My throat constricted as I nodded my thanks. Then, wanting to move past how vulnerable I felt, I said, “Wait. You said the bridge was rotted by the time you were ten. Why that age? Did you actually try to cross it?”
Jameson gave me a sly smile. “Yes, and lucky for me Winthrop was home from university and was able to pull me from the rapids. Though I was half-drowned, he thrashed me and then took me home so my father could thrash me next.”
Winthrop. The way he said the name roused a memory, and I angled my head.
“Churchill,” I said, connecting it. “Don’t tell me you’re Churchill’s brother?”
“Half brother,” he corrected. “Our mother was widowed and remarried late in life. How else do you think Edward became acquainted with him?”
For a full second I only stared. Jameson must have known the connection between me and his brother’s death. Here was another life thrown into havoc because of my actions. Yet never once had Jameson even hinted that he resented me. But how could he not?
Heavy footsteps sounded outside our door. With spry movements, Jameson stood and quickly collected the bowl of fruit and eggs, which he transferred to the buffet just as the door opened. Simmons entered and glanced at Jameson with a frown, as if suspecting he’d broken propriety, before addressing me. “I’ve just come from the Lady Dalry’s, where I’ve been working on Master Isaac’s wedding plans. I’m about to run over again with an updated guest list. While I’m here, Miss Greenley requested that I ask permission for her to visit you this afternoon. What shall I tell her?”
“Evelyn?” I cast him a confused glance. “Are you sure she meant me?”
His arched brows asked if I truly wanted to question him.
I emptied my hands of the grapes, then pushed the plate away. “Has she seen the newspapers and what they said?”
“I’m not a mind reader,” was the curt reply.
I frowned and glanced at Jameson. He, however, remained bland-faced as he emptied the table. I tapped my fingers on my chair. Evelyn had to know that by visiting me, she was only persecuting herself. Surely every newspaperman was camped outside. Any visitors would find their way into the papers. Could she withstand that?
“Do you know what Isaac thinks of the matter?” I finally decided on. Surely he understood her best.
Simmons closed his eyes for a moment, then snapped them open and gave me a sarcastic look. “Hmm. I’m sorry, but Master Isaac’s mind is closed just at the moment. Perhaps he’s napping.”
“Oh, Lord Dalry is all for the visit,” Jameson said, smiling over his shoulder.
Simmons placed a hand on his hip. “How would you know?”
“Because I was present this morning when he wrote Miss Greenley a note and asked her to call on Mrs. Auburn this afternoon.”
My stomach felt heightened and dropped as it always did with Isaac. Of course he would know how badly I needed a friend today.
“Yes,” I decided, lacing my fingers together nervously. “Please tell Miss Greenley I’d be delighted to have her company this afternoon.”
I DOUBT EVEN ELIZABETH would have made such an ideal companion, for she had not yet been tempered by suffering. In the short time Evelyn had been engaged to Isaac, she’d become less fragile but was still highly sensitive. She seemed cognizant of her every word and, much like Isaac, modified her speech so it brought only balm, never pain.
Late in the afternoon as we partook of tea, the hurried sound of feet passed our door. Nervous that something else might have happened, I set down the cup and watched the door.
“Likely it’s just a visitor?” Evelyn followed my gaze, sensing my nervousness. “What day do you normally accept callers?”
“My father doesn’t.”
Her brow scrunched. “How do people know when to call on you, then?”
I said nothing, for I discerned both Mrs. King’s and Miss Moray’s voices rising to an angry pitch. It wasn’t like them to argue. Harder-soled shoes—Jameson’s, for he walked faster than Kinsley but slower than James—joined their convocation. Within seconds his voice entered the fray.
Evelyn’s spoon balanced on the edge of her fingers. “What on earth?”
I shook my head and stood. “I don’t know, but I’m ending their nonsense now. My father will be in a tempest if he hears this.”
Evelyn set down her cup and spoon with a clack, telling me she followed.
I marched into the hallway, ready to give the staff a fear they’d not forget. Just outside the door, Miss Moray, Mrs. King, and Jameson stood arguing with each other. Though they now worked to suppress their voices, their cheeks were red.
Between them stood the most beggarly person I’d seen in my life. Snarly red hair hung in clumps from beneath a sodden, dingy kerchief. Her muddy skirts were bespattered with something that looked like tar and dripped over the hardwood floors. Her coat was a red cut-up, patched blanket, which she’d obviously taken pains to sew to fashion, but she couldn’t disguise it entirely.
“My word!” Evelyn whispered, joining me. “A beggar in London House.” Then, in a lower voice, “Or do you think she’s a gypsy?”
My body felt hollow as I wondered if she were a gypsy, if she’d be connected to Macy. Touching Evelyn’s arm for support, I raised my chin and forced a steady voice. “Jameson, what is happening?”
The stench of poverty met my nose as the girl moved and lifted her face. Brown, familiar eyes met mine, though I couldn’t place her yet. Then tingles of recognition swept through my body. Her cheeks were so hollow they looked excavated and her nose sharp. The slightest traces of grey tinged her pinched lips. The hand that clutched her patched coat was cadaverous, her nails ragged. It was Nancy, only a starved version of her.
My mouth parted as I wondered how one could deteriorate so much in such a short span.
Evelyn edged closer to me, breaking my trance. The upper staff stared at me in amazement as the color drained from my face.
“Do you know her?” Miss Moray demanded. My eyes fell upon the dirty note clutched in her hand. It was Edward’s script on my father’s stationery. I reached for the creased and dirty page. Thin, bitter lines formed around Miss Moray’s mouth as she reluctantly handed it over with a flick of her wrist.
I pressed Edward’s letter against my heart, wishing so badly I could talk over this event with him. How we would have celebrated her arrival.
“Well?” Miss Moray demanded.
I blinked, trying to gather my thoughts. “Well, what?”
She gestured to Nancy. “Her? Do you know her?”
Silence smothered the hall.
Nancy met my eye, her mouth twisted in irritation, before she gave the slightest nudge of her head in the direction of Miss Moray. Instantly I understood her. I wasn’t to let such insolence pass.
I smoothed my brow, not caring what Nancy thought.
Nancy tightened her grip on the single bag she carried, glaring for me to address Miss Moray. I laughed because, even in rags, it was still Nancy and as bossy as ever.
Mrs. King and Miss Moray exchanged significant glances as if to suggest I was growing as finespun as Evelyn.
“Yes, yes.” I gave Nancy a flippant wave. “This is my personal lady’s maid. Mrs. King, take her bags, find her a bedchamber, then show her to mine.” I gave Nancy an apologetic look. “She needs a bath. A maid’s uniform too.” I faced Miss Moray, still clutching Edward’s handwriting. “I don’t know what arrangement you have worked out with my father, but I’m sure something can be done.”
“A mute?” Miss Moray stiffened. “You actually think you’re replacing me with a mute beggar just before making court appearances? Have you no idea that history will record what you wear?” She gave a disbelieving, angry laugh. “And you think this . . . this miscreant is your new lady’s maid?”
Jameson crossed his hands before him and met my gaze, his eyes creasing with mirth, daring me to respond how I truly wished. His expression begged, Just once, please.
I r
esisted a smile by twisting my face in a confused look. I shrugged and spread a hand in Nancy’s direction. “What’s wrong with her skills?”
Miss Moray looked as though she’d taken a swig of vinegar as she gathered her skirts and minced away. “Your father will hear about this.”
I said nothing, for disturbing my father on a day like today could be her own punishment. Mrs. King gaped like a fish, fingering her apron, before managing, “You can’t be serious, Mrs. . . .” Her cheeks turned red.
I gave her a warning look, then displayed the note. “As you can see, her services have been retained by my husband, Reverend Auburn.”
“Very good.” Jameson stepped forward. “Thank you, Mrs. Auburn. We’re sorry we disturbed you.” Gesturing to Nancy, “This way, Miss . . . ?”
“She’s mute!” Mrs. King protested. “There’s no point in asking her last name.”
Confused why everyone thought Nancy couldn’t speak, I questioned her with a glance. The slightest mischievous lift of the right side of her mouth was the only hint I received. She dropped her gaze.
“Kettlefish.” I crossed my arms, testing how far I could take this. “Her name is Miss Kettlefish.”
Nancy’s eyes narrowed.
“Welcome, Miss Kettlefish.” Jameson smiled. “I’ve needed reinforcements in the worst way. Allow me to escort you to your chamber.”
As I changed for dinner, Nancy could have been a dumb mute the way her jaw slacked as she sat in the corner working on my mending. Whenever Miss Moray asked her to fetch something, Nancy would lower her needle and thread and tilt her head with a puzzled look, slowly mouthing each word Miss Moray had spoken. Then she’d grin, nodding, and scamper to my wardrobe with all the energy of a dog playing catch.
Miss Moray fairly trembled with anger, becoming more flustered with each passing moment. Whether she had gained an audience with my father, I wasn’t certain. Evelyn sat on my bed, seemingly puzzled by Nancy. I demurely went along with Nancy’s performance, pretending her behavior was perfectly normal, yet inside, my heart soared. A measure of my old life had returned to me.
“When you finish with your task, take Mrs. Auburn’s undergarments downstairs to the launderer.” Miss Moray fairly slammed my brush on the vanity. “If you like, you have my permission to take a lemon from the kitchen. It will help remove those unsightly freckles.”
I frowned at her meanness. Poor Nancy’s face and arms were covered with freckles, but she only stabbed her needle in and out of stockings, blithely unconcerned.
“Would you like to freshen up in the spare bedchamber?” Miss Moray asked Evelyn.
“Would you mind?” Evelyn asked me, rising.
Suspecting she likely hadn’t seen a chamber pot in hours, I shook my head. “Not at all. My father isn’t joining dinner, so I’ll meet you in the front parlor.”
With a gentle smile, Evelyn followed Miss Moray from the room. When the door clicked shut, familiarity rushed back to me. Once again it was just Nancy and me.
For a moment neither of us spoke but just stared. Nancy tossed her mending to the side. Then, acting as if no time had passed, she crossed the room, retrieved the brush, and with long sweeps brushed out my hair.
“I’ll set thy hair in curls tonight,” she said. “Tomorn, tell Miss Moray thou wants to have thy hair swept up. ’Twill lessen the leanness of thy face. Thou looks wretched.”
I twisted to view her. “You should see yourself. I thought you were mute.”
“Aye. To all but thee.”
“How’s that?”
“Think on how my testimony will sound in court. Is that what thou wants?”
Memory of Nancy finding me wearing Mr. Macy’s robes, smelling of brandy and cigars, flooded my mind. No, I silently thought, it would be much better to keep her out of the courts.
“I have somewhat to give thee.” Her lips compressed, as if she felt doubt, before she bent over and reached high up her skirt, then withdrew a folded, sealed letter. “Thou is suppose to ’liver it to Mr. Forrester.”
The seal was a double cameo—featuring two heads of ancient Greeks. A disquiet fell over me, for I’d seen it before.
“Nancy,” I whispered, fearing to touch the missive, “where did you get this?”
“Thou knows as well as I do. ’Tis from Mr. Greenham.”
“You saw him?” I asked, still not willing to touch the letter.
She confirmed with a nod.
I rubbed my brow, knowing how much trouble it would cause if I tried to deliver this to Mr. Forrester. One part of me considered reading the note, but then again, would Forrester trust its contents if it wasn’t sealed?
“Nancy, this is very important. You need to be the one who delivers this to him. Trust me—he won’t take it from me, but it might be very important to my court case. Can you do that? Do you know what Mr. Forrester looks like?”
“Aye.” Frowning, she slid the letter back across the vanity. “He’s the unkempt one, right?”
At nine that evening, yet another retinue trundled up the steps of London House and rang the bell. Evelyn, who’d remained with me into the evening, pricked her finger as she embroidered.
I sat forward, not certain whether I was on the verge of being arrested. “Evelyn, I don’t think I can manage this day after day.”
“You can.” Her command brooked no refusal. She set down her embroidery hoop, then crossed the chamber. She laid her ear on the door and slowly inched it open to peek out. “They’re not magistrates,” she whispered over her shoulder, then angled her head for a better view. “Three of them are dressed in all black, which . . . Wait, Jameson is leaving them standing there, so he must be fetching your father. I think they’re lawyers.”
Emboldened by the idea that they weren’t here to arrest me, I forsook my chair and joined Evelyn. Four men stood in the hall, but the one in the forefront was clearly the leader. He stood tall and sported a thick moustache. Poised, with his chest thrust out, he bit the earpiece of the spectacles in his hands as he waited. His black robe, which he’d either been too busy to remove or which he wanted others to recognize, labelled him a lawyer. Behind him, the other three men were laden with heavy satchels. Unlike their fearless leader, their expressions were animated with wonder as their gazes roamed about the hall of London House.
My father emerged from the library with Simmons at his heels.
“Pierson.” The leader gave him a slight bow but eyed Simmons with a frown. “Where’s the girl?”
“Entertaining a friend.” My father gestured to the hall that led to the smoking room. “I’ll fetch her once we’re settled.”
“Is it wise to allow visitors?” The man motioned for the others to follow as he started down the hall. “Young ladies, in my experience, talk far more than they should.”
“She’s with Isaac’s fiancée, a longtime friend of the family . . .” was all I heard before my father turned, making the rest indistinguishable.
“By all means,” I whispered, glaring at their retreating backs, “lock me up again. Refuse me any company or friends. Protect yourself at all cost. What need have I for love?”
Evelyn’s eyes, though sympathetic, were round with astonishment.
An hour later Simmons opened the door with a glower and informed me that my father wished to see me.
Evelyn stood with me, then, seeing my nervousness, squeezed my arm.
To my surprise, every lamp in the smoking chamber was lit, washing it in light. Golden tones filled each fold of the drapery and tufted every nook of the sofas. The scent of cigars and brandy tickled my nose.
Isaac stood first and the other men followed. As they bowed, I gave them a slight curtsy.
“Daughter.” My father stamped out a cigar. He indicated for me to take the seat nearest the desk.
I glanced at Isaac, for something about my father’s tone made me wary. Though his face was bland, his eyes cautioned me to prepare myself.
“If you will all excuse Isaac—” my father
moved in his direction—“his fiancée, Miss Greenley, is visiting. I’m certain they’d cherish the time alone.”
Isaac remained rooted as my father placed a hand on his shoulder and tried to direct him from the chamber. His jaw tightened. “Thank you, sir, but I would prefer to wait until after this meeting to visit Miss Greenley.”
I locked eyes with Isaac, giving him a questioning gaze. Thus I failed to see Forrester stick out his foot until I’d tripped over it.
“Upon my word!” Smirking, he jumped from his chair and dug his fingers deep into my arm, hurting me. “Pray, forgive me. I had no idea you weren’t looking where you were going. Are you hurt?” He squeezed his fingers tighter.
“You are the most despicable man!” I yanked from his grasp, wondering if Nancy had delivered the letter yet and if this was why he was acting like such a dolt.
Isaac shut his eyes, looking sick for me even as Forrester made a helpless gesture of innocence and making certain the other men noted.
“Are you all right?” my father asked. He was impossible to read.
“I would be,” I said, brushing off my skirts and glaring at Forrester, who grinned idiotically, “if it weren’t for that buffoon.”
Isaac looked so distressed, he had to cover his mouth and turn to remain composed. Next to him, Simmons carefully studied the lawyers. His reaction alerted me to the fact that the men were wearing odd expressions as they scrutinized me.
Swallowing, I took my seat.
My father started to speak, but the moustached man held up his hand and said, “My name is Goodbody. I’ve summoned you here in order to determine my opinion of you before agreeing to represent you. Are you willing to answer some questions?”
I glanced at Isaac for a hint of how to respond, for I trusted him the most.
He looked tenser than I’d ever seen him—on the verge of rage, even. He heaved a slight breath through his nose, but that didn’t give me any indication of how to answer.
“If I don’t want to?” I glanced at my father.
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