Price of Privilege

by Jessica Dotta

  He remained stone-faced.

  Mr. Goodbody angled his head. “Are you able to tell me with certainty whether or not you are with child?”

  I placed my hand over my lower abdomen, surprised I hadn’t yet considered that. “I—I don’t know.”

  The three men behind him started writing in their ledgers, and scratching filled the air.

  “If you are with child, how many potential fathers are there?”

  My mouth dropped in complete shock. Behind the men, Isaac’s shoulders heaved as he reared to life, but Simmons grabbed his arm and silently ordered him to remain self-possessed. Isaac’s jaw clenched as he crossed his arms.

  “Answer the question, please.” Mr. Goodbody’s eyes remained trained on me.

  “One,” I said angrily.

  Again, scratching filled the air.

  “Did you marry Mr. Macy?”

  At this question, the three men lifted their gazes as if expecting my facial expression to say more than my words. Biting my lip, I glanced at Forrester. Now was the hour I needed to declare Macy an impostor.

  “No,” I firmly said.

  The men stiffened and threw each other troubled glances. Even Isaac questioned me with his eyes.

  “I beg your pardon?” Mr. Goodbody leaned back, adding distance between us. The look he gave my father was significant.

  I twined my fingers. “He’s not Mr. Macy, so I didn’t marry him. I mean, I married Mr. Rainmayer.” Seeing that they all stared at me like I was mad, I pointed to Mr. Forrester. “He can confirm what I’m saying. He knows, too.”

  “Robert?” my father asked.

  Forrester was born for the stage, for he stared at me as though he’d never seen me before. His face was a mixture of pity and alarm. “I have no idea what gibberish the girl is speaking.”

  Pens furiously scratched.

  Mr. Goodbody looked at my father as if unable to believe his good luck. Placing his hands on his thighs, he leaned forward. “Would you be willing to testify to that in court?”

  I glanced askance at Forrester, who appeared far too glib, then at Isaac, who looked more alive than I’d seen him since the day I married Edward. He seemed ready to pummel through the chamber and pull me out of there.

  “Yes,” I finally decided. “Provided that you likewise put Mr. Forrester on the stand, place him under oath, and ask him to explain.”

  Mr. Goodbody didn’t even glance at Forrester. He gave an incredulous smile. “Clearly we have a watertight case, Pierson. Do you concur that she’s mentally unfit, Hutchinson?”

  The man sitting behind him on the right crossed his arms. “Yes, I have not a shred of doubt.”

  “Are you able to make room for her at your sanitarium tonight?”

  “Tonight?” Hutchinson stiffened with alarm. “Well, no, not tonight! I thought this was for assessment purposes only. I need at least a week. I’ll have to transfer one of the other patients—and all our patients are amongst the elite, so that’s no hasty process, let me assure you.”

  My ability to move finally broke through my shock. I jumped to my feet and spun accusingly toward my father. “You’re going to say that I’m insane!” His impassive face enraged me. “How dare you!”

  “Make a note,” Goodbody intoned, “that Miss Elliston became crazed toward her father during our interview.”

  I rounded on him ready to unleash the fury of my full temper, but as I lunged toward him, I found that Isaac had secured my elbow. Without speaking, he dragged me to the corner of the chamber, where we stopped beneath the stuffed head of a white ram. Its empty eyes watched.

  “Release me,” I ordered, pulling hard against Isaac. Upon finding him far stronger than he looked, I tried to unbalance him by giving him a quick shove in the opposite direction. His grip remained firm.

  “Calm yourself,” Isaac commanded in a whisper in my ear. When he backed away, his eyes radiated with a command that I obey him. “It’s not helping, but making matters worse.”

  Tears sprang to my eyes as I glared the accusation that he was a traitor. Nevertheless his advice made sense, so I gave him a nod, showing him I was under control and he could release me.

  “Take note—” Mr. Goodbody rose—“Lord Dalry alone can influence and calm her during such an outburst.” He started to pace as he wagged his closed spectacles toward the gentlemen. “The marriage was never legal to begin with because she isn’t mentally fit. Lord Pierson, seeing that she believes her husband murdered her mother, takes mercy and tries to shield her from the horrors that fill her mind, by providing shelter. Once she’s living under his care, he quickly discovers that the meekness of Lord Dalry alone soothes her.”

  Mr. Goodbody paused, his brow knit in thought. I started to spin toward him to argue, but Isaac squeezed my arm, hard.

  “Lord Dalry needs money to maintain his position,” Mr. Goodbody continued, no longer noticing me, “and he develops a fondness for her, despite her infirmity. What else are a cash-strapped peer of the realm and a good father to do?” Mr. Goodbody spread his arms as if arguing the case. “Given enough time and a peaceful enough environment, there’s hope the girl will recover her full senses. Despite the growing social pressure to see the Emerald Heiress, Lord Pierson limits her social engagements and delays announcing the engagement, just to be safe. But then, alas, the vicar who abandoned her because of her instability learns she’s now an heiress and uses the knowledge of her weakness to his advantage.”

  The urge to scream at my father and Forrester was so overwhelming that self-restraint was nearly impossible. Tears of utter rage filled my eyes.

  Isaac met my gaze and begged me with a look to trust him and not to respond.

  I shook my head, not certain whether to trust him or my own reason. For I wanted to give them all a scolding they’d never forget. At the last second, I decided to trust Isaac’s opinion on the situation over my own. I turned my face and gripped his sleeve with both hands, not certain I could maintain myself.

  “Even now, Dalry alone is able to calm her,” Mr. Goodbody continued. He must have turned his head, for his next words were muffled. “If you want, Pierson, we could kill two birds with one stone. Not only does her mental state excuse her from the first marriage, but the fact that she married under the identity of Pierson negates her second marriage. You and Dalry did have a contract beforehand. Colonel Greenley isn’t likely to cause a ruckus since you had a prior contract. Dalry can wait until your daughter is declared able-minded again.”

  I stiffened with suspicion. Isaac stopped breathing.

  With desperation, I felt the jaws of the trap I’d finally managed to escape closing in on me again. The defense they were building fit the circumstances perfectly.

  “I won’t do it,” I said through gritted teeth and looked at Goodbody. “We both know that I’m not insane, and I won’t let you say I am for a legal defense.”

  “My dear girl, sitting from my position, you are the very definition of insanity. Members of your father’s staff are prepared to testify they’ve overheard you pretending to be a faerie queen. No sane person marries someone she’s known less than a week, runs away from her new husband, lies to her father to gain protection, engages herself to a peer of the realm, and then does an about-face and marries the first man she ran away with. It’s self-evident that you’re mentally inferior. You’ve made your bed; welcome to it.”

  “Isaac.” My father stepped away from the tufted sofa he’d been standing near and headed toward the door. “Would you please remove Julia? You’re welcome to come back and join us afterwards, if you wish.”

  Though Isaac urged me to move with a touch at my elbow, I remained where I was until my father had fully opened the door and looked in my direction to see why I hadn’t obeyed.

  I locked eyes with him so he’d know at least one person in the chamber saw straight through him. I waited until guilt flushed his cheeks before squaring my shoulders and leaving.

  I refused to acknowledge Isaac as I
stormed down the hall. The library door was open, so as I neared it, Mama’s sunflower painting beckoned to me. Abruptly I turned and tore through the chamber. My father didn’t deserve her painting.

  Placing my hands on either side of the frame, I tried to tug it from the wall, but it didn’t budge as if it were glued. I tried to shove the frame upwards in case it was caught on a nail, but it remained stuck. Screaming, I struck the wall with my fist.

  I turned, ready to shove past Isaac, but the look on his face froze my blood.

  His expression was a knife blow to my soul, for he wore such a look of deep grief that panic pricked my body. The only explanation I could come up with was that he truly thought me insane.

  I realized how limited my options were, for I was not yet a femme sole, and therefore I was still under someone’s legal protection. Edward was imprisoned, Macy I feared, and my father planned to have me committed to an insane asylum as his legal defense.

  That left only Isaac to help me.

  Here is what I have since come to understand: failure was not a word Isaac allowed within his psyche. Not because of his great abilities, but because early in his life fear and shame had tightly coiled around him and demanded perfection. And so rare of soul was Isaac that he’d actually managed to walk that path almost flawlessly, becoming a man worthy of regard. But no person can continue down a wrong path indefinitely without flagging. With me, however, Isaac had miscalculated. Errors were deeply painful for him, which was why he took great pains never to have them. But for him to fail and injure the person he’d strained himself to protect—that failure contained the means of ruining him.

  Much like that night in the woods at Am Meer when I tasted Edward’s rejection, something had finally rent through Isaac’s carefully constructed walls. When stuck forced to choose between two evils, he started to unravel. His worldview didn’t allow him to embrace a wrong choice—ever.

  Such is life and such are our limited views, that I injured him further. As Isaac was disintegrating, I believed that he lost sight of who I was. I believed he grieved because, like the barristers, he thought me feebleminded. And that, in turn, deconstructed me. Unwittingly, I doubled his pain and gave him an insupportable burden.

  “Don’t,” I begged, my knees buckling as I sank to the ground. “If you don’t aid me, then I’m truly trapped.” My words came out garbled. Panic rose as I envisioned the unfolding horror. “They’re going to lock me up, and if you do not stop my father, who will?” I buried my face in my hands. “Please, Isaac, I’m begging you! Believe me! Help me! I am not mad; I swear it!”

  “What on earth?” Evelyn’s soft voice carried from the threshold.

  Isaac turned his face from her, preventing her from seeing him undone.

  Evelyn rushed to me, her feet pattering over the floor. As she knelt and gathered me in her frail arms, the scent of apples filled my senses. “It’s going to be all right,” she assured me. “Whatever it is, it will work out fine.” Then to Isaac, her face white, “What happened?”

  “My father is telling the court I’m unbalanced.” I clutched the sleeves of her dress. “He wants to send me to an asylum as proof.”

  Evelyn stared at me, horrified, before her hand tightened on my arm. Pale, she faced Isaac. “But you’re not allowing it, are you?”

  The pain in Isaac’s eyes was unbearable. With great effort, he finally mastered his voice. “What other defense has a chance? What else can we possibly say?” Then to me, “As heartbreaking as this feels to you, would you rather go to Macy?”

  “What about the truth?” I begged Edward’s mantra. “What about the fact the marriage remains unconsummated? Surely that carries as much weight!”

  Isaac placed his forehead in the heels of his hands. “I argued that! I did. The problem is that the defense is too flimsy. The public already believes there were improprieties before the wedding. And where do you think juries are pulled from? Jurors’ minds are made up well in advance. Your case will be argued in the span of minutes, and we cannot risk trying to change something already entrenched in their minds. Furthermore, after the marriage, you spent hours alone with Macy—once when gypsies accosted Forrester and again on the night Eramus was murdered. There are witnesses willing to say you were carried into London House wearing nothing but Macy’s dressing robes.”

  Clearly this was all news to Evelyn, for her eyes widened and she tried to appear unflappable while discussing carnal knowledge and murder. Her cheeks, however, took on a red hue.

  I shook my head. It seemed impossible that anyone would believe the truth.

  “You can’t let them label her as being unsound.” Evelyn’s voice was like a slender thread of hope. “Isaac, as a gentleman, you cannot allow that.”

  “Do you think I have a choice? Do you think I desire to see Julia carted away to a madhouse? But what is two months living amongst lunatics compared to being handed over to Macy for life? I won’t interfere with Pierson’s plans.” His voice came out pained. “I dare not.”

  “You’re not condemning her to two months. This is a life sentence.” Evelyn’s voice blazed with anger. “I’ve lived it, Isaac. And it’s wrong. I know what will happen. People will always treat her differently afterwards, and that will affect the way she feels about herself. Look and see for yourself. The evidence is right before your eyes. Even the idea that those men think she’s unstable is making her unstable. Imagine this lie told to the world. She’ll never go anywhere without feeling the stares of people upon her, judging her as mentally unfit. Who can act normal under those circumstances? How will she ever escape it when her nervous reactions will make her look abnormal? The way we treat people determines what they become.” Tears filled Evelyn’s eyes. “I know. It happened to me.”

  Her confession surprised us, for both Isaac and I shifted with discomfort.

  Evelyn sensed it too, for she gave a slight sigh and braced her shoulders as she waited for us to move past our embarrassment, step over her vulnerability, and see her as our equal again. Through that one observation, I glimpsed the reality of what my future would become if I lost credibility in the eyes of others. Somehow I doubted I’d endure being seen as inferior with the same grace Evelyn did.

  “I won’t do it,” I whispered. “I won’t.”

  “What can you possibly expect me to do?” Isaac asked, sounding desperate. “Under no circumstances am I risking Julia’s returning to Macy. And even if I supported the idea of arguing that the marriage wasn’t consummated, how do you expect me to convince Lord Pierson to take that gamble? His fortune is at stake. He’s not going to switch to a defense that’s weak when he has a rock-solid one. He won’t. I’m telling you. What do you possibly think I can do? My hands are tied.”

  Evelyn lifted her chin. “There must be something you overlooked.”

  “Tell me, then,” Isaac demanded, his voice low.

  “I don’t know, but look at her,” Evelyn rejoined. “Can you honestly claim she’ll survive this? Find a solution. Just find one, somehow.”

  Whether he studied me or not, I cannot say, as I’d buried my eyes in my hands. For I already knew what I needed to do. Only the idea was so hateful, I needed to retreat deeper within myself, just to find strength to think it.

  I THOUGHT I understood isolation.

  Had I not grown up in a house where I knew how to make myself unseen and small? As a young girl, when I wandered through the market stalls, had not the villagers given us their backs? Had I not been alone after Mama’s death with desperation and loneliness as my only companions? Had I not learned to survive Maplecroft’s dead halls and empty chambers?

  Nonetheless, the three days that followed were nothing short of harrowing.

  My thoughts were painful. Each idea was a blazing-hot coal that needed to be handled in order to organize it. Only it was excruciatingly painful to hold the ideas up long enough to fully examine them. If I questioned whether to flee London House, I had to conquer the panic that I had nowhere else to go. A
nd if I could ignore that, I had to endure the searing knowledge that my father would actually sacrifice me. And just brushing against that idea was like falling into an ocean where I was knocked under by pounding waves of grief.

  Because I didn’t wish to heed my father’s plan, the only logical choice was to hie to Macy.

  That was its own brazier of blistering coals, starting with Edward. Would he think it a betrayal? If so, could he survive that? Was it better to live with a father who cared more for himself than me, or to take refuge with Mama’s murderer, who at least regarded me?

  I refused to speak to anyone during that time. In the mornings I allowed Nancy to dress me. I joined the breakfasts, where I struggled to keep awake, for the toll of emotions were more wearying than labor. From there I retreated into a drawing room, where I’d curl into a large chair and pull a blanket over me.

  Jameson tried the hardest. He reminded me of the herd. He attempted to make me laugh, and when that failed, he sat for hours in complete silence, wearing a look of heartfelt sympathy. I noted him but took care never to let him know. I preferred him thinking me catatonic. I feared speaking, for I might tell him what I was planning, and he might try to talk me out of turning myself over to Mr. Macy.

  Isaac wasn’t himself either. His normally placid features stayed cramped, plagued by his own heavy thoughts. And though he also joined us each morning at the table, he barely skimmed the articles and excused himself as quickly as possible. I learned later that he filled those hours by combing my father’s library. He read and took notes for hours on end, often shoving the table in frustration or standing, arms crossed, with a dissatisfied expression as he looked over the street.

  The only good thing that came to pass was that Forrester abruptly decided to leave without any explanation. My father was livid that he’d leave at such a crucial time. Forrester, however, was adamant he had to leave immediately, only saying that Isaac shouldn’t marry until he’d sent further word.

  “What is this?” My father slammed down the first newspaper in front of Isaac, his face enraged. “What the devil is this!”