by Abby Ayles
Lucy shrugged. She spied a glass of red wine which Clara had abandoned on the conservatory table and picked it up. She took a slight sip of it, standing between Clara and the doorway.
“That is my drink,” Clara said.
Lucy shrugged again and with a flick of her wrist ejected the remaining wine right into Clara's face. The red droplets streaked her makeup, hung in her golden hair, and stained the white accents on her dress. Clara let out another indignant sound.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked. “All I did was tell the truth.”
Lucy sighed wearily. She did not care what Clara thought she was doing. She did not care if Clara jumped off a bridge. Come to think of it, she wasn't surprised that Clara and Lord Jones were still in love. They were cut from the same cloth.
“I'm going home,” Lucy said bluntly, turning around and walking out of the conservatory.
She didn't bother going back to the dining room. If she had forgotten anything, her mother or Antoinette would be sure to find it. Lady Fitzgerald would probably be indignant that she had not said her proper farewells and collected her things and excused herself to everyone there. But Lucy did not care anymore. She just wanted to go home, somewhere safe and warm and pleasant where she could relax and probably cry for half an hour.
Lucy knew that she needed to get away from them. From Lord Jones, from Clara, from everything. They would probably get away of their own accord if only she gave them enough time. But it was not enough. She needed to hide away and wait. Or to go to that convent. Or just to go back to boarding school. It would involve a significant step down the social ladder, but it would be much better to be a teacher somewhere in the Devon countryside than a victim among high society.
Arriving home, she made her way upstairs and, not having found a servant to help her, proceeded to half rip herself out of her dress, discarding it on the ground, ribbons and several buttons torn, before getting into her night clothes. It was early in the day. But she was taking ill. She lay face down on the bed and began to cry.
She wasn't even sure what she was crying about. She just knew that she needed to.
She must have fallen asleep because she was awoken by the sound of someone knocking on her bedroom door. She sat up and ruffled her hair. “Who is it?” she asked.
“It is your mother, thank goodness you are here,” Lady Fitzgerald said, pushing the door open and walking in. “Why are you undressed?”
Lucy shrugged. “I am feeling very unwell, so I came home to rest.”
“You are feeling unwell? You have not had the news I just had back at the reception,” Lady Fitzgerald said, marching over to the bed and collapsing into the chair beside it, sitting on top of Lucy's torn dress.
“Whatever do you mean?” Lucy asked, hopeful for some exciting news.
“I have heard some things and I... I believe it would be for the better that you move to the convent now,” her mother said.
Lucy nodded. “I am in some agreement on that, though probably not for the same reasons,” she replied. “What have you heard?”
“It is too awful... it does not bear repeating,” Lady Fitzgerald said.
“If you do not tell me then how am I supposed to know what you are referring to?” Lucy said with a slight laugh.
Lady Fitzgerald glared. “Oh, I trust you know exactly what I am referring to.”
“Does it... Does it concern me personally?” Lucy asked.
“Of course it does. I would not be making this choice if it were not about what you have done,” Lady Fitzgerald replied.
“I am still not much the wiser,” Lucy said, shaking her head. Could her mother not just tell her? Wouldn't it be much simpler? She collapsed back in the bed. “If you will not tell me what this is about, I would like to sleep. I am very ill.”
“Nonsense. You are not ill. Clara told me all about it,” Lady Fitzgerald insisted.
“Wait, Clara told you?” Lucy asked, turning her head sharply to the side. “She told you everything?”
Lady Fitzgerald wiped a small tear from the corner of her eye. “Yes, she did. And I must say it is awful. All of that happening in Lord Jones's house. It's a disgrace, is what it is. I can hardly believe it...”
“And she told you everything?” Lucy asked again, still incredulous.
“Every last bit. I asked her to spare me some of the details but she insisted it was important for me to know,” Lady Fitzgerald said. “I suppose she was right, but that does not make it any easier to hear.”
“Well, that's a relief, to be fair,” Lucy replied. “I would not have liked to have told you myself. But I do not see what it has to do with me or the convent.”
“If you think I'm going to let you stay here and live under my roof, just so that you can go about acting like some cheap hussy, you are out of your mind,” Lady Fitzgerald said indignantly. “I cannot believe you are being so relaxed about this.”
“Well, it is not my fault what Clara and Lord Jones do,” Lucy replied.
“I am not talking about Clara, I am talking about you and Lord Jones, sinning under his very roof, escaping so you can commit such indecencies in private.” Lady Fitzgerald rubbed her temples. “I cannot believe my own daughter is doing such things.”
“I beg your pardon?” she asked, completely confused. “I never did any such thing. In fact—”
“Do not lie to me,” her mother spat back. “You keep lying to me. Like I will never find out, like it doesn't matter what you say. After all, I am only your mother. Well I have had enough of your insolence and your rebellion. You might think you are outsmarting me, but you shall not. At least I can trust decent young women like Clara to look out for the virtue you will not protect.”
Lucy now realized what had happened. In order to protect herself and exact her revenge, Clara had levied the same accusation against her. She was not sure exactly how this had been phrased, but from the sound of it Clara had accused Lucy of much more than she herself had done with Lord Jones.
Lucy shook her head. “Please do not believe that, mother. It is all lies. Clara wants to defame me.”
“Why would an upstanding young woman like Clara, with a fiancé and all her life ahead of her, waste her time insulting a girl like you?” Lady Fitzgerald countered. “She says that when she tried to persuade you not to spend any more time with Lord Jones you cast wine in her face, like some sort of petulant child.”
“I did nothing indecent, you have to believe me,” Lucy said. She wanted so desperately to tell her mother the truth. But it was not right. But... Clara had been willing to ruin her life over this. So why was she still barred from ruining Clara's? No, an eye for an eye made perfect sense in this case.
“I cannot believe my daughter is such a hussy,” her mother said, tears flowing from her eyes freely now.
“But it was not me who did that!” Lucy exclaimed. “It was Clara. I caught her kissing Lord Jones, not the other way around!”
Lady Fitzgerald looked personally insulted by the accusation. “Lucy! Clara is a decent young lady. And if you will speak ill of her when all she has done is try to save you, then... I am not sure a convent is the right choice for you. I am not sure where you belong,” Lady Fitzgerald replied. “I cannot sit here with you. I would like you to stay in your room for the remainder of the day and think about what you have done.
Chapter 28
As Lady Fitzgerald left the room, Lucy felt an ominous sense take over her. This was not going to end well. There was no punishment she could even imagine that her mother would consider enough. She could not even work out what exactly Clara had accused her of, only that she had made that accusation in great detail. It could be any number of obscenities. Most likely obscenities which Clara herself had an intimate, carnal knowledge of...
This could not be happening. Lucy threw herself back down on her bed. She should never have attacked Clara. In doing so she had joined a game she had no chance of winning. She had always known, from things her mother had t
old her, and from her mother's frets about class and status, that there was an amount of vindictiveness in high society. Part and parcel of having wealth and status was needing to defend your honour. And Lucy had attacked the honour of an admired and respected young woman. She was doomed to be attacked now. And who would believe her over Clara?
She needed to turn to someone. To anyone. But to who? After all, she was not even allowed out now. And she could not invite Lord Jones around to confirm her version of events. He probably would not anyway. He would probably either back Clara up and boast of his conquest, or deny it entirely and make Lucy look even guiltier by association.
Lucy wondered whether Antoinette would be able to defend her. But Antoinette knew only what Lucy had told her, and was too honest to support her any further than that. No, it all came down to Clara's word against Lucy's. And if Lucy's own mother would not believe her, then who else would? She had nothing and nobody to support her, and now she would have to face the consequences of insulting a powerful and vindictive young woman.
She was despairing. She could not afford the problems this lie was going to cause her. Or... could she? Her mother was just thinking of sending her to a convent, after all. And that was where she wished to be anyway. Of course Lady Fitzgerald had claimed that Lucy would not be fit for a convent, but it was possible that they would permit her to enter. She would have to repent for something she never did, though...
And she was not exactly sold on the concepts of confession and repentance anyway. She couldn't help but wonder whether God cared if you told anyone, if you tried to feel bad about it, if you said a few prayers. He probably just didn't want you to commit the sin in the first place, and would be happier if you don't repent, but never sin again than He would be if you kept on sinning and repenting. Sins, after all, were not mud stains. They would not come out in the wash.
Lucy wondered where she would be sent in the end. If not the nunnery, then where could she go? She didn't really want to go anywhere. She wanted to just stay there...
The door swung open again. Lucy sat bolt upright, seeing her mother standing there. Apparently she did not deserve the common courtesy of knocking anymore. That was reserved for good girls, like Clara.
“Your father and I are going to speak with you, and we shall determine what is the best course of action for you,” she said bluntly.
Lucy just nodded. What else could she say or do? There was no arguing with her mother. Perhaps her father would be more sympathetic to her plight...
Lucy put on a bed coat to cover her nightie and found some slippers to keep her feet warm. She did not feel ready to get dressed again yet. She would just be back in her room, in bed, crying again after this, wouldn't she?
Her father, sat in his favourite armchair in front of the fire, looked somewhere between furious and heartbroken. All she wanted to do was hug him and beg for his forgiveness. But forgiveness for what? She had done nothing wrong.
She considered sitting down on the sofa, but knew her mother would then sit beside her. She did not want that. They were against her. She sat down in another armchair and avoided making eye contact with them.
“Lucy, your mother has told me some of what Clara said to her... is it true?” her father asked.
Lucy shook her head earnestly. “I promise that it is not.”
“Lucy... why would anyone claim to have seen something like that? What was actually happening in that room?” he asked her.
“Nothing. Well, not nothing. Clara and Lord Jones were... were kissing in the room. But nothing else. And nothing between him and I,” Lucy explained.
“I am not sure I can believe that, Lucy, it sounds as though you are trying to pass the blame onto someone else,” her father replied.
“Please, you have to believe me. Clara is trying to ruin my reputation,” Lucy insisted.
“And why would Clara, a young woman with so much in her favour, attack you?” Lord Fitzgerald asked.
“Because I caught her. And I promised her I would not tell a soul. But then she started saying such vicious things to me about the men who have rejected me, and made me feel so worthless... so I threw wine over her. And I suppose that made her angry,” Lucy admitted.
Lady Fitzgerald shook her head. “Clara told me you threw wine at her when she confronted you over what she had seen in that room.”
“Clara is lying!” Lucy shouted in frustration. “She is just trying to hurt me and you are both valuing her word above mine.”
“Because Clara has proven herself to be an upstanding young lady. You, on the other hand, lie to us, disobey us, and dishonour yourself regularly. Who are we supposed to believe?” Lady Fitzgerald replied.
“Your daughter,” Lucy said, tears welling up in her eyes.
“Now, dear, don't cry, we're just trying to get to the bottom of what happened,” Lord Fitzgerald said, standing up and resting a reassuringly heavy hand on her shoulder.
Lucy sniffled. She just wanted to go back to her room and cry in peace. “It all happened as I said,” she insisted.
“I am not sure I can believe all that. Lucy, Clara has so much. She is pretty, and engaged to be married, and well connected. She was even once engaged to Lord Jones... are you sure you are not jealous?” Lord Fitzgerald asked.
“Of course not!” Lucy replied. Then she paused. But she was jealous, wasn't she? Just because the jealousy was not behind her words did not mean she was not jealous. Clara had it all. And Lucy... Lucy did not. She averted her gaze and remained silent.
“I thought so,” her father replied, moving back to his chair. “But Lucy, what Clara did was for your own good. She is protecting your virtue. If you still have it.”
“I do,” Lucy replied quietly. This was beyond her control. A well-respected, beautiful, well-spoken young woman like Clara would always seem more important than a rough little nobody like Lucy herself.
Lord Fitzgerald nodded. “That is good news. I am sure that the nuns will be pleased to know that you are not coming to them as a ruined woman.”
Ruined. Lucy found the word ridiculous. As if that one little change would make the whole world of difference. If she was not ruined, then that one little act would not destroy her beyond repair. And if she was to be ruined, she did not need to commit any further sins: she had already done quite enough to ruin herself as it was.
Lucy nodded. “If the convent will have me, I shall repent and I shall join them,” she agreed.
“That is wonderful to hear,” her father said with a smile. “You will do well there. It is a more familiar environment for you, and you shall be away from temptation, always in the eyes of God.”
Lucy forced out a meek smile in return. What did it matter the reason? She was finally going away to the convent, like she had wanted all along. She would be away from people like Clara and Lord Jones. Away from temptation, as her father had so accurately phrased it. Namely the temptation to continue to slap and throw wine on them until they were red from head to toe...
She stood up and curtsied. “Shall I pack my bags?”
Lord Fitzgerald closed his eyes, smiled, and nodded.
Lucy made her way upstairs, her heart beating hard, her chest and head tense with anxiety. But she did not understand why. There was nothing more to it. She was going to do this anyway, only now she needed to do it before her reputation was completely destroyed and her parents were hurt.
If she waited too long, Clara might spread more rumours about her. Or she might be tricked by another man. At least she would not let herself be tricked by the scoundrel Lord Jones again... On the other hand, if she left that very night perhaps her friends and family would defend her honour. As a nun, people like Clara would not dare say anything against her, as the church would be implicated. She would be safe and her parents' reputation would be intact.
Packing her bags, she wondered whether she could see any of her friends before going there. It was all feeling so rushed, she just wanted to slow down for a moment and talk
it through with someone.
She heard another knock at the door. “It's your mother,” came the voice. Apparently now that she had committed to a more respectable life she was entitled to a knock again. “Come in,” Lucy said.
“How is the packing going?” Lady Fitzgerald asked as she walked into the room.
“I am not sure what I shall need,” Lucy replied. “Probably not a lot. Nuns do not wear gowns, or jewellery, and I doubt that they use perfumes and read romance novels.” She sighed.
Lady Fitzgerald hugged her daughter. “It is for the best. If you cannot control yourself around Lord Jones, you are bound to end up doing something you shall regret. And if you will not marry, then those desires will be completely unaddressed. It is a disaster waiting to happen.”
Lucy nodded. “I understand. I just wish I could go and see a few friends before leaving,” she replied.
“Of course, you can see anyone you like,” Lady Fitzgerald said warmly.
But Lucy knew full well that someone was off limits. Not that it mattered. She did not want to see him anyway. “I am not sure who to pick to see first,” Lucy said.
“How about Clara? I know you are angry at her, but maybe you ought to thank her for saving you,” Lady Fitzgerald said.
Lucy shook her head immediately. “Perhaps you can thank her on my behalf. I am sure she is busy, and still angry at me over the wine.”
“I will, I will,” Lady Fitzgerald replied, sounding somewhat annoyed that her suggestion had not been accepted.
Lucy felt like rolling her eyes. Since when was Clara Neal everyone's little darling? She was a pretty and popular young lady, but hardly the saint her parents seem to have decided that she was. No, she wanted her last hours in general society to count for something.
She briefly contemplated seeing the Princess. But she was not sure of how to get to see her unless she had been invited. Besides, what good would it do? If Lord Jones was courting the Princess, then warning her might be perceived as an insult. And if he was not, then the warning would be an even greater insult, not to mention humiliating. After all, in Europe they did things differently. Perhaps Lord Jones had finally met his perfect match: a woman from a country that no longer believed in marriage.
