Born of Persuasion

by Jessica Dotta

  Instead of my bedchamber, however, an arched door with studded nails waited at the end of the hall. The door was so ancient it bore a chain instead of a door handle. Its scrolled hinges sprawled over the door like decorative tree branches. Heart beating, I approached and gave the chain a tug. A groaning sound filled the air as the massive door swung open.

  Inside was a medieval chapel—so aged that I knew I had found the heart of Eastbourne. Cold air swirled about me as I stood on the threshold. I eyed the decaying sanctuary. My father had sworn that I should never set foot inside a church. Sarah said that unbeknownst to him, when I was a babe Mama had carried me into one to be baptized. When Sarah protested in fear, Mama said she’d make certain my feet would never touch the floor. That story wasn’t the only reason I believed Mama had entertained some sort of faith. During the last months of her life, she’d taken to kneeling before a torn book page bearing the image of the crucified Christ. Her lips moved silently, begging something of him, as his image grimaced in pain, looking elsewhere.

  A rough-hewn beam had fallen from the ceiling in the chancel, but by some miracle, the ceiling remained intact. The air, though stale, had a trace of incense, as though decades ago someone had religiously prayed here. Only there was something more, something deeper. A sacred memory clung to this chamber. I stretched my hand inside.

  Dust stirred in particles around my fingers.

  What devout monks, I wondered, had built these walls, labored and bled over this mason work? They must have been men of a rare sort for traces of them to leave behind such a deep impression.

  My gaze went to the altar and my thoughts turned toward Edward. What power on earth would convince the son of landed gentry to side with the commoners? What if it wasn’t the monks I felt? What if, what if . . . ?

  I shut my eyes, pulling back my hand, refusing to surrender to whatever it was. My father had spoken of the human need to create a feeling that God existed. I’d lost my family, my stability, and had only just learned of my danger. Surely this was nothing except my need to feel there was something worth clinging to.

  Make no mistake, the heart of Eastbourne is a monastery, but the organ is stilled; it no longer beats. Gone are the Gregorian chants, the rising incense, the quiet, orderly schedule.

  Grasping the door, I tiptoed back into the hall and gently shut the door. I wiped my hand over my skirt, willing myself to shake free all influences of the chamber. I chose the nearest passage and took several successive turns. Instead of leading me toward a section of the house I recognized, my steps took me into a closed-off area. Only shafts of light penetrated the wood boarding the windows, exposing the velvet carpet of dust coating the floor.

  Here I sank to the floor in blessed silence. This place, this empty, dying hall suited me better than the rich furnishing in my chambers. I had graduated to new circumstances. Mama had been murdered. Here, I decided, I would collect myself. It was necessary. I’d moved into the heart of an intrigue which I couldn’t quite grasp. Again I wondered who would murder Mama.

  I opened the locket that held miniatures of my parents. My father’s blond moustache was raised in a sneer and his blue eyes were cold and indifferent. But Mama . . . I kissed her picture. She looked young and afraid like me. I reflected and saw for the first time how cold and hard I’d grown in order to survive. I’d believed a lie, and like a hailstorm sweeping a field, it had flattened and crushed my opinion of myself. Knowing Mama had not callously forsaken me, however, soothed some of the pain and brought forth fresh grief.

  Drawing my knees to my chest, I recalled the terror that had occupied her eyes in those final weeks. How could I not have known her life was in danger? She jumped at every noise. Checked every lock.

  Only a beast would execute a woman in her own bedroom—a beast who looked to devour me next. Did she know I’d found safety? I opened my eyes and viewed the dark passage, remembering Mr. Macy’s kiss. I touched my lips, thrilling anew at the memory.

  From there, my thoughts turned to Mr. Macy. That he had written Mama and asked for my hand was as extraordinary as the fact she agreed. Neither made any sense. I suspected Mr. Macy’s reasons were not based on love. How could they be? He’d never met me. The more I considered the thought, the more distressed I grew. What would make such an eligible bachelor desire an abandoned orphan? Duty? Guilt? Pity?

  Like a cribbage player discarding unnecessary cards, I rejected each one of those suits. Duty—let Edward pay me duty if it were so important. Guilt—how horribly did that picture rise before me, for the eventual paths of such a marriage end in disdain. Pity. Here my face grew hard. Better I go to Scotland as a servant than accept pity. Yet with a quickening of my pulse, I remembered Scotland was no option.

  So deep was I in my thoughts that at first I didn’t notice the sound. The second time I heard it, however, I lifted my head and realized the identical noise had occurred just seconds before.

  It was a shuffling. But not that of a rat or bird, which one could rightfully expect to meet in such a part of a house. Rather it was larger, more like a mastiff. I clambered to my feet as quickly as I could, aware that candlelight now flickered over the wall in a semicircle.

  The intruder stopped, however, short of turning the corner. From the way the light shrank, I deemed the candlestick had been set on the floor. Every nerve tingled, telling me to run.

  Dreading my presence becoming known, I took a step backwards as the sound of metal scraping metal filled the air. It was followed by a string of curses from Mr. Forrester. “What does Macy do, weld the locks?”

  My mouth dried as I realized it was the very person Macy told me to avoid. I took another step backwards, this time causing a pebble to skitter across the floor.

  “Who’s there?”

  I attempted to run, but as in a nightmare where one’s legs are bound by the sheets, my feet refused to move.

  Footsteps fumbled toward me, but the light suddenly went out alongside a loud clatter, making me think he dropped his candlestick. This time, I fled.

  In two steps, I was around the opposite corner and running. I ran down one haunted passage after another, uncertain of my way. My left side screamed as it cramped anew, but I pressed on. Tears of terror and exhaustion formed.

  “Miss Elliston!” A firm grip on my arm forced me to halt.

  Gasping, I whirled to find Mr. Greenham towering over me. I doubled over to catch my breath.

  “Are you injured?” His searching eyes demanded explanation. “What happened?”

  I winced, shaking my head. The cramp in my left side refused to cease.

  “Please, Miss Elliston, I have a responsibility.” Mr. Greenham placed a hand on my shoulder. “What were you running from? Tell me.”

  He was nothing like his brooding self. Aroused, he was fearsome. I believe he could have snapped a sapling in half had he desired. He placed a hand on his hip and waited for me to regain breath.

  Recalling how he had looked at the unexpected arrival of Mr. Forrester, I shook my head. “It is nothing.”

  He stormed to the end of the passage and peered around the corner. His fingers flexed into a fist before he turned back. “What happened?”

  “The house spooked me.”

  “Where were you?”

  “Lost.”

  “Miss Elliston, please, I’m only trying . . .” He unclenched his fingers and returned to me. “What do you fear to tell me?” He knelt, this time taking my hands. “Is this because I left you in a compromising situation last night? I would not have done so unless I deemed you safe. I am your friend. You must believe that and—”

  “John, is that you?” Lady Foxmore turned the corner to find my hands in his. “My goodness, what happened to the child?”

  Mr. Greenham ignored her, keeping me in his grasp. “Why aren’t you in your chambers? Reynolds said you were sleeping.”

  The brass end of Lady Foxmore’s cane poked his knuckles. “Really, John, I must insist you release the child. Your manner is fr
ightening her. She looks ready to faint.”

  When he did not, she wrapped her arms around my waist. “Child, your heart is pounding.” She turned to Mr. Greenham. “She’s shivering. What happened?”

  He rose, towering over us. “She won’t say.”

  “Well, go fetch Chance. He’ll want to know.”

  “He’s not here.”

  “It was nothing.” I smoothed my bodice, something Sarah taught me, to attend appearances first when I needed steadiness of mind. “I was lost and heard a noise.” I shifted away from Mr. Greenham’s doubting stare. “I think a bird is loose in the house. It sounded like flapping.”

  Lady Foxmore blinked slowly. “Child, in elegant society, we do not run when frightened. Next time—”

  “What really happened?” Mr. Greenham said.

  “Give her space to breathe.” Lady Foxmore frowned. “Trust me, you’ll receive more information from her if you do.”

  “I’m better aware than you how to obtain information from someone.”

  “Apparently not.” Lady Foxmore pressed me against her. “Come, child. We shall tour Chance’s hothouses. The warmth will remove your chill. Then you and I shall partake of tea and—”

  Mr. Greenham planted a hand on my shoulder, holding me in place. “She’s not leaving my sight until I know what she was running from.”

  “So accompany us. Only I liked you better when you refused to speak.”

  “There are letters I must attend to today.”

  “Fine. Attend to them. We shall go without you.” She leaned heavily upon my arm and carried her walking stick.

  “Do not test me, Adelia. Miss Elliston remains with me. In this house, my word is law. Do not make me prove it.”

  “We shall see” was Lady Foxmore’s response.

  THAT EVENING, I could scarcely keep my eyes open as Reynolds opened the dining room doors for me to join dinner. Each moment of my first day at Eastbourne was like an individual painting in a long hall that featured art. The hues and emotions kept changing the further along I went—as did the complexity of colors and subject matter. Had I truly dissolved all ties with Edward? Met with a gentleman late at night? Tasted brandy? Learned that Mama had been murdered? Felt something consecrated in the chapel? Witnessed a gentleman breaking into someone’s rooms? Spent the day alone with Mr. Greenham, locked in a study?

  I clasped my shawl tight, needing the cessation that only sleep would bring. My eyes felt leaded as I stepped across the threshold. The chamber was as opulent as yesterday, yet I no longer attended to the estate’s wealth but scanned the room solely to learn its occupants. To my delight, and then dismay, only the Windhams had arrived.

  Here was familiar! Only I did not start toward them. I hesitated, twisting my hands, realizing that I had not yet shared my bitter news about Henry. There scarce seemed a need. Moving as slowly as Sarah used to on mornings when her joints hurt, Elizabeth blinked wearily at me.

  I stepped toward her, ready to comfort.

  “I suppose,” Mrs. Windham began in an injured tone, turning her head to face me, “that you’ve spent the day with her ladyship and thought to spare my feelings with a simple ruse.”

  “Ruse?” I asked, stopping short.

  “Mama,” Elizabeth said, but her tone was flat.

  Mrs. Windham dabbed puffy eyes, her mouth scrunched with bitterness. “I daresay when you’ve lived the charmed life, you have no regard for the comforts of others. Never mind it was I who first took you in when you were an orphan.”

  Elizabeth approached. She took in my eyes, which still bore dark smudges of a sleepless night. Her brow furrowed before she bent her mouth to my ear. “Lady Foxmore sent a note to Mama this morning, stating she was in no mood to visit with the underbred, and then when you didn’t arrive for lunch or tea—”

  Mrs. Windham’s voice turned shrill. “I am not as unaware as you think. I know what you are both whispering.” Her chin quivered as she cast me an accusing look. “And I can very well guess where you spent your day. I should hope I will never think so much of myself that I would grasp and claw at my first opportunity to befriend peerage.”

  “Well, here’s your proof, Mama,” Elizabeth said, pushing me before her. “Julia did not abandon us. She’s here now. Think of how lovely dinner will be.”

  “Humph.” Mrs. Windham’s bottom lip curled as more baby tears formed in her eyes. “You have it wrong. Now that Julia is here, we can very well guess Lady Foxmore is joining dinner. And you—” she gestured to me—“I suppose you’re obligated to look surprised when you see her, when we all know you’ve probably spent the day most agreeably playing cards with her and Mr. Greenham, not giving one thought to your true friends.”

  “Mr. Greenham?” I felt my face grow hot as I realized how difficult it was going to be to play innocent. “You’ve not seen him either?”

  “Oh, posh.” Mrs. Windham fisted her lace, her face growing crimson. “You know perfectly well we have not. I can see by your face he’s paid you attentions. And I may as well tell you right now, I know you’re doing everything in your power to derogate us in a vain attempt to appear above your station.”

  I glanced at Elizabeth for help, but she stared at the floor silently counting. “I assure you, I’ve not said one word about you or—”

  “No. I should imagine not.” Mrs. Windham collapsed into a chair, her voice increasing in volume. “What with you doing everything possible to keep the attention on yourself at all times.”

  “Mama, hush,” Elizabeth finally said.

  I glanced toward the open door and prayed no servants were in the hall listening. While not common, such fits with Mrs. Windham were not uncommon either. More than once in the past, I had witnessed her escalate herself into a frenzied state of mind.

  Tears rose in Mrs. Windham’s eyes. “No! I will not hush! If Julia does not like being put in her proper place, then she ought to act more ladylike. How dare you tell your mother to hush. In fact, you hush! I forbid you to speak. I would forbid Julia, only she will disregard my order.” Her mouth quivered. “Well, go on. Go on and prattle about your new friends. I certainly have not enough consequence to stop you.”

  I could have groaned aloud when the distinctive clack of Lady Foxmore’s walking stick filled the hall. I already knew her mood was ill.

  “Lucy never would have given us such a turn.” Mrs. Windham scrunched her eyes as she dabbed them. “A dearer friend I’ve never had.”

  Her ladyship’s tiny frame scarcely filled the doorway through which she hobbled. Ostrich feathers added a foot to her height. The glitter of her eyes and the smirk on her face communicated that she’d overheard Mrs. Windham.

  She made a show of straightening her petite form, the stiff drapery folds of her dress remaining unmoving. “Child,” she directed toward me, “I’m an old woman. Where are your manners? Help me to the table.”

  Jealousy filled Mrs. Windham’s features as I complied. Her ladyship transferred her full weight to my arm. “You will sit by me,” she instructed in a loud voice, “and we shall do our best to close our ears to—” she gave an airy wave in the direction of Mrs. Windham—“the feebleminded.”

  Mr. Forrester chose that moment to enter. With suspicion, he studied each occupant, his eyes narrowing on me as if surmising I’d been the one in the hall.

  “Sit, child,” Lady Foxmore ordered, tugging my arm.

  I started to cast Elizabeth an apologetic look, but her mouth thinned and she crossed her arms, daring me to comply. It was the first time I’d been on the other side of such a look, although I’d seen her give it before cutting off acquaintances. It gave me pause.

  “Did I see you earlier today?” Mr. Forrester demanded, stepping toward me.

  Lightning flashed over Lady Foxmore’s countenance. “How dare you speak to my charge! You’ve had no formal introduction.” Her nails bit into my arm. “Take your seat, child. This instant.”

  I gathered my skirts to comply, then with a look tried t
o tell Elizabeth I’d explain later, but realized I was foresworn to keep the truth a secret. With a sinking in my stomach, I wondered how Edward would feel when he learned how quickly I’d replaced him. I took a draft of my wine, suddenly wishing I had told him about Scotland, so he’d at least understand.

  That dinner stands in my mind as the most awkward of my life. Without Macy to bend the atmosphere to suit his mood, all goodwill crumbled. Mr. Greenham touched neither food nor drink, but remained buried in thought. Rooke alone ate with relish, as though immune to our tension.

  Henry, thankfully, tended to the Windhams. Though they did not openly censure me, the angry glances he sent in my direction gave me cause to think he knew I’d caused their distress. Elizabeth refused to meet my eye. She stared at her plate, her brows knit. Under normal circumstances, I’d have felt crushed had it not been for Mr. Forrester staring at me, relentlessly, never eating, just staring.

  “Did you enjoy dinner?” Reynolds asked me hours later as he escorted me to my chamber.

  I rose from my thoughts as one awakens from the watery layers of slumber. With a frown, I pondered how to answer him. Not only had it been miserable, but long. It was well past ten by the time the footmen collected the last dishes and the butler announced that musical entertainment had been provided. Macy had hired an opera singer from London.

  By that time, I could scarcely keep my eyes open, and thankfully Mr. Greenham took note and collected me from the table before Lady Foxmore did. As the others filed into the unlocked music room, Mr. Greenham gave Reynolds charge of me, stating I wished to retire.

  I eventually decided on “It was very . . . nice.” Then, seeing Reynolds’s crestfallen look, quickly added, “The braised goose was sublime.”

  He beamed at the praise and I made a mental note to applaud future menus. He stopped before my bedchamber door and withdrew a key. I studied my surroundings, realizing I should have paid better attention to our route.

  “Shall I fetch your lady’s maid?”

  I shook my head, having no desire to encounter her tongue on top of everything else that had happened today.