Of Dubious Intent

by J. A. Sutherland

  “I don’t know what his business with you is, girl, but be careful.” She took a deep breath. “His hooks run deep and he knows how to set them.”

  Cat frowned. She’d thought the servants here were happy with their lot. A small household with the master gone much of the time meant little work. But Emma had said something odd when Clanton had first taken Cat to the city — not to trust them, she’d said. Did the servants know what Roffe was? Surly Clanton did, but she wouldn’t think Roffe would trust that to the others.

  “What do you mean?”

  “There’re hooks set in all of us — just …” She sighed and nodded to Emma. “She’d do better in her own room. He does this when you’re friendly with the girl, what’ll he do if he knows it’s more? If he suspects that, if he can use it —”

  “More?”

  “Keep your secrets close, girl, as we all do. Don’t let that man own more of you.” Singley turned and left. “I’ll send up the salts and tea.”

  Emma slept for several hours, and all the while Cat stayed at the bedside. At first, she simply held Emma’s hand and waited, then, as it grew toward evening, she rested her head on that hand, keeping her eyes on Emma’s face.

  After some time, Emma woke. Her eyelids flickered, opened, and her eyes rolled, at first unseeing. Then they opened fully and focused on Cat. She smiled for a moment, then her eyes widened in alarm and she tried to sit up.

  “No,” Cat said, “rest easy. You’re hurt.”

  “No, miss.” Emma tried to rise again. “I shouldn’t be here. Not in your bed like this.”

  “I had you brought here so you could rest.”

  “Should be in my own room.”

  “No.” Cat pressed her firmly back down to the bed. “I want to see you’re taken care of.”

  Emma flushed, but settled back.

  “Mistress Singley said a bath with salts would do you well once you woke. Do you think you could manage that? There’s tea and toast, as well, though the tea’s likely cold and bitter by now.”

  Emma nodded and started to rise again, wincing. “A bath would ease these aches, I think. I’ll go down and ask her —”

  “Nonsense,” Cat said. “She brought the salts up here and my bath is just in the next room. You’ve shared it often enough with me.”

  “That were just playin’, miss,” Emma said, “and weren’t proper.” She flushed. “It’s not my place.”

  Cat frowned in confusion. Emma’d been a steadfast friend to her here and had, indeed, shared her bath more than once since that first time. Why the girl was suddenly so insistent on it being improper, which it likely was, she couldn’t understand. Nor did she care.

  “You stay there,” she said firmly. “I’ve seen the hip bath you have below stairs and it’s nowhere near big enough for the proper soaking you need.”

  Cat went to the bathing room and started the bath filling. She poured salts from the box Cook had delivered, but wasn’t sure how much to use, so she simply added more and more as the bathing tub filled and what she’d already added dissolved. When the tub was filled, water steaming and somewhat opaque with the dissolved salts, she returned to the bedside.

  Reluctantly, it seemed, Emma took her outstretched hand and accepted her assistance in walking to the bath. She limped and her right leg seemed to pain her more than the left.

  Once in the bathing room, Cat helped her undress and the extent of the injuries became clear. They weren’t as bad as Cat feared — Singley had been correct that the solid ribs of Emma’s stays had protected her back from the cut of Clanton’s switch. There were bruises there, though, where the impact of the blows had made it through.

  Emma’s shoulders fared worse, and there were livid, red welts there, some of them bleeding. As well, on the backs of her thighs and buttocks. Some of the blood had dried to her shift and underthings and they were painful to remove.

  With every new injury revealed and every hiss of pain from Emma, Cat cursed Clanton and Roffe anew.

  Once undressed, Emma eased herself into the bath, needing support from Cat to do so. Her right thigh had taken the worst of it, somehow, and was a mass of bruises and welts that made Cat want to look away.

  The heat and salt seemed to ease her, though, at least after the initial sting, and Emma leaned back, eyes closed, her face softening in relief.

  “I could lie here forever, I could.”

  “As long as you like,” Cat promised.

  She took up a cloth, wetted it, and began washing the now dried mud from Emma’s face.

  Emma’s eyes flashed open and she protested again.

  “I can do that, miss, not you.”

  Cat frowned again. She had a sudden fear that Emma knew — that Clanton had said something to the girl as he beat her, told her that Cat was the cause, and that was the reason for Emma’s new formality.

  “Emma,” Cat asked, steeling herself for the answer, “what’s the matter?”

  Emma looked down at the water.

  “It’s — Mister Clanton, miss, he didn’t say why. He didn’t say what I’d done wrong —” Her eyes clenched shut and filled with tears. “I’ve been too forward, I think — and Mister Roffe, he’s displeased I didn’t keep my place.”

  “No, that’s not it.”

  “Well what else could it be?” Emma asked. “I know I’ve done my housemaid chores well — Cook would cuff me herself if I haven’t.” She looked up, eyes wide and fearful. “I’ve not displeased you, have I, miss?”

  “No — no, absolutely not.”

  Emma nodded. “I left my place. Thought I could be a lady’s maid and put on airs. I —” She looked away. “I’m sorry, miss.”

  “That’s not it. And I’m Cat to you when we’re alone, remember?”

  Emma shook her head. “What is it then? Why would Mister Roffe have me beaten like that?”

  Cat opened her mouth to answer. She wanted to tell Emma the truth — about Roffe and his story of the whipping boy — but what would Emma think of her then, if she knew it was Cat’s fault she’d taken this beating.

  “It’s —” She paused. “I don’t know, Emma. I’ve no idea why Clanton did this, but Mister Roffe isn’t displeased you’ve been my maid.” That much was true, at least — Roffe was almost certainly quite pleased with it, as it gave him Emma to use as a control over Cat.

  “He’s not?”

  “No.”

  “Then why?”

  “I don’t know. Perhaps Clanton was … I don’t know.”

  “Do you suppose he just wanted to, that Clanton?” Emma asked. “He’s a frightening man.”

  “He is … perhaps that might be it.”

  Cat wrung out the cloth and dabbed at Emma’s face, hating herself for the lie, but her limbs were chill with the fear of what Emma might say if she knew the truth. Would she forgive Cat for being the cause of Roffe’s wrath? She couldn’t bear the thought of losing her only friend, so stayed silent. As the mud came off, she spotted a dark red welt on the girl’s cheek where one of Clanton’s blows had landed, as well as a bruise where he’d cuffed her to the ground and vowed she’d give Roffe no further cause to do such a thing again. Surely that would make up for the lie, wouldn’t it?

  “Let’s drain this and fill it again to have the water clean,” Cat said, wanting to change the subject.

  She drained the tub and Emma huddled in place, going all over goosebumps in the chill air. Then she started the tub filling again with fresh hot water and added more salts. The girl continued to shiver even as the hot water rose.

  “What’s wrong?” Cat asked.

  “I’m all over cold,” Emma said. “I ain’t been beat like that since I come here — not since I left …” She clenched her eyes shut. “Is this how it’s t’be? Ever’ time a carriage comes up the drive, will it be old Clanton comin’ for me?” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I can’t find another place — I can’t —”

  Cat knelt beside the tub and wrapped her arms around Emma’s should
ers.

  “It will be all right,” she whispered.

  “It won’t, it — Cat, your dress! It’s in the waters!”

  “Well, I’ll not leave you shivering with fear like that.”

  “But —”

  Cat grinned, it was just like Emma to worry about the clothes before herself.

  “Very well, then, there’s nothing for it.”

  Cat stood and began to undress to join Emma in the bath. It was more awkward to get at the complicated stays and ties of a lady’s, not a servant’s, garments without Emma to help her, and somehow, oddly, more intimate to do it herself with Emma watching than when the girl helped her.

  She slid into the tub, grateful for the water’s warmth after the chill air. Beneath the cloudy water, her legs and feet touched Emma’s softly, and she felt the tremble in her insides she so often did when they shared a bath or lay together on her bed before Emma went to her own.

  Her gaze caught the bruise and welt on Emma’s face and she slid around the tub to draw Emma into her arms. She held her for a time, until the shaking subsided, then took a deep breath and sighed heavily. Her own thoughts and fears seeming to come as the other girl’s withdrew.

  “What’s wrong, miss?”

  “Cat.”

  “What’s wrong, then, Cat?”

  She could hear the start of a smile in Emma’s voice, and that cheered her for a moment. For a moment, until she realized that this closeness was exactly what Roffe wanted and that it put Emma at risk. But Cat had never had this before and didn’t want to lose it. The desire to both keep her friend and protect her warred within. An idea occurred to her.

  “Are you happy here, Emma?”

  “Oh, aye, I could stay in the bath like this forever, I think.”

  Cat smiled. “Not the bath, goose, I mean here, in this house.”

  Cat saw Emma looking confused.

  “Where else would I go?”

  Cat saw that wasn’t an answer to her question and it gave her hope. Emma would never be safe from Roffe here, but what if they simply left? What if they both took service in some other house? The life of a servant wouldn’t be so grand as what Cat had now, but neither would it be as dire as life on the street. Was there more she truly needed than a warm bed and a full stomach?

  “Some other house, perhaps? One with a more conventional family?”

  Emma was silent for a moment. Cat glanced up and found the girl was now looking down at the water herself.

  “When I first arrived here,” Cat went on, “You said Mister Roffe was a kind master, but today …” She shook her head. “Whether by Roffe or his man, this doesn’t seem kindness. And you warned me not to trust them, when Clanton first took me to the city. Singley, just today, said something about them, how Roffe set his hooks deep.” She took a deep breath. “Perhaps another place would be best — for the both of us.”

  “It don’t work like that, miss — Cat,” she corrected herself. “With no reference? What do you think a girl just shows up at the kitchen door and she’s hired?” Emma shook her head. “No, there’s who you know and who knows you — the footman’s sister’s husband’s cousin is who gets to fill a place.” She paused, longer, and Cat remained silent, somehow sensing there was more she’d say.

  Emma started to pull away from Cat’s embrace, but Cat tightened her grip and Emma relaxed against her.

  “And there’s them hooks,” Emma said bitterly.

  “What?”

  Emma looked up, eyes wide, and shook her head. She looked down again. “Nothing, please, it’s just … this is the only place for some of us.”

  “What do you mean? Emma, please tell me.”

  Emma shook her head again. “It’s wrong. It’ll all go wrong again if I do.”

  “What?”

  “You’ll hate me.”

  “Emma! I’ll do no such thing — it’s out now, whatever it is. Certainly, it’s better I know than to wonder?”

  Emma was silent for a long time and Cat could see her shoulders shaking.

  “Please tell me?”

  “There’s none in this house don’t have a story,” Emma said finally, voice just above a whisper. “Mister Roffe, he ain’t no proper gentleman, but we keep his secrets a’cause he keeps ours.”

  “What secrets, Emma?”

  “Skiff,” she said. “He were caught poaching and ran, but there’s talk he were with a band of highwaymen, too. Nothing to be sure of, but the magistrate and lord took the chance Skiff gave them to be rid of him. He’ll hang if he’s ever caught off Mister Roffe’s lands, I think.” She sniffed and rubbed her eyes. “Mistress Singley, well, there was a man what beat her and he don’t beat no one no more, if you understand.”

  Cat began to. A man like Roffe, a man with secrets of his own, would want those serving him to have no choice but to keep his counsel. The servants might not know the details, but they’d know something was off — better to have those who owed you their place and had nowhere else to go.

  “And you?” Cat prompted, thinking, and me. Nowhere to go but back to starving on the streets.

  Emma buried her face in her hands.

  “You’ll hate me, miss,” she whispered.

  “Emma, I won’t, I — I have secrets of my own, you know. Before I came here, I was nothing but a gutter-rat, a common beggar and thief in the market.”

  “Nothing common about you, miss.”

  Cat smiled. “I note you don’t argue the beggar and thief bits.”

  Emma flushed red and looked down at the water, which drew Cat’s gaze there as well. The soap and salts made the water murky, but she could see the other girl’s form beneath it and it stirred … something, she didn’t understand. Like a cramp, but not at all painful. Emma’s body, where it touched hers, seemed to suddenly catch fire and burn her skin, and she found it oddly difficult to breathe.

  “I’m sorry, miss, I —”

  “It’s Cat, Emma, haven’t we said that?”

  “Aye, Cat, but it’s sore hard to keep it straight when Hinds is about. I fear slipping and her going all prune-faced about it.”

  “Hinds can go —” Cat broke off rather than use one of Clanton’s favorite suggestions for what her tutor could go and do. She should, she supposed, take Emma’s example and try to keep her own roles straight. At the manor she was a proper lady, after all — while at the townhouse, she was still —

  “I was a thief you know. A beggar too, but earlier. Once I grew enough, there was more in the way of thieving.”

  After that, there was nothing for it but to tell Emma stories of her life on the streets. The girl seemed fascinated by it — thinking it more of an adventure than Cat ever had at the time, and Cat played into that. Something in her chest seemed to swell with every one of Emma’s oh’s and ah’s at Cat’s tales, and the girl’s laugh was like the gift of a chest of coin, a tinkling that nearly brought tears of happiness to her eyes.

  They were called to supper before she’d nearly run out of tales, but she kept them up while Emma dried her and helped her to dress, ending with her tale of that last day with the gang in the market, not mentioning that the mark was Roffe, but still going on about her mad dash away from the others in the gang, her leaps over market tables, and her last, desperate scramble up the drain pipe with Brandt close behind her.

  “Loo,” Emma breathed. “That were close. Yer like some hero in a story-tale!”

  Cat couldn’t help but grin. “Nothing like that.”

  “So, you made yer own way after that?” Emma asked. “With that fat purse?”

  Cat’s grin faltered. “No,” she admitted finally. “The purse, it turned out, was worthless. Full of iron disks made to feel like coins.” She laughed ruefully at the memory. “Rusted, too, so not even worth their weight in iron.”

  Emma gasped. “All that for nothing? Who’d carry such a thing?”

  Cat sighed. “Someone with a very different plan, I suppose.”

  Chapter 19

  A
fter supper, Cat retired, and Emma came with her to help her ready for bed.

  Cat intended to have Emma’s secret, now that she’d told her own. She wanted to know what had brought the girl to Roffe’s employ and what hold the man had over her.

  She waited until she was in her nightgown, seated at her dressing table, with Emma behind her brushing her hair, then reminded the girl that their earlier talk was not complete.

  “You never told me your secret, Emma.”

  Emma’s hands stopped drawing the brush through Cat’s hair and there was a long pause. Cat kept herself from looking at the girl in the dressing mirror, instead she busied herself with a bit of ribbon laid out there.

  “It’s nothing near as exciting as yours, miss, believe me.”

  “But I want to know,” Cat said. “I want to know all there is about you.”

  There was a longer silence and Cat scarcely dared to breathe. She felt like she was in the garden, a bit of seed on her outstretched palm, holding still as stone so that a sparrow might alight there.

  “You’ll hate me, miss,” Emma whispered.

  “I could never hate you, Emma.” Cat felt it was the truest thing she’d ever said.

  She rose and took the hairbrush from Emma’s hand to set it aside, then took the hand to guide Emma to the settee. They sat, Emma looking down at her lap, and Cat squeezed her hand.

  “I will never hate you, Emma. Please tell me.”

  For a moment, Cat didn’t think she would, then, the girl’s breathing gave a little hitch and she squeezed Cat’s hand in return — her grip growing tighter as she spoke.

  “It weren’t but a kiss,” she whispered, voice barely audible.

  Cat frowned, not understanding, but waited.

  “We was just in the loft, playing like. And there were a bit of a kiss.” She swallowed and went on in a rush as though the start of it had burst a dam and now the whole would have nothing but that it was voiced. “But my family’s nothing in the village and her Da’s the mayor and her brother saw, you see? An’ her brother, he says he wants what he saw … an’ more from me or he’ll tell. But I won’t, so’s he does. Word spread there were more to it — gossiping, cackling biddies, the lot of them.” Her voice turned bitter and angry. “What man’d have a girl there’s such rumors about, eh? Not that I’d want a one of them!”