After fretful consideration, she made her first significant decision, and recommended that money be spent to set up a small workshop in Norwich for some of the Spitalfields silk weavers who wished to leave London.
She found it rather alarming when Rothgar didn’t hesitate to authorize the funds, and wished Bryght were still in town to give a second opinion.
“Don’t furrow your brow,” said Rothgar. “I think you’ve neglected one lesson. In this game, no one expects to win every time. Some of your decisions will be disastrous. You must take the long view.”
“I find that hard. It’s my nature to tread cautiously.”
They were in the office, though he was dressed in courtly magnificence, ready to attend a royal levee. “I don’t think so, my dear. You have learned to be careful so as not to endanger others. Shall I admit that perhaps I overreacted to young Scottsdale?”
He must have spent time going over the past, seeking flaws in his management of the family. She took his beringed hand. “Bey, you are not responsible for everything that happens to us. Some of our problems we create for ourselves.”
A smile twitched his lips. “And some of my decisions will be disastrous. I should take my own advice, yes?”
“Yes,” she said, returning the smile. Then she released his hand and sobered. “Speaking of disasters, Chastity says Fort will soon be out of his bed.”
“A disaster, is it?”
“You know what I mean.” She turned to pick up the papers relating to Norwich, nervously tidying them into a pile. “I am not going to let him slip away without effort.”
“I would be disappointed if you did.”
She turned to look at him. “You won’t mind?”
“You dragging him into the family by the hair? I will survive. Now, I must off to St. James or George will grow anxious. Really, nurturing kingship is far more exhausting than dealing with troublesome twins.”
The door closed gently behind him, and Elf smiled, counting her blessings, as she did every day.
Thought of blessings suddenly reminded her of the old woman down near the docks. She’d never come for help, but now it occurred to Elf that perhaps she was afraid to. Or it could be a daunting journey to cross London without chair or carriage.
Elf went to give the documents to Grainger, who was still rather distant with her, then ordered her coach. When she encountered Chastity, she invited her along on the trip down to Wapping. Soon they were on their way, escorted by two armed footmen in addition to the coachman. Elf was past being foolish about these things.
The area had not changed, and the grand coach brought out a small army of gawkers, but again no one begged, and the people looked reasonably fed and clothed. Elf, however, was in search of the less fortunate.
She halted the carriage on the edge of the charred wasteland. Scavengers still picked over it, but today they seemed to be children searching more in play than desperation. Elf called for the door to be opened and descended, skirts raised clear of the rubble. She made her way toward one of the children, who looked up, startled and wary.
“Don’t be afraid,” Elf said. “I’m just looking for an old woman I met here. Dibby Cutlow, she said her name was. Do you know her?”
The girl, who must have been about eight, nodded.
“Do you know where she lives?”
Again, the girl nodded.
“If you bring her here, I’ll give you a penny.”
Eyes suddenly narrowed in suspicion. “Show me.”
Elf dug through the slit in her outer skirt to find a penny in her pocket, then showed it to the child.
“Right then.” The girl flew off over the uneven ground like a nimble sheep.
Elf watched her go—young, strong, and healthy—and wondered just who had decided that females were frail. As children, boys and girls were as active and strong as they were allowed to be. Women surely could be trained for many more jobs than were currently thought suitable, and thus be less likely to fall into poverty or prostitution.
She must add that to her inquiries and revolutions.
To think that a few weeks ago she had been restless and bored. Now there weren’t enough hours in the day for all she wanted to accomplish. She threaded her way back to the coach and ordered it moved in the direction the child had taken, hoping to shorten the old woman’s walk.
Chastity was studying the broken-down tavern. “Is that where you were held?”
“Yes. In the cellar. Isn’t it strange how one can think fondly of such a decrepit location.”
“I have fond memories of a dusty attic, myself.”
They shared a smile, and Elf said, “Does the feeling dull with time?”
“Which feeling are you referring to?”
“The need to be-with, I suppose.”
“I think it must, or we’d all live as if shackled together. But I think part of the easing comes from security. If I wasn’t sure Cyn would be there for me, I would be more inclined to cling.”
“Oh, for the chance to cling!” Elf smiled at her desperate state. “I spend time, you know, wondering if I could have done anything differently. Better. I was wild and foolish to create Lisette Belhardi. But without her, I would never have met the real Fort.”
“Are you sure you know the real Fort?” Chastity turned to study her.
“Are you, too, going to try to warn me off?”
“No, not that. But it’s easy to see our beloved through a veil of illusion. I remember you laughing when I described Cyn as sensitive.”
“It was a startling concept. But I suppose he is, for a man.”
“Indeed. But he is also ruthlessly practical, and tough as boiled leather, which I should have known a soldier has to be.”
“Does it bother you?”
“Not now, but it takes time to learn all dimensions of a person. Fort is his father’s son.”
“Fort is not at all like the old earl!”
“Yes, he is. And he knows it, which is one of the things that galls him. He’s proud to a fault, hates to admit to any error, and believes in his divine right to do as he pleases.”
“You can’t expect a Malloren to quibble at the latter.”
Chastity shrugged. “I’m just warning you to plan your assault on the real man, not on a memory that lingers from here. Is that your old woman?”
Elf turned to see Dibby Cutlow hobbling down a rutted lane.
She seemed in slightly better form, and Elf realized she wore new boots and a fresh, untorn apron. Could sixpence buy all that?
Elf went to meet her. “Mrs. Cutlow. I wanted to be sure you were all right.”
The old woman’s eyes shifted around, still anxious and wary. “Doing fairish, ma’am.”
“I thought perhaps it might be a bit far for you to visit me in Marlborough Square if you were in need.”
“ ’Twould be a fair way, ma’am, yes. But I’m fair set. ’Is lordship saw to that.”
“His lordship?” Had Rothgar had taken over this matter for her?
“Lord Woolgive, or somin’,” said Dibby. “Seems ’e was with you that day, and ’e sent a crown. Said as there’d be another every week, and there has been, Gawd bless ’im.”
Fort! Well really, what business did he have stealing her charity case? Just because she’d let the matter slip from her mind for a week or two . . .
Elf determined to take her cause back.
“And do you have a good place to live, Mrs. Cutlow?”
“I ’as a room.”
“Would you like a place in the country? Far away from here.”
The old woman stepped back. “Don’t take me away, ma’am. I don’t want to leave ’ere!” Her gnarled fingers clutched her apron and it looked terribly as if she were going to cry.
“No, no. Of course not! No one will do anything you don’t want . . .” Elf felt like crying herself. She just wanted to help this poor woman, and yet everything was going wrong.
As it had with Fort.
W
as she really just a clumsy meddler?
She looked around, and the germ of an idea came to her. She touched one of Dibby’s clenched hands. “I’m pleased Lord Walgrave is seeing to your welfare. Don’t worry about anything else. But my offer remains. If you have a problem or are in need, just send someone with a message to Malloren House in Marlborough Square, and I will do what I can.”
With that, she gave the impatient girl her penny, and returned to the coach.
As the coach lurched its way back to the road, Chastity asked, “She is not in need, then?”
“She doesn’t seem to think so. Probably because your brother has made her his pensioner at a crown a week.”
“You sound rather aggrieved.”
“I think he did it just to contest me!”
“Perhaps a little. But he is genuinely kind, you know. He’s made many improvements since becoming earl. The servants are better treated and paid. I gather he’s visited all the estates, and dealt with long-standing grievances of the tenants. Our father was not kind, and from being blackmailed, he’d become a veritable clutch-fist.”
“I’m pleased he’s being responsible.” Elf meant it. She loved to hear of Fort’s virtues. She was still aggrieved, however, by his interference in her business. “I have a plan . . .”
Chastity pulled a face at her. “What now?”
Elf chuckled. “Oh, nothing wicked, I assure you.”
“Are you sure?”
Alerted by something in Chastity’s voice, Elf asked, “Yes. Why?”
“Because I visited Fort this morning and found him finally out of his bed and on a chaise. He’d been refusing to make the change of scene if it involved being carried, but apparently he managed to hobble across the room with the aid of a crutch. You did say that when he was vertical, you would feel free to assault him.”
“He’s not vertical on a chaise!”
“I’m sure he’d struggle to his feet if you entered the room.”
“And doubtless injure himself.”
“Elf, are you scared?”
Elf looked at Chastity. “Well, of course I am.”
“He won’t hurt you, I’m sure. He’s developed a certain balance in his feelings.”
“I might upset his balance, mentally and physically. What if I push him into bitterness again, and he tries to make it all public? Now he’s up and about—”
“He wouldn’t be such a fool.”
“Are you sure?”
“No,” Chastity admitted. “But truly, he seems to have put it all behind him. He’s much like the brother I knew before Father’s death, but better. More mature.”
“And where does that leave me?”
Chastity sighed. “I’m not sure there’s any hope. He appears to have put you behind him, too.”
“Out of sight, out of mind?” Elf tried not to let her pain show. “Perhaps in sight, in mind . . . But that’s why I’m frightened. Now, I can hope. I can dream of it all coming right. Once I put it to the test, I might find that you’re right . . . Anyway, it isn’t fair to sting him when he can’t run away.”
“He could have you thrown out,” Chastity pointed out. “I think you should put it to the test. He’s talking of removing to Walgrave Towers as soon as he’s stronger.”
That hit Elf with panic. She’d gained some comfort from the knowledge that Fort was only streets away. “And we’ll soon be at the Abbey. No one stays in London in the summer. Lud, anything could happen if I let months go by. Oh, this is worse than a visit to the tooth-puller!”
Chastity laughed. “Now, there’s a fine romantic sentiment. Shall we go visit him, then?”
“Now? Oh, I don’t think so . . .”
Elf’s hand went to her hair to check if it were tidy, and she assessed her outfit. She was wearing the dull forget-me-not dress again and a plain cap, and a flat, flower-trimmed hat made little improvement.
Dull, dull, dull. Spinsterish dull. Why hadn’t she pursued the matter of bolder clothes? In a few days, she could have something better.
“He wouldn’t admit me . . .”
“I hope he wouldn’t be so impolite, but we’ll never know unless we try.”
“Lud!” Elf’s heart raced with panic and longing, and her hands were probably soaking her cotton gloves with sweat.
“Courage,” said Chastity. “Where’s that Malloren spirit?”
Elf rolled her eyes, but the prospect of seeing Fort after more than two weeks was too tempting to refuse, even if all she saw was the cold, unforgiving earl.
As they headed toward the better part of town, she spotted a flower-seller. Stopping the coach, she called the woman over. Soon she possessed a pretty nosegay of sweet-smelling roses.
“What’s that for?” Chastity asked. “I assure you, his sickroom is not noxious.”
“When a person goes a-wooing, aren’t they supposed to take flowers?”
Fort was pleased enough to hear that his sister had arrived, for convalescence was a damnably boring business. Various friends visited to play cards and gossip, but they couldn’t fill all the hours of the day. He had books he should read, and his secretary, Jellicoe, kept bringing papers to do with the affairs of the earldom or matters arising in the House. For some reason, he found it hard to keep his mind on such stuff.
And his idle mind had a wretched way of wandering to Elf Malloren. Or rather, to Lisette in this room, masked, disheveled, melting under his touch, driving him to ecstasy with hers.
He found it damnably hard to blend that delightful creature with Milady Elf of the sharp wit and even sharper tongue. And yet for some reason the notion of having Elf here, sandy-haired and maskless, of doing with her the things he’d done with Lisette . . .
Plague take it!
If he could think of a reason to give, he’d move to some other room. Any other room. He looked around with distaste at heavy furniture and somber hangings. He could claim the room was haunted. It wouldn’t be far from the truth. The ghosts of his father and Lisette made very strange bedfellows, though.
He was smiling at that thought as Chastity came in, carrying a nosegay. “Roses? Charming, but an unusual gift for a gentleman.”
She leaned down to kiss his cheek. “I don’t see why ladies should be the only ones to be given flowers. Anyway, they’re from Elf.” A still watchfulness belied the casual way she tried to say the words.
Having no idea how to react, he looked away. “How . . . quaint.”
The roses were tossed into his lap, their perfume suddenly assaulting him.
“Gentlemen are usually polite about gifts.”
He gazed at the simple country bouquet of assorted roses, pink, cream, and yellow. “Only to the giver,” he pointed out.
“She’s below stairs. Shall I call her up?”
“God no.” His heart started a sudden staccato of panic.
“Afraid to see her?” Chastity was as tight-lipped and angry as she had been in their worst times, and he could put that to Elf Malloren’s account.
“Perhaps I prefer not to hang for murder.”
He knew the accompanying gesture in this melodrama was to toss the roses to the floor. Instead, of their own will, his fingers touched one cool, soft petal.
Soft as Lisette’s skin.
As Elf’s skin.
’Struth, most women had soft skin. One wench or another, what did it matter?
“You’ll hurt her feelings.”
His sister sounded a little less irate so he looked up, and he made himself speak calmly and logically. “Chastity, it would not be wise. If Lady Elfled is capable of rational thought, she too will realize it’s for the best.”
She rolled her eyes. “Lud, but you sound just like Father. Bone-headed and insufferable!”
“That at least reflects well on the honor of our late lamented mother.” Then he realized he had raised the flowers and was inhaling their musky perfume. Giving up pretense, he met his sister’s eyes.
“Why are you fighting this, Fort?”
she asked softly.
“Perhaps I’ve decided against self-destruction as well as murder.”
“And turned instead to melodrama and insanity!” Then she bit her lip.
“Don’t let the idea torment you, my dear. I no longer fear inherited insanity. As I was told, Father was not mad except insofar as he was mad for power, an affliction none of us seem to have caught from him. Pushed far enough, I suppose any of us could be driven into a form of madness, but that is not the same as having it in the blood.” Deliberately, he added, “As the Mallorens do.”
Chastity sat with a flounce in the chair by his chaise. “The Mallorens do not, as well you know. Only Rothgar bears that concern. The others have a different and sane mother.”
He inhaled the perfume of the roses again, thinking that perhaps such smells were healing. What a heartless world it was that lavished them on women and denied them to men.
His sister’s voice broke into his whimsical thoughts. “So, what is your attitude to Rothgar these days?”
He lowered the roses and met her eyes. “I promised Elf to put aside the feud. I told you the same thing. As long as he doesn’t interfere with me, he can go to hell in peace as far as I’m concerned.”
“What if he pushes for you to marry his sister?”
“I would consider that interference of the most malignant kind.”
“Fort, what if she’s with child?”
That possibility tormented him, but he would not let it show. “We discussed it before our charming jousting session. I agreed to provide financial support if needed, but made it clear I would not marry her.”
“Then you had best be careful not to spread the story, hadn’t you? Or you will force Rothgar to act.”
It took a moment for her words to make sense, so far from his mind were they. Then he laughed. “Devil take it, is she still concerned about that? Tell her I’ve come to my senses. She need not fear that Mr. Hogarth will turn his cruel pen to her adventures. I told you, I no longer desire death, and I certainly don’t desire marriage to a Malloren.”
His sister frowned at him with something close to pity. “You’re making a terrible mistake, Fort.”
Jo Beverley - [Malloren 03] Page 30
