Beauty's Doom

by Christina Britton Conroy

  Elly gratefully reached her arms around his neck. “Thank you. Oh, thank you … for everything.”

  He squeezed his arms around her tiny waist. Tears filled his eyes. Embarrassed, he kissed her forehead, waved a hand and hurried out the door. “Carry on, ladies.”

  Ned gave him a thumbs-up, before he disappeared down the hall.

  Mary waited for instructions. Elly’s face was a sombre mask. “Thank you Mary, that will be all.” The maid hesitated, then swallowed a sob and quickly left the room.

  Ned leaned against the door frame, fascinated as Elly methodically checked her prison garb. Wan and willowy, her graceful economy of movement became like a silent ballet. Finally satisfied, she stopped moving and stared at her clothes.

  Ned paused before breaking the perfect stillness. “My God you’re brave.”

  “You think so? I feel like a jelly about to melt.” She slowly eased onto the loveseat.

  He sat next to her. “You’re handling this very well … better than your young man.”

  She looked startled. “What young man?”

  “I meant Rory. I almost forgot about Robert Dennison. Why isn’t he here?”

  Unable to lie convincingly, she looked away. “We’ve drifted apart. So, what happened to Rory.”

  “I asked him to stay, but he wouldn’t break his stupid oath. He said, ‘She doesn’t need a bloke who can’t keep his word.’”

  She closed her eyes. “He’s honourable.”

  “To a fault.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Exhausted, she sat back and sighed. “Nothing matters anymore.”

  “Everything matters.” He tenderly took her hands. “You’re eighteen years old. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you. You’ve got family you’ve never even met, friends who adore you, a budding career in the theatre, books to read, artworks to see, music to hear, a whole world to visit …”

  “Stop it, please.” She stood up, then sat back down as her head spun.

  “You’ve eaten almost nothing, today. Let me get you something.”

  “For God’s sake, Ned. You’re trying to be kind and it’s killing me. This time tomorrow I’ll be in prison. God knows what horrors await me there.”

  “But darling, the way Rory described it …”

  “That was hearsay. Rory’s never been inside. I’ve heard they beat prisoners.” She stifled a sob.

  “We’ve all read ghastly stories, but always about convicts, never about prisoners awaiting trial.”

  “And what if I’m convicted?”

  “You must stop thinking that way. You’ll drive yourself mad.”

  “You’re right.” She found a handkerchief and blew her nose.

  He forced out, “Next summer, at Hereford Castle, you will see the most beautiful rose garden in the …”

  She shook her head. “All I can see are chains and rats and …”

  “Damn it, Elly!” He silenced her, squeezing her in a hard embrace.

  Starving for affection, she buried her face in his chest. He kissed the top of her head, inhaling rosewater perfume from her hair. After a few moments, she looked up. Tears rolled down her cheeks. He bent, lightly kissing them away. She looked up and he kissed her lips. When she reached for more, he kissed her again, then gently pulled away. “Let’s not do something idiotic …” he wiped away her tears, “… something we’ll regret, later.”

  “I may not have a ‘later’.”

  “Of course you will.”

  She sat back. “Mr O’Connell’s sure I’ll be acquitted.”

  “So am I.”

  “What if I’m not?”

  “Just keep thinking that you will be.”

  “And will thinking make it so?” He started to answer and she raised her hands to stop him. “Ned … darling, Ned.” Her voice was barely audible. “Can you be a perfect big brother, stay silent, and listen to me for just a minute.”

  The blood left his cheeks. “Of course. I’m sorry.” He sat back, giving her space.

  Enjoying the stillness, she closed her eyes and breathed deeply. When she spoke, her voice was low, her words carefully measured. “Everyone seems to forget that I killed a man.”

  Ned’s heart jumped, but he remained still.

  “No matter what pretty story we all invent, the truth remains. The jury may find me guilty and I may go to prison.” She swallowed. “If I go to prison, I shall never be the same.” She forced herself to breathe. “I shall be locked away for years. People will forget me, or pretend that they never knew me. The scandal to your family will be terrible. When I’m released, I may be old.” Tears filled her eyes.

  Although desperate to reassure her, Ned kept silent. His breathing was fast and shallow.

  She paused before continuing. “You kissed me, just now.” She smiled through her tears. “It was very sweet. You won’t want to kiss me if I’m old and ugly.” She wiped her eyes. “While I’m locked away, you’ll marry and start a family. Rory will marry. In time, he may even have his own theatre.”

  Longing to touch her, Ned forced his hands into fists and crossed his arms.

  “I may never see Isabelle’s twins … not before they’re grown.”

  He clenched his jaw. “Elly, I can’t stand any more of—”

  “But I’ll still be rich. Even an old woman can find a husband … if she’s rich”

  “Stop it, Elly! This is madness. You’re creating the worst possible outcome.”

  “You’re right. I am.” She sat up straight, placing her hands in her lap. “Thank you for listening to me. I needed to speak my fears.”

  “Now that the words are spoken, can you exorcise them?”

  Her eyes widened and she smiled. “Is that what Hereford women do? It sounds like witchcraft.”

  “Hereford women can do anything. Whether you believe it or not, I believe your grandmother was my mother’s sister, and you’re a Hereford woman.”

  She looked up curiously. “I believe Isabelle can do anything. She says your mother taught her everything she knows.”

  “She did.” He pushed back his thick auburn hair and smiled. She smiled back and he sighed with relief.

  The clock struck 5 o’clock and he stood up. “We should do something special, tonight. What would you like to do?”

  “That’s so kind …” she laughed appreciatively, “… but I have letters to write. They won’t allow me …”

  “I’ll bring stationery every day and take the letters when I leave. What else would you like to do?”

  She shrugged, smiling sadly.

  He laughed and spread his arms. “We’re in the greatest city in the world. We’re young and rich …”

  She whispered half-heartedly, “I’ve never been to the opera.”

  “That’s perfect.” He sprung to his feet. “If we hurry, we can catch an early dinner at Romano’s, go to Covent Garden, and have supper at the Savoy.”

  She looked up in dismay. “I’m not serious. I wouldn’t have the strength. Besides, I don’t have a chaperone.”

  “Are we seriously going to worry about that, tonight?”

  Elly stared in disbelief as he rang for the maid. She appeared in seconds.

  “Mary, dress your mistress like a princess. We’re going to the opera.”

  ****

  La Traviata was enchanting. Verdi’s glorious music, and Violetta’s devastating heartbreak transported Elly far away from her own troubles. The Savoy’s festive elegance and delicious food pushed thoughts of dungeons far back in her mind. It was after 2 a.m. when the car approached the Hamilton Place mansion. Like Cinderella at midnight, the gaiety melted from Elly’s heart. Fears flooded her mind. Even at this hour, newspapermen followed them from the carriage to the house.

  Ned escorted her upstairs to her room. He reached for the bell-pull and Elly stopped him. “Please don’t. It’s so late. Mary has to be up in a couple of hours. Let her sleep.” She stood in the middle of the room, looking at her neat packets of prison clothes, and the pl
ain woollen frock hanging on the wardrobe door.

  Ned’s face was full of worry. “Will you be able to sleep?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” She laughed with a quiet hysteria. “I’ll have lots of time to sleep after tonight.”

  “Be that as it may, tomorrow will be harder if you’re not feeling well.” His chest felt tight. “Shall I brew you an opium lettuce tea?”

  Elly remembered the soothing brew Isabelle had given her after the abduction. “Oh, yes, please. That would be perfect, but Isabelle locks up all her herbs.”

  He smiled impishly. “I know where she hides the key. I’ll be right back.” He started for the door.

  “Ned.”

  He turned back.

  “It was a glorious evening.” Her smile was radiant.

  “It was, wasn’t it.” He smiled and sighed with relief.

  “Whatever happens … after tomorrow. I shall never forget tonight. Never.” She held out her arms and he gently embraced her.

  He loosened his hold. “I’ll fetch your tea.” Stepping away, his hand brushed against a row of buttons along her back. “Can you get out of that gown by yourself?”

  She reached an awkward hand behind her. “Actually, no.” She made a face. “Would you mind?”

  He chuckled agreeably as she turned around, presenting him with a row of two dozen tiny satin buttons caught in delicate loops of heavy thread. The gown was cut low, so the top button was between her shoulder blades. He took his time undoing the buttons, exposing each new half inch of pristine white flesh. Under the heavy satin, a camisole of fine silk and lace fit snuggly against her skin. When the gown was open almost to her hip, her smooth shoulders bare and inviting, he stepped back, allowing his eyes to linger. “You can manage the rest. I’ll get your tea.” He was gone.

  When he returned, she sat at her dressing table, brushing her hair. A pink flannel nightdress was buttoned to her neck. He set down a mug of steaming brew. “You look like a child.” He ran his fingers through her long, soft hair. “This is glorious.”

  “I washed it this morning.” She took the tea, inhaling the pungent aroma. “Heaven knows when I’ll be able to wash it again.” She drank deeply, gratefully.

  Pulling his fingers to the very ends of her hair, he let it cascade like a pile of feathers. “You’ll wash it when you’re home, again. In two weeks.”

  Her face was tense with worry. “Do you think it will be only two weeks?”

  “I’m sure of it.”

  Knowing the drug worked quickly, he eased her into bed, and covered her with a fluffy duvet. He knelt beside her and spoke in low soothing tones. “You know those opium leaves come from mother’s herb garden.”

  “Do they really?” Her eyelids were heavy.

  “It’s the most wonderful place in the world.” She smiled, so he continued. “When I was a small boy, I’d go missing and the servants would find me asleep in the herb garden. The aromas were so inviting, I couldn’t stay away. Also, the divas pulled me in. They loved me. They still do.”

  Her voice was barely audible, “You mean the fairy divas?”

  “Of course.”

  She giggled sleepily. “There’s no such things as fairies.”

  “Oh, don’t let them hear you say that. They’ll be very cross.” He waited.

  Her breathing was deep and even, a slight smile on her lips.

  He whispered. “Good night, my angel. God protect you.” Standing silently, he lowered the gaslight and left the room. Back in his own suite, he collapsed onto the bed. “Dear God, she must be acquitted. She must.”

  The next day’s Illustrated London News reported:

  ‘Last night, London’s most eligible bachelor, Mr Edward Hereford, escorted his beautiful young cousin, the actress Miss Elly Fielding, to La Traviata at Covent Garden. Later, the couple was seen supping at the Savoy. Although Miss Fielding may soon be arrested for the murder of her fiancée, the couple seemed to be in high spirits …’

  Late the next morning, Elly woke from a lovely deep sleep. Stretching luxuriously, she yawned and chuckled to herself. Ned was such a silly – fairy divas indeed. What’s the time? Her searching eyes saw the navy-blue frock and cardigan, hanging on her wardrobe door. Dear God, this is the day. Her imagination traded images of frolicking fairies for prison bars. She sat up, pulled the bell-chord, and waited for Mary.

  After an extra-long bath, Elly pulled on the two pairs of underclothing. Mary had trouble gartering the double stockings. Elly stepped into the old school frock and cardigan, and let Mary brush her hair.

  Sitting at her dressing table, Elly closed her eyes, imagining her own fingers running through Robert Dennison’s soft brown hair. She remembered his sweet kiss, and the brush of his soft moustache. Feeling his beautiful hard cock thrusting inside her, she crossed her arms and legs. Would she ever feel that again? The last time they spoke on the telephone, he had begged to see her. Refusing him felt like tearing her insides out. Today, she felt proud. She had kept him away from the reporters. God willing, she had kept him safe.

  The moment Rory had learned of Elly’s arrest, he wired Sam Smelling in Cornwall. The journalist dropped his investigation and caught the first train to London. He arrived at the house as everyone was gathering for a late lunch. Elly flew downstairs to greet him. “Thank you, Sam. Thank you for coming back.”

  He caught her in his arms. “Thank Rory for wiring me.” He looked around. “Where is he?”

  She shook her head. “It’s a long story.”

  He struck a silly pose. “Well, visiting you in prison will give me a really great story.” She laughed gratefully. Beneath his shaggy brown forelock, his eyes looked very concerned. “Oh, my sweet girl.” He hugged her again. “What a terrible mess.”

  They joined Sir William and Ned in a small dining room. Sam nervously entertained with stories about incompetent thieves. “Can you believe it? They stole monogrammed silverware, and traded pieces for food and lodging, all the way up the coast. Following them was easier than Hansel and Gretel’s breadcrumbs.” Everyone laughed. Servants poured wine, and served a sumptuous meal of thinly sliced roast veal and truffles. Elly had no appetite, but made herself swallow as much as she could.

  She tried not to watch the grandfather clock, ticking away seconds, pushing the hands ever closer to 3 o’clock. Sam continued, “The local constable was a funny little guy with a great appetite for the local brew. Lucky for him, every landlord along the way had a piece of the silver collection. We always had a good excuse for a thirst-quenching interview. We knew we were close when a dairymaid delivered butter in a silver monogrammed punchbowl.”

  Everyone started to laugh, then stopped, as the Westminster chime sounded its four phrase tune, ending with a low, resonant gonggg … Servants and masters froze … gonggg … A footman nearly dropped his tray … gonggg … No one moved. Time seemed suspended. Glasses and plates seemed to hang in midair.

  Elly’s hands trembled as she folded her napkin, set it carefully aside, tightened the combs in her hair, and smoothed her navy-blue skirt. “This shouldn’t show the dirt.”

  Ned stretched nervously. “When you’re back here in two weeks, we’ll burn it.”

  Sir William snorted, “We can stuff it, like Guy Fawkes.”

  Everyone was so surprised he made a joke, they laughed long and loud. Even the servants joined in, grateful to relieve their tension.

  Elly looked out the window. A light drizzle clouded the glass. “Rory didn’t say if I’d have glass in my cell window. Perhaps the rain will come in.” She hugged herself and shivered.

  Ned’s heart ached. “I’ll come every day. Anything you need …”

  She smiled appreciatively. “He said I wouldn’t be allowed to keep anything.” Fidgeting with his pocket watch, Sir William moved to the window, staring out toward Green Park. “They’re not very prompt, are they? His Majesty’s finest.”

  Ned shifted uncomfortably. “Any more stories, Sam? We need another laugh.”

>   “I heard a funny story about a Cornish pasty man …” Sam dived into an involved, overlong tale. No one cared enough to follow the plot, but everyone was grateful Sam was taking up the time. Minutes ticked by. The strain grew. Elly felt torn between the impossible hope they were not coming, and the longing to end her torturous waiting.

  It was another half-hour before the constables arrived. The loud clang of the door knocker announced the dreaded moment. From childhood, Elly had been trained to hide her emotions. Now, she drew on that training.

  Sam pretended to be all business. “I’ll visit you tomorrow morning, early as they’ll let me in.”

  Ned took the cue. “And I’ll be there in the afternoon. I promise.”

  The servants faked cheerful smiles, saying they looked forward to her returning in two weeks. No one said, “Goodbye.” Unpinning her comedy and tragedy mask broach, she put it into Sir William’s hand. “Please keep this for me.” She clung to him as he awkwardly kissed her forehead.

  Not wishing to prolong the agony, Elly led the way downstairs to the foyer. The elder of the two constables, short and stocky with grizzled muttonchops, his hat tucked under his arm, looked past Elly, to her guardian. “Good day, sir.” Nodding politely, he held out a document. “We’ve got a warrant ’ere for the arrest of Elisa Roundtree, also known as Elly Fielding.”

  “I am the lady.” Elly stopped at the foot of the stairs, bracing herself on the handrail.

  Sir William walked past her, took the document, and glanced over it. “This seems to be in order.”

  Sam swooped the paper away from him, studying it line by line.

  The constable nodded and smiled. “We’ll see the young lady arrives safely. Won’ let ’er melt in the rain. She’s safe with us.”

  Sir William scowled. “I should hope she will be safe.”

  The other officer, tall and young with the scruffy beginning of a beard, reached into the pocket of his greatcoat. “Time to go, Miss.” He pulled out a pair of shackles.

  Elly burst into tears.

  “A word, gentlemen,” Sir William pulled the constables aside and pressed gold coins into their palms. The shackles disappeared from view.