by Abby Ayles
Suzie curtsied. “I shall do my very best.”
“Good girl, there is a handsome reward in it for you, should you succeed,” Lady Elridge concluded. “Now, time is of the essence.”
“Of course Mistress,” Suzie replied, curtsying to Lady Elridge then turning to Mary to also give a curtsy and a, “Mistress,” before leaving the room.
Mary shook her head. “We should not be doing this, he said she was a friend.”
“And that is exactly what he would say, were he courting a young woman in a place like this, away from her family's supervision,” her mother replied.
“I refuse to believe he would lie to me,” Mary insisted.
“Mary, men lie,” Lady Elridge replied sternly. “Men love to lie because men love to do as they ought not. You must learn this, and accept it, because once you have come to terms with man's nature you shall be in a much better position to act and react accordingly.”
“Whatever do you mean?” Mary asked, sitting down on the edge of her mother's bed.
“That when it comes to men, they will lie to us, and if we can detect and demystify these lies we can make sure that they do not hurt us,” she explained, holding her daughter's hand.
“Surely not... I mean... has father ever...” Mary began.
Lady Elridge shook her head. “Such matters are private. You shall learn in good time.”
A knock rang at the door. Before they could ask, it swung open and Suzie entered. “Is it good news or bad?” Lady Elridge asked.
“I am not sure,” Suzie replied, closing the door behind herself as she caught her breath.
“Go on then, out with it,” Lady Elridge insisted.
“I do not know much as of yet, but I have found out where she is staying and who she is,” Suzie panted. “She is a young woman of around seventeen, perhaps eighteen, daughter to Baron and Baroness Langley. Named Kitty. She suffers with her joints, so she has been sent here for the sea air to ease the swelling.”
“Is she wed, or betrothed?” Lady Elridge asked.
Suzie shook her head. “She is not wed, I have not had the time to find out if she is engaged.”
“Please keep a close eye on her,” Lady Elridge concluded, “we need to know as much as possible.”
As Suzie left and the door clicked shut behind her, Mary could hardly believe it. She shook her head. “I am sure it is nothing, he said she is just a friend of the family.”
“Mary, men will lie so long as it is in their best interests to lie,” Lady Elridge replied. “I believe you have already found out who Mr. Haskett actually is?”
Mary nodded and avoided making eye contact. “Antoinette found out and told me.”
“Well, then I am sure you understand why a young daughter to a Baron may be serious competition for you,” her mother explained, “after all, he would be making a big step down in marrying you.”
“Would he?” Mary asked nervously. “It is my title that would change, not his.”
Lady Elridge nodded. “That is very true, and it is possible that we are wrong and that his relationship to this girl is wholly innocent. But we cannot assume such things, we must know.”
“Perhaps we ought to confront him?” Mary suggested.
Lady Elridge paused thoughtfully. “We must find out more. If this girl really is a simple friend of the family, if she is betrothed to someone else perhaps, then we do not want to appear rude. We need to wait for Suzie to find out more.”
“And until then?” Mary asked.
“Until then you must be charming, civil, and, above all, present. The more time he spends with you, the less time he will spend with that woman, and the more likely he is to choose you above her. Provided that you are charming, that is.”
Mary nodded. It did not feel right to be acting like this behind Duke Haskett's back. But she knew that it meant very much to her mother for her to possibly marry a Duke. And she also knew that her mother's reasons for wanting Mary to marry up had to be valid. Lady Elridge had experienced marrying down, and all it entailed, she knew the differences between the classes and how Mary might live as Duchess of York. And yet... Mary still felt as though they were doing something terribly, horribly wrong.
She had been raised a good Christian girl, and she was pretty sure that good Christian girls did not send their servants to spy on men and their whereabouts. But, then again... had Duke Haskett lied to her then would they not be equal? And, had he lied to her, would she not want to know? She sighed. The adult world was complicated and confusing, but there was no turning back. She was about to ask her mother whether.or not it would be wise to continue courtship with a man who had lied about such a serious matter.
At that moment there was another knock at the door. Bolder, and clearly a man. Mary held her breath and braced herself to avoid any confrontation which could arise from the tensions. “Come in,” she said.
But it was not Duke Haskett. It was a small, slender man of about fifty with fading blond hair and piercing green eyes. His lips were thin and dry, and his face was pock-marked and slightly flaky in appearance.
“Dr. Brooks, what a lovely surprise,” Lady Elridge said. “Have you met my daughter?”
“Even more talkative yet, Lady Elridge,” the physician remarked. “You are making fantastic improvement from your condition when you arrived. The sea air must have been just the thing.” He turned to Mary and looked at her with an amount of surprise which suggested she had appeared on the spot, rather than been there the whole time. “Miss Elridge, I presume? Lovely to meet you. As you can see, your doctor was quite right to send your mother our way, and she is making an astonishing recovery.”
“What does that mean?” Lady Elridge asked, sounding a little concerned.
“That you may be able to return home in as little as two more days,” Dr. Brooks replied. “Often it can take a week or more for a woman to recover from this type of dementia at this early stage. I must commend your good health.”
Lady Elridge smiled. “Thank you, Dr. Brooks.”
The smile seemed to persuade Dr. Brooks that she was well. But Mary knew otherwise. She could tell that her mother was distressed.
The doctor took her pulse and a sample which had been collected that morning by a nurse. He made sure that enough air was entering the room, and with a polite nod he left to continue his rounds.
“Well, we cannot have that,” she said to Mary as soon as the doctor had left.
“Cannot have what?” Mary asked.
“I cannot return home. Not until we know who this Miss Kitty Langley is, and what her relationship to Duke Haskett may be,” Lady Elridge said with a sigh. “Fortune giveth and taketh away. We must make good use of our remaining time here.”
Mary still did not feel it was the right thing to do, but she also knew that arguing with her mother would get her absolutely nowhere.
“I shall talk a little to Duke Haskett. I shall be careful, and subtle, but you must bring him to me that I may find out more about his intentions with this Kitty Langley girl...” Lady Elridge insisted.
Mary nodded. “He said he shall meet us for tea at the tea rooms, so perhaps then will be our opportunity?”
Lady Elridge shook her head. “No, it is too public, we must persuade him to see us after tea, perhaps for a walk in the garden.”
“Can you walk?” Mary asked hesitantly.
Lady Elridge looked down at her legs. She moved a foot tentatively, but she was clearly too proud to admit that her legs were feeling too weak to walk.
Mary nodded. “I shall find you a chair. I believe I saw some patients in wheelchairs, so perhaps they have a spare one.”
Lady Elridge smiled in the way she did when she was thankful and indignant at once.
* * *
Tea with Duke Haskett was slightly delayed until he arrived, approximately ten minutes late. “Terribly sorry, but my friend was having one of her moments and insisted that I stay and listen to the end of her story. The rest here does such won
ders for her, but she cannot be without company or a book for long before she is aching to do something,” he explained.
Lady Elridge nodded. “Indeed. I did not know that young women can suffer rheumatism,” she began.
Duke Haskett shook his head. “Many assume that it is an affliction of the elderly, and yet she has had it since she was a little girl. It's very sad.”
“Mhm,” Lady Elridge replied.
“Have you known her since she was young?” Mary asked, attempting to keep the mood light.
“Oh yes, she and I used to play together all the time. Our parents were close friends, and both of us are only children, so despite how young she was, and that she was a girl, I felt compelled to play with her when we visited.” He had a faraway smile, and he shook his head gently as though dismissing those memories. “But when I became a man of some power, and she was starting to become a young lady, it was thought improper for us to see each other as much. I seldom see her except at times like these, when she needs company and has nobody by her side.” He picked up his tea and sipped it, eyeing the platter of cucumber sandwiches behind the teapot.
Mary moved the teapot so that he could reach the tray. “Can her parents not visit her?”
“Or a female friend,” added Lady Elridge.
He raised an eyebrow. “Why? Is there anything the matter with the present arrangement?” He took a sandwich and bit into it, making careful eye contact with Lady Elridge. It was not a look so much as a warning.
“Well,” said Lady Elridge, “it's only a little odd. For a man such as yourself... an unattached man... to be seeing a young lady... unattended. I am sure you understand.”
He swallowed his bite. “We are not unattended. This is a public facility and there are nurses and servants around at all times.”
“Still... Especially when you are courting Mary...” Lady Elridge continued.
“I am courting many women at present, Lady Elridge. Not Kitty, by any means. She is a sister to me. But were she not, and were I courting her also, I would have been honest with you,” he insisted.
“And yet you were dishonest about who you are,” Mary said without thinking. She covered her mouth with a hand. “Pardon me, I don't know what...”
“It is fine. It is for this purpose that I am courting so many young women. It so happens that a man of my stature attracts many of a certain type of parent, and girl. I wish to avoid such people. Right now, you are both making it abundantly clear what sort of people you are.” He swallowed another mouthful of tea.
“And what type of person would that be?” Lady Elridge asked indignantly.
Duke Haskett leaned in and spoke quietly. “The type of person who thinks only of herself, who does not consider me a human being but a step on the ladder of social status and a handsome income, who is willing to stop at nothing to rectify her own marriage, which she, at great insult to her hard-working husband, considers a mistake. That type of person, Lady Elridge.”
Lady Elridge stared on in shock, her face turning a bright shade of crimson. “Mary... my salts please,” she whispered.
Duke Haskett stood up, dusted down his coat, and smiled at the two women. “Have a good day, Lady Elridge, Miss Elridge. And a good life.”
Chapter Eight
Mary felt strange as she accompanied her mother back to the room. She was not quite sure where to place her emotions, or her thoughts. It was as though some dark veil had been dropped upon her and was clouding her mind.
Lady Elridge was not much better. She had returned to a state where she did not speak, only held her salts and stared forward, absorbed in her own mind. Looking at her mother, Mary felt a pang of anger towards Duke Haskett. He may have been right. Lady Elridge did consider status. But Duke Haskett should have known that she was there for her nerves, and not to upset her like that. And now her condition was nearly as bad as before.
The physician, Dr. Brooks, spotted Mary wheeling Lady Elridge up the hallway and followed them into her room, where he took her pulse, checked her pupils, and attempted to talk to her. Then, he rolled her up to the window, where she could get as much air as possible.
“Will she be alright, Dr. Brooks?” Mary asked nervously.
Dr. Brooks nodded. “She is nowhere near as bad as she was when she was brought here first. However, she has most definitely suffered a shock,” he confirmed. “What may have caused this?”
Mary shook her head. “We had lunch with a friend and then she was like this.”
Dr. Brooks looked Lady Elridge up and down. “It is possible that in her frail state even socializing is too much effort for her. I would advise that you talk to her as little as possible, and only about pleasantries.”
“Will she recover, then?” Mary asked.
“Of course she will, dear. It is but a small setback to her recovery. In fact, I see no reason why she should not be speaking right now, and I am sure she will once the initial shock wears off.” The doctor packed away his tools and proceeded to leave the room. “At any rate, I believe that my presence alone may be altogether too stimulating. Please call me as soon as you notice an improved or worsened condition. Otherwise, I shall ask staff that Lady Elridge not be disturbed.”
Mary knew it. She knew when the doctor first told her of this illness, and she felt the same churn in her stomach now. Her mother was not recovering as “quickly” as originally said. Her heart began to ache as she remembered the last few conversations she had with her mother. She replayed every word slowly in her mind, relishing the way her mother offered advice and guided her. Mary hadn’t appreciated her then, cutting her mother off and arguing incessantly, but she certainly appreciated those words now.
As soon as the doctor left Mary sat down in the chair by the window, facing her mother's wheelchair. “The doctor says you are not as bad as before,” she said with a faint smile.
And yet Lady Elridge just stared out the window.
“Oh mother, how could he be so insensitive?” And yet... she did not hate him for it. She was angry at that one action, that one moment of cruelty. But it had not tarred her impression of the man. He was still a good man, he was just... he was put in a difficult position. She understood his distress. He wished to marry a genuinely good woman, and all he was witnessing was feigned interest and exaggerated civility in an effort to seduce him. She would be angry at being treated in such a manner as well.
Mary sighed. The strange feeling was only getting worse. She wondered whether she had developed an attraction to Duke Haskett above and beyond what was expected of a young woman meeting a suitor. She tried to tell herself that she had not... But she knew she had. She knew that she felt genuine love for him.
She knew what she needed to do: she needed to apologise to Duke Haskett. Not for herself, or to improve her chances of marrying him, although were he to reconsider her, she would be glad to be courted by him once again. No, she needed to apologise to him because it was the decent thing to do. He deserved to be treated with more respect. Her mother had acted in a manner which had insulted and seemingly hurt him.
It took some time to find him. She had checked by Miss Kitty Langley's quarters, at the tea rooms, and even asked at the reception whether he had departed. Eventually she found him at the bottom of the garden, leaning on the fence, watching the wind raising waves and foam across the sea. The sun was setting slowly, tinting the sky pink, and the sea air was sharp and cold.
Mary knew she ought not be out there alone with a man, but she reassured herself that there were enough people in the garden that it would not be suspicious. Besides, apologising to him mattered more to her than her own dignity at this point. Everything about him mattered more.
“Duke Haskett?” Mary said tentatively.
“I have no more to say to you,” he sounded somewhat melancholy, as though he shared her feelings. This emboldened her.
“I simply wish to apologise for mine and my mother's behaviour,” she insisted.
He sighed. “I suppose an ap
ology is due from me also. I accept your apology. Will you accept my sincerest apology for how I conducted myself at tea?”
“I will, and I hope my mother does also,” Mary curtsied, then walked up to the fence. “I only wish you could forgive me enough to give me another opportunity.”
“How am I to trust you? Ever since you discovered my identity you have been peculiar,” he replied. “It is always the same story. I meet a lovely young lady and she seems ideal... Then I overhear her talking behind my back about how much money she will get from me.” He shook his head. “The world is rotten, Miss Elridge.”
“But I do feel that you and I... we were meant to be,” Mary tried to express her emotions, but words failed her.
He shook his head. “No, I am sorry. I have heard such words come from the mouths of a thousand serpents. I believed you and your mother were good, honest women. But that belief appears to have been incorrect.”
“I may not be very good, and my mother may not be very honest... but I am being honest when I tell you that you are important to me,” she insisted.
“Miss Elridge, find yourself someone of your status. Only then will you know if you are marrying well or not.” He turned about and walked back up to the manor.
Mary could not even bear to look back upon him. She felt a tear travel down her cheek. It was only after several more minutes of watching the sea that she ventured back indoors and found her mother's room once again.
Suzie had helped Lady Elridge into her bedclothes and she was fast asleep when Mary looked in on her. Feeling mournful and sleepless, Mary requested a candle from a nurse, returned to her own room and procured a book from her bag. She could not even focus on the words.
Mary knew at this point that her family's chances of marrying her up were slim to none. And yet... she did not care. She did not care if she married down, to a doctor or a member of the military. What sort of a man she would marry no longer mattered to her. All that mattered was that it would not be Duke Haskett.
