Jo Beverley

by Forbidden Magic

  “How can I help you, Susie?” She quickly added, “If you’ve come about a place—”

  “Oh no, miss. I have a good position as upstairs maid to the Earl of Saxonhurst.”

  “Oh yes. I remember Mary mentioning it. I gather the earl is kind—”

  “That he is, miss.”

  “But somewhat eccentric.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say that!” The maid seemed strangely alarmed by the idle comment.

  Meg smiled to soothe her. “It’s just that Mary mentioned that he allowes his servants great latitude.” And, of course, it was extraordinary that a nobleman hire a maid with such an obvious deformity. Meg was having difficulty not staring at the patch.

  “We all do our work properly, miss. But he likes to . . . or at least, he doesn’t seem to mind if we take an interest, like.”

  “Take an interest?” Meg didn’t normally gossip, but this conversation was a brief escape from grim reality.

  “We always know what’s going on—well, servants always do, don’t they? But he don’t seem to mind if we say our piece on it. Which is why I’m here,” she added in a rush.

  “Oh. Why are you here?”

  The maid licked her lips nervously. “Well, you see, Miss Gillingham, the earl’s in a bit of a pickle.”

  Meg stared. Had the maid come to offer her a position? Did the earl need a governess? With a spark of excitement, she wondered if this, at last, was the sheelagh’s solution.

  But then the spark died. How could she possibly support a family of five on a governess’s salary?

  “I can’t imagine how I can help an earl in a pickle.”

  “Oh, but you can, Miss Gillingham! I swear it’s true.” The maid took a deep breath. “You see—and I know this’ll sound peculiar—the earl promised his grandmother—a right wicked old barrel of brimstone, and that’s the truth—that he’d marry by twenty-five. But he forgot about it, him being only twenty when he said it. And on New Year’s Eve—tomorrow—he turns twenty-five.”

  “I see.” It seemed the only thing to say, but Meg didn’t see. She was surprised, however, to discover that the eccentric earl was so young. She’d always supposed him to be doddering.

  “Well, miss,”—the maid leaned forward over the table—“this morning the earl gets a letter from his grandmother reminding him of his promise. And that he’d said if he weren’t married by his birthday, he’d let her pick his bride.”

  “And he intends to stand by this?”

  “Oh, yes! He says a Torrance stands true to his word.”

  “Then we must hope his grandmother’s choice of bride will suit him. I really don’t see—”

  The maid shook her head. “They hate one another, miss. Don’t know why exactly, but that’s not too strong a word. The dowager’ll choose the worst possible woman in the kingdom.”

  “Oh, surely not,” said Meg, reluctantly intrigued by the situation. It was good enough for a play.

  “I suppose she’ll choose one young enough to breed. Strong feelings about the succession, she has, even though it’s not her title that’s hanging. She’s the earl’s mother’s mother, you see.”

  Head whirling, Meg tried to stick to the main point. “If the earl made such a promise, then he should have kept track of it. I don’t see how I can help.”

  The young woman wriggled as if her stays had suddenly begun to pinch. Then she blurted out, “He wants to marry you, miss.”

  Meg was literally struck speechless, left turning the words in her head, seeking another meaning for them.

  But the maid was already carrying on. “That doesn’t say it right. The thing is, Miss Gillingham, he’s determined to marry someone tomorrow to thwart his grandmother. He’s got a list of society ladies, but there’s none of them he really fancies. That’s clear as crystal. So I thought . . . You’re probably going to be angry about this,” she admitted, face cherry red, “but I was only trying to do a kindness! I thought, if he was going to marry just anyone, why shouldn’t he marry someone who really needed it? So I suggested you.”

  Meg slumped back in her seat. The maid was certainly flustered and embarrassed, but she didn’t seem to be insane. Her employer, however . . .

  Eccentric didn’t begin to describe it.

  “Susie, is this some sort of prank?”

  “No, miss! Honest. Cross my heart and hope to die!” And the maid made a cross just above her ample left breast.

  “You are seriously trying to persuade me that an earl wants to marry me—an unknown, unseen, penniless woman—tomorrow. It isn’t even possible. There would have to be banns. Even a license must take time.”

  “A special license. Mr. Chancellor’s already started on it. He’s the earl secretary. Sort of. His friend, too. And adviser.”

  “And he advised this?”

  Susie pulled a face. “He wasn’t happy about it, and that’s the truth. But he didn’t have any better suggestion.”

  Agitation pushed Meg up from her chair to roam the kitchen. “Does the earl know me, then?”

  Vague fantasies stirred of being admired from afar, but she knew the answer without waiting for it. She was not the sort of lady gentlemen developed a secret passion for. Years ago she’d come to realize that while there was nothing about her to repulse men, there was nothing to drive them distracted, either.

  As expected, the maid shook her head.

  “So why has he chosen me for this extraordinary role?”

  “Because I suggested you, miss.”

  “What did you tell him of me?” The idea that this maid might have painted a fancy picture to tempt the earl appalled her.

  “Just what I heard from my sister, miss. That you’re a kind, steady lady who’s doing her best to keep her family together despite tragedy.”

  “Good grief. I sound like a suffering heroine.”

  “Well, it can’t have been easy.”

  “No,” said Meg with a sigh. “It’s not been easy.”

  “So you’ll do it?”

  “No, of course I won’t! It’s out of the question.”

  “Why?”

  “Why?” Meg shrugged hopelessly. “Even if this were a real offer—”

  “It is!”

  “Even so, I couldn’t possibly marry a man I’ve never met.”

  The maid fixed her with a look. “Beggin’ your pardon, miss, but beggars can’t be choosers.” Meg started at that echo of the beadle’s words, and at the memory of the alternatives.

  “Marry the earl,” the maid continued, “and you’ll be provided for as befits your station, you and your brothers and sisters.”

  Meg sat down, dazed. The maid had just repeated the words of her wish. But surely the stone couldn’t influence the aristocracy, or create promises made years ago?

  As far as she knew, however, the stone could do anything. Her mother had said that for the stone’s magic, time didn’t matter. It made no sense, but then nothing about the stone did.

  “Why are you so set on this?” she asked.

  The young woman colored. “I’ll tell the truth, miss. He’s offered a reward of sorts. If you marry him tomorrow, he’ll set me and Monkey up so we can marry. We’ve the chance to buy the inn at High Hillford, you see—”

  “You want to marry a monkey?” Meg was almost relieved to realize that the maid was mad.

  “No!” Susie laughed, blushing. “It’s just his nickname. Monkey. The earl calls him Monk, which is kind of him because he don’t much like Monkey, though it’s a hard habit to get out of. His real name’s Edgar. Do you think I should try to call him Edgar?”

  “Yes, I suspect you should.” Meg, however, was thrown back into having this be real. Into having to think it through. “There’s clearly something wrong with the earl if he has to bribe you to find a bride for him. Is he mad? Deformed? Depraved?”

  The maid’s eyes almost bulged. “Heavens, no. Give you me word, Miss Gillingham. If he were to stand in Hyde Park tomorrow and offer himself up as husband, there�
��d be ladies killed in the rush.”

  “Then, why?”

  The maid heaved a hugh sigh and held up a plump hand. “One,” she said, counting on her fingers, “he’s met the likely ones and not fallen in love with any of them. Two, it would be an awkward business trying to explain to them and their families why he has to marry in such a hurry. They’d do it, but he doesn’t like starting out that way.”

  “But he wouldn’t mind starting out that way with me?”

  “The obligations would be mutual, miss, if you see what I mean.”

  “Ah,” Meg said. “Pride.”

  She understood pride. She had plenty of it herself, which was why she was trying desperately to keep her family together against all odds.

  Susie nodded. “He has his pride, that’s for sure. Haughty as the devil, some say. But I don’t see him that way,” she added quickly.

  “If he discusses these matters with the servants and takes their suggestions, I don’t suppose you do.” Meg was trying to think coherently about all this, trying to take it seriously, but she couldn’t. “It really doesn’t make sense, you know.”

  “It does if you know him. You see”—Susie leaned forward again—“he likes to take chances, Sax does.” Doubtless because of Meg’s surprise at the name, she added, “Everyone calls him Sax, though us servants don’t to his face, of course.”

  “I don’t see that there’s any ‘of course’ about this extraordinary situation.”

  “You’ll see.” Before Meg could protest that, Susie added, “He treats life like an endless game. Not that he neglects his responsibilities, but he doesn’t like to always do the expected. He makes decisions by tossing a coin or rolling dice. He doesn’t gamble for high stakes, but he’ll use cards and dice to risk other things.”

  “Are you certain he shouldn’t be in an asylum?”

  Susie giggled. “Oh, miss!” But then she sobered. “It’s a true offer, though, and you’d be a fool to turn it down.”

  “A fool? To turn down the offer to marry an eccentric, possibly a lunatic, sight unseen?”

  “A very rich eccentric.”

  Money. The root of all evil, but so very important when one didn’t have any. The maid was right. Here was the chance to save her family from disaster—the chance, surely, she had asked for. How silly to sit here quibbling. After all, she had been willing to become Sir Arthur Jakes’s mistress to save them all. Could this be any worse? At least she was offered marriage.

  She stood. “I will come with you now to meet the earl.”

  The maid, however, stayed in her chair. “I’m sorry, miss, but he says not. If you want to do it, you’re to turn up at the church tomorrow at eleven o’clock.”

  “What church?”

  “Whatever your parish church is. I’m to find out.”

  “This is insane! What possible reason can there be for us not to meet? Unless there is something about him that will repulse me. But then,” she added thoughtfully, “I could refuse to go through with the ceremony. . . .”

  “Exactly. I don’t know his reasons, miss, except that it’s the way he is. He flipped a coin, and it pointed to you. If you don’t agree, he’ll pick a name of one of the society ladies out of a hat. But if you say you will, then don’t go through with it, he’ll let his grandmother have her way.”

  “Flipped a coin!” But then, was that any worse than making a wish on a risqué statue? “Describe the earl to me.”

  “Oh, he’s a handsome man, miss. Tall, well built.”

  A strong maniac.

  “And his nature?”

  “He’s a pleasant enough gentleman. Right charming to the ladies when he’s of a mind to be.”

  And when he’s not? Meg wondered, a little shiver running down her back. “You say he’s handsome. Is he dark, pale . . . ?”

  The maid wrinkled her brow. “Well, he’s sort of yellow, miss.”

  “Yellow? You mean blond?”

  “Sort of. His skin’s darker than most gentlemen’s because he loves to sail in the summer and don’t have a care to wearing hats. His hair’s a darkish kind of blond—from the sun, see—and his eyes are kind of yellow, too. Yellowish brown.”

  “Are his teeth yellow, too?” Meg was beginning to think she knew why the earl had trouble finding a bride. This story was perhaps largely a face-saving exercise.

  Susie giggled. “No, miss! White and strong and healthy. Are yours? It was one of his things he had to have.”

  Meg stared. “Are you supposed to inspect them?”

  Susie actually leaned away. “Er . . . no, miss. It was just a comment. He didn’t say anything about your teeth.”

  “So I should hope! He is undoubtedly mad. Tell me the truth. Will I and my family be safe with him?”

  “Safe?” The maid’s astonishment was reassuring. “Of course you will, miss! Even in his tempers he never touches people.”

  “His tempers?”

  The maid looked as if she wished she’d held her tongue. “Oh, he just flies off the handle now and then and smashes things. But only things.”

  Meg sank back into her chair. In a strange way these problems comforted her. If the Earl of Saxonhurst had been a normal gentleman, she would have been more suspicious. Now, despite the maid’s attempts to paint a good picture, it was clear that he was a gentleman who had his problems. She could put up with his foibles and thus earn his support of her family.

  “I have one condition.”

  “A condition, miss?”

  Meg knew she was in no position to bargain, but the earl did seem to be in a predicament. “I want Lord Saxonhurst’s word that my brothers and sisters will live with me under his roof, and be assisted by him to make their way in life.”

  “Oh, I’m sure he would—”

  “I’ll have it in writing. Wait here.”

  Meg went to her father’s study—an empty shell now, stripped of the pictures and books, all sold for what they could raise. His engraved stationery remained, however, for that would bring little. She pulled out a sheet, then realized that the silver standish had gone, and the ink with it. She dug out the stub of a pencil.

  She had to sharpen it, and almost cut herself, her hand shook so much. She was mad to consider this; mad not to grab it.

  When she sat to write, she had to wait for her nerves to steady. Her writing must look clear and determined.

  To the Earl of Saxonhurst,

  My lord, I am surprised and honored by your offer of marriage and find that my situation obliges me to give it serious consideration. Before I can come to a final decision, however, I must have your assurance that my two brothers and two sisters will live with us after marriage, that they will be educated as befits their station as ladies and gentlemen, and be provided with modest sums to enable them to proceed in life.

  Meg hesitated here, chewing the end of the pencil. She knew what she had to write, but feared to commit herself. With a steadying breath, she continued:

  If you can give me that assurance, my lord, I will be at St. Margaret’s church at eleven tomorrow and will marry you.

  She looked it over, tempted to tear it up. But then she remembered Sir Arthur’s designs on Laura.

  She had no choice.

  On the whole, she told herself, she had escaped quite lightly. The sting in the sheelagh’s magical solution seemed likely to be bearable. Of course, she still knew little of her future husband, but the maid—Susie—seemed honest, and her sister had been a good person.

  They were only servants, however, with no power over a lord.

  Her mind was swinging backward and forward like an off-balance pendulum and quite predictably, giving her a headache. She wished desperately that her parents were here to advise her.

  But if they were, none of this would be happening.

  Laura, she reminded herself.

  That was the simple, conclusive reason to go through with this.

  And she herself would have a home and family. Since men didn’t pursue her,
she’d pretended not to care, but she had always wanted marriage and children. An eccentric, rather ugly earl was a small price to pay.

  Moreover, she reminded herself, if he turned out to be worse than that—foul, drooling, clearly insane—she simply wouldn’t say her vows.

  Suddenly worried about the legalities of written promises, she picked up her pencil and added, if we find each other congenial.

  There. After another teetering hesitation, she folded the paper, took it downstairs, and gave to the maid.

  “He might not reply, miss. He’s a devil for keeping to his arrangements.”

  It was tempting to back down, but if the earl wasn’t going to support and house her siblings, there was no point to this. “If he doesn’t reply as I wish, he will have to draw his bride by lot and hope he can persuade her to the altar.”

  The maid chuckled. “You are a one. I think you’ll do.” She tucked the note in a pocket. “I need your full name, miss. For the license.”

  “But I haven’t committed myself yet.”

  “Just because you have a license doesn’t mean you have to use it, and apparently things like that take time.”

  Meg was as much reluctant to tell her flowery baptismal names as she was to commit herself. But it couldn’t be helped. “Minerva Eithne Gillingham,” she admitted.

  “Pretty,” said the beaming maid, and hurried out.

  Meg collapsed back into her chair, wondering what on earth she had done.

  When Laura and the twins burst in, mid-argument, it was a welcome relief.

  “Sit!” Meg shouted. Richard and Rachel fell into chairs at the table, two grubby urchins ready to be fed. Meg was beginning to think of them as like baby birds, mouths always open.

  She cut thick slices of bread, spread them with dripping, then poured boiling water over the old tea leaves and served the weak brew. They ate and drank without complaint, but she knew they couldn’t go on like this. And tomorrow Sir Arthur would be back.

  With a shiver, she knew she was going to have to marry the eccentric Earl of Saxonhurst, even if he was foul and drooling.

  She heaved their iron pot onto the stove, and set the twins to building up the fire with the scrap wood they’d found on their walk. That was the real purpose of their walks these days—foraging. London wasn’t like the country, though. Little went to waste, and hundreds sought it. The twins had grown quite clever at finding bits of wood for the daily cooking fire and took pride in it, but they shouldn’t have to be thinking of such things at their age.