Undoing One's Enemy

by Camille Oster

  Amelia was woken by the cacophony of noise outside—people were yelling, there were horses, carriages, carts, street vendors and shoppers. Not the kind of shoppers she was used to seeing, where finely dressed ladies would stop at a jewellery store or a fine patisserie to refresh themselves. This was a whole other type of shopping—not shopping, she decided, purchasing.

  As distressing as her situation was, and the full implication of it hadn’t quite sunk in, she knew it was still a little bit fascinating. Here was the underside of London, the part that discreetly made it all work. There was a store across the road that sold tubs, every sort of tub imaginable. She had tubs in her house, but she’d never considered how they got there.

  “I’ve looked over the kitchen,” Abigail broke into Amelia’s musings. “It’s enough. Ugly wares, but it’ll do. Best go to the market, have you any monies?”

  “A little,” Amelia said, handing over what was the change from her last shopping excursion.

  “Madam could use an outing,” Abigail said. Abigail had never been so direct spoken before, but things were different now out of necessity if nothing else. The situation was dire and direct communication was necessary. Amelia was surprised how blasé she felt about the niceties being laid on the wayside, she was nothing but grateful that Abigail had agreed to follow them into their substantially less glamorous life; it was a step down for her as well.

  “I think due to the circumstances, we should all call each other by our first names,” Amelia said with a small smile. Abigail nodded in agreement.

  “Calling each other by our first names?” Edna said offended. “I have never heard such.”

  “It is the new fashion, aunt,” Amelia said. Edna’s senility was a gift sometimes, as it would make their change of circumstance much easier on the old woman. It would be something Edna would take badly if she was completely aware of what had happened to them. Amelia was grateful that she could at least partially shield her aunt from the realities of it.

  They decided that they would go soon. Amelia opened some of the boxes with her clothes and found the most basic gown she had. Abigail took a look at it and sighed.

  “We’ll get robbed with you looking like that,” she said. “Maybe I should go on my own.”

  “Maybe I can just wear one of your dresses?”

  “I only have two,” Abigail said, “but I suppose I’m not wearing one of them.”

  “I need to get something more appropriate,” Amelia said quietly as she looked over the remains of her wardrobe. “I probably should sell one of them.”

  “Perhaps one of the ball gowns. Won’t be needing them, I reckon,” Abigail said.

  “No, you’re probably right,” Amelia confirmed with a degree of sadness even though she didn’t completely enjoyed the balls, they grew tiresome, but it showed that her life had changed—probably irreparably.

  “I know a place that’ll take ‘em,” Abigail said. “I will go this afternoon.”

  The throng of people was a little distressing at first. Abigail’s simple dress was surprisingly comfortable. Edna did garner some attention, but that couldn’t be helped. The market wasn’t far away. There were bakers, fruit and vegetable sellers, poultry and pork butchers. Abigail took over the bargaining, for which Amelia was ill equipped.

  “Odd sort of place,” Edna said.

  “It is a market,” Amelia said.

  “Are we meeting your father here?” Edna asked.

  “No, he won’t be joining us,” Amelia said with a small lump in her throat.

  When they got back to their rooms, there was a jumble of furniture outside, furniture that she knew belonged to her father. A young man was standing outside waiting.

  “You Miss Hessworth?” he asked, and she nodded. “These are for you. Good day.”

  “But how am I supposed to get them upstairs?”

  “Not my problem Miss,” the man called over his shoulder and was gone in the crowd.

  The pieces were much too heavy for them and they just stared at each other trying to think of what to do.

  “They’ll never fit,” Abigail pointed out.

  “We could use some of them,” Amelia said. She really wanted to keep them, to feel some semblance of normalcy, but Abigail was right. The dressers would definitely be of use, although they were also much too large.

  “Pretty inconsiderate of his Lordship to send furniture that’s much too big,” Abigail said. “Do you think he doesn’t realize?”

  “I think he knows full well.” She suspected that he didn’t care. He was throwing out her father’s things like they were trash.

  They managed to get some pieces upstairs and found a vendor that would agree to sell the rest on consignment with a heavy cut. It would give them a bit more money to live on, though it broke Amelia’s heart to see her father’s things go. On the upside, they had the furniture they needed, now they just had to clean the rest of the flat.

  Lord Eldridge’s re-establishment at his father’s club had gone smoothly. He was welcomed cordially and the invitations soon flooded in—none of which he really wanted to attend—but he forced himself to accept the most noteworthy ones. As he had little else to do, but wait for the events to start, he rode out to Wiltshire to check on the country house.

  As with the town house, little had changed. There was little in terms of new additions to the house, except for the new stables. The country house still had all of the Hessworth’s property—they had obviously not been back since it had been sold. Their personal effects were still in their rooms waiting on their return. It was an odd feeling travelling through the house in such a state. He’d walked from room to room familiarizing himself with them, reminiscing about the past and cursing the intrusion of others. His room had been taken by Amelia Hessworth. The wall coverings were much more feminine, as was the furniture. The room smelt of a sweet female scent which seemed to add substance to her presence in his house. A dress hung from the wardrobe, a light blue dress that had a flowing ephemeral feel to the fabric. He wondered what kind of things she would have done in a dress like that.

  It was a strange feeling being in a room with all her effects. He had hated her for so long. Hate might not be the right word; he had disdained her for most of his life. She had been a little different from what he’d expected. He’d expected the pride. Maybe not the ramrod backbone and the hateful stare. She hadn’t cried and begged, which was a good thing because he hated tears—even false ones.

  Upon his return, he felt a need to check on how his little vagabond was faring. He wrote a note for her to report to him the following day. He expected her to turn up on the dot, in her finest clothes, bristling with dignity. It would amuse him, but he was robbed of his amusement as the girl didn’t show up at the allotted time, or after that either.

  He sent a terse note to remind her that his generosity came with conditions, one of which was appearing when requested. At one o’clock on the dot the next day there was a knock on the door.

  “Miss Amelia.” He could hear the butler say. “It is excellent to see you again.”

  “You are looking well, Granson.” He heard her crisp tones. “Is Lord Eldridge here?”

  She appeared in his study’s doorway only seconds later. She was not wearing her finery as he’d expected, she wore something that looked like a maid’s dress. Perhaps she was aiming to garner sympathy.

  “I am here as requested,” she said noncommittally.

  “Well, well, you seem to be taking to your new position like a duck to water,” he said with a smile that was bordering on a sneer. She didn’t respond to his jibe.

  “As I said, I am here as requested.”

  Her arrogance, even when wearing such a dress was infuriating. Part of him wanted her to be crying, begging, but she was acting like he was intruding on her time.

  “I have a stipend for you,” he said nonchalantly.

  “I do not require one.” He knew she was lying, but he recognized the pride in her; still there af
ter she was living under the roof he provided. He couldn’t help but acknowledge the girl’s gumption.

  “Come now, you cannot want to live in complete poverty,” he said. “It is a generous stipend. It will afford some of your incidentals.”

  “I do not require further assistance,” she said tartly.

  “Then you may not require my assistance at all,” he said, knowing he was provoking her. He could see that the girl wanted to say no, but the truth was that she did need the accommodation that he provided. She could not take care of the senile woman and her nurse without him. Hatred for him seeped out of her eyes, but he could see her swallowing her pride.

  “Your assistance has been invaluable.” After a moment, she added, “I cannot make do without it.”

  “Then the stipend will assist further,” he said authoritatively. He did rather enjoy watching her squirm. It was but a small restoration for the suffering his family had endured.

  “If you insist,” she said tightly.

  “I do,” he responded with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

  Maybe he shouldn’t be enjoying pinning her with her own pride like a butterfly to a collection board, but he did. It wasn’t gentlemanly, but she couldn’t afford to admonish him. A small cruelty in the larger generosity; he could have thrown her out to fend for herself, which would fare her much, much worse. Supporting the hapless girl and her dependents was the height of civility, particularly as she was a member of the vanquished enemy family.

  “If that would be all,” she said quietly.

  “No.” He was twirling a pen between his fingers, considering her. “There is a painting at my country house—of a woman.” He knew full well that the painting was of her mother, the late Mrs. Hessworth—something a daughter would covet.

  “I am assuming it has some sentimental value to you,” he continued.

  “Yes,” she confirmed quietly and tentatively.

  “Then you will have to come collect it,” he said watching as the girl tried to work out the logistics in her head. “I am leaving for Wiltshire on Friday morning at eight. You may join me if wish to collect it, if not, I will burn it.”

  He watched the shock and anger in the girl’s eyes. He knew it was something she couldn’t resist doing, but it was also something she shouldn’t do. A gentle bred lady did not go on trips with unrelated men, but then she wasn’t that kind of girl any more. Truthfully he wasn’t quite sure why he had suggested it; it was not something he’d planned. The girl had just goaded him into it, and he wasn’t quite done with her yet.

  “Don’t delude yourself into thinking I have any designs on your virtue—if you have any that is. I have absolutely no interest in you,” he said and put his pen down on the desk. He was grateful that the girl was on the other side of the desk, because he suspected he was in for another one of her remarkably accurate slaps if she hadn’t been.

  The part about interest wasn’t strictly true; he just wasn’t quite sure what his interest was. He certainly wasn’t interested in her in that way; he preferred in female companionship gentle and pliant, and swayed with coin, and he suspected she would be none of those things. The last thing he needed was some high strung chit whose arrogance outmatched her position.

  Maybe he just wanted to bend that steely will of hers. How could his mission be complete if she hadn’t fully accepted that she’d been undone by it?

  Chapter 3

  Amelia had sworn in the most colorful language she could think of throughout the whole long walk back to Hoxton.

  “Lout!” she said forcefully, but when it was wrongly absorbed by a man walking the other way, she had to apologize and explain that it was not in any way directed at him. From that point on she swore in her head, but vocabulary for this particular type of description was limited.

  As much as she wanted to, she wasn’t prepared to forgo her mother’s painting and she did believe that Lord Eldridge had no interest in her in a way that would threaten her virtue. Of course, being caught in the company of a man would be harmful to her reputation, but she hadn’t much of one left.

  After considering it for a few days, she decided she had to do it. So she was there on Friday morning at the designated time. She was quite frozen by the time she got there and she watched as Lord Eldridge emerged from the house, straight from his warm bed. She had taken care to dress in a manner that would be unappealing, and if anyone saw them, they would assume she was a house maid; although they admittedly rarely travelled in the Master’s carriage. Perhaps people would assume he was uncommonly generous, she laughed at the thought.

  He took her hand and helped her into the carriage. His touch was disconcertingly warm, something she hadn’t expected. She hadn’t really considered him to be a real human being before—a nasty one, but a human none the less.

  She felt the carriage sway as he entered and sat down. He didn’t look at her, instead watching the scenery out the window. He wore the finery of a gentleman, and she knew the ilk well enough to know he didn’t scrimp on the material or the tailoring; although his dark hair was too long to be strictly fashionable. It flowed from his head in dark unruly curls. It told of the edge of incivility that was in his character.

  His legs were strong and muscular, she spied from between her lashes, not wanting to be caught taking his measure. He was no dandy. In fact, he was a rather beautiful specimen of a man. It was such a shame that his character was so completely vile. Although she wasn’t entirely convinced that men weren’t like that in general, maybe any man, no matter how he appeared, was vile if you made an enemy out of him.

  She had no illusions about her father either; although he’d been the centre of her world growing up and she loved him dearly, she wasn’t entirely sure her father knew how to love. She really didn’t like some of the people he dealt with. She couldn’t truly doubt that her father had destroyed the Eldridge family, he probably had.

  They didn’t speak throughout the entire trip, which took most of the day. The roads were good, so it wasn’t overly cumbersome. They didn’t stop for refreshments, but were provided with one of Cook’s packed lunches. Amelia was well familiar with Cook’s lunches and it brought a lump to her throat being confronted with one.

  They arrived shortly before dark. She could see the familiar sites when they got closer to the estate. She had spent the summers here every year since she was little. She hadn’t expected how much it would hurt to see it again. Perhaps that had been his intention, this odious man. He sat as straight and proud as he had the hour they started this trip.

  He hadn’t really acknowledged her presence at all, which was fine with her; she certainly didn’t want to make conversation with him even though etiquette tended to frown on silence.

  “Take whichever room you want,” he said as they arrived and he assisted her out of the carriage. “We return to London the day after tomorrow.” Once she had alighted he walked ahead of her into the house. The staff were prepared; he must have sent them a message to be aware of their arrival. The house was full of familiar faces; it was strange but nice to see them all again.

  She assumed her old room and took her supper there. For a moment, she could pretend that everything was as it should be, pretend that nothing had happened and that her father was down in his study going over his affairs. It was a comforting thought, but childish.

  Her pretence didn’t last, this was the first time she’d been alone in a secure environment where all around her wouldn’t hear if she cried. The familiar surroundings were soothing and it seemed to break her resolve. She did eventually sleep, but her eyes were swollen and red in the morning. She needed some cool stones from outside to sooth the red puffiness. She wasn’t sure how she would dress that day. More of her clothes were in the wardrobe here, and she was astounded to realize how many dresses she had. She could either wear one of her dresses or re-attire herself in her more humble dress. She decided to wear one of her old dresses; she might not have a chance to wear them again, and a litt
le pretence that all was well may not hurt for just one day. She was going to visit her favorite places, and she was going to stay far away from Lord Eldridge.

  She had always known about him. There was evidence of his family’s existence in the house, particularly in the attic, where she had found a box of his old childhood things—his study books, some drawings and old toys. From all appearances, he’d been a typical child. She had been very curious about him when she was young, being as she was the only child in the house. The remains of his childhood had been like a ghost. She saw nothing of the child in the man she now encountered.

  It was a sunny day, the kind of day she’d loved when she was here. She strolled down to the pond to have a look at the wildlife and the familiar sights and sounds.

  “I used to play here.” She heard behind her. She hadn’t noticed him approach.

  She didn’t respond. She didn’t want him there. Why was he intruding on her solitude?

  “This is my house,” he said, seeming to read her thoughts. “It always belonged to me.”

  “So you’ve said,” she said and turned her back to him, angry that she was subjected to more of his profession of ownership. “And your father lost it.” It was true and she refused to ignore it. People lost estates all the time through stupid actions.

  “Through another’s guile.”

  “No doubt the same way you got it back.”

  “A wrong righted.” He picked up a stone and threw it in the pond. “You couldn’t have stayed here anyway, even if I never returned and your father’s fortunes had flourished, it would have been entailed away to someone.”

  “I know,” she said perhaps a little stronger than necessary. It was true, her father’s death would have entailed the property to some male somewhere if his debts hadn’t consumed the whole estate. She didn’t understand why they were having this conversation. He incessantly have to point out her position; it wasn’t like she’d forgotten. He wouldn’t let her in any event.