Lady of Spirit

by Edith Layton

  Alfie wasn’t far wrong when he’d claimed in disgust that she washed more often than the family cat, even though Sally defended her by allowing as how Miss Victoria smelled very good for all, before Miss Victoria stifled her giggles and corrected Sally’s grammar. But it was certainly silly for her to have washed her hair in the evening, for all she’d felt grubby after she’d woken from her wine-soaked and heavily blanketed slumbers, entirely forgetting she’d have no sunlight, nor any fire to simulate it, to dry it in. Because the night had turned chill and then it had been impossible to sleep with that great damp, cold weight set upon her head. And then, of course, to sit up all the next night, trembling with disgust and terror, that was, in the clear light of morning and the children’s amazement, foolishness itself, it seemed.

  For “o’ course there was rats ’ere, great walloping big ’uns too,” Alfie said in exasperation. Why else did she think Baby slept in his box on top of the table, “’stead of ’neath it, where he’d be less likely to fall down and break somethin’ important?” And didn’t she know that one of them always kept awake while the others kipped out? She might have only noticed the local livestock that night she’d sat up with all that wet hair on her head, but they’d always known who they’d shared rooms with, and Miss Victoria was only lucky her unknown roommates hadn’t thought to take a nip out of her pretty little nose, Alfie scoffed. Then it was decidedly lowering for Miss Victoria to have Sally shyly pluck at her dress and whisper to her to never mind Alfie, miss, they never took after grown-ups much, they truly didn’t.

  So the cold in the head slowly took firmer hold, and perhaps it was the broken, sleep-starved nights that made matters worse. Or it might have been the additional fact that Miss Victoria claimed it was the cold that caused her dwindling appetite when she didn’t eat her share of their diminishing dinners that contributed to the problem. But after only a week, she feared she was growing very ill indeed.

  Her throat ached almost as much as her head did, she would have gladly donated her stuffed nose to any rats that might relieve her of the burden of breathing through it, and each word she uttered felt as though it were being torn from out her throat, it left it so sore, that is, until she lost her voice entirely. But at least, then when it came back, she thought with a certain gallows humor, she had a nice new cough to give it resonance.

  Thus it was five days, a full five days passed and wasted, until she felt able to drag herself out to haunt the estimable Misses Parkinson’s employment bureau again. Despite the way she felt, Victoria dressed as nicely as she was able and hauled herself out-of-doors because she firmly believed that the only way to better things was to attempt to better things. The only new thing that awaited her was the offer of a post as a companion, paying an astronomically high salary, and it was offered by, of course, no less a personage, Miss Lavinia Parkinson had crowed, than the Earl of Clune. Two days after Miss Dawkins had laughed hollowly in her employment counselor’s face, thereby effectively, she later realized, diminishing her chances to find gainful employment there ever again, or at least until she felt well enough to explain herself at length and most contritely, Mrs. Rogers appeared, for the second time in a decade, upon the upper floor of her boardinghouse. This time she bore a message which her grim look told her lodger she would do well not to ignore. It was a brief note, of the nonmonetary sort, from Mrs. Rogers’ new favorite, a noble rascal whose exploits now quite eclipsed Prinny’s in her humble estimation. It was, of course, from the Earl of Clune.

  It said, with a brevity and lack of grace that would have thrilled Mrs. Rogers had she been able to read it, or do more than caress the heavily embossed crest it bore:

  “Miss Dawkins, I have a position to offer you. One that is unexceptionable. Clune.”

  At the bottom, the stiff page bore yet one more item scrawled in heavy black ink: “There is also the matter of a reference.”

  For such a summons, Miss Dawkins thought, princes and popes would rush to obedience.

  And so would governesses who’d taken on responsibility for four delightful children who had so far actually taken on all the responsibility for a great lump of a useless girl who couldn’t lift a finger to help them as yet, Victoria thought as she dressed for the visit.

  “You’ll do,” Alfie admitted at last, and Victoria spun round and bestowed such a smile upon him that he ducked his head and pretended that he’d dropped the apple core that he’d swallowed seconds before. But the dark green walking dress that was supposed to make her appear to be dignified and proper did just that, though the folds draped about her slender body could not deny the shapely form beneath, nor could its cool and mossy hue help but point out all the gold light that danced in her clean brown hair, as well as the vivid purity of her white complexion. It must have been the excitement that sent high color to her cheeks and caused her oddly saffron-hued eyes to glow.

  “You just take care, ’ear?” Alfie said gruffly.

  Then he went once again into the litany he chanted at his employee and partner every time he saw her about to set her foot outside the door. She had more book learning than anyone he’d ever known so well, he thought with exasperation each time he spoke to her, but about the things that counted, she was a complete flat. There were instructions she must get through her pretty head, if she were to come back safely to them each night. And as Miss Dawkins placed her bonnet atop that neatly coiffed head, Alfie went over the warnings again, as the other children nodded wisely.

  She must walk quickly and with purpose, since a female loitering was clearly advertising her wares. She must never stop when spoken to, unless she wished to be more than spoken to, by anyone, of any age or sex. For any female might know, Alfie had pointed out innumerable times, that there were gents who looked like toffs who were anything but. But here, there were also other females who looked like ladies, or even gentle grandmothers, who’d be on the lookout to snare her for their own evil uses.

  Miss Dawkins had looked blank the first time her young mentor attempted to subtly inform her of such dangers. Then Bobby had spoken up to whisper huskily, “Them as run an accommodation ’ouse is what ’e means, miss.”

  “Er, a nunnery, Miss Victoria, is what ’e’s speaking of,” Sally had volunteered helpfully, in low nervous tones.

  “A snoozing ken, a grinding ’ouse, a pushing school, can’t y’see?” Bobby had cried desperately, to Victoria’s continuing expression of ignorance.

  “A bawdy ’ouse!” Alfie had finally shouted.

  “Ooo. Alfie, what you said!” Sally had exclaimed in shock, as Bobby too looked grieved at his brother’s language in front of the lady, and even Alfie himself had seemed embarrassed.

  After that, Victoria had agreed to let Alfie take her out upon the streets with him so that he could identify some of those deceptive females for her. Most of them, he’d admitted, would be unwilling to actually kidnap a female from this district, because they’d be afraid of what sort of retribution the girl’s possibly equally vicious and violent family might exact from them. In a way, Alfie had said wisely, a stray rich young lady had more to worry about from the likes of them than a poor local girl did. But some, he’d warned, to keep her from overconfidence, were so powerful as to be extra daring, and might reckon a poor family would settle for money in the hand for a girl stolen and then started in business at higher wages than they could ever have hoped to negotiate for her themselves.

  So he described the best, or worst, of them to her: the deceptively kind, elderly, and highly respectable-looking Mother Carey, who made occasional forays into the district for recruits for her expensive house of pleasure. He described her so many times that Victoria almost saw the wicked woman reaching out for her constantly in her broken nightmare-glazed sleep. That imagined falsely benevolent, genteel aged face crowned with gray hair became worse to her at those times than did the reality of the rats rustling in the walls. Miss Dawkins was easily able to reassure her anxious little clan as she stepped out the door to go to her int
erview that she’d be cautious, very cautious indeed.

  But she was not so cautious as to actually take a hackney to the interview as they’d requested her to do. The children, after all, watching her departure from the window, wouldn’t be disappointed, since they’d know that she’d have to walk on a fair way until she reached a district respectable enough to have carriages prowling for hire. Once she’d left the grim streets far behind, she decided that considering their finances, the cost of riding would be so high a price to pay for indolence that she’d rather crawl all the miles to the Earl’s elegant address than summon such an extravagance.

  True, it was a mizzling damp day, and true also that she’d not felt very well when she’d risen this morning. But now the walking seemed to be doing her some good, for she could swear she felt lighter with each step she took, and it didn’t seem to be only because the prospect of finally getting a position or a suitable reference cheered her. Perhaps the moisture in the dank air had eased her previously constricted chest, or it might have been that the motion of her limbs as she paced forward drove the chills from her body, but now she began to feel as warm as if it were a fine summer’s day, as blithe and light-headed as though she’d sipped fine French wine this morning instead of the chocolate Alfie brought in for the family. Indeed, she almost removed her pelisse, until she realized it wouldn’t look right, however unusually, unseasonably warm it seemed to have become.

  He’d written that it was an unexceptionable offer he had to make to her this time, but with such a gentleman, with the nobility as wild as she’d always heard it was, one could never be sure. That was why she hadn’t told the children about his previous offer, she didn’t wish to get their hopes up. Then too, in some small corner of her mind she’d also wondered if they, with their benighted background, wouldn’t consider her an idiot for not taking him up on it, then or now, whatever it had or still entailed. But then, she wondered much the same herself.

  He was wealthy; she was almost starving. He was youthful, undeniably attractive, well-bred, and cleanly. Although she was young and adequately educated, she was, she considered, only passing fair. This not very outstanding virtue was certainly transitory, but while it lasted, right now it couldn’t be denied that it seemed she had little else to make her way in the world with any longer. And there was no denying the fact that the gentleman had been honest with her, and if she were to be honest with herself, he had appealed to her no little bit.

  But she certainly was an idiot, she almost giggled to herself as she walked the miles to the best part of town, if she even seriously considered such a thing for the space of a moment. She knew nothing of the talents he would require of her. Although she was well-educated, she had the uneasy feeling that in such matters the youngest of the Johnson children, save of course for Baby, knew more, if only from observation and hearsay, about the particulars and specifics of such activities than she did. It was only her real hunger for sustenance for both the body and the spirit, she told herself, combined with her overactive imagination, that could account for her countenancing such an arrangement for even one mad moment.

  For she realized that however pleasant her wild fancies might paint such an occupation in the frightening, lonely hours of the night, it would be in actuality much the same employment as the dreaded, dangerous Mother Carey might have in store for her. Her innate practicality also told her that even if the earl’s shocking offer were to be initially different, only a fool would expect fidelity from such an employer, and were she to be that fool, were she to go that route, it wouldn’t be long until she were little different from any of the females who practiced similar arts in dark doorways near Mrs. Rogers’ rooming house.

  She began to walk still more rapidly when she realized that even if the post the earl had offered were to become a lifelong situation for her, performed faithfully until retirement, she would still be little different morally than any of those lost back-alley trollops.

  But this time he’d implied that he’d summoned her forth for actual respectable employment, and so she believed him, or so she had to do. In truth, in her innermost secret thoughts, the idea of continuing poverty for herself and the children was so frightening she couldn’t promise herself that what she refused today she would not be only too eager to accept tomorrow. This was especially so, she thought as she hurried onward, despite how difficult it had suddenly become to breathe in the damp morning air and the sharp pain that grew in her ribs as she walked faster, when one considered an offer that came from a fellow as powerful and persistent as this gentleman, the Earl of Clune.

  *

  The dark gentleman tried to retain his civility, and so he took a turn around his desk again, refusing to look back immediately at the small, scrawny white-haired old female who had just attacked him. She hadn’t taken a step toward him or shied any lethal object at him, except for the accusations she made in her high, shrill accents. If only she were a gentleman, he thought angrily, he might have leveled her; if she were only a lady he would have done the same with one wry comment. But she was only a very old female, a dependent at that, and so the Earl of Clune could do no more than to cast one beleaguered look toward his mama, standing at the old harridan’s side.

  “Oh, come now, Comfort dear, you shouldn’t say such things to Cole,” that handsome, stately middle-aged woman said reasonably. “He’d have to be loose in his loft to bring such a female here. This is the earl’s house, not his bachelor quarters,” and then, realizing from her son’s muted groan of displeasure that she’d once again said the thing she’d thought rather than the thing she ought, Mrs. Haverford continued rapidly, “and it isn’t for us to tell him what to do, you know. Not even I,” she said a bit more forcefully, “I, who am his mother, have the right to do so, for it is his home, my dear.”

  Mrs. Haverford cast a sly look toward her son after she said this, and awaited his acknowledgment of a mission nicely accomplished.

  “Oh indeed,” the pinch-faced little old female agreed at once, before the earl could respond with a grateful smile, as she drew her shawl more tightly around her meager shoulders, “no, no, of course not, he’s a grown man, as well as a great nobleman, he’s entitled to do as he wishes. I should never presume to dictate to him, indeed, I should never dream that I had the right. But then too, I do not have to stay on to be insulted and victimized, even though I am obviously his inferior, only a poor old female, entirely dependent upon his and your good graces. So of course I shall not argue, Roberta, and if you wish to let me go, I shall leave at once, and you may take on this young female in my stead. I don’t doubt she’ll be able to run to your bidding faster than I can ever hope to do, any longer at least,” she concluded, then pressed a handkerchief to her face to stifle a sob, and thus effectively stifled all other comment and movement in the room for a few moments.

  “I did not say,” the earl repeated wearily, “that I planned to hire Miss Dawkins as your replacement as my mama’s companion. I only mentioned in passing that as I’ve had more difficulty than I thought, finding another decent post for the girl, and as our family owes her a post, and as obviously, I too hastily summoned her here in the expectation of presenting her with one, you might consider visiting with Cousin Emma, whom you’ve said you’re fond of, or another of your cousins, for a short time. While you were gone, the young lady could stay on here with Mama. Then, when we found her a position, she could move on, and you could move back. It would simply ease matters for me. That is all.”

  “All,” the elderly woman whimpered, putting a world of sorrow into that simple utterance before she whipped the handkerchief away from her grief-ravaged face and cried, “all! I’ve been with your mama for years, my lord, and I realized from the beginning of it all last year, that now the family’s been elevated, I might no longer suit. But I implore you, my lord, think hard before you do this thing. This female may have been wronged by young Theo, but from what I can see, you may be more grievously harmed. I know the address that summons went
to. In fact, the footman whistled when he was told where to deliver it, and the staff were all wondering if he’d return in one piece.

  “What sort of young woman resides in such a low slum? What sort of diseases, what types of uncleanliness of mind or body shall you bring to your mama by bringing such a creature here?”

  “At least I can see that I scarcely have to bring my mama to the theater this season, seeing the sort of tragedy her companion can enact at the drop of a hat,” the earl replied, much goaded.

  “Unkind, Cole,” his mama said gently. “It’s just that Comfort is high-strung and very protective of me. But he’s right, you know,” she said, turning to the older woman. “He’s given his word and it’s a debt he must honor. If she’s obviously a low creature, he can give her a sum of money and let her go back from whence she came. But I suggest that if the child is decent, there’s no reason why she can’t stay on here, as well as you, for a space, Comfort. She can assist you, but if you find that too objectionable, my dear,” Mrs. Haverford added, with the rare but effective control she could sometimes summon, “why, then, it might not be wrong for you to visit your cousin for a few weeks now, after all.”

  Miss Comfort, companion and distant relative to Mrs. Haverford, paused, and then swallowed what she was about to say. She avoided the dark and fulminating stare of the earl, and looking up at her kinswoman, sniffed and said only, almost meekly, “Very well, Roberta.”