Her Saving Grace

by Catherine Winchester

  She smiled, pleased by his praise. “What kind of trade is your friend in, Sir?” She asked.

  “He owns milliners shops, both here and in London. So what do you say?”

  “I say, yes. Thank you.”

  “Well, I should take my leave of you now,” he said. “I’ll speak to my friend at the earliest opportunity and in the meantime,” he handed her five shillings, “that should tide you over. Thank you for your hospitality.”

  “Thank you.” She took the money and blushed.

  He put his hat on and turned to the door but before he could turn the handle, she spoke again.

  “Sir?”

  He turned back.

  “I really don’t know where Pa was staying, I think it changes pretty often but when the mood took him, he’d send us a little money through his friend, Mick O’Grady.”

  “Do you know where we can find this friend?”

  “Cock and Bull tavern most likely. He’s the landlord there.”

  It was a well-known den of iniquity. “Thank you, Sally.”

  He checked his watch as he headed back to the carriage and spoke to the driver briefly, then climbed in. Not unexpectedly, Damaris was seething.

  Chapter Ten

  “How dare you speak to me like that, especially in front of that-”

  “That what?” Nathaniel cut her off. “If you were planning to insult her, I wouldn’t if I were you.”

  “She lied to me, to us! She knew what he was up to.”

  “Well that’s just the thing, you see I don’t think she was lying.”

  Damaris scoffed and rolled her eyes.

  “Her clothes were old and darned, as you rightly observed, and despite the father’s good job and house, there was no servant. Clearly he wanted as little as possible to do with them and they certainly haven’t seen any benefit from his ill-gotten gains.”

  Her jaw was still clenched but her attitude appeared to be softening very slightly.

  “Of course, that doesn’t mean that I think she was telling the whole truth either,” he added.

  Damaris turned to him, eager to hear more but unwilling to ask.

  “Have you ever heard the saying, ‘you catch more flies with honey than vinegar’?” he asked.

  She rolled her eyes and looked out of the carriage window again, although all she could see was pitch black.

  “She’s a young girl, clearly struggling to keep a household together and getting little or no help from either parent. She needed support, not castigation.”

  “And your evidence for that assertion, Sir?”

  “Call it a feeling, intuition if you will.”

  “Forgive me, but I hardly call that proof.”

  “And what will count as proof for you, Mari?”

  She gave him a sharp look at his use of her nickname but didn’t comment on it. “I like science, Lord Copley, and science doesn’t deal in intuition, science deals with fact; yes or no, true or false-”

  “Right and wrong?”

  “Right and wrong are moral choices. Science doesn’t deal in morality.”

  “Does that mean that anything goes, as long as it is in the pursuit of science?” He hoped that by getting her to talk about something she enjoyed, he could circumvent her fury.

  “Of course not,” she gave him a withering look. “Science, that is to say nature, physics, biology and chemistry, know no morality. The disease that kills a person does so because that is its nature, not because it wishes to do harm. Likewise, the apple that falls from a tree does so because it is subject to gravity, not because it decided to jump.

  “The study of science is another matter entirely, and subject to the whims of man,” she continued, almost forgetting to be angry with him as she spoke. “Most scientists respect life and nature, and would not choose to perform an experiment knowing that it might cause harm to another person. Animals however, are another matter entirely. In the name of research, some will willingly cause harm and suffering to a lesser animal; some will do so for the greater good, believing the animal’s suffering is worth it if something can be learned, especially if that knowledge might help save people from say, disease. Others will do so simply to learn, caring nothing for the suffering of a lesser creature.”

  “Which are you?” he asked.

  “Neither. Whilst I understand and even sympathise with the scientists who will test on animals for the greater good, on a strictly intellectual level, I question whether what is applicable to animals is also applicable to humans.”

  “I’m not sure I understand?”

  “There are many foods that are toxic to dogs that are not toxic to people, for example, cocoa, some fruits such as raisins and macadamia nuts. If some foods which are harmless to us can kill a dog, I would have to wonder if anything learned about dogs could be applied to people.”

  “Is that the extent of your dispute?”

  “No. On a personal level, I would question any discovery that comes from suffering. I understand and even agree with some of the reasoning some scientists use; after all, what is a rat, or a dozen rats, or a thousand, compared to a human life. Rats breed disease and illness, they attack small children and outnumber people in some areas. Their loss would not be mourned by anyone and even celebrated by others.”

  “You say that, and yet you still disagree with the practice?”

  “Yes, and this is where science and people differ. Science is truth, while people are often irrational and even illogical.”

  “That’s why you question my intuition?”

  “I question anything that cannot be objectively proven.” She looked him over and seemed to let go of the last of her anger. “That does not mean that you are incorrect, merely that I can't take your opinion as truth; not without proof.”

  “Thank you for explaining your reasoning,” he told her sincerely. He didn’t point out that his intuition on how to handle her anger had been correct.

  “So, did your kindness yield any results in this instance?” She tried to appear indifferent but he could tell that she desperately wanted answers.

  He smiled. “It did actually. The man who used to give them money from Smyth was one Mick O’Grady.”

  She looked at him and frowned. “Michael O’Grady?”

  “That could well be his full name. Why?”

  “He was always in the newspapers. I remember three cases of assault, one of affray, five for lewd behaviour, one for rape… None resulted in conviction however.”

  “What do you mean, ‘you remember’?” he asked.

  “From newspapers I read before I moved away,” she answered as if remembering such detail was perfectly reasonable.

  “I don’t suppose you can recall when you read these articles?”

  “Of course. October 1807, January, March, April and November 1808, May, June and November 1809, June and December 1810.”

  “You can remember all that?”

  “I have an exceptional memory.” She wasn’t bragging as she said it, her demeanour was that of a person simply stating a fact.

  “You were married in?”

  “November 1813.”

  “But there were no more articles in the newspapers between 1811 and 1813, there were no more charges?”

  “Not that I read about.”

  “And did you always read the paper?”

  “Always. At least, I did in those days.”

  The carriage stopped and Damaris looked out of the window to see that they were back at the Copley estate.

  “We aren’t going to see this O’Grady man?”

  “O’Grady runs a public house and is a well-known dog-baiter. I hardly think that visiting such a man at nearly eleven o’clock, when his bar will be full of inebriated men, is the best time to talk with him. Especially if you and your sharp tongue are coming with me.”

  She had the good grace to blush,

  He alighted from the carriage and turned back to help her down. “Besides, I’m rather keen to learn more about
this mind of yours.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes indeed.” He smiled and offered her his arm to escort her inside.

  The butler opened the door to them and bowed.

  “Good evening, Sir.”

  “Good evening, Winton. Where is everyone?”

  He took their coats as he replied. “Your mother and sister have retired for the evening but asked to be informed when you returned safely. Your brother is having a nightcap in the drawing room.”

  “Thank you. Will you tell Mother and Annabelle?”

  “Of course, Sir. Can I get you anything?”

  “No, thank you Winton. I think we’ll have a nightcap in the library, then retire.”

  The butler bowed and left, while Damaris and Nathaniel headed for the library. He lit a number of candles then poured them both a brandy, before joining her where she had taken a seat, by the fire.

  “So, Mari, tell me about this intelligence of yours.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “You can recall events with great accuracy, no?”

  “Yes, and my mind works exceptionally quickly.”

  “With all due respect, Mari, a lot of people think that. Whether it’s true or not is another matter.” He was teasing her but she answered as if he were serious.

  “My father liked to time me as a child so believe me, it’s true. I can read over a thousand words per minute and I have perfect recall.”

  “Can you prove that?” He looked sceptical.

  “Of course. Find me a book that I haven’t read and I’ll prove it to you.”

  He gave her a cunning smile but she wasn’t worried. Reaching into his coat pocket, he handed her his notebook.

  “I’m a little slower with handwriting than with print,” she said as she opened the book and began to read. His notes were written in pencil but his writing was clear, so she was able to read a page every few seconds.

  Just over a minute later, she handed him the book back. “Thank you, that was very informative. And your pencil needs sharpening.”

  He still looked confident and began to flip through the pages. There was a lot of information on this case that she could have already learned for herself but the earlier pages held random notes, reminders to himself and various bits of information that he might need.

  “What’s the address of Mr and Mrs Winton?”

  “14 Gracechurch Street, London.”

  “And the name of my blacksmith?”

  “P. Tolbert, probably David Tolbert’s son, who used to shoe my father’s horses. He has been to your estate twice that you noted in that book, on the second of April and then again on the seventh, when a horse, Casabian, threw one of his new shoes.”

  “How do you know the name of the horse?” he asked, his confidence slipping.

  “The simple application of logic. You also have the measurements jotted down in there for a new saddle for a horse named Casabian and judging by the prices, it’s a decorative one rather than an everyday saddle. From the measurements, I would estimate the horse to be approximately sixteen hands, much like the stallion you ride and Casabian is an unusual name for a horse, but you probably thought it a clever play on the breed, Arabian.”

  “You clearly don’t think it’s very clever.” He sounded a little affronted.

  “It is likely a misspelling of the surname Kassabian, which is Armenian and comes from the word qassab, meaning to slaughter, so whilst the name is fitting in that it is Arabian in origin, no, I don’t think it a particularly apt name for any animal one cares for.”

  “How do you know all this?” he demanded.

  “I read a lot. Ever since I read about the Crusades as a child, the history of that region has interested me. Did you know that Armenia was the first country to adopt Christianity as its state religion?”

  “I confess, I was unaware of that fact.”

  “Yes, in 301 AD. It’s said that the religion was brought there by two of Jesus’ disciples, Bartholomew and Thaddaeus.”

  “Damaris, that’s a biblical name, isn’t it?”

  “Indeed it is,” she smiled. “She is the educated woman who heard the apostle, Paul, speaking in the Greek court. My father used to say that he picked it because he knew that I would be clever, but I think that may have been wishful thinking on his part, and more a matter of good luck than judgement.”

  He studied her for a moment and she blushed under the scrutiny. He evidently liked what he saw however, as a small smile played at his lips.

  “When I thought you were skimming your fathers papers this morning, you were actually reading them, weren’t you?”

  She nodded.

  “And I suppose you have them memorised already?”

  “You make it sound like a choice when the fact is, I could not forget even if I wanted to.”

  “And do you want to?”

  She looked at him, puzzled. “If you are asking specifically about my father, then no. No matter how painful, the more I know the better my chances of finding his killer. If you are asking in general, then yes, there are a few things which I would very much like to forget.”

  Her expression had darkened as she spoke and he thought that he had best not ask her for details.

  “I was wrong to chastise you earlier,” he said suddenly, causing her to look at him again, once more surprised. “I maintain that you were unspeakably rude to that girl, however I must admit that my kindness might not have had so great an effect, were it not in comparison to your very offensive outburst.”

  “No, you were right,” she admitted, her cheeks turning almost crimson with shame. “I have never found conversing with others very easy, not since I was a girl. Father used to say that for every advantage we are given, an equal hindrance is bestowed upon us, and mine was crippling shyness.”

  “You did not seem shy this evening.”

  “I’m afraid that I rather overcompensate for my failing, which at best comes across as insolent and uncouth and at worst, is offensive. Would that I could find a happy medium but alas, it has always eluded me. The past few years, locked away from the world, has done nothing to improve my disposition, indeed I believe that it has made me very much worse. If he were alive to see it, my father would be ashamed of me.”

  She looked so hurt by her confession that he wanted to cheer her.

  “I met your father on a few occasions and thought that he had a very amiable disposition, and I’m sure he would understand the trials that you have been through and forgive you.”

  “Perhaps.” She didn’t sound convinced. “More likely, he would hate me. I take after my mother in my disposition, and she was easily his least favourite person.”

  “He married her, so he must have liked something about her.”

  “Possibly at first. I can recall no affection between them, only arguments and sharp words.”

  “Well, if your memory cannot be trusted, I don’t know whose can.”

  She smiled slightly at his attempt to praise her. “My memory cannot be trusted nearly so much with what I see and hear, as it can with what I read.”

  “Then perhaps your perception of your father’s approval is inaccurate.”

  She smiled sadly at him.

  “‘Promise me faithfully, Mari, that whatever happens in your life, you will not become bitter and acrimonious, as your mother has. She ridicules and scorns everything that is not to her liking and although she has done her best to remove every pleasure that I have in this life, I am able to bear it, because I have you. The thought of you becoming such a shrill woman, would surely see me to an early grave.

  I know she has tried her hardest to make you as mean of spirit as she is, but I’m pleased to see that she has not succeeded.’”

  “He wrote you that?” Nathaniel asked.

  “He did, while he was in Hampshire, arranging my marriage. Knowing my disposition, he chose as easy and affable a man as possible, and we were happy together. If Father could had seen such meanness of spir
it as I displayed to that girl earlier, he would turn in his grave… well, if he had one.”

  She smiled at her dark humour and he smiled with her.

  “I should like to see Dr Worthington’s face if he did turn over on the table.”

  “Oh!” she covered her mouth in an attempt to stifle her giggles as she pictured the good doctor’s face. “You are a wicked man.” She chastised but he could tell that she was pleased to be laughing. It probably wasn’t something she had been used to for a long time.

  “I doubt your mother ever had to cover her mouth so as not to laugh out loud,” he said. “No, I think you are most likely very different from her but your turbulent emotions are clouding your judgement, for I know for a fact that you could never be shrill.”

  “You are a kind man,” she told him. “I’m sorry for how I behaved the first time we met.”

  “All is forgiven,” he assured her. “I realise that I was rather patronising.”

  Nathaniel felt that he had a rather better insight into the woman now and understood, at least a little, why she behaved as she did.

  First there was her intelligence. His behaviour when they first met was a perfect example of most men these days; when he didn’t get the answer he wanted from her, he demanded to speak with her husband.

  Although his own views were not quite so draconian, to most men, women were considered little more than ornamentation. Aside from a few lessons, they were not generally encouraged to improve their minds but rather to play music, sew samplers and plan dinner parties.

  He could only imagine how it must be for her, to possess such a sharp intelligence and yet never be taken seriously. The best she could usually hope for was to be placated; the worst, to be outright dismissed.

  It might help matters if she were a little less physically alluring, for it seemed to him that women who were plain of feature, were allowed to compensate for their lack of beauty with intelligence or wit.

  As both a beauty and a brain, Damaris would always be valued far more highly for the former.

  Then there were her parents; one of whom would praise and encourage, the other who would scorn and ridicule. Such extreme reactions to her, probably from infancy, were more than enough to make anyone shy. Her uncanny ability to recall information would probably have unnerved some people too and generally speaking, that wasn’t viewed as a good trait in a female.