A True Lady

by Edith Layton

  Although she wanted the day to last forever, she began to notice that the sky was getting darker, and not just with storm clouds. She had one more important errand to take care of before nightfall, and set out to do so.

  She found the address as an ominous twilight began to replace the lowering day. It was on a quiet street near the market streets she’d been walking. Although no street in this part of London could truly be called quiet, there were no vendors here. The houses were small and close together, but they were neat, and each front step was freshly scrubbed.

  Cristabel raised her gloved hand to the knocker on the door. That small hand was closed into a tight fist from tension. She’d come across two seas and five years to see the person she hoped to find inside. No letter she’d sent here had ever been answered, but the mails between here and the Islands were unreliable—because of piracy, she realized, almost giggling at the foolishness of that thought. Her sudden fit of laughter was as much due to nervousness as anticipation.

  She had come to hire a companion. She wasn’t a rash young girl; she knew that staying alone in England had its pitfalls, even if she couldn’t see any now. She wasn’t afraid of being alone—she’d always been alone, even amidst all the people on the island. There were no other educated pirate lasses, and none who remained single after they became women. There wasn’t a pirate on earth who believed in being friends with a girl, and her father would never have permitted it. He often sailed off for long months in search of his financial enterprises, and was often gone weeks while he pursued his pleasures. And though he’d fillet any man who said he didn’t love his daughter, he paid scant attention to her when he was home.

  Cristabel had never been physically alone for longer than it took to go to the privy. The only way to get some privacy in a pirate kingdom was to swim underwater, or read books and pretend not to hear what was going on. She’d done both often enough. No matter how often her father left her to her own devices, the truth was, everyone was always watching her. They knew whose daughter she was, and what price they’d pay if they forgot.

  But now for the first time in her life, she was on her own and unknown. She told herself that this didn’t frighten her. She could take care of herself. She fairly bristled with knives, not to mention the armory of weapons in her trunks. She doubted she’d need any of it, for this was a land of civilized people, she reassured herself. She’d be much safer here than at home, she reminded herself. And so far as being physically alone—well, she was going to take care of that right now. She’d thought of it the first night on shipboard and formulated her plan all the way to London. Now it would come true. What a surprise it would be! She grinned, letting her excitement rise.

  A maidservant opened the door and squinted into the dying light.

  “Is Mistress Elphstone at home?” Cristabel asked, moving aside slightly, so that the maid could see she was a proper lady with a servant behind her. “Mistress Mary Elphstone?” she repeated.

  “Aye, come in,” the maid said.

  It was a neat house but not a fine one. The little hall was cramped and dim. Still, she was here! And so was Mistress Elphstone—the only governess she’d ever had who hadn’t hated her, or blamed her too much for her state.

  Of course, that might have been because Mistress Elphstone hadn’t been abused before she’d been brought to Cristabel. Somewhere along the way her father had realized that a female lately ravished by pirates would not be the best influence on his daughter. He may have also noticed that Cristabel had begun to cringe away from all men because of what her sobbing governesses had confided to her. So, her father set out to find a governess whom his men wouldn’t molest. Mistress Elphstone was perfect; she was so ill favored that not even a very drunken pirate would have accosted her.

  After all, as her father often said, “A pirate didn’t actually have to raid ships for women. Not when there were so many to be had so cheap in every pirate port. It was just that the pretty ones were too much of a temptation to men who had no self-restraint.”

  Mistress Elphstone had been governess to a rich family when she was captured off Cape Horn. She survived untouched, through two slave auctions, until Captain Whiskey himself saw her on the block in Port-au-Prince. He’d bought her on the spot and had to put up with much jeering for it. Mistress Elphstone’s looks were both her salvation and curse. She was short and squat with whiskers, and being English, looked uncannily like their favorite breed of bulldog. It was impossible to say whether it was her terrible disposition or the disposition of her features that gave her such a bad temper. But when she realized that Cristabel was lonely and hated the pirate life as much as she did, and was desperate to be a lady, Mistress Elphstone softened toward her.

  Or so Cristabel had thought, because sometimes Mistress Elphstone spoke to her even after lessons were done. Cristabel had been genuinely sad when her father decided that since his daughter was sixteen and marriageable, she didn’t need a governess anymore. With Cristabel’s nagging and bullying to force his hand, he freed the governess instead of putting her back on the market, and sent her home with gold in her pockets.

  Cristabel thought that that final act of kindness would ensure her a glad welcome now. That, and the remembrance of all those soft, hot nights, when she would beg Mistress Elphstone to tell her stories of her cold little island in order to drown out the sounds of some pirate revel. Then Mistress Elphstone would tell her about King Arthur and Sir Lancelot, and other lordly men and gentle ladies from her homeland, her powerful voice drowning out the usual sounds of music and dancing—and later whooping and screaming—and later still, fighting and grunting and creaking of beds. Surely, Cristabel thought, those must have been times when the governess had appreciated her duties as much as her charge had.

  One had been a middle-aged slave, the other like a princess in her own barbaric land. But they had a lot in common. Mistress Elphstone disliked men, Cristabel was leery of them. Mistress Elphstone was disgusted by the pirates’ women, Cristabel was worried she would become one. Most of all, Mistress Elphstone was educated, and knew how to eat and walk and talk like that most elusive, magical being: a true lady. Just like Cristabel’s departed mother.

  Cristabel valued her then, but she needed her now. She needed a companion to lend her respectability. And perhaps, she thought a little wistfully, Mistress Elphstone would chat with her as she had never done: as an equal. After all, they were both grown women now.

  The maid trundled off in search of Mistress Elphstone, leaving Cristabel in the entryway. She wondered how much money she should offer her to act as her companion. She decided to let Mistress Elphstone name the sum. Cristabel had enough money to last her all her life and didn’t know the going rate for paid companions in London. Aside from a generous wage, she could offer her a better home than she had now. Cristabel thought she’d look London over and find a fine house in a good but inconspicuous part of town. If she got bored with London, she might look at something in a small village outside London’s gates: Charing Cross or Soho, or some other rural place near the city. Marylbone or Knightsbridge or such. Wherever she went, she’d have peace. She planned to read and garden and never have to obey any whim but her own. And never have to marry, or pretend to be looking for a husband either.

  Her happy thoughts were interrupted by the sound of voices. She recognized one, and her heart leaped—Mistress Elphstone, sounding as out of patience and breath as ever.

  “Who?” the nasal voice was complaining as it came nearer. “Oh, no matter, stupid creature, you’ve doubtless got it all wrong; I don’t know any ‘Belles,’ and why should I? I’ll have a look at her, but it’s probably the wrong—Ah!”

  Mistress Elphstone, only a little shorter, squatter, and grayer than Cristabel remembered, stood stock-still before her, her eyes wide, her hand on her heart. Cristabel smiled and put out her hand.

  “Mistress Elphstone! Yes, it is I, after all these years!”

  “Oh, my dear God,” Mistress Elphstone g
asped, her face growing white as she staggered back a step.

  “Surprise!” Cristabel sang merrily.

  Mistress Elphstone stared. “It’s her!” she gasped to no one in particular, looking behind Cristabel as though she expected to see monsters lurking there. Seeing nothing but Cristabel’s slack-jawed maid, she recovered herself. “Where is your father?” she demanded. “Well, it doesn’t matter, he dare not show his face here. If he does, I’ll have the watch—Watch! Ha! I’ll have the army down on him in a trice. He’ll have his head on a pike or the scaffold before he can whistle.”

  “He’s not here,” Cristabel assured her. “I’m on my own, entirely.”

  “Oh,” Mistress Elphstone said, her small eyes narrowing, “are you?” Her cheeks bloomed purple and she pointed a shaking finger to the door. “Then be gone on your own too,” she cried. “You horrid little witch—this is England. My country, not yours!”

  “You don’t understand,” Cristabel said patiently, “there is no need to worry. I’m alone. I’ve left home. I’ve left my father. I’m going to live here now. I have enough money to live in grand fashion, and I’d like you to come live with me. I’m going to buy a fine house; you’ll have your own room and a good wage.”

  “Me, go with you? Are you mad? No amount of money—not all the riches in the world—could pay me to so much as speak to you,” Mistress Elphstone cried. “Begone before I call the watch. The daughter of a pirate can hang just as high as her father, I’m sure.”

  “But, Mistress Elphstone,” Cristabel persisted, realizing her old governess still didn’t understand, “things are different now. My father doesn’t come into it at all. You and I were never enemies. I’m offering you the chance to be my paid companion now. We can get on very well together. I plan to live quietly—”

  “If you plan to live—leave,” Mistress Elphstone interrupted her in the same tones she had used to order Cristabel to bed at night, “or I’ll call the authorities. You and I `friends’? What a joke. I hated you, as I hated all the scum you lived with.”

  “You hated me?” Cristabel asked in shock.

  “Of course. You were a child, pretty and well behaved, yes. But the daughter of scum is also scum. How could it be otherwise? How could you possibly think otherwise? I hated every moment of my captivity and cannot bear anything that reminds me of those horrible years. I cannot to this day smell certain spices without becoming sick to my stomach. I can’t even see a sailor without heaving. On certain summer nights I can’t help remembering… Oh, what’s the point? Get out. I won’t call the authorities if you leave at once.”

  “I’m sorry,” Cristabel said, drawing herself up, dragging on her hood with trembling fingers, “I had no idea. I thought you liked me.”

  “If you had not, I might be dead,” Mistress Elphstone said bitterly. She stared at Cristabel. “Make no mistake,” she said in a cold, even voice, “I hated every second I had to endure with you, and now that I don’t have to endure you a moment more, I can tell you how it sickened me to try to educate you as though you were a lady. You, a common little slut. You, daughter of a murderer and worse. I lived for the day I could be free—and free of you. And now I am. This is my house, and my country. Leave both, if you’re wise. I never want to see you again.”

  Cristabel turned blindly, and fled.

  *

  “She’s vanished the way she promised to,” Martin said wearily. “I told you so. She’s a remarkable girl, like no other I’ve ever met. She’s clever and resourceful. All she wanted was freedom, and now she’s got it. She’ll never trouble me again, and all she wanted from me was the same courtesy. She’s gone without a trace. Why can’t we leave it that way?”

  “Because her father’s men believe she’s married to me,” his brother growled as he stalked on down the crowded street.

  “But you can protect yourself against them,” Martin said breathlessly, trying to reason with his brother and keep up with his long stride at the same time.

  They’d been walking since early morning, trying to track down the pirate king’s elusive daughter. Now night was coming on. Martin was tired of the chase. For the first time he could remember, he didn’t understand his brother. Not that Magnus tried to explain. He’d been in a flaming temper since he’d heard the story. Which wasn’t like him either. At least he was talking now, Martin thought, although snarling might be more accurate.

  “You don’t understand, do you?” Magnus said, stopping and wheeling around to glower at his brother, “Then hear this: Of course I can protect myself against them. That’s not the point. The point is that the girl’s father believes her to be my responsibility. I won’t rest until I find her.

  “Don’t look so frightened, lad,” Magnus said, relenting enough to put a hand on Martin’s shoulder. “You did the best you could, better than most men could have done, at that. You were very clever, getting out of there without having to pay for your freedom in gold or blood. Only ink. It was well done, paying back thievery with trickery.”

  “You don’t think it was…craven?” Martin asked, looking very young.

  “Beating Captain Whiskey at his own game? No, why should I?”

  “Then why are you angry?”

  “It’s not your involvement with her that bothers me,” Magnus said, “it’s the fact that you left her.”

  “But she wanted to be free. What else was I to do? You don’t know her, Magnus, she’s very determined.”

  “She’s a young girl, alone in London,” Magnus said sternly, “and her father thinks she bears my name,”

  “But she doesn’t, not really, I told you. Don’t you believe me?”

  “Of course I do. I’m not an idiot, I know she has no claim on me—no legal claim, that is…” Magnus sighed. “Trust me, I have no desire to shackle myself in any way to a pirate’s daughter—beautiful, clever, and resourceful as she may be. I just have to find her and be sure she’s safe. Then I can deal with her father, his men, and anyone else who thinks I’m accountable for her. I’m not, and I’ll tell them that. Be sure of it. But I am accountable to myself. Do you understand? It’s a matter of responsibility.”

  Martin nodded. He might not agree, but at last he understood. Magnus would never shirk a responsibility. He walked on with his brother, hoping that his boots would last, because he might have years of walking ahead of him. Cristabel was a clever girl, and London was a very big town.

  He should never have underestimated Magnus. He never had before, and now he vowed he never would again. Magnus had picked up a word here, a hint there, a confused description somewhere else, and was piecing these clues together into a tight net.

  Early that morning the innkeeper at the inn where Martin left Cristabel had said she’d gone, taking a maid with her. When Magnus asked what she was wearing, Martin had been amazed. Surely she’d change her clothing. That would be the first thing any fugitive would do. But Magnus had been very particular. He’d asked about more than the color or style of her clothes—he’d asked what materials the gown and cloak she was wearing were, and when he heard “silk” and “satin,” he grinned.

  Then, instead of going to nearby inns or coaching stations as Martin would have done, Magnus spent the afternoon going to all the closest dressmakers.

  “The cold will slow our fugitive,” Magnus had said as he’d hurried out the inn door. “They’ve no need of warm clothes where she comes from. No doubt our escaped bird is shivering in her shoes. If she’s as clever as you say, she’ll dress for flight and we’ll find her as she picks out her new plumage. Not the filmy tropical stuff she’s used to—but fabric made from good stout English sheep.”

  They went to three dressmakers before they found the one Cristabel had visited. There they’d gotten a description of the clothes she’d purchased. Women in black and gray wool weren’t exactly rare in November in London.

  Now, as the day was ending, Magnus was on his way to yet another inn near the dressmaker’s. He threw his brother a glance. Seeing
Martin’s dejection, he smiled. “Not the finest district, but not the worst. And not one where a lone woman with her pockets full of gold would want to stay, I agree. But it is the one nearest to the dressmaker’s, and she could only wear one gown this morning. She has to pick up the others she ordered before she can move on, doesn’t she? Ah. The penny drops. You see what I’m talking about. Yes, she’ll stay nearby. We’ll find her, brother, and you’ll be home in front of your hearth with a nice hot drink in your hand and the lovely Sophia in your lap before you know it.”

  Martin could believe it, for it turned out that there was a female, accompanied only by her maid, staying at The Bull’s Eye, an inn two streets and round a corner from the dressmaker. But the innkeeper said the lady had gone out that morning and hadn’t been back yet. Night was falling, and the inn, though not luxurious, was warm and snug, with a private parlor right near the front door. And the landlord knew how to make a hot punch. Martin sat back in a chair, stretched his legs, and grinned up at his brother.

  “Stop pacing. We have her,” he said triumphantly.

  His brother slanted him a cold gray glance. “Do we? ‘A fine lady,’ the innkeeper said. But all swathed in a hooded cloak. She could be nineteen or ninety. We have to wait and see.”

  “Come now, Magnus,” Martin said comfortably, “Relax. How many fine ladies are there that travel with only one maid? And stay alone in London with only one servant? Or travel at all, for that matter?”

  “Perhaps,” Magnus said, rubbing his palm over the thick glass at the window to melt the frost so he could peer outside into the growing darkness, “But the innkeeper said ‘a fine lady.’ We’re looking for a pirate’s daughter.”