Starling

by Virginia Taylor

  Experiencing almost physical pain, she wrapped her old boots into the parcel and tied the string. “You owe me money,” she said, dragging on the knot.

  “You owe me money.”

  Her gaze flew to his. “You would pay me forty pounds, you said.”

  “Forty pounds for fourteen days.” His eyes flared. After staring at her for a full minute, he firmed his mouth, scowled, and opened a side compartment in his desk with a key. He took out a bag of money and a sheaf of loose papers, which he skimmed through. “You worked five days. I owe you fourteen pounds, or thereabouts, but it seems you owe me seventeen pounds and some shillings.”

  “Five pounds.”

  He passed the papers to her. “Total those bills. I think you’ll find I’m right.”

  “I’m not paying for the underwear,” she said when she saw he had added his purchases to hers. “I didn’t buy it. You did and you threw away the stays.”

  He took the receipts from her and folded them. “You misled me. I thought you were staying for fourteen days. Our deal was for forty pounds. I threw in the extra because I had a verbal contract with you. I’ll break it when you give me the money you owe me.”

  “Well, I don’t want your underwear.”

  “You’re wearing it.”

  “My old underwear was thrown away. I’ve nothing else to wear.”

  He waited.

  “I don’t have any money, you know that. Here, take this hat. I’ve never worn it. You can get your money back.”

  “Two pounds. If I take off five for the underwear, nightgown, stockings, and the holdall, you still owe me ten.”

  “This isn’t fair. I shouldn’t have to leave in debt. You promised me money.”

  “Which you spent faster than you earned.”

  “I couldn’t wander around wearing worn-out boots and borrowing gloves from your sister.”

  He shrugged. Now that he appeared to have calmed down, she tried for reason. “Take back all the gowns. Have them. Have the evening shoes. I’ve only worn them on carpet. You can resell them for full price. That will leave me owing you about two pounds. Let me borrow that until I get a job.”

  He shook his head.

  “Why not? What’s two pounds to you?”

  “At the regular rate of four shillings, ten times with you.”

  “Ten times?”

  “That is, if you want to work off what you owe me. I’ll tell you what, if you make it enjoyable, I’ll pay you six shillings a time.”

  “Is that what this is about? You want me to be your whore?”

  His thumb tapped on his chin. “It’s either the full two weeks, as per our contract, or you can pay me in kind what you owe before you leave. It’s your decision.”

  “It wasn’t my decision last night. You told me to leave.”

  “You went to great pains to force that situation, didn’t you? You thought I’d send you off with forty pounds. I won’t, Starling. We agreed on two weeks and if you don’t intend to stay, all you have to do is strip off your clothes and lie on this bed.”

  He pulled his shirt out of his trousers and began undoing the flap. Now absolutely certain he didn’t want her to leave, she smiled. Alasdair needed her to stay to give Lavender a reason to be jealous. “Six shillings for three minutes? I’d be mad to pass that up.”

  “It won’t take three minutes,” he said, crossing his arms.

  She evaded him. “No, it’ll take nine days, because I’m staying.”

  With that, she untied the string on her parcel and lifted out her clothes.

  Chapter 12

  “Ellen, I’d like to see you and Freda in the library immediately.”

  Starling hastened to the book-lined room and waited, scanning the bookshelves and wishing she had time to read a novel. Alasdair kept books on every subject a person might want to learn about, from the manufacture of cotton in America to weaving with pure gold to politics and law. A person could spend a lifetime in this room without finding the motivation to leave.

  Above the fireplace hung a large oil painting of apples in a ceramic bowl, beneath which a porcelain figure of William Shakespeare sat surveying a manuscript. She recognized his form from the inside cover of a play, one of his she had read and hadn’t liked. A woman didn’t kill herself when she lost the man she loved. She found a job and worked even harder to support herself.

  After stroking the leather binding on an illustrated book titled Birds in the Southern Climes, she settled herself into a linen-covered chair by the central table.

  “Ma’am?” Ellen and Freda stood in the doorway.

  She motioned them to enter, leaving them gazing at the exotically patterned carpet. Many a time she’d been in their position, awkward and embarrassed, chastened by being left to stand beside the desk of the head nun of Saint Matthew’s, Mother Sarah. At those times she would have confessed to murder in order to be allowed to leave. However, she’d never committed murder, or theft, or even deceit. Her worst deed had been pride.

  She knew that people would work hard, given just rewards. Having a proper teacher in the home had been her lucky start, but some of the girls didn’t want education. They left the home with red, raw hands and went straight into service. Starling, justly rewarded, had a chance of a better life. So, too, did Ellen and Freda and would when Starling ceased her indulgence of their shenanigans.

  If they continued to focus on personal grudges, they would become unemployable. Such good workers could rise high if they had a mistress capable of undertaking their training. Starling couldn’t continue to hope that Lavender would become the true mistress of the house before another undisciplined incident occurred. “Did you deliberately send Mrs. Frost off improperly dressed last night?” she asked Freda.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She turned to Ellen. “Did you deliberately drop food on her and wipe off her face paint?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Both maids stared at their feet.

  “I don’t want to hear justification. There is none for jealousy or spite.” Yet she herself had tipped a basinful of water over Lavender not two hours ago. She winced. “I won’t have a repeat. If anything else happens to Mrs. Frost, I’ll be very disappointed in both of you. You,” she said to Freda, “will resume your kitchen duties, and you,” she said to Ellen, “will continue as a ladies’ maid. Should Mrs. Frost not want your services, I’ll tell her that she is at liberty to hire a maid for herself.”

  “We won’t shame you again, Mrs. Seymour,” Ellen answered. “We know Mr. Seymour blamed you. Freda heard him yell at you this morning and we want to tell him it was us, not you.”

  “What happened this morning was my fault. I want you both to swear to me you won’t do anything other than your jobs, and then all can be forgotten.”

  “What about Derry? I can’t let her walk in and snatch him from under my nose.”

  “You don’t know that she has. If he strays, it’s as much his fault as it is Mrs. Frost’s.”

  “A man can’t be blamed for—”

  “Should we expect men to be weaker than we are? Of course not. If we don’t give in to our baser urges, nor should a man.”

  “You’re right.” Ellen straightened her posture. “Derry has to work out for himself what’s important to him. If my feelings aren’t, I s’pose I’m not either. I swear I won’t take out my jealousy on Mrs. Frost again.”

  “I swear, too,” Freda said. “Mine was spite, and I don’t want to be a spiteful person.”

  “You’re both good girls.” Starling cleared the lump in her throat. “Now off you go.”

  She sat for a good half hour. Alasdair loved Lavender. He had shown how much by insisting Starling stay to give Lavender a reason to think he could get by without her. Of course, Starling wanted to stay, but as much for being with him as for the money. She liked sleeping beside him at night and waking beside him in the morning. She liked being secure in his family. She lik
ed picking flowers and arranging them and idling around and eating cake. She liked being respected. She liked being liked, and she knew that despite Alasdair being in love with another woman, he was attracted to his fake wife.

  She also knew that he would never act on his attraction even though he’d had ample opportunity. Although she couldn’t quite understand how he could love one woman and desire another, she appreciated that guilt made the man a mess of contradictions. Despite this, he was strong and thoughtful, kind and clever, quick-witted and generous—that was, when he wasn’t telling her she was a slut and he wished she would leave.

  If he distrusted her, as he had pretended, he would have hidden his money. No doubt of it, his agonizing over Lavender had addled his brain.

  She covered her mouth with her knuckles. A person couldn’t choose whom to love.

  * * * *

  “Listen to this.” Paul lowered a copy of The Morning Chronicle.

  Starling sipped her tea while Paul spent some moments, head down, gathering himself for his announcement. Finally, he read out, “‘The performance is clever considering his unfortunate defect... With two legs he would no doubt be an excellent dancer...’ Signor Donato.” His eyes gleamed. “A one-legged dancer, currently enjoying a season at the Theatre Royal.”

  “Let me see. I don’t believe it.”

  Paul handed the paper to Mary.

  Alasdair gave a loud whoop, and the tickle in Starling’s belly grew to a fit of laughter she couldn’t stop.

  Then Lavender, dressed like a bunch of violets, entered the sitting room. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

  Everyone stopped laughing and turned to her.

  “Oh, the playbills. Are we going to the theatre at last?” She leaned over Paul’s shoulder and scanned the paper. “They’re putting on the oldest plays imaginable. I saw Much Ado about Nothing when it premiered.”

  Paul stared at her. “Well, you certainly don’t look your age.”

  Starling, Alasdair, and Mary glanced at him. He shrugged, and Starling again experienced the hot tickle that forewarned a giggling fit. Laughing now would belittle Lavender, and she had no intention of being unkind to a woman who took herself so seriously.

  “I’ll check the dinner menu.” With laughter burning inside her, she sped from the drawing room to the kitchen, where she gave way to uncontrolled gasps.

  Mrs. Trelevan said, “Bless you,” three times before she’d stopped.

  When she re-entered the drawing room, she discovered that the others had decided to go to Her Majesty’s Theatre on Friday night. “Have you seen School for Scandal, Starling?” Mary asked.

  “Oh, I can’t go. Really, I can’t.”

  “If you’re sure...” Lavender said, primping her sleeves. She shot Alasdair a quick glance.

  “Of course you have to come. And to balance the numbers, why don’t we ask Hamilton Fredericks to come, too?” Mary said.

  Lavender gave a pretty, dimpled smile. “Such an opportunity for him. If only some lady would kiss him, the frog might turn into Prince Charming.”

  “I think he is Prince Charming.” Starling lowered her gaze meekly. “He’s one of the most considerate people I’ve met.”

  “There, it’s settled then. We’ll dash off a note to him.” Mary rubbed her palms together. “I hope he’ll come, but with Starling as the lure, I’m sure he will. Don’t frown so, Alasdair. Mr. Fredericks knows Starling is married, and he’s an absolute gentleman. He wouldn’t say a word out of line.”

  Lavender’s face set. “I didn’t notice him paying Starling any special attention.”

  “You left early last night.” Mary gave an agreeable nod. “From all I’ve heard, Mr. Fredericks is one of the most important men in the city. Even the governor goes to him for advice, and I believe that more than one very well-connected lady has set her cap at him. He’s never taken the lure, of course, because he’s far too intelligent, but he—”

  “Who told you this?” Alasdair frowned.

  “You did. But I noticed how taken he is with Starling, myself.” Out of Alasdair’s sight, she smiled at Starling.

  Apparently, Mary had noticed the strained relations between Starling and Alasdair. Perhaps she thought she could spark a reaction from her brother, using the means Alasdair hoped would work with Lavender. Starling glanced down at her softened hands, the nails he had manicured. “Mr. Fredericks doesn’t know I exist. It’s Lavender he’s taken with, not me.”

  Lavender smiled. “As for that, I couldn’t say, but I did notice last night how often he looked at me. He’s friendly with Sir Dominic, is he?” she asked Alasdair.

  “I told you before that he’s a cousin.”

  “Would he have a private box at the theatre?”

  “I imagine so, Lavender. Most of those who can afford one, have one.”

  “You have one as well.” Lavender’s eyes widened. “How your circumstances have changed. I remember when you thought taking me for a stroll in Melbourne was a high treat.”

  Before Alasdair and Lavender could begin a “do-you-remember?” conversation, Starling interrupted. “I can’t go to the theatre. I can’t go out anywhere in public with Alasdair.” Her voice quavered. Mary and Paul might despise her when they knew the truth, but they would hate her if she continued betraying them by living this lie.

  “Why not?” Paul glanced at Alasdair, who stood utterly rigid. “He’s not too bad looking. He’d be better looking if he could smile occasionally.”

  “I can’t go on with this any longer, Alasdair.” Starling rose from her chair, fully prepared to leave this group of people who were not her relatives and who owed her no kindness or friendship. “Shall I tell them, or do you want to?”

  “I’ll tell them.” He stood beside her and tightened his arm around her waist. Bemused by his support, she leaned into him. “The truth of the matter is...” He took a breath. “We wanted to keep this marriage a secret a little longer. We thought that once the word went around, there’d be an endless stream of invitations and interruptions. We wanted to be with family for the first few weeks until we all got to know each other. And then we planned to take an extended holiday, just the two of us together.”

  When he smiled down at Starling, she couldn’t breathe. Every word he had said had been a lie, yet she couldn’t contradict him, literally, because he stole her words with an absolutely word-shattering kiss.

  * * * *

  Alasdair presented himself at the dinner table a confused man. He didn’t know why he hadn’t ended the charade when Starling had given him a reasonable way out. He didn’t know why he continued complicating his life.

  “I’ve been wondering, Alasdair,” Mary said, breaking into his thoughts. “And I’d like to know why you chose Kapunda to build one of your emporiums.”

  “The place is growing rapidly.”

  “Is that because of the copper mine?” Starling asked, scanning the vegetable dishes. Alasdair had noticed her enjoyment of every morsel of food she ate, unusual in a female because most watched their waists. However, she didn’t appear to possess an ounce of vanity, and she certainly didn’t know how naturally lovely she was.

  Mary nodded. “Many more workers are needed in boom times. This attracts women as well as men.”

  Starling passed the condiments to Paul. “Families.”

  Alasdair glanced at Starling. “And new establishments.”

  “And you stock the goods people need for their move,” Mary said, smiling.

  “In Kapunda, everything.”

  Starling helped herself to a spoonful of creamed corn. “And does this new money provide other job opportunities, too?”

  Alasdair’s eyebrows lifted. “Where were you ladies when I was investigating this? You both ought to work for me.”

  Starling gave him an indignant glance, which he ignored.

  “Why do you think the store is taking so long to turn a profit?” Mary asked.

 
“So, you saw that?” he said, pleased.

  “It was hard to miss when I compared that store’s books with the others, as you asked me to.”

  “The last manager lined his own pockets and skedaddled. The new man seems to think we should continue as we’d intended, and at this stage I’m inclined to agree. He knows his area best.”

  “My father said that the person who knows best is the person who controls the money.” Lavender leaned back, apparently satisfied she’d imparted words of wisdom.

  “Oh?” Annoyed yet again by her parent’s opinion, Alasdair glanced at her. “And did you believe your father?”

  Lavender’s shoulders stiffened. “I never really thought about it. Doesn’t one always believe a parent?”

  “Until one starts to think for oneself.” Alasdair added an extra dab of mustard to his plate. “I never met your father, but I know he owned a bank. The money he controlled had been earned by others.”

  “He managed his own income well.” Lavender gave a satisfied smile.

  Alasdair nodded. “I don’t imagine too many people doubted your father was clever.”

  “And that’s why I give you the benefit of his advice occasionally.”

  “I don’t want it, Lavender. I don’t think the way your father did.”

  “Perhaps if you did, you’d—”

  “Have some more roast beef,” Starling said smoothly. “No? You can take the plates then, Freda. I agree with you, Lavender. I think Alasdair has taken some poor advice lately, and I think most of it’s his own.”

  Alasdair leaned back in his chair and eased his thumbs into his fob pockets. “Do tell,” he drawled.

  “Your waistcoats.” Starling’s quick bite to her bottom lip told him she’d decided not to go on with the thought. “You only wear gray or black. Don’t you ever long for bright colors?”

  “Do you?”

  “Of course.”

  Mary shook her head. “So Alasdair did choose those day gowns.”

  “He prefers to see me in dull colors.”

  “And what colors would you choose for yourself?” Alasdair lifted his eyebrows.