“Nonsense! Lucy would agree.”
My cheeks burning, I shifted in my seat, thankful the money had not, in fact, been advanced by the man in question, and glad that I had refused his similar offer yesterday. Unease pricked me as I recalled her ladyship’s statement that we’d be working outside society’s confines. For the first time I considered the darker gossip whispered about how Lady Foxmore’s matches were achieved.
In the foolishness of youth, I suddenly grew angry at everyone else for placing me in such a precarious situation.
“Julia.” Elizabeth tugged on my skirt, breaking my thoughts. From her expectant expression, I gathered she’d been speaking.
“No, leave her be.” Mrs. Windham pulled me from my chair and then escorted me to the door. “Have your lady’s maid make a list. Not to mince the matter, but such an offer will never come along again. Accordingly, we shall make the most of it. What would you like for breakfast tomorrow? I daresay you haven’t touched a bite of food all afternoon. Think up tomorrow’s menu. Have whatever you like.”
It was several minutes before I managed to stumble from the room, escaping them. I felt as out of sorts as when I made the decision to conceal Mama’s suicide. If Mrs. Windham, who cared about me, encouraged such behavior, then what would Lady Foxmore expect?
I pulled my shawl tighter as I ducked into my chamber.
Alone, I sank to the hearthstone and turned my gaze outdoors. Yet why did I care? What were morals except what society made them? Had not my father railed against this very thing? Was I not free?
Languish about for an Auburn, indeed, I thought, clutching Mama’s locket. My entire life had been spent hoping someone would pull me from my fate. And where had it gotten me?
I knew, in that moment, I’d reached an epoch. Mrs. Windham was right. No more would I try to be biddable, sweet, and compliant, as young ladies ought. If I truly believed myself free with an unhappy fate awaiting me, then I would fight back at all costs.
I kept isolated the remainder of the day, not wanting to know whether Elizabeth had tattled the day’s events to Henry. Later I learned she had not. Unaware that Edward had cut our ties, she deemed he’d never forgive such a step on my part and kept the news to herself.
When dusk trickled into darkness, Nancy came to undress me. I carefully studied her face as she extracted my hairpins and unbuttoned the back of my gown. I wanted to gauge the servants’ opinion on the matter. Nancy, however, carried out her duties with a blank expression, as if unconscious I’d planned my own social demise.
It wasn’t until she slid my nightgown over my head that she finally spoke of the matter.
“Ye must not allow Mrs. Windham to oversee thy new wardrobe. She buys from th’ Mallory sisters. I knows a needlewoman that will sew thy gowns for half th’ price an’ finish ’em right early too.”
I gave a skeptical laugh. “How could your needlewoman possibly finish a gown in less time than someone in the trade?”
“’Cause many are starving here, so she’ll hire out to have th’ gowns before th’ Mallory sisters can.”
I lifted my hair as she buttoned me up. “Then why don’t the Mallory sisters just hire out?”
“’Cause th’ cottagers won’t work for ’em.”
Surprised at the vehemence in Nancy’s voice, I turned. Generally, her expressions were bossy or full of self-assurance, but now something far stronger evidenced itself. “Why?”
A sullen look crossed her face, as if she debated telling me. “’Cause they obey Lady Foxmore’s orders on th’ doings of th’ village. ’Tis better to starve than work with some.”
“I rather disagree with that.” I rubbed my arms against the chill as I considered Scotland. “You are aware, aren’t you, of my association with her ladyship?”
The corner of her mouth lifted, as if she thought me a fool. “Aye.”
I waited as she shook out my dress, but no further explanation came. “Well, then? Why speak ill of her to me?”
She looked at me as if I were daft. “Someone gats to warn thee.”
“You forget—” I started brushing my hair—“I’ve already met her, which is warning enough.”
Wondering how I’d gotten into a discussion with this maid to begin with, I turned, intending to order her to silence, when she did something extraordinary.
Instead of just shoving my dress into the closet, she opened the shutters and hung it in the light of the moon. She set a fluttering candle on the window ledge, then squatted before my gown, lifted its hem to her nose, and proceeded to squint over every inch, slowly working her way around and up. She rubbed a damp rag over places in which nothing appeared wrong. She sprinkled powder, which she’d kept tucked in her apron, to deodorize and then effectively removed all traces of it. Equal attention was paid to my shoes. The scent of sweet oil and vinegar filled the room as she rubbed her homemade potion where my toe had stretched the material white.
These are simple, everyday household duties, but what made it extraordinary was that none of this was required of Nancy. To her, I was an additional burden—one for which she received no compensation. No one would have blamed her if she’d just hung my dress and raced downstairs to enjoy the only hour of freedom servants are given.
It touched me. For the first time since Mama died, someone took pains over me. Inwardly, a rush of emotions threatened to unmake me, like a brook gurgling to be free beneath its sheet of winter ice. It affected me so greatly, my mouth trembled as she pulled a bottle of blacking and incorporated it into the worn areas of my shoes.
I watched motionless, feeling the cool evening air drift through the room as I realized that since my arrival, she’d re-dyed my faded dresses, making the patches less noticeable, and had even remade one of my bonnets.
Until now, I’d just assumed she’d been ordered to, perhaps by the housekeeper.
“Nancy,” I said, then stopped for my voice shook.
She’d been so absorbed in her work, she blinked as though waking from a deep slumber before looking at me.
I turned my gaze to the fire, for I did not wish her to know that she’d touched me. “Be truthful. If I allowed your help in commissioning a new wardrobe, would you honestly know what you were doing?”
“Aye.” Her voice contained her smile. “I knows th’ merchants better than th’ missus, and where th’ best bits and bats are.”
I stared harder at the flames devouring the coals. “All right, then; tomorrow I’ll arrange for you to assist with my wardrobe. Now I want silence. My head hurts.”
I averted my eyes, not watching as she made haste to finish, for I could not afford to feel again. There was still much to do to secure my future.
As Nancy promised, within a fortnight, an entire wardrobe miraculously had been completed and was cabbaged in my room. Nancy surpassed my skill with her choices of color, trim, and accessories. The necklines she insisted upon revealed more, yet gave me a thin, delicate appearance. High waistlines accentuated my slender figure. Thick, pleated brocade skirts expanded in full circles to the floor, making me feel prominent and lovely all at once.
Every morning, however, I clad myself in crepe. Nancy silently protested by styling my hair into a simple chignon, making me look as haggard as my clothing. Mrs. Windham was worse.
From dawn till dusk, she followed me, fussing that I still dressed in rags. She’d scold, asking what Mr. Greenham would think. She’d chide me for not taking her nerves into consideration.
I knew eventually I’d have to wear the new gowns. The first half of the task was over. The money had been spent. I had disobeyed my guardian. I had given myself into her ladyship’s care. Now, I only needed to complete the transition, and that harrowed me, for I had no idea what she planned. Thankfully the matter came to a head quickly. It started with footsteps clattering down the flagstone hall during our tea hour.
Our fare was simple that day, tea and scones, as the housekeeper was busy scraping the grates and inspecting the chimneys in prep
aration for the winter months. It was with great surprise, therefore, that the door flung open and Hannah burst in, wisps of hair stuck to her sooty face. “Mr. Greenham is dismounting in the stable yard!”
Elizabeth dropped her scone and stared in disbelief.
“Girls! Oh, oh!” Mrs. Windham beat the air with her hands. “Julia, why oh why aren’t you wearing at least one of your new dresses, the pretty one with bouffant sleeves. Oh, for heaven’s sake, where’s your common sense? Smile. He’s going to propose and you look as grave and as ugly as a mustard pot.”
Heart pounding, I allowed Mrs. Windham to pull me to my feet. Panic clutched at my chest, cutting off my breath. I never imagined Mr. Greenham would condescend to call on Am Meer.
I looked at Elizabeth, but she, too, appeared at a loss.
“Hurry! To the drawing room.” Mrs. Windham seized my arm. The housekeeper squeezed tightly against the wall to prevent the soot on her clothing from touching us. Mrs. Windham kept a firm pace and we nearly tumbled into the chamber.
“There, Elizabeth. Sit there, by the chimney nook.” Mrs. Windham scurried to her sewing basket. “No, Julia, the fireside chair. Leave him the davenport. He shall have an excellent view of you sitting in the sun. Not sewing—a book, a book. Pretend you are reading to us. The red one. ’Tis love sonnets.”
I seized the volume and dropped to my seat. My fingers shook so much they scarcely managed to open the pages. Now that the deed was upon me, I felt ready to burst into tears. It was sheer madness. What if Lady Foxmore planned to match me with Mr. Greenham? What if he expected favors?
Mrs. Windham flung white material at Elizabeth and pulled out my fancy embroidery work for herself. Her chest heaving, she motioned me to read. With a choking voice, I faltered through a few lines. Surely, I reasoned, Mr. Greenham—melancholy as he was—wouldn’t make that sort of demand upon me. Hadn’t he promised that day at tea, nothing of that sort would be required of me? Besides, he knew I was looking for a husband, not a private arrangement! A lump swelled in my throat, growing so thick I paused.
“Read,” Mrs. Windham hissed. She possessed neither needle nor thread but made the motions, pretending to sew.
I obeyed and stammered through another half a verse.
The door opened and the housekeeper entered. Though her face was streaked with soot and perspiration, she dipped with seemliness. “Mr. Greenham, ma’am.”
Mrs. Windham looked up. “Ah, do show him in, Hannah.”
The wood-beamed ceiling was so low, Mr. Greenham was obliged to remained stooped.
Mrs. Windham rose and spread her arms. “Mr. Greenham! What a welcome surprise. How devilish to give no hint you planned to call.”
“Madam.” He bowed. His face was stone, lacking his usual brooding. Some unyielding determination braced him.
Elizabeth noted it too, for she raised her eyebrows at me, but I couldn’t read the strange twist.
“Please, sit.” Mrs. Windham gestured to the davenport. “I am certain Julia will not mind entertaining you alone a moment. Come, Elizabeth, we shall find Hannah and instruct her to bring tea.”
A frown stretched over Elizabeth’s brow as I silently pleaded with her not to leave.
“I fear I cannot, Mama.” She lifted her right foot. “My foot is numbed from sitting too long.”
“You will do as I bid!”
“But I cannot.” Elizabeth pointed anew to her foot and made her voice sound near tears. “I tell you, I cannot. I’ll fall if I try to walk.”
Her face turning purple, Mrs. Windham screwed her mouth shut, but I suspected she understood Elizabeth’s resolve not to budge. “Of all the selfish things for your foot to do! I expect you to join me the minute it awakens.”
She banged the door shut.
If Mr. Greenham found the exchange strange, he gave no hint but took a seat, making him appear more ill-suited to the room than Gulliver amongst the Lilliputians. His long legs, though bent, extended over the footstool and came to rest on the center of the mottled rug. His melton waistcoat and dark woollen suit stood out amongst the white doilies and mantel scarf. He clutched his whip and hat.
I sat stiff, too dry-mouthed to speak. Elizabeth fared no better. After a great length of time, made longer by our awkwardness, Mrs. Windham returned, glowering at Elizabeth. Harry followed with a tray of tea and the pear bread.
Mrs. Windham settled into her chair as Harry left the room, motioning for Elizabeth to distribute tea. “Now look over my table, Mr. Greenham. If you can think of but one morsel that would make it more complete, Elizabeth and I both shall walk to the village to fetch it if necessary.” With a knowing smile, she leaned forward. “Julia, I am certain, can entertain you well enough alone. Now look carefully. You have only to name an item.”
For half a moment, I feared I might faint. I gripped the chair arm, refusing to believe this was happening.
Mr. Greenham’s eyes flickered in my direction, and then to my relief, he gave Mrs. Windham a look of disgust before taking a long draft of tea.
“I have come,” he finally said, “as a favor to Lady Foxmore. This morning I received correspondence from Mr. Macy. He desires us at Eastbourne. Her ladyship wants Miss Elliston as her companion. Will you give her leave?”
I felt color drain from my face as I envisioned myself removed from Am Meer’s safety.
Mrs. Windham fumbled her teacup. “Only Julia!” Then she gave a wooden smile. “Perhaps Lady Foxmore is unaware, but Julia is in my care. I fear I cannot . . . Though perhaps if I went myself to keep an eye on her . . .” Mrs. Windham tilted her head, looking pointedly at her tea. “A-and of course, I’d need to bring Elizabeth.”
Mr. Greenham tapped his long fingers on his teacup, giving her one of his rare second glances. “It could be arranged,” he said slowly. “Only let us make sure we clearly understand one another. Lady Foxmore alone shall have full charge of Miss Elliston.”
Mrs. Windham soured, whether because she finally realized the precariousness of my situation or because she disliked the idea of Lady Foxmore boosting my interests over Elizabeth’s, I couldn’t tell. She wet her lips. “I fear her guardian is particular. I am not certain—”
“Never mind then.” Mr. Greenham made movement to rise. “Forgive me for not staying longer, but my time is stretched.”
“What I mean—” Mrs. Windham placed her hand on his arm—“is that I’m certain her guardian would have no objections to Lady Foxmore, providing I was on hand . . . to . . . to consult, if her ladyship had questions.”
“But not to interfere with her ladyship’s methods, correct?”
For once, Mrs. Windham was stunned into silence, giving only a small nod of agreement.
He stared at her the way a man might look upon his overdrawn bankbook, then turned to me. The intensity in his eyes startled me. “Do you understand and agree, Miss Elliston?”
When I was twelve, Mama and I used to pass an enclosed bull on our way to the market. The way he’d lower his head, eyeing us, pawing the ground, used to send tingles up through my spine, though Mama hushed me if I commented upon it.
Something about Mr. Greenham’s bearing, the strain of his jaw, the whiteness of his knuckles, made me feel that the wrong answer would be the equivalent of setting that bull free.
I nodded.
A look of embarrassment crossed his face before he looked at the floor. “And your new wardrobe is ready? Yes?”
“Yes.” Mrs. Windham recovered. “And I assure you, it is the most elegant—”
“Good. We leave at cockcrow tomorrow, wind and weather permitting.”
“Tomorrow?” Mrs. Windham fanned herself with her hand. “But that’s scarcely enough time to ready our dresses and set our affairs in order. Can we not leave the day after?”
Instead of answering, he set his remaining tea aside and gathered his belongings.
He left so abruptly we’d scarcely found our feet before he reached the door. Mrs. Windham managed to raise a handkerchief. �
�Well, ah . . . adieu.”
The door clapped shut.
No one spoke or moved until the sound of hooves filled the stable yard; then Mrs. Windham jolted back to life. “Hannah!” she screamed, rushing into the hall. “Oh, what do you think! Lady Foxmore wishes to introduce Elizabeth! We must pack.”
I set my tea aside and rested my forehead in the palms of my hands. Gratitude welled that thus far nothing had been required of me. When I looked up, I found Elizabeth, pale as a ghost, watching.
“What did he mean?” she asked. “I thought him about to tear down the house with his bare hands. What did you just agree to?”
Rather than admit I was uncertain, I shrugged. “You worry too much.”
She clamped her mouth shut, and I saw the steely glint of dissatisfaction in her eye.
That afternoon I wrote my guardian, in order to feign innocence if he learned about the trip. Penning the note, however, proved harder than anticipated as he’d strictly forbidden me to travel.
While I bit the edge of an ebony pen, Nancy lined my trunks, her face red from exertion. Her lips moved as she counted and recounted my new dresses. Down the hall, Mrs. Windham loudly bemoaned the fact that Elizabeth had no worthy gowns and there wasn’t time to commission new ones, and for heaven’s sake go ask to borrow mine, as I was supposed to be in mourning regardless. Elizabeth, it appeared, was flatly refusing to.
I dipped the nib in ink, finally deciding to state that I obediently remained in the safekeeping of Mrs. Windham while she took a brief excursion to visit a friend.
Ink smudged the edges as I pressed blotting paper over the note, then closed it. I tapped the folded page against my knuckles. If I were lucky, my solicitor would only glance at the letter and not bother to forward it.
“By gum,” Nancy said, stretching the kinks from her back, “I can’t see how thou’ll do dressing yourself. Does thou want instructions for these here gowns?”
“Instructions?”
“Aye, which dresses go with which accessories and suchlike.”
Born of Persuasion Page 10