The Spinster & the Beast

by Caylen McQueen

  Liz raised her quill, and her heart stopped for a moment. LOVED him? Was she really on the verge of writing that? She raked her quill through “lov” and continued.

  … but I am still a lady who once cared about him a great deal, and yet he barely acknowledged my existence. If he decides to court my niece, how am I to endure it? Am I supposed to feign a smile as he sweeps her off her feet? I can scarcely stomach the thought!

  I suppose it is time, at my old age, to stop wishing for an impossible fate. I will live my life, lonely and unwanted. And I will die alone.

  And that was it. She had said her piece. By the time she finished her letter, she had tears in her eyes.

  Sincerely,

  What should she call herself? In the unlikely event that her letter should reach a reader, she did not want anyone tracing it back to her. She needed to think of something clever. Something with spark.

  Miss Blue-deviled Bluestocking

  And with that, she was done. She waved the letter in the air, waiting for it to dry. She even sprinkled a bit of sand on it, helping it along. Then she folded it, sealed it with wax, and stamped it. For a letter addressed to Nobody, she had certainly gone to great lengths to make it look official.

  What if someone did read it? The thought was strangely titillating. What if she left the letter in a secret location, hoping someone would stumble upon it? It was quite invigorating to think that someone might get a peek at her innermost thoughts. She slipped the letter into her reticule, then slipped her feet into a pair of walking slippers.

  She had a delivery to make!

  * * *

  Liz made a two mile trek across the countryside. By the time she arrived at her destination, a knotty tree, her fashionable white slippers were covered in mud. She had made the mistake of traipsing around on a rainy day. Her hair was matted to her forehead, pasted there by raindrops and perspiration. If only she had remembered to bring a parasol!

  She couldn’t drop off her letter too close to home, for fear that one of the Miss Wicklows would happen upon it. Her nieces were as clever as they were silly, and it was quite possible they could figure out her clues. She did not want them to hear about her personal affairs, nor did they need to know her history with Major Rutledge.

  Liz leaned against the tree, wondering where she should drop her letter. And then she saw it: a large, brown stone shaped curiously like a mushroom. The ground beneath the stone was dry, which was nothing short of a miracle, as everything else was sopping wet.

  Removing her letter from her reticule, Liz took a deep breath. Was she really going to do this? Had she lost her mind?

  She dropped the letter on the ground, then covered it with the stone. She would return in a few days’ time to see if anyone had found her letter, though it seemed highly unlikely. Why would anyone be peering under random rocks beneath random trees?

  As soon as she “delivered” her letter, a huge raindrop hammered her nose. The rain had started up again. She shoved her gypsy hat on her head and, with a grunt of frustration, she hurried away from her hiding spot. By the time she got home, she knew she would be completely and utterly drenched.

  But it wasn’t as if anyone would care. She had been gone for almost two hours, but they never noticed she was gone.

  Chapter Three

  Captain Calloway stared at his reflection in the looking glass, which had become something of a daily torture for him. The mangled flesh of his face was a constant reminder of what he had been through. Tangles of scars consumed one side of his face, all the way from his nose to his ear. Ribbons of raw flesh marred his chin, where veins could be seen, just below the surface. The worst of it was the depression in his jaw, where the bullet had entered him.

  How could he live like this? It was bad enough that he was no longer a hero. He belonged on the battlefield, where glory could be found at every turn. He could picture himself leading a battalion up a grassy hill, his saber brandished, his pistol at the ready. He didn’t belong in this stuffy old manor, with only his grandmother for a companion. And she would truly be his only companion, for he could never show his face in society, not when he looked like a beast. He had become a hermit at the age of nine and twenty.

  “Adam! Adam, are you near?”

  He almost failed to notice his grandmother was calling for him, because he was unaccostomed to hearing his Christian name. Adam. He had been Captain Calloway for so long, he had become unfamiliar with his primary moniker. However, nothing was more foreign to him than his title, Earl of Stokeley. He had only been an earl for a few months, ever since his father’s death. His father was only four and fifty when he died, but if Adam lived to be four and fifty, he would have lived too long. Adam wanted to die young, because his miserable life was often too much to endure. If he could have traded places with his father, he would have certainly done so.

  “Adam!” the old lady kept squealing for him. “Adam, where are you?”

  Adam went across the hall, where his grandmother was sitting on a plush settee. Her backbone was so misshapen, she looked a bit like a hunchback. She had tiny spectacles on her nose, but they were hardly worth wearing, as she was nearly blind. She clutched a shawl in her liver-spotted hands, which were wracked with palsy. Her wild white locks had been tucked away in a gaudy turban. When she “saw” Adam, her thin lips twitched into a smile. As impaired as her vision was, she could really only see an outline of him.

  “What is it, Nan?”

  “It seems I dropped my knitting needles.” She turned her eyes to the floor, but all she could see was a haze. “Will you help me find them?”

  Adam dropped to his knees beside his grandmother and started scouring the ground. “You’re still knitting, Nan?”

  “Of course! For what reason would I deprive myself of my most pleasurable pastime?”

  “Well…” He probed his mind for the most polite words he could muster. “Your eyesight is not… well, it… it isn’t quite up to snuff.”

  “What you are trying to say is that I am a half-blind slowtop. I am a hazard to everyone… including myself.”

  “N-never, Nan!” Adam exclaimed. “I would never say such a thing about you!”

  Of course, his grandmother’s poor eyesight was a welcome relief. While she knew about his scars, she would never quite know the severity of his injuries. When she looked at him, the mangled half of his face was concealed by a blur.

  Adam peered under the settee, where he thought he saw a glint of metal. Sure enough, his grandmother’s knitting needles had fallen under the sofa. He plucked them off the floor and placed them in the palm of her hand.

  “Thank you, Adam.”

  “My pleasure, Nan.” He sat back and smacked the dirt from his breeches. Unfortunately, the sitting room—and every other room in Stokeley Hall—was quite dusty.

  When Nan noticed what he was doing, she asked, “and when are you going to hire a proper maid?”

  Never. With his family’s fortune, he could have easily employed a handful of servants. A maid, butler and valet would have hardly put a dent in his coiffures. However, he did not want anyone gawking at his horrifying visage. No, he was perfectly content with the company of his grandmother. “We have no need for a maid, Nan. I can do the dusting.”

  “I believe there were cobwebs in my bedroom,” she said, which couldn’t have possibly been true, since there was no way she could spot a cobweb.

  “Really? Then I will be sure to look into it.”

  “And I do have trouble getting around sometimes,” his grandmother said. “It would be nice to have an escort from time to time.”

  This was another lie. His grandmother was eighty, but for all her years, she was remarkably spry. Hunchback or not, she had no trouble getting around. “My apologies, Nan. I will help you get around whenever I can.”

  “Sometimes I think you have cobwebs in your head, boy,” Nan said. He was still sitting next to her feet, so she picked up her cane and gave him a gentle rap on the head.

&n
bsp; “Ouch! Nan!” He rubbed his head, feigning pain. “Why in the world would you say that?!”

  “Hiding away because of a few scars? Piffle!” she chirped. “You need to get out there and live your life!”

  Adam ran a hand down the side of his face, along the twisted, bumpy skin. “You know I can’t do that.”

  “And why not? You have your health, your youth, your fortune,” she said. “A young man like you needs companionship. You need friends. Perhaps even a wife.”

  “No. Never a wife.” Captain Calloway sat on the settee beside his grandmother. A slip of light trickled through a window, lighting his face. He hoped the illuminated scars would make her see reason. “What woman would have me?”

  “Many, I am sure.”

  “No. I have no need of a wife. Let us retire this topic of conversation before it raises my ire.” He snatched a book from an end table and started mindlessly thumbing through the pages. “You have no husband, but are you not perfectly happy?”

  “I would be happier if Preston was still alive,” she said, referring to her late husband. Adam’s grandfather had died nearly twenty years ago, and Nan had been a widow ever since. “You know what else would make me happy?”

  “I shudder to think of the answer.”

  “Great grandchildren,” she said, predictably. “And you are my only hope of having any!”

  Adam heaved a tremendous sigh, the likes of which seemed to go on forever. If his face wasn’t a twisted mass of flesh, he might have considered taking a wife. But not anymore.

  Nan moved her shawl to her lap and resumed her knitting. A few seconds later, her hand flew up in the air. “Ow!”

  “Are you alright?”

  “Quite alright. It was just a tiny prick.” Ignoring the pain, Nan plunged the knitting needles into the fabric yet again. A moment later, her hand flew up, and there was a tiny bead of blood on the tip of her finger. “Ow!”

  “Nan!” Adam exclaimed. “Perhaps you should retire from knitting?”

  “Nonsense!” she trilled, and sucked the blood from the tip of her finger, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “I might not be able to see the needles, but I can rely on my instincts.”

  “It seems your instincts have failed you,” Adam said. He pointed at her finger, where the blood bead was reforming. “Take care not to injure yourself, Nan. I care about you too much to let you make craters in your fingers.”

  “Ohhh… I cannot endure a lecture from my grandson! It isn’t natural!” she whined. “Grandmothers lecture their grandsons, not the other way around.”

  “And you most certainly do lecture me,” Adam agreed. “If you don’t mind, Nan, I think I’ll leave you alone for awhile. I’m going to traipse around the countryside a bit.”

  “Good. A bit of sun would be favorable. You’ve gotten so pale as of late.” She picked up his arm and held it in front of her face, getting a good look at his coloring. “You look healthier when you’re a bit browner.”

  “Really?” Adam observed his arm. He thought he looked the same as ever, so he could only assume she was exaggerating. As usual.

  “And with any luck,” Nan mused, “you will happen upon a young lady during your travels.”

  “With any luck,” Adam countered, “I won’t happen upon a single soul.”

  * * *

  To be safe, Captain Calloway donned a mask before leaving Stokeley Hall. In the unlikely event that he did happen upon any young ladies, he did not want to be seen. He knew he would look peculiar in his disguise, like some sort of masked marauder, but anything was preferable to letting anyone get a glimpse of his face.

  He grabbed his walking stick on the way out, and his journey began with a trip down a dirt path. He followed the path to a fork; one path led into town, the other to a grassy hillside. As he had no desire to wander into town, he turned right, toward the lush green countryside. The sun was hovering above the horizon, engulfing his surroundings in a sunset. Fiery orange and royal purple streaked the sky. The hour was late, but the air was cool, and the breeze was pleasant. It wasn’t such a bad time for a walk.

  On top of everything, Captain Calloway had a limp, so his walking stick was not a mere decoration. His Hessians cleaved through the grass as he shuffled forward—toward a knotty tree.

  When he approached the tree, Adam decided to stop for a rest. He touched his mask, making sure his face was not exposed, though there was no one around to see him. As he sunk to the ground, he clutched his walking stick. His head came to rest on the tree’s trunk, and he closed his eyes. His lungs guzzled the fresh air, his skin absorbed each gentle breeze. He was enjoying an invaluable moment in an otherwise empty life.

  He shifted slightly, and when he did, his walking stick rapped a nearby stone. When he looked down, Adam saw a slip of paper under the rock. He moved the rock and lifted the paper, which was closed with a wax seal.

  It was a letter.

  He wondered if he should return the letter to its hiding place, as it surely wasn’t meant for him. But in the end, his curiosity was too much to bear, and the temptation was too much to resist. He cracked open the seal and unfolded the missive.

  Dear Mr. Nobody

  When he read the heading, he had to smile.

  Perhaps the letter had been meant for him after all.

  Chapter Four

  When Adam returned, his grandmother was still attempting to knit. He half-expected her fingers to be covered in blood; however, it seemed she was having some success, as her shawl was nearing completion. He collapsed on the settee beside her and opened the letter.

  He had already read it once, but he wanted to read it again, to absorb every word. The curious letter was quite possibly the most interesting thing he had come across in some time.

  Dear Mr. Nobody,

  I find myself quite out of sorts.

  Before he could read another word, Nan leaned over his shoulder and tried to sneak a peek at the missive. Fortunately, she had the eyesight of a bat, and she couldn’t read a word. “What do you have there, Adam?”

  “A letter.”

  “I can see that it is a letter,” Nan croaked. “From whom?”

  “A lady.”

  “Ohhhhh!” she cooed. “Receiving secret letters might not be the most proper thing in the world, but it is most propitious. Who is the lucky lady?”

  Adam folded the letter and returned it to the pocket of his greatcoat, as it was apparent he would have no peace while Nan was nagging him. “Nan… how many times do I have to say it? There is no lucky lady. And if there was a lady in my life, she could hardly be considered lucky. Look at me!” He jabbed a finger against his scarred face. If she did not cringe at the sight of it, her eyesight must have been worse than he realized.

  “Nonsense!” Nan made a tutting noise with her tongue. “You are handsome as you are.”

  “That is nonsense.”

  “The left side of your face is quite handsome!” She gave her grandson’s ear a playful pinch. “Besides, a pleasant disposition is much more appealing than a handsome face. And you can be quite pleasant… when you want to be. What more could a lady want?”

  “Nan…” he whined. “Please.”

  “You should get out more. The world could benefit from your good heart.” Nan wrapped an arm around his shoulders and heaved a sigh. “Anyway, I think I am quite done with knitting.”

  “The fact you are still awake surprises me, Nan.” He pointed at the bay window, at the pitch black evening sky. “It is quite late.”

  “I can see that, you dolt!” Nan snatched a candle from an end table, and it wobbled in her hand. “Do you think you could help me to my bed?”

  “I will do more than help you!” Adam declared. And with that, he swept his grandmother from the settee and into his arms.

  “Now this is a proper escort!” Nan cheered. “As young and strong as you are, you should carry me all the time!”

  “No, not all the time. I couldn’t possibly deprive your
old bones of the exercise they surely require. We would not want you to become dilapidated, Nan.”

  She gave him another gentle rap on the head. “With any luck, the next woman you carry will be your bride. Over the threshold.”

  “Now I am tempted to drop you,” he teased. “And Nan… try to hold your candle steady. We wouldn’t want you burning your gown.”

  Adam nudged open the door to his grandmother’s bedchamber and carried her inside. He lowered her to the bed, put her candle by her bedside, and proceeded to tuck her in. Nan was beaming, positively tickled at the way her grandson was taking care of her. She had a hand in raising him, and she had officially raised a good lad.

  If only he would realize it.

  There was a book on Nan’s nightstand, so he picked it up. “What is this?”

  “A book. Don’t you know what a book is?”

  He chuckled at her response. “I can see it’s a book. What book is it?”

  “Pride and Prejudice,” she said. “I had been enjoying it, but reading… it strains my eyes so.” Nan peeled off her turban, and her downy white curls sprang free.

  “Would you like me to read to you?”

  Her blue eyes lit up, and her pencil-thin white eyebrows leapt to her forehead. “Would you? Oh, that would be so wonderful!”

  There was a leather bookmark sandwiched between the pages, so he assumed it was the last page Nan had read. He opened the book and read aloud.

  “Elizabeth passed the chief of the night in her sister’s room, and in the morning had the pleasure of—”

  Nan closed her eyes as her grandson read. His voice was soft and deep, the personification of velvet. He pronounced the words as carefully as he could, not wanting her to miss out on the story. However, it was well past Nan’s usual bedtime, and she could feel herself drifting to sleep.

  Before he could finish a single chapter, a snore slipped out of Nan’s throat, a telltale sign of her slumber. Adam closed the book and smiled, pleased at himself for his ability to lull her to sleep. He had a very relaxing voice, or so he had been told. His soothing voice hardly befit his face, the face of a monster.