towards the angry, quivering woman sitting before her. “Doctor Graves is … well, he’s … he’s taking advantage of you! Don’t you see? The things he’s convinced you to do? Unwed? The man is a scoundrel, Elinor. You’re far too good for him.”
“A scoundrel!” her sister cried, gripping fistfuls of her dressing gown in her dainty hands, pale blue eyes blazing. “How dare you! After all the lies you’ve told! The deceptions! Perhaps you should place such names on yourself!”
“I was trying to protect you!”
Soon. We’re very close now to the break.
“Protect me from what? Love?” Elinor stood up, knocking the stool over in her fury. “I love him! Simply because you haven’t found love doesn’t mean I should be kept from it!”
Her sister had stepped close into Judith’s space, her face red and eyes flashing. The elder Barlow sister made her features impassive and said nothing.
Wait for it …
“You must …” Elinor began again, her voice quavering this time, “You must hate me to have done these things! Well it won’t matter, Judith. Tonight is the last you’ll be forced to see the one you loathe so much. I’m leaving! We’re leaving. Doctor Graves will find me at the masquerade and we’ll be gone! We’ll marry elsewhere and you won’t have to look at either of us ever again!”
There we go. Take hold of the wheel, Judith. It’s time to steer this ship …
The impassioned speech had left her younger sister’s face striped with hot tears and her voice broken. Judith took a step back, and lowered her tone to that of quiet shock.
“You … you love him?”
“Of course I do!”
The abrupt change in the conversation’s flavour was too much for Elinor, and she collapsed onto the rug under buckling knees and a stream of new tears. “Of course I do, you fool,” she repeated, sobbing quietly, her gaze on the floor now.
Judith sank to the carpet with her.
“Elinor, I didn’t know,” she said, voice quieted now, taking up her sister’s limp hand. “I thought … well … you’re only twenty-two, and he’s two years older than I am. I simply thought he was trying to get what all men want, and acting the knave with you. I didn’t want you to be hurt.”
The sound of her pleading sincerity was impressive, she thought, though there was no time for self-congratulation just yet. Her sister sniffled and met her eyes, red-rimmed blue to deep brown in the afternoon light. Judith pressed on.
“Sister, I’m sorry. I truly wanted what was best. For you to be happy.”
It seemed Elinor’s expression softened for a moment, before she wiped at an eye with the back of her hand.
“I’m still leaving, you know,” she said, sniffling, eyes on their joined hands. “Father will never allow me to marry him now.”
Judith let out a weak laugh. “I know. I know you are.”
“This will be goodbye, then,” her sister said, looking back up at her.
Now.
“Elinor, why would you think Father would let you leave the masquerade? He’ll have his eyes on you all night. An engaged young woman? Unchaperoned? You won’t make it out of his sight. He was there
when the seamstress delivered the gowns—he knows to keep an eye on the dove for the evening.”
“But I must leave tonight!” Elinor tightened her grip, a pleasing note of desperation in her voice. “Doctor Graves has it all arranged! He’ll have a carriage waiting. I don’t think there will be another chance!”
Judith shifted her weight. Sitting this way on the floor was growing uncomfortable.
Give it to her. Give her hope.
“Sister,” she said, as if a thought had just occurred to her, “Father will be watching a dove all night.”
Elinor blinked at her, uncomprehending.
“He won’t be paying nearly as much attention to a fox.”
Blue eyes grew round.
“Judith …” she said, in a tone of both wonder and accusation.
“Yes! People mistake us for one another all the time if they haven’t seen our faces! Do you remember when Henry tried to give you a fright on Christmas Eve, but it was me he started and I nearly fell down the stairs? And then you came up from behind him just then and he did fall? You’d think he saw a ghost!”
Elinor was giggling now at the memory of their witless cousin and his attempt at a jest. This was good.
“Elinor if you wear my gown and fox mask, and I dress the part of the dove, Father will have his eyes on me and not you. You’ll be able to slip away, I’m sure of it!”
She watched her excitement spread to her sister, but it faded back into a frown in a heartbeat.
“But if I’m wearing your gown, how will Doctor Graves find me? I told him I’d be dressed in grey, as a dove.”