by Edith Layton
Then, wrapping her cloak securely around herself, she quietly left the inn. She could see, in the fitful moonlight, that there was a place to sit on the side of the building, a long low bench there, she thought, for indigent coach travelers to rest upon. She sighed, grateful for the secluded spot, and settled down. Here, no one entering or leaving the inn could see her. She felt rather like a leper anyway, tonight. As she sat back and closed her eyes, the foolishness of her rash actions came to her. She was still hungry, still homeless, and still a long way from wherever her new home was to be. She would, she thought, take the coach however far she could still afford to go. And then she would have to see how she could fare. At least, she thought wearily, I shall finally know what exactly does happen to homeless young women.
And she closed her eyes and tried to doze until morning would bring the coach and the last leg of the journey that she could envision. So she did not see the slight cloaked figure leave the inn and, after a moment, walk quietly up behind her. Nor did she see the moment of hesitation, when it raised one hand to touch her shoulder, and then, after a pause, withdrew it. The figure stood, irresolute, while a cloud chased away from the moon only long enough to light the fair hair like a beacon. Then, with a small shrug, the figure turned and walked silently back into the Crown and Gaiter again, and with one last long glance at the shadowy recess where Regina sat, quietly closed the door again.
XVI
One more stop, Regina thought to herself as the coach bounced noisily through the morning mists. Only one more stop, time to linger in the warmth over one more cup of some hot liquid, before her purse emptied, and then she would have to do something. Only what, she still wondered.
She was now beyond hunger, beyond weariness, in that strange state of mind that exhaustion and deprivation brings. She felt enormously older and wiser than anyone else in her world, in that peculiarly exalted state of mind that extended sleeplessness can bring. She had not slept on the hard bench last night, rather she had sat awake as the night cold had seeped into her body until she embraced it as naturally as the warmth of a fire. She felt cold no more. And she could now review her future as dispassionately as if it were someone else’s, with an Olympian detachment. Whatever else she did, she vowed, at last she would make no more pretense. At last she would be herself.
For, it had occurred to her during the long night, from the moment that her uncle had brought her to town, she had been untrue to herself. She had been living up to other people’s expectations. First, she had pretended to be her uncle’s cosseted and loved niece, when, if she had been honest, she would have realized that they scarcely knew each other. And she should have, she condemned herself, been setting about the task of finding her own place in the world. When Aunt Harriet had come, she should have been firm in her resolve; not for a moment should she have encouraged the woman to hope that she might eventually settle upon poor benighted Cousin Harry. She should not even have accepted his invitation to the theater simply for the expedient pleasure of being taken out for a night on the town. She should rather have taken the money that she was offered and fled to Miss Bekins, without standing on any ceremony.
In a veritable orgy of self-disgust, she had sat upon the hard bench in the inn courtyard and condemned herself like a prisoner in the dock. She should not have nodded dumbly and accepted the Duke’s mad game plan. She should have forgotten about her dignity and screamed and shrieked and run free, without sitting like a fool and listening to his bizarre theories of self-respect and honor.
Indeed, in the case of the Duke, and her every encounter with him, she had been wrong. She had allowed herself to become caught in his web, to be fascinated by him, to almost welcome the verbal jousts she had with him, and, she realized with sinking heart, to enjoy other contacts with him as well. What arrogance she had had, she bitterly flailed herself, to think for a moment that she could deal with him as an equal. He had bested her every step of the way.
And then to cap it all, she should never, never have accepted the Marquis’s protection. Never have pretended to be ‘Lady Berry’ simply for a safe harbor to rest in.
In all, she had pretended. In all, she had taken the easy way. She fairly hated herself now. And when she thought of those few moments in the frozen garden with Sinjin, how she allowed herself to be deluded into imagining he was going to make her an offer! Then the shame she felt when she remembered how she had rationalized her feelings in his embrace overrode all else. Even her appearance in poor Lucy’s foolish little serving dress could not approach the self-disgust she felt at that. No, she had had enough of pretense. But, she thought, as the coach slowed at the gray stone inn, The Lion Crest, she had come to that particular conclusion too late.
When she stepped down and had her bag handed to her, she offered the coachman the next to last coins that she had. But he shook his head and declared loudly, much to the interest of the fellow passengers that were listening, that the sum wasn’t enough. She had misunderstood, she thought sadly, and offered him the last coins in her purse, shaking her head to signify that there was naught else. He gave her a long hard look of regret. For, he declared in an undervoice, if he had known she hadn’t the whole fare, he would have arranged some other way for her to pay him his due. But the objections of the passengers on the coach as to the delay merely caused him to drop the money into his pocket and sigh about lost opportunities. And the coach rattled off into the dim gray morning.
The mist was turning to a soft, sullen cold rain, and Regina turned to face the inn. She felt no further fear or trepidation. It seemed that there were few other depredations that she could suffer. She merely picked up her case and walked slowly, taking shelter under the overhanging eaves in front of the inn. She stood silently for a few moments, knowing that she could not go into the inn without the money for even a dish of tea. So she stood quietly, wondering with a strange sense of inappropriate laughter, about where she was to run to from here.
A moment later the door swung open, and the landlord, a huge bear of a man with bristling sideburns and a completely bald head, stepped out and looked at her with a welcoming smile. Yet he looked the sort of man who did not often smile, it was a forced expression for him. Regina was taken aback by the false welcome that seemed pasted onto his beefy face.
“Oh do come in, m’am,” he said, bowing low. “I never thought you would just stand and wait outside in the rain.”
She looked at him with amazement. What sort of new game was this?
“I’m afraid,” she said quietly, “that you have mistaken me. I…I am simply waiting for the rain to let up before I continue down the road.”
“Oh no,” he said, picking up her traveling case. “I was expecting you, m’am.”
“No,” she said, seeking to get her case back as he turned toward the door. “I have no bookings here. You mistake me, I tell you.”
But she had to follow him in as he simply walked off with her case of clothes.
He stood in the hallway and grinned at her. “If you’ll permit me,” he said, seeking to remove her dripping cloak.
“No,” she said in exasperation, clutching the sodden garment to her, “I tell you I am the wrong woman.”
“Oh no, m’am,” he said pleasantly. “I was waiting for you to come off the coach from Witney.”
Regina’s numbed mind began to respond. Could it be possible that Mrs. Stors had regretted her harsh words and had contacted this man? Could there be a new position for her here? She followed the landlord as he led her to the back of the stairs to a private parlor. There, he paused and knocked softly on the door.
He opened it slowly and bowed her in.
“The lady you was waiting for, Your Grace,” he said.
She stopped on the doorsill when she saw him. He was standing by the fire, and when he looked up, she found it hard to read the expression in his large blue eyes. But oddly, she felt only a vast sense of relief at seeing him. Seeing him, she thought irrationally, she felt a strange sense of home
coming.
He frowned, and came toward her.
“But you are frozen,” he said, and taking the cloak from her, he led her to the fire. Once she was seated, he signaled to the landlord. “Some good hot soup, I think,” he said imperatively, “and some other tempting foods.”
“At once, Your Grace,” the landlord replied, and bowing his way out, he closed the door behind him.
Regina lay her head back against the chair and relaxed. The fire was almost painful in its warmth. She felt a wave of tiredness sweep over her, but she opened her eyes to find him still frowning as he watched her. Somehow, he looked vaguely weary himself, she thought, the sensitive face looked paler, more thoughtful than usual, the cornflower eyes looked shadowed and were not lit with his usual inner humor.
“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes, Your Grace, you were right. You do win. I have lost. I am a long way from Canterbury. A very long way indeed.”
He did not reply, but stood close to her wordlessly until the landlord entered again with a full tray of dishes.
“First,” he said, in his distinctive whisper, “eat and drink a few things. Then you can rail at me. I often find that vituperation is difficult on an empty stomach.”
He guided her to the table, and she did eat some of the foods there, and drank some wine, at his insistence. But she found herself curiously lacking in appetite, and could not eat more than a few bites of any other of the array of foods before her. Then she sat back and looked at him again.
“I hope you haven’t sickened, Regina,” he said lightly, taking her hand and guiding her back to the chair by the fire.
“That would impair some of my plans, you know. It would be most inconsiderate of you. But you don’t know how to take care of yourself, do you? Why did you turn down the offer of Lucy’s bed? Foolish pride again?” he asked as he saw her eyes widen in surprise. “Or more of that sense of honor you do go on about? Oh yes, I was there. Snug as you can imagine, in the good lady’s best parlor. But I imagined that if you refused poor innocent Lucy’s bed, you could definitely refuse mine. And oh it was so warm and wide, but lonely, Regina. Alas, Lucy didn’t tempt me at all. But I watched over you. I saw you wrapped in little else but your much discussed honor, sitting up all the cold night. I could have discovered myself to you then and there. But I decided, instead, to let you run your string out. And so you have, haven’t you? For I know that you didn’t even have enough money left to pay the coachman. You made quite an impression on Jack Potter, and he guessed truly enough that you, as he so succinctly put it, had hardly enough coins to jingle together. But I played it out to the end, that you can’t argue. I waited to see if you could conjure up another Sinjin,” he paused as he saw her wince, “or Lady Amelia, before I drew the final curtain.
“But now it is ended. It is over. Or have you any further protestations?”
“No,” she said softly, “you are right. It is over.”
“What,” he asked gently, “no furious defense of virtue? No glowing plans for independence? No aspersions upon my character? I am disappointed. Truly. And here I looked forward to some superb operatic scenes. Perhaps you are too tired? Perhaps you would like to rest a while before you begin a tirade?”
“No,” she said again. “No, I am beyond tired. But you have won.”
He looked at her for another long moment. And she simply sat and gazed sadly back at him. He looked so complete, she thought, so elegant and in command. And so apart. His dark blue close-fitting jacket accentuated the fairness of his hair, the dazzling white of his neckcloth showed the purity of his skin. A fallen angel, she thought again, amazed again at how none of his career was written upon that disturbing and clever face.
“Why?” he asked, turning to gaze into the fire and prodding a wayward log with his booted foot, “were you on your way to Canterbury?”
“I thought you knew all,” she said.
“Why, so I do, but even I have some limitations. I knew all the facts, but there was no way of my guessing your intent.”
“I was on my way to join Miss Bekins,” she said. “But you knew that.”
“But surely you received her message.” He frowned, turning to face her. “I heard that it was glowing congratulations to you on having landed such an estimable position. She was so delighted to hear of your good fortune. Imagine, finding a position in a Duke’s household.
“But, never fear, I was careful not to specify exactly what sort of position it was, and since I rejoice in having fathered one small (although sadly trampled) creature to carry on my noble line, her assumptions about your future duties were of the most benign. And she could hardly have withheld the news of the good fortune that had fallen her way.”
Regina only looked up in stupefaction.
“I never received any message, she never replied to my letters at all. What good fortune?”
“Only that your estimable Miss Bekins is even now as we speak on her way to a marvelous job as a teacher in the New World, passage paid. Did you know that she always wanted to travel? A learned woman, your Miss Bekins, but a trifle too sober-sided for my tastes. A keen-edged hatchet mind like my own dear Miss Pickett is more to my taste. Still, she was adventuresome enough to leap at the chance to travel. You know, my love, it is an ill wind that blows no good at all. At least, my…arrangement with you resulted in some good. Miss Bekins would never have secured that exciting position in ah…Massachusetts, I believe, if it were not for certain intervention. And it was fortunate, imagine, she had only five hapless brow-beaten young ladies under her charge when I located her. No,” he said, watching her closely, “I never did promise that I play a fair game. I do tend to try to cover all exits and entrances.”
“But I never heard from her,” Regina cried in a small voice.
He turned to the fire again and asked in a low voice, “Who posted your letters, my dear?”
“Why, I gave them all to Sinjin and he—” She stopped and closed her eyes.
“Ah well,” he sighed. After a moment’s silence, he spoke again in a livelier, mocking voice.
“So it’s been out of the frying pan and into the fire for you, Regina, hasn’t it? You changed your mind about Sinjin’s vile offer, and escaped only to find yourself forced to comply with mine.”
“He told you about that?” she asked.
“Why no,” he answered, “rather I told him about it. It seems that St. John agreed to join our little game, to see if he could win you from me. Or from yourself. No matter, but it had become a three-sided venture. Did you not know? Then I imagine you made your choice out of affection alone. Whatever caused you to change your mind? The eternal fickleness of women? But you might have done better to stay with your original choice. He has a fine house in Curzon Street, you know. And I, well, I am erratic, I might just decide to incarcerate you in some pokey country abode, ringed around with daisies, far from the Opera, and balls and flash of the city. For I am very possessive, of my…possessions.”
“I didn’t change my mind,” she said, rising and walking hesitantly toward him so that she might better read his expression. “I never chose Sinjin, you know.”
He gave a little involuntary start. “No,” he said, “I didn’t know. Sinjin seemed to feel that you had, though.”
“No,” she said, “I gave him no answer at all. He took that for ‘yes.’ I suppose he couldn’t understand my not saying ‘yes.’”
“Neither can I,” he said quietly.
“I told you. I told you that I would never sell myself. Although,” she said, shaking her head, “I do see now that it was a foolish thing to say. You were right, I think. It is very easy to make claims, to say ‘never,’ when you don’t really know hunger, or desolation, or fear. Then it is very simple to say ‘never,’ very difficult to mean it. You were right.”
“No!” he exclaimed roughly, and swinging around, held her shoulders with his hands, seeming to have been shaken out of some rigid inner control. “No, Regina, I was not right. Not at all. I may be
in control now. I may have the power, and the authority, and the facilities, but I do not have the right. Give up all else to me, but not that. I know full well that I do not have the right, and never did.”
She did not shrink back from him, or avoid his blazing eyes, only swayed a little, and said firmly,
“No. You are wrong, Your Grace. I was such a pompous little fool that night in your carriage. ‘I shall never sell myself, not for jewels, or comforts, or fine clothes. I shall not live a life of servitude.’ I said that, didn’t I? But I was wrong. I was, in the end, quite willing to sell myself—for security, for safety. You were right, you know.”
“I see,” he said, releasing his grip upon her, a look of infinite sadness upon his face, and turned from her again and remarked, in a hoarsely sorrowful voice, “So you do not come to me…precisely ‘intact,’ do you? What was it? I am surprised,” he went on, wheeling around to face her and saying in a savagely mocking voice, “at Sinjin’s ineptitude. Did he hurt you? Shock you? Have his tastes grown so bizarre that he put you off the idea of your new career entirely? It’s really rather too bad, now I shall have the task of reeducating you. It can be very pleasant, you know, if it is done right.”
“My Lord, Your Grace,” she laughed, putting her hands to her head, really the food and the warmth were making her dizzy with weariness. “You do have a lovely picture of me, don’t you? No, I’m sorry to disappoint you, Your Grace, but no, I did not…no, yours was the only lesson I received in…no, I am yet ‘intact,’ as you put it, in body. But, not in spirit. No, neither in principle.”
“What are you talking about?” he whispered furiously.
“I was, in the end, willing to sell myself,” she wept. “Do you know, Your Grace, I was. I thought, now this is a jest you will appreciate, I actually thought, when he said he had an offer for me, that it was an Offer. I thought he was asking me to marry him! And even though I did not love him, or really even know him, I was willing to say yes. For all those reasons I discredited earlier. For comfort, for security,” she wept openly now, “for safety.”
