Price of Privilege

by Jessica Dotta

  Mrs. Smih must have relished the gossip columns, for it took her only seconds. Her gaze flew to Edward’s collar before she lifted a shaky hand and pointed. “You’re . . . you’re the one she slighted at the opera, aren’t you?”

  Remorse throbbed anew as I glanced at Edward. Somehow I hadn’t expected her to connect that much.

  “Who slighted Edward?” Mrs. Windham frowned as she realized she had fallen behind in the conversation she’d created. “Certainly not, Julia! You forget that he is the son of a lord.”

  Mrs. Smih rose, holding her stomach. “Edith! Oh, mercy on us! This can’t be happening. Please, please tell me right now you had nothing to do with her first marriage. This is very important.”

  “She was Julia’s chaperone,” Edward said quietly.

  Catching on that he was supplying her with motivation to keep my secret, I nodded. “Yes. I was under your sister’s direct care the entire time.”

  “And very rude you were, too.” Tears rolled down Mrs. Windham’s cheeks. “Had I known what you were doing in the middle of the night, I would have put my foot down. Your love affairs have cost me a maid, my favorite red gown, and her ladyship’s friendship. She hasn’t paid me one visit, not even left a calling card, since the whole affair started.”

  Mrs. Smih’s hands flew to her cheeks as she began to pace. “Frederick, do something! Oh, what a perfect mess everything is!”

  Her husband rose. His face was difficult to discern as he studied Edward and me. But the way his eyes lingered on me with a pitying look suggested he knew something about Macy’s reputation. “Leave,” he said softly. “Leave my family and this cottage out of your troubles. Make no attempt to return, or I will have to write and tell him your whereabouts.” He locked eyes with Edward. “There are some souls one can’t afford to offend. I won’t have a choice.”

  Edward was not easily intimidated or convinced. He fixed his eyes on Mrs. Windham, making me wonder if he planned to dust his feet of her, too. He gave Mr. Smih a curt nod. “We’ll quit this place when my wife’s belongings are secured in my father-in-law’s carriage, which we expect back any moment.” He looked at me. “Are you ready to leave?”

  “But . . . but . . . ,” Mrs. Smih protested to her husband. “What about the reward money? And poor Mr. Macy? Not to mention what we’ve just learned about Lord Pierson! We cannot allow them to get away with this.”

  “It’s none of our affair.” Mr. Smih retook his seat. “Mind your own business, woman.”

  “I will not! If I must, I’ll write her husband myself and relieve his mental suffering.”

  “You’ll do as I say!”

  Mrs. Smih’s face pinched with bitterness. “We’re just going to do nothing?”

  “No.” Mr. Smih picked up his book. “We’re going to wait for your sister to catch her untimely death so we can bury her without a bell. That way even if she’s somehow not dead, we won’t have to tolerate one more sound from her.”

  In response, Mrs. Windham shrieked garbled words as she kicked her feet beneath the covers in a full tantrum.

  Here Edward took my arm. We slipped out of the chamber unnoticed.

  A quarter hour later we stood in Am Meer’s cramped stables amidst discarded wicker beehives, shards of broken terra-cotta pots, and moldy straw, which I avoided for fear of mice.

  Memories lingered here as well. The crude butterfly nets that Elizabeth and I had constructed from discarded cheesecloths, embroidery hoops, and the broken handles of old rakes still rested in the corner. I pressed a hand against my heart, recalling our girlish laughter as we gave up the idea of capturing insects and used them in an improvised game of tag instead.

  Edward’s strong arms enfolded me from behind. He held me close, rocking us side to side as he whispered, “We’re going to be fine. We will. I promise it.”

  I hooked my fingers over his arms, allowing my gaze to wander to the tin watering can with its dented spout that Mama always used. “He stole Am Meer, too. I can’t believe I lost this.”

  “You haven’t lost me.” His arms squeezed in a comforting embrace. “After today, I’m inclined to think I was the best part anyway.”

  I smiled, but my lips felt swollen. “Yes, but I still can’t believe that Henry and Elizabeth dismissed me—us—so easily.” I tightened my hold on his forearm, glad he shared these memories too. “And that your parish did that. It just feels impossible.”

  “Are we talking about the same Henry and Elizabeth who grew up around these parts? The ones who used to race ahead of us in order to comb through the picnic basket first? Or the ones who continually gave us the villain roles when we played Robin Goodfellow, and always took the lion’s share of the candy? Or the conniving pair who hid that I became a vicar because it suited their purposes, and betrayed my trust by reading through my journals?”

  His description made me chuckle despite myself. I looked at him over my shoulder. “Yes, them.”

  “We didn’t lose them, Juls; they lost us. And there’s a huge difference.” He ceased rocking me as I considered his interpretation. “Furthermore, let’s not give Macy more credit than due. I’ve prayed too long and too hard that when God desired me elsewhere, he’d dry up the streambed and remove the ravens. Apparently now is the hour.”

  I drew a deep breath, readying myself to argue that I wasn’t giving Macy more credit than due. Before I could speak, Jameson’s voice sounded behind us as he entered the stable and stomped his boots. “Newlyweds! You leave them alone for ten minutes and when you find them again, they’re sermonizing.”

  A jagged streak of lightning scarred the sky as we turned to greet him. He hastened entry as thunder shook the landscape, its full-toned rumble ebbing like the tide. “I take it we haven’t been granted sanctuary, then.”

  “No, we haven’t,” Edward said, releasing me. “When Thomas returns, we’ll head to Windhaven for the night.”

  “And after that?” I hugged myself.

  “I think you already know.”

  I shook my head rapidly, feeling that the nightmare just got worse. “There must be somewhere else we can go. You must know somebody.”

  Edward’s chest filled in a silent sigh as he considered my request. What I failed to say was that I didn’t want to face Isaac ever again. I couldn’t endure knowing I’d caused him pain. I wasn’t certain how he’d feel watching Edward’s and my relationship.

  Edward glanced outdoors as rain began to pelt the benighted landscape, his face etched with uncertainty. His eyes were sad as they returned to me. “We won’t remain there one day longer than absolutely necessary. I promise.” He faced Jameson. “I imagine you want to return to Auburn Manor and see if you can retain the post offered as gardener. When the carriage returns, we can drive you there first.”

  Jameson removed his hat and turned its brim in a circle with his hands. “Well, now. I don’t know. I happened to see your advertisement in the newspaper and I was mighty tempted, even when I didn’t know it was for you.”

  Edward scowled. “I haven’t got an advertisement in the paper.”

  Jameson scratched the back of his head. “Strange. There can’t be two such cases in England. Let me see if I can recall it.” Jameson rubbed his chin, looking at the hewn ceiling. “‘One banished fay and homeless clergyman seeking the services of a highly skilled valet. Duties include teaching one how to act human, scrounging up food, dodging hostile crowds, and making sleeping accommodations in abandoned houses.’ The next part is sort of blurred in my memory, but it ran like these posts typically do, something like: ‘No compensation shall be provided, but benefits include the sort of adventure most only read about in books. Persons interested must make inquiries in Am Meer’s stable between noon and one o’clock, etc., etc.’”

  “I can’t pay the meager wages I offered,” Edward said. “I have nothing. I don’t even know the next time we’ll have food.”

  “I accept the terms.” The old man grinned as he bowed. Then, from the shadows near his fe
et, he produced a bulging sack. “As far as my duties go, I’ve already begun. Here, at least, is the food. You’d be surprised what a maid-of-all-work will give someone who helps clean the dishes after a wedding.”

  Edward stared at the sack with a look of disbelief. From the way he opened his mouth as if about to speak, but then changed his mind, I deemed him unable to accept Jameson’s offer but unwilling to turn it down. He finally settled on, “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Try thank you.”

  “Well, I thank you,” I said, sensing that Edward still struggled to accept. “If you ask me, the employment terms are rather generous. In the faerie courts we don’t ask for volunteers; we simply enslave whomever we wish.”

  Jameson shot me a look of gratitude. “Humph. For all I know you’ve already cast a spell on me and I only think I’m volunteering. But if you have done so, I already forgive you. Doubtless you’ve come to realize I’m the exact sort of soul—” here he gave Edward a pointed look—“capable of easing your transition into an ordinary human life.”

  “Yes, she does respond well to you,” Edward said quietly, frowning. “That much I can’t argue with. All right. If you’re truly willing to remain with us, we’ll keep a record book of wages owed you. When I find employment, we’ll work out payment then. I have no idea when that will be, though.”

  “Well, what will be will be.” Jameson opened the sack of food, and the scent of butter and crushed herbs accompanied that of roasted chicken. “In the meantime, you should eat. Empty stomachs make poor beginnings to adventures.”

  Edward peered into the bag and shook it. “My word. How much food is in here?”

  Jameson jammed his hands into his pockets. “I knew Mrs. Auburn was along. So I added as much as I could carry. Faeries consume enormous amounts of food. Four times their weight daily.” Winking at me, he added, “So do giants, though I hardly have need to tell you that. Someday you’ll have to tell me about your feasts with them and if they really prefer human meat to swine.”

  Edward must have been ravenous, for he took a seat on a tool chest. His stomach grumbled as his teeth gnawed on a joint.

  Jameson pried off the grey wax sealing a bottle of wine, then dug out the cork with his jackknife. He offered me the first swig.

  Parched, as I had not had anything to drink since the day before, I accepted. As I had never drunk from a bottle of wine, its juices trickled down my neck as well as my stomach. Coughing and wiping my mouth with my sleeve, I handed the bottle back to Jameson.

  “Ah, I should have offered it to you in a lily’s throat.” He glanced about as if the flower would spring from the stone floor.

  Edward shook his head at our strange manner of bantering. For a minute we all tended to our hunger, scarcely paying attention to each other. All at once, Edward laughed.

  Jameson and I questioned him with a look.

  “My word,” Edward said, rubbing his eyes. “I am never praying that prayer again.”

  “Uh-oh.” Jameson popped a fig in his mouth. “Did you ask for patience?”

  “Something worse, I think.” Edward wiped his fingers on his handkerchief. “This morning I asked God to open my eyes to what life has been like for Julia.” He looked at me. “I want to be a kind and merciful husband, so I asked him to help me understand you.” He chuckled. “Outside of a few uncomfortable meetings with her ladyship, I’ve never undergone anything like today.”

  His tone was good-natured, but I suddenly wasn’t.

  “No matter what I did,” Edward continued, failing to note my perturbation, “it made no difference. I tried reasoning, threatening, bullying back, complaining, joking, nagging. Nothing! Absolutely nothing stopped people from trampling over me.”

  Jameson did not return Edward’s boyish smile, but rather he glanced at me as he carefully brushed the straw from his sleeves. “Did Edward ever tell you I’ve been to Africa?”

  I blinked at him, wondering how on earth our topic made him think of Africa. “No.”

  “Well, since we’re stuck here, let me tell you one of my stories.” He pushed himself farther back on the ledge as the wind howled through the opening behind him.

  “Yes, now that you mention it, where is Thomas, anyhow?” Edward mumbled, heading to the second window and peering out. “How long can it possibly take to load up my books and studies?”

  “Ed, listen, too, for I’ve not told you this one yet either.”

  Edward gave him a gruff nod, saying he was listening, though it was apparent he wasn’t any more interested than I was.

  “Now then.” Jameson crossed his arms, settling into the story. “This must have happened well over thirty years ago. I travelled with a small group of hunters, serving as footman. One of the most exciting times of my life. There we were, in the middle of the dry season, tempers all hot and scarcely any game to be found. That year a drought had turned even the deepest mud holes into parched ground. After four days without success, we finally chanced upon a small water hole where several prides of starving lions were in a standoff against a herd of thirty or so elephants. Because it was the only water source, they were stuck there. Every hunter was thrilled, for here was their opportunity to bring down a mighty lion and an elephant in the space of a single day.”

  Edward gave me a look that begged I endure for his sake, before craning his neck to see back into the storm.

  “We were, of course, obliged to wait for the peer who had organized the trip.” Jameson reached into his pocket and pulled out his handkerchief. “He couldn’t hunt, due to dysentery. So we bided our time at a distance. Now picture, my queen, lions so starving, their rib cages look carved into their skins. They were desperate enough to attack the herd, but never with success.

  “Then, without warning, one of the cleverer lionesses managed to separate an older calf from its mother. The pride descended all at once.” Jameson paused for a second. “The calf trumpeted with terror and in its panic, it ran straight toward the pride with as many as twenty lions pulling it down.” Jameson shook his head at the memory. “I kept thinking, Run back to the herd! Run to your herd! But of course it was too terrified.”

  I lifted a brow, wondering why he thought this story would cheer me.

  Edward, however, perked up his head and gave Jameson a pleased look.

  “What I mean to say, O queen,” Jameson said softly, pointing between Edward and himself, “is that you’re one of us now. You’ve got a herd to run back to. It won’t be as easy for those lions to tear you down next time.”

  I gave the elderly valet a disbelieving stare.

  Edward straightened as the carriage finally made its appearance. Beaming with approval, he crossed the distance to Jameson and patted his shoulder. “There’s Thomas. I’ll help load the trunks. You two stay put.”

  I nodded toward Edward and tightened my shawl about me.

  Jameson waited until Edward withdrew, then in a quiet voice asked, “I know what Edward thought of my story, but not you.” Jameson placed his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward, looking at the stone floor. “Generally when humans make an overture of friendship, they feel vulnerable when the other person sits and studies them with that mistrusting look.”

  I felt color rise through my cheeks as I realized how I appeared. But I had no answer to give. For to my reasoning, if I were the target of a pride of lions, they’d already proven stronger than this meager herd. Were we not sitting in a stable, banished and defeated?

  Worse yet, because of Macy, I wasn’t sure if it was safe for anybody to be with me.

  “Let me be plain,” Jameson said when I still said nothing. “Will you honor me and accept my friendship?”

  I clasped my hands in my lap as I had the day I learned I had a guardian. “No.”

  “What?” Jameson sat up so quickly it gave the illusion he’d thrown himself backwards. “Oh, come now! That’s never happened before. You at least owe me an explanation, then.”

  I knew better than to be drawn into
answering him, yet I disliked hurting his feelings. My voice came out strained. “I like you. That’s why.”

  He chuckled. “Well, I see our problem. No wonder humans and faeries have difficulties when mixed together. We humans tend to band together in community with those we love and who give us love back.”

  “You don’t understand.” I focused my gaze on the straw scattered about the stone floor. “I’m caught in a current I can’t escape, and only a selfish person pulls someone down with them when they’re drowning.”

  Jameson snorted. “Only if they’re with people who can’t swim. Where did you get a nonsensical idea like that?”

  “Someone Edward knew. Churchill.”

  “Winthrop!” He made a noise of disgust. “Of course! He would say that to your kind, making no allowances. He lacked talent for seeing potential. Always skipping over the good and focusing on the bad. Bah! Ignore him. Trust my advice instead.”

  I frowned, wondering if I’d based the last six months of my life on bad advice. Before I could speak, a jagged streak of lightning rent the sky, followed by a loud crack of thunder. I turned my gaze to the window where Edward toiled to heft up one of my heavy trunks to Thomas.

  “That boy,” Jameson said, following my gaze, but his voice was affectionate. “It’s just like him to jump in the middle of a storm and risk getting struck by lightning. Next, if we’re not careful, he’ll catch his death of cold.”

  “Don’t ever say that,” I warned, clutching shut Mama’s shawl. “Never curse him with words of death.”

  As if sensing our gaze, Edward faced our direction. Rain dripped off his curls and made his heavy clothing weigh down his limbs. Grabbing an umbrella from the interior of the coach, he slogged his way back through the thickening mud. Affection swelled through me. Surely I never loved anyone more than him.

  “You don’t fear his friendship, I notice,” Jameson said.

  I reached for Mama’s locket out of habit, then curled my fingers around air. “Yes, and in one day I’ve cost him his family, employment, and church.”