Lies and Letters

by Ashtyn Newbold

  “Clara!” I ran toward her bedchamber and pushed open the door. She was struggling to fasten the back of her dress, arms bent awkwardly over her shoulders. I stopped. “How did you do that on your own?” She was almost completely dressed. I couldn’t even begin to undress without my maid to assist me.

  She gave a huffed breath. Sweat shone on her forehead and she wiped her hair from her eyes. “It isn’t so difficult. And I have long arms.”

  I raised an eyebrow at her. “When you are finished, come assist me with mine.”

  She crossed her arms. Only then did I notice the puffy, redness of her eyes. “Not everything is about you anymore, Charlotte. Mama is not here to favor you. She is not here to treat you like a princess and me like a burden. She abandoned us both! I won’t accept orders from you ever again, and if you will continue to be selfish, then I will only dress myself, and only cook for myself, and only kill spiders in my own room! I heard you shrieking last night.”

  I felt the weight of her words settle over me like an iron blanket. I needed her help, but I was not about to admit that. Being inferior was never an option. “Very well. I will dress myself. We leave for the village in one hour.”

  I stalked from the room, uneasy for a reason I couldn’t name. Having an ally in this strange place was necessary, but how could I win Clara’s respect without sacrificing my own? I was not a weak, silly girl who succumbed to her little sister. I was beautiful, capable, and governing. And I always achieved what I wanted.

  Grumbling, I reached behind my back and looked into the mirror to begin unfastening the buttons of my dress. After nearly thirty minutes, I was wearing the robin’s egg gown, wiping sweat from my own forehead. Now the hair.

  I settled on a simple style I had practiced the night before. Luckily, I had brought an entire box of pins with me, so I could hide the many stray hairs and mistakes. I stared at my reflection and willed myself to be confident.

  Before leaving, I dug through my things and withdrew a familiar sheet of parchment. Under the words, Always display refinement, although you may not feel it, I scribbled one sentence:

  Always wear a bonnet out of doors. A mess of hair must always remain concealed.

  z

  The weather was surprisingly calm when Clara and I walked down the steps of our pitiful cottage. It would be a long walk to the village, and the air, although calm, was crisp and chilling through my cloak. I took it as a positive thing. Combined with the exercise, it would give more color to my cheeks. I was surprised Mama had found such a secluded cottage for us. As we came nearer to the village, I noticed that aside from our lonely home, all the other sea-houses were grouped together as if they comprised a social circle I was uninvited to.

  We passed the only grand home in the area, the one I thought to belong to Lord Trowbridge. The closer view was enough to take my breath away. It was old, and had a spooky feeling about it. The stone was dark and weather-worn, but the accents were fresh and belonged to the structure in an odd way. I could only imagine the home in winter, edged in frost and surrounded by leafless trees.

  “How am I going to make his acquaintance?” I whispered. I didn’t know why, but I felt like the house would hear me if I spoke too loudly.

  Clara squinted back at the house as we passed it. “Gather more information. Surely some of the people we meet in the village will know of him.”

  I turned away, content for the moment. I was certain the house was haunted, and I wouldn’t dare call it beautiful. That thing inside me continued to sink. As we walked, Clara began talking about the novel she was reading, and how everything she saw reminded her of it. It was exhausting.

  “And that house is like the home of the poor Wilshire family. And the ruins of Dunstanburgh castle were once exactly like Helmsway castle, to be sure. Oh! And that woman reminds me precisely of the eldest Wilshire daughter.”

  The village was straight ahead, little more than a gathering of small street shops; the smell of fish pervaded in the air. I held my breath as we approached. The coast was so close now. I could almost feel the salty spray of seawater as I watched it crash against the rocks below the shallow cliffs. Fishing boats dotted the nearby water like splattered paint on a canvas of gray. I watched as a group of men hefted a net of silver fish into their boat, and I could hear their voices carrying over to my ears, much less refined and clear than the gentlemen of my acquaintance. My nose wrinkled in distaste.

  “Oi, misses!” A thick-bearded man lumbered toward us.

  Clara’s eyes widened. “He is an exact picture of the villain of the novel.”

  I shushed her and quickly looped my arm through hers and tried to turn the other way, but the man was already beside us. “I ’aven’t seen you about. Wha’ brings ye ’ere?” He reeked of dead fish and ale.

  “We are visiting a friend,” Clara answered. “Good day, sir.” Then we turned away and walked toward the market area, where less frightening people stood. I noticed another man watching us from down the path. His brow was furrowed as he watched the bearded man follow us.

  “Ye smell like flowers. We don’ grow many flowers ’round ’ere.”

  We walked faster, our footsteps exceeding even the rate of my heart. His hand clamped over my shoulder, stopping us. I shrieked, hitting him with my reticule. His eyes focused on it as it swung toward him. Then he snatched it from my hand and ran in the opposite direction, turning down a dark alley between houses.

  I slapped my hands over my mouth, shock surrounding me on all sides. That reticule contained all our money for food and supplies for the next two months!

  From the corner of my eye, I saw the other man—the one who had witnessed the scene—run past us and around the same corner. Were they accomplices in the crime? I supposed Clara would understand, as she had read so many novels. I looked at her in panic, but she seemed just as confused as I was.

  I heard loud voices and violent crashes from behind the small house. My heart pounded. What was happening? Another sickening crash was followed by a low grunt. Eventually the noises went away until it was silent. Slow footsteps increased in volume toward us and I gripped Clara’s arm harder, unable to move despite how much I wanted to.

  The second man appeared, holding his hand to his nose. Blood flowed freely from it, soaking, I noticed, into the hem of his sleeve.

  “Who is that?” I whispered frantically to Clara.

  She tugged on my arm. “That’s the dashing hero.”

  I didn’t believe it for a moment. “Don’t come any closer!” I shrieked at the man.

  He scowled and rubbed his head with the other hand.

  “We have nothing else for you to take!”

  He stepped closer, eyebrows raised now. “You’re jokin’ me.” Then he laughed. He laughed. “You suppose I went off and bloodied my own nose, do you? I was trying to get your things back, you ungrateful—” He stopped and took a breath.

  Clara and I exchanged a glance. I cleared my voice. “You expect us to believe that you didn’t intend to keep it for yourself?” I gave him an appraising glance. He wore clothing much more casual than I was accustomed to, with a worn leather coat rather than a styled one. He appeared to be slightly older than me, but by five years at most. His hair was black as charred wood, with eyes the color of calm seawater. For a moment they shone with disbelief.

  “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just accuse me of such a low crime.” His eyes appraised me right back, then moved to Clara. “A simple expression of gratitude would suffice.”

  “I don’t see our reticule in your possession.”

  He took a step back and grumbled something under his breath. Clara quickly thanked him for his trouble, but I kept my mouth shut.

  The man gave his nose a final swipe, and I was relieved that the bleeding had stopped. I was weak-stomached when it came to such things. He narrowed his eyes at me for my silence but didn’t press further on the matter. Instead, he half-grunted, half-spoke. “To make introduction, my name is James Wortham
. You are new to Craster, I see. What brings you here?”

  I raised an eyebrow as I spoke, ensuring that he knew he was below my notice. Trusting that word of Papa’s disgrace hadn’t reached this part of the country, I said, “My name is Miss Charlotte Lyons and this is my sister, Miss Clara. We are here visiting a friend.”

  “Who might that friend be?”

  I threw a fleeting look at Clara. “Lord Trowbridge.”

  James chuckled. “Trowbridge doesn’t have friends. Try again.”

  I scowled but quickly stopped myself. A lady must always maintain an even disposition. “Fine. But we are under no obligation to tell you why we are here. It is an errand of sorts.”

  He rubbed his jaw, a slow smile lighting his face. I chose to ignore the way it affected his appearance. He was very handsome in a rugged sort of way. I quickly banished the thought from my mind.

  “Ah, a secret assignment.” he said. “May I be of assistance? Adventure is scarce around here and I happen to know a great many things about this town.”

  I started shaking my head but stopped myself. “Very well. Tell us what you know of Lord Trowbridge.”

  “He’s a dastardly fellow. Short, thick around the middle, not nearly as handsome as myself …” He grinned as if waiting for a response. When we said nothing, he cleared his throat. “Very well. He is entirely ordinary. Aside from his wealth and title, anyway.”

  I crossed my arms. “That is truly all you know?”

  He straightened his collar and flashed another smile. “Well, of course not.” He leaned closer. “But it seems to me you have a few secrets of your own. I’ll keep some of mine in case you’re ever interested in making a trade.”

  I almost screamed at him, but managed to maintain my countenance. Only just.

  He looked down at the ground and chuckled. When he looked up, his face was serious again. “What was it that man took from you?” He was addressing me still, likely because I appeared to be the older sister. The reality hit me that all our money to sustain us for the next two months was gone. My throat tightened with the threat of tears.

  “I’m afraid that reticule contained all our funds for the time being.” I said it with my chin high.

  “All of it?”

  I nodded and a tear slipped from my eye. How had I come this low, crying to a man about my misfortune?

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “Curse my angelic conscience.” Then he mumbled some other things I didn’t hear and nodded toward the village ahead. “Come with me.”

  Without a word, Clara and I followed. Mr. Wortham walked ahead quickly, and I nearly tripped over my skirts trying to keep up. He turned his head over his shoulder, addressing me with one eyebrow raised yet again. “Afraid to get your skirts soiled, are you?”

  “Yes, in fact, I am.”

  He grinned and turned his head back around. “Then I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong town, my dear.”

  Clara giggled in her throat and I shot her a scowl.

  In the heart of the village, we walked past tall shops and short, crowded houses, much smaller than ours. People sat on the steps, talking, trading, and drinking. One man sat with a young girl on his lap, whispering in her ear as she cried, apparently trying to comfort her. His clothing appeared to have been worn for weeks without wash, and the little girl looked the same. Both their faces seemed to be sinking as if they were feathers tied to an anchor.

  Mr. Wortham stopped and reached in a pouch around his waist. He withdrew a shilling and held it out in his palm to the man. Clara and I watched from behind as the men exchanged a few indistinguishable words. The coin ended up back in Mr. Wortham’s pouch and he walked ahead.

  Clara and I caught up to him. He gave me a sideways glance. “Poverty and pride have never belonged together.”

  “He didn’t want it?” I turned around and stared at the little girl. She was sobbing again, rubbing her belly. I felt a twinge of grief as I looked at her. What would she give to have the upbringing I had?

  “It seems my services are unwelcome to everyone today.” I felt his gaze linger on me long enough to make me uncomfortable. “Yet still I try.” He looked heavenward and back down again.

  With Clara at my side, we followed Mr. Wortham off the path and toward the shore where dozens of men emptied their traps from the water. Lobsters, clams, and fish filled the boats where men loaded them in wooden boxes and carried them into the market.

  “I’ll supply you with enough for one week. But if you want more, you will have to work for it. Or you can ponder on the idea of payment by secrets. I would very much like to know what brought two all-the-crack ladies to Craster.”

  My usually smooth brow wrinkled in annoyance. “You would do very well to mind your own business, Mr. Wortham.”

  “Oh?” He lifted a bag of smelly dead fish. “Then I s’pose I’ll keep these.”

  I didn’t know why, but I pressed him further. “And always pronounce words clearly when speaking to ‘all-the-crack ladies.’”

  He dropped the bag to the ground and stepped toward me. His head tipped down and he gave me a stern look. “You would do well to stop pressing the temper of your means of survival. I’m doing you a service. Besides, I caught ’em myself,” he finished just to irk me.

  “We graciously thank you, Mr. Wortham,” Clara said, her voice quick.

  He gave her a stiff nod and handed over the bag of fish. He tossed her a fast smile and said, “To you, Miss Clara, I say you are quite welcome.” I thought I saw her blush. I rolled my eyes inwardly. No man could make me blush. Ever.

  I wrinkled my nose at the smell of the fish. I was going to have to eat it. My stomach turned over and over at the thought. I had always delicately pushed my food around my plate when fish came in a course. Now I had to eat it for a week or go hungry. I didn’t even want to think about after that week was over. Without money, we would have to find work. Mr. Wortham had mentioned working for our next supply of food, and I was afraid to know what that meant. But I wasn’t going to tell him any secrets; that I knew.

  “And when this is gone?” I asked. “How will we afford anything more?”

  He raised both eyebrows this time. “Work,” he affirmed.

  “Work?” I refused to fall into the working class. If he could just provide for us until Mama could send a new allowance of money, I could continue through life in this wasteland without lifting a finger. I decided to employ my oldest and most talented tactic.

  It began with a slight pout of my lips. Then I leaned in close. “Is there truly no other option? We are so very afraid and alone.” I batted my eyelashes and smiled through them.

  Instead of acting flustered, bending to my requests, Mr. Wortham surprised me. He stepped even closer to me. His closeness afforded me with a new view of his eyes. They were not only blue—they were streaked with green and edged in gray. “Aye, miss, but I would very much like to see you sporting a pair of fish-strewn breeches.” A wink followed the words. Heavens, the man could flirt with the best of us.

  I warned him with a look, accepting that my ploy was ineffective. I wanted to stomp my foot and demand my way, but I suspected this James Wortham would find amusement in such an act. “You will never have the privilege.”

  “A shame. But I happen to know of several more suitable employs for a lady. One of which may be of particular interest to you both.”

  I cast my eyes at Clara. “How so?” Clara asked.

  “I am not at liberty to disclose the position at this time.” He rubbed the stubble at his jaw. “Although, I am a tradesman of sorts, so something could be arranged …”

  “We have no secrets to share!” I half-screeched.

  His eyes widened. “It appears you do. Let us strike a bargain. I shall reveal to you what I know of Lord Trowbridge, and recommend you for any work you may seek, in exchange for a tale of your past and the meaning of your undisclosed errand.”

  I gritted my teeth.

  “You have given me the impression t
hat good deeds are unappreciated by you, Miss Charlotte. I should like to see you earn them.” Then he smiled. Never had I wanted to slap a man in the face more than I did just now. “Good day, Clara,” he nodded, “… and Charlotte.”

  The ribbon of my bonnet seemed to be growing increasingly tight. “You will address us properly.” I managed to keep my voice even.

  “I am under no position to take orders from you. And if you choose not to receive the information I have to offer, you could end up running my stand in the market, in which case, you’ll be taking orders from me.” His words hung in the air as he walked away with a nod and a victorious grin.

  When he was out of earshot, I gave a frustrated sigh and stomped down the road in the opposite direction. The man was infuriating! His head was far above his station and he needed to learn to respect his superiors. I considered death in higher regard than taking orders from that rugged fisherman.

  “He is quite handsome, is he not?” Clara said amid a giggle.

  I snorted. “He is terrible. And stop grinning like a ninny.”

  She scowled at me. “He has been very kind. Perhaps if you hadn’t been so flagrant he might have been even more charitable. Already he has helped us very much.”

  “Only with a smelly bag of fish,” I mumbled.

  “Would you prefer to be begging on the streets and selling even more of our things?”

  That silenced me. The image of the little girl sobbing into her father’s shoulder flashed in my mind. I imagined us in a parallel, me at her age, with my muslin gowns and ribbons with all the fine food and drink I desired, and her, wearing rags and going hungry under a dark gray sky. Something inside me ached at the thought.

  “We need Mr. Wortham’s help, Charlotte,” she said, accepting my silence. “He seems trustworthy enough. And why should it matter if he knows a piece of our situation? You are not trying to secure a match with him.”

  I pulled my arm away from hers and tightened my cloak around me. “I don’t trust him.”

  “Why? Is it because he is below our station? Not outrageously wealthy? Heavens, Charlotte, wealth of kindness may not be important among the ton, but I’m afraid we are far beneath their notice now. It is time you rely on something more than your beauty and talents to meet success.”