by Hilly Mason
“Aye, verra well, what can I do for ye then?”
“We need a place to stay,” Joyce said. “We are currently without a home and the inns have turned us away.”
“My apothecary isna a boardin’ house,” the old lady said.
Sophia made to argue, but Joyce was quick to cut her off. “Yes, we know, Miss Baxter, but I heard-tell that you are looking for help to sweep the floors and dust the shelves. In exchange for lodging, we would be happy to help out.”
“I don’t believe I need two people to sweep around my shop,” the old woman said doubtfully. “An’ I’m not sure how much a lady would help. Have ye ever touched a broom in yer life, lass?”
Sophia frowned at her and was about to say something tart, but swallowed her pride forcefully.
“I can do well enough with a broom,” she finally told the woman.
“Verra well. I’ve had customers complain aboot the way my shelves look, an’ I guess it wouldna hurt to keep things lookin’ nice, if I want customers to return.”
Sophia felt a wave of relief wash over her. She flashed a smile at Joyce. Her maid grinned in response. Thank God she wouldn’t have to sleep out in the streets tonight.
Yes, but you’ve done that aplenty back in India, sleeping out under the stars in your parents’ backyard garden, hearing in the distance the sound of the wildcats beginning their nocturnal hunt, their calls sending shivers down your spine. You were grateful for the large walls that separated you from the wilderness...
Her memories were returning after years of stifling them. They were like a rush of water, threatening to drown her. Perhaps it all started with the letter she wrote to Alexander St. George. She had forced herself not to think of him ever since her marriage to Lord Gibbs. However, admittedly, writing to him made her feel like she was a young girl again composing love notes.
Well, the letter she wrote to him earlier today was definitely not a love note—she had made quite sure of that.
Sophia shook her head to clear it and gave the woman a small curtsy. “Thank you, ma’am,” she said politely. The rain began to fall, dampening the remaining ringlets of Sophia’s golden blonde hair. She wiped the slick strands of hair away from her face, grimacing as it clung to her neck.
“All right, come in before ye both catch a cold and I have to use all my best medicine on ye.” Sophia let out a breath of relief as the old woman ushered them in.
She blinked rapidly as her eyes struggled to adjust in the dimly candlelit room. The room smelled of spices and the sharpness of medicinal herbs. Sophia wrinkled her nose in distaste, as the smells brought her back to the time when her parents were sick with cholera, when the Calcutta apothecary came in with a box of herbs and potions of various odd colors and smells. As the apothecary barked orders in Bengali, and the servants fled to and fro the house, they all but forgot Sophia crouched in the corner of the sickroom, wondering if it would be the last day she would see her parents alive...
“There’s not much room in here,” Miss Baxter said. Despite her physical limitations, she was lithely walking around the shelves of breakable glass jars of ointments and potions. Her sleeves were rolled up, showing her pale, wrinkled arms stained in an orange color that Sophia hoped to be some sort of herb she was working with—perhaps turmeric—and not a form of a contagious illness she and Joyce would soon catch.
“There’s only one room upstairs, which is mine, so ye’ll have to find yerself a corner down here to sleep.” The old woman turned around and faced them, pale eyes glaring. “Mind the cat.”
Sophia looked around. Each corner was filled with piles of dust and what looked to be clumps of fur. She looked back at Miss Baxter in dismay, but the old woman was already sauntering up the stairs to her room. Miss Baxter closed her door with a slam, causing a few glass bottles to fall down onto the ground and shatter.
“I expect you to clean that up!” Miss Baxter called out.
“Yes’m,” Joyce replied obediently. She then lowered her head toward Sophia.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she said quietly so that only Sophia could hear.
“It’s quite fine, Joyce,” Sophia reassured her.
Joyce walked around the shop, careful not to step on the pieces of glass, until she found a broom and a pan.
“You do know how to use it, do you?”
“I certainly hope you are teasing me again,” Sophia exclaimed, biting down her annoyance as she took the broom from her maid’s hands and swept the dust and fur away from the corner. She hit something soft that let out a hiss, causing Sophia to jump about a foot backward and slam into Joyce. Luckily, both caught their footing before landing into a full shelf of medicine in ceramic bottles.
“What in God’s name was that?” Sophia whispered. She grabbed a lit tallow candle and swept the light throughout the room, trying to find the source.
“I… I haven’t a clue,” Joyce said, her voice quivering.
Sophia heard a rustle to her right accompanied by a low growl. She crouched down beside a large bag of strong smelling herbs and lowered the candle.
A pair of eyes glowed brightly in the darkness. “I believe I have found the cat Miss Baxter warned us about,” Sophia said to Joyce, with some relief. She held out her hand toward the creature, and sure enough the cat came into the light to rub against Sophia’s hand. It was a female gray Persian, with a long, fluffy tail, reminding Sophia of the powdered white wigs aristocrats wore in the latter half of the last century. Perhaps deciding that there wasn’t a threat, the Persian flounced over to Joyce to be petted.
“Ah, there are blankets back here!” Sophia took a candle to light up the cat’s hiding spot. They were a bit dusty and smelled faintly of mold, but they would do. Perhaps she would spend some time washing the blankets the next day, although Joyce would most likely have to show her how.
They set up their bed next to each other. Even with the blankets, the draft that squeezed itself in from the loose boards in the wall made it dreadfully cold and they huddled close to each other for warmth. The cat, surprisingly, curled up at their feet, giving them a little extra heat.
“Well, here’s to a new life,” Joyce said, leaning her head back against the folded blankets and a bag half-filled with flour that served as their pillow.
“Perhaps tomorrow we can find some brandy to celebrate,” Sophia said sleepily. “But for now, all I want to do is to sink into oblivion.”
“That sounds very nice. Goodnight, Sophia.”
“Goodnight.”
When Sophia closed her eyes she saw Alex. How many years had it been? Almost five? The last she had heard of him he had purchased an estate out in the country where he now spent the majority of his time. He had forsaken life in the city, yet he ran gaming clubs throughout London. She could imagine that he was very much still a part of society.
But not the society she was part of.
He used to be such a respectable individual. She never would have taken him for someone to have interest in gaming houses, let alone to invest in them.
She suddenly shot up in her makeshift bed, scaring the cat off into the corner of the room. Joyce, already in a deep sleep, continued to snore softly.
What if Alexander St. George had ordered Lord Gibbs to be killed? Was it Alex that her husband was indebted to? Is that why he purchased Comerford House, to get what was owed to him?
Well, whatever kind of person he is, being invested in gaming clubs was a guarantee that he had turned into a scoundrel, and possibly a rake.
She felt a twinge of pity for his poor wife. Even though Sophia had been in a loveless marriage that ended terribly, it gave her some amount of comfort to know she would not have done much better being married to Alex, a man who made money by preying off other people’s weaknesses.
She wondered, as she drifted off to sleep, if he even remembered her.
Chapter Four
Alex took lunch in his study that afternoon. In fact, it was where he took most of his meals if h
e wasn’t having a business dinner with his partners and investors. He hadn’t entertained at Ramsbury House since Lydia passed; as he was still officially in mourning, he couldn’t even begin to think of hosting a ball when the grass had yet to grow over his wife’s grave in the church in Chertsey.
However, there were plenty of people who urged him to throw a party—especially his younger sister, Diana, who was one of the most sought-after unmarried ladies in the ton. She lived to flirt, gossip, and gawk about her giggling friends like a flock of geese, and the fact that there had yet to be a ball at Ramsbury, or at his house in London, had made her a bit stir crazy—so much that she had taken to living at their cousins’ estate nearer to London to get her social fill. Which was just as well; Diana’s felicity was one less thing he had to worry about.
Today, Diana was coming back home for a few days after visiting her friends in London. She was on her way to their mother’s estate in Oxford to visit their aunt. Their aunt, unfortunately, was on her death bed, after being defeated by an illness that made her weak in the bones and loose in the head. She had bravely fought it for a good year and a half before becoming bedridden for the first quarter of the year. Alas, now it seemed the illness had won out.
Poor mother must be devastated, Alex thought. The two of them had been as close as twins. Ever since Alex and Diana’s father and uncle had died in a riding accident, Alex was the one who controlled the family’s estate, which included the money he sent to his mother for both her and his aunt’s welfare. Ramsbury had been his uncle’s estate, and as his uncle and aunt bore no children, Ramsbury went to Alex.
He had just finished with his lunch when his sister came skipping into his study, the twin black curls on either side of her face bouncing like springs. Was that a new gown? Alex wondered, staring at the light blue silk she wore. It looked expensive, and he wondered how much of her allowance he gave her every month went to superfluous things such as dresses and laces.
“Sister,” he said, standing up after wiping his mouth delicately with a serviette. “It is wonderful to see you.”
Diana walked up and kissed him on his cheek. “Likewise, Alex,” she said. “Although I wish it was under better circumstances.” She turned around and smoothed her skirt before taking a seat on the chair against the wall.
It took a second for Alex to realize she was talking about their aunt and not his wife, Lydia. He had been so consumed by grief for the past half year that his aunt’s terminal illness seemed so far away, like it was hidden behind a curtain.
Diana seemed to have caught on to his thoughts. Her eyes narrowed.
“Oh, come now. I thought you a stronger man than that,” she chided.
“It has not yet been a year, Diana” he reasoned with her. “And every time I look into little Annie’s eyes, I see her.” He shook his head as though to clear it. “Anyway, I am getting better. I am going to go through her things today and turn that room into a new nursery for Annie.”
“Do you mean you have not already?” She firmed her lips and narrowed her eyes. “My God, Alex. You’ve made her bedroom into a museum, haven’t you?”
“I just haven’t gotten around to it,” he said, frowning, but he knew that was only partly true. His wife had died during labor, and their beautiful little boy along with her. It had all happened in the bedroom just feet from where he now sat. After Alex had said goodbye to her breathless body and kissed her on her forehead, it was the last time he stepped foot in that room, letting his servants and Lydia’s family take care of the rest.
In a way, he supposed, he was avoiding the inevitable; that by ignoring the closed room he was refusing to believe what had happened. Perhaps his wife had taken only off on holiday, to Italy or some other far off land, and that soon, very soon, she will be back home with smiles and gifts for Annie.
How long could he keep up that charade?
“Diana,” Alex said after taking in a deep breath. “Would you be available to help me sort through her things?”
He could tell by the cold, hard look in her eyes that she was about to refuse, and honestly, he wasn’t expecting her to agree. As much as he loved his little sister, she did have her quirks. It took a lot for her to be able to like someone that he was acquainted with. He supposed it started ever since he had his heart broken by Sophia Clarke, with Diana vowing to ruin her life for treating her brother so horribly (to which Alex had to quickly talk her out of it). Even though he had married Lydia instead, Diana still acted coldly toward his wife, allowing only the bare minimum conversation of what was considered socially acceptable at parties and dinners.
Alex figured that any woman that took her brother away from doting on his little sister made them enemies in Diana’s eyes. At any rate, Lydia never seemed troubled by it.
“Oh, very well, I will help you out,” Diana said, surprising him.
“Thank you, Diana. I appreciate it.”
His sister shrugged and appeared uncomfortable at the silence that passed between them. She fiddled with one of her curls, wrapping her finger around it, pulling it straight, and releasing it so that it would spring back into position.
“Where is Annie?” she finally asked. “How is the girl? I do want to play with her a bit before I leave tonight.”
A maid came in and set up tea and scones on the table in front of Diana. She took a cup and sipped its contents. “Mmm, is this the new shipment from India? It is delicious.”
“It is. And Annie is well,” Alex replied. “I believe she is finally beginning to understand that she will not see her mother again. At times I do think she is sad about it.”
“I cannot imagine what it would feel like to grow up without a mother,”
Alex’s head began to throb painfully, directly in the middle of his forehead.
“I believe she is a bit lonely,” he admitted, a lump forming in his throat.
“Isn’t it time to look for a governess for her?” Diana asked. “I believe I was of her age when Miss Bell came to teach me my lessons.” She shuddered at the memory, and Alex couldn’t help but smile. Their old governess was strict with the both of them, at times swatting them with a stick she’d taken from the rowan tree outside their parents’ old town house in London whenever she deemed them insolent.
“I was going to hire someone earlier this year, but then... Well, you know.”
“I will ask around when I go Aunt Lillian’s house,” she said. “And I would also suggest putting an advertisement in the newspaper. You are going to Auntie’s house with me today, aren’t you?”
“Unfortunately, I have business to attend to here at Ramsbury.”
“Business?” Diana repeated, raising an eyebrow. She did not approve of his line of business, but since it gave her those fancy gowns she loved so much, she hardly had room to complain.
“It looks as though I won the bid for a new gaming club in London.”
“Another one? Does that make four now? How many does a man need?”
“As long as they keep bringing in money, I’ll consider opening more.” Alex replied coolly. “At any rate, I have papers I need to hand over to my lawyer. He is coming in tomorrow, so I can’t leave for Aunt Lillian’s until later that afternoon.”
“Very well. I can wait until then,” Diana said. “Shall we get started on Lydia’s room then?”
Well, he had to do it sometime. Perhaps this would prove that he really did have the courage to move on with his life. He cleared his throat.
“Yes, let’s begin,” he replied. “And get it over with.”
After they finished their tea, they left Alex’s study and walked across the hall. Alex had taken the key to the room from the bottom of his drawer and used it to unlock the door to Lydia’s bedroom. He pushed the protesting door open with his shoulder. The room smelled musty from dust and disuse. Diana wrinkled her nose and walked over to the windows and threw them open, letting the April sunshine stream in.
Alex half-expected his wife to be sitting up in bed, he
r red-gold hair falling down her shoulders, and her head lowered as she read a book to Annie. No more, Alex thought. Getting trapped in a memory like that was only a waste of time.
“Where do we start?” Diana asked, staring up at the books lining the shelves. There was also a wardrobe of Lydia’s clothes and a chest bursting with various belongings.
“Shall the dresses be saved for Annie when she comes of age?” Alex asked. He gazed upon the clothes as he struggled to block the memories that were attached to them.
Diana shook her head immediately. “Heavens, no. By the time Annie grows into these dresses, they would be completely out of style. Let me take them instead. I can get them altered and dyed to suit my tastes.”
Alex did not know enough about fashion to deduce whether she was telling the truth about the instability of fashion trends, but he shrugged, resigned.
“Take them if you’d like. I have no use for them now.” He spotted the greed in her eyes as she started piling the expensive clothes onto the bed, talking to herself as she sorted through them:
“This one needs to be altered. This one is a terrible color. Perhaps I’ll give it to Rachel instead...”
Alex shook his head and walked over to the chest to open it.
“Well, there are more clothes here you can look at,” he said to his sister as he held up a pile of folded garments in his arms. Diana swooped down and snatched them away quicker than a hawk diving to catch its prey. Alex moved out of her way quickly and waited for her to gather the garments into her arms before closing the chest again.
But before he shut the lid, something in the chest caught his eye. At the very bottom of the chest were neatly piled stacks of letters, tied together by ribbons. The letters were unsealed, and by the looks of it well-read. The pages were soft and creases lined the edges. At first Alex thought that they were old letters he had written to Lydia while they were still courting. But no, he always sealed his letters with the stamp his father had given him, depicting the coat of arms that the King George II presented his great grandfather after serving him in the war. The St. Georges were given the title of baron by the king and granted land around London, an outstanding accomplishment for a family of merchants. Alex assumed he must be more like his grandfather than his father. Even though he had enough money for his family to live comfortably, Alex still desired to find a way to make his own money, rather than relying solely on his inheritance.
