Secret Nights

by Anita Mills

  "And what if you are accosted—or worse?"

  He smiled crookedly. "Would that worry you?"

  "Of course it would!" she snapped, exasperated. "If anything happens to you, who is to defend my father? Besides," she added truthfully, "I should probably miss you."

  "I should hope so." He stood and tucked his shirt into his dirty trousers, then brushed at the dried mud on the legs. As his bare foot found his shoe, he slipped it on, then put on the other. Moving to the cheval mirror, he regarded his reflection askance before combing at his disordered hair with his fingers. Turning around, he smiled again.

  "Sometime, Ellie," he said softly, "I'd like to have a whole night with you. I'd like to wake up when it is light enough to see you."

  As she flushed to the roots of her hair, she turned away, seeking the wrapper Molly had laid out for her. Pulling it on, she hastily tied it closed. When she started around to pick up the puppy, she faced Hamilton again. Before she could avert her still flaming face, he lifted her chin with his knuckle, forcing her to look into his eyes.

  "God, but you are beautiful. You have no notion what you do to me—no notion at all."

  She closed her eyes and swallowed. "Please, Patrick—There—I have said it, haven't I?" she managed. "I would that you just left before any of the servants come down."

  "You still think God is going to get you for this, don't you?"

  "Yes."

  "Well, He won't. Do you think He cares what you or I do, Ellie? Do you think He cares what happens to any of us?"

  "Yes."

  "If He did I should be trodding the boards at Drury Lane, emoting before an appreciative audience rather than wearing a damned robe and wig to argue the finer points of law in front of a jury who cannot understand them." When she still refused to look at him, he bent his head to hers, brushing her lips. As an involuntary shiver went through her, he dropped his hand. "And if He cared one whit, Ellie, you'd be wed to Ben Rose instead of standing here with me."

  "I have to think you are wrong," she whispered.

  "How can you look at the misery around you and see some grand design to it?" he countered. "All right then—why are you standing here with me?"

  "I could ask the same of you."

  "Because I want you. And you?"

  "I don't know. Because I am weak, I suppose—is that good enough for you? Because Papa believes that without you he will hang. Because—"

  He stepped back, and his manner softened. "It will have to be, won't it?" Turning back to the rumpled bed, he picked up Button and scratched its ears. "Come on—if we leave, I daresay she'll follow us," he told the animal.

  "We'll have to go down the back stairs," Elise decided, pulling her wrapper more tightly about her.

  He took the candle and went ahead to light the way into the deserted hall. As they crept down the steps like thieves, the puppy wriggled beneath his arm. At the bottom, Elise hesitated, then reached for Button.

  "You will find the back door that way," she whispered.

  "Aren't you going to latch it after me?"

  "Yes, but—"

  "What sort of lover are you? You are supposed to cling to me and beg to know when you will see me again," he said lightly.

  "Well, not being as experienced in this sort of thing as you obviously are, I plead my ignorance. Now—will you just go?" Afraid that he meant to kiss her again, she stood on tiptoe to plant a quick, almost chaste kiss on his cheek. "Good night, Hamilton."

  As he opened the door, she could feel the cold, damp air. "Lud," she muttered, "you cannot go out in that." Turning quickly, she went down the dark hall to a closet, then came back. "Here's one of Papa's greatcoats, and you cannot say it won't go around you," she declared, handing it to him.

  "Ellie—"

  "Thet you, miss?" one of the servants called out sleepily from above.

  "Yes, but there is no need to worry, I assure you," she answered hastily. As Patrick handed her the candle and slipped outside, she barred the door. "I was but going to feed the dog, then I intend to go back to bed."

  A footman, his nightcap still on his head, peered over the rail. "Thought I heard voices," he mumbled.

  “I was talking to Button—to the dog, that is."

  “Ye want me ter walk it fer ye?"

  "No—you can sleep another two hours."

  He went on back up the stairs, leaving her to find something for the animal. "You know," she told it, “you are certainly a patient little creature."

  Like the rest of the downstairs, the kitchen was deserted when she passed through it on her way to the cold cellar. Opening the door, she heard rats scrambling for cover below.

  "Yes, well," she declared resolutely, "they don't like light much, do they?"

  Moving gingerly down the narrow steps, she descended into the depths of the cellar and crossed between the assorted sacks to the corner pit. Fastening the candle into a holder, she lifted the cover and felt beneath the damp straw for the milk jar. Pulling it out, she looked about for a cup, then went to the sacks. As she looked into one, a mouse ran out. Undaunted, she found the crockery cup inside and shook the flour from it.

  "That ought to serve," she murmured as much to herself as to the pup. Setting Button down, she poured some of the milk into it. As the animal drank eagerly, she returned the jar to the cold cellar. When she turned back, Button was licking the last vestiges of milk from the cup. "Greedy, aren't you?" she said, tucking the creature back under her arm. "And I suppose you are wishful of going out also."

  Its bright little eyes watched her soberly.

  "All right. I expect Molly will thank me for it."

  She stood shivering in the walled garden behind the house while Button explored every plant before finding one suitable. As soon as the animal finished squatting, Elise scooped it up quickly and returned inside, where she encountered one of the tweenies, a girl of probably no more than fourteen.

  "What are you doing up?"

  "I 'eard the door and I thought they was a-coming again," the girl explained.

  "I was taking the dog outside." "But I 'eard it twiced."

  "She was reluctant, so we had to go back. But I don't blame her, for it is cold outside."

  Reaching to touch the dog's muzzle, the girl peered at it. "Oooh, ain't ye a wee creature," she crooned to it. "Why ye ain't big enow to be weaned, are ye?" She looked up at Elise eagerly. "If ye was a-wanting ter sleep, I'd watch o'er 'er fer ye. I'd be real careful, I would."

  "Yes, well—"

  The tweeny's expression was wistful. "Me mum wouldn't let me 'ave no dog. Said as she 'ad enow mouths ter feed." As she spoke, she continued to rub the sober puppy's head and nose. "I got a mite o’bread fer 'er."

  "I don't suppose it would hurt anything," Elise decided. "But she mustn't run loose. And you may have to mop up a puddle or two."

  "I wouldn't mind it," the girl assured her.

  "She might sleep if you wish to go back to bed."

  "Ill take 'er ter bed wi' me."

  A clock struck the three-quarter hour. "I'll send Molly for her before breakfast," Elise told her. "Oh, thankee, miss." The tweeny bobbed a quick curtsy, then ran up the stairs with the dog peering over her shoulder.

  Rubbing her arms to warm herself, Elise walked more slowly, climbing to her own bedchamber. Once inside, she poured water into the china washbasin, removed her wrapper, and wiped herself clean before putting on her nightgown. Fastening the tiny satincovered buttons to her chin, she returned to her bed. She leaned over to blow out the candle stub, then she lay down again.

  The sheets were already cold, as though he'd not been there at all, but as she closed her eyes in the early morning darkness, she could still feel the heat of his mouth on her breasts, the strength of his body beneath hers. And despite the dull ache in her head, she felt utterly, completely, sinfully sated.

  Elise came awake slowly, then stretched languorously as Molly threw open the window sash, declaring, "Ah, and a fine day for October it is, miss—
truly it is." The maid breathed deeply before adding, "It don't look like it means ter rain."

  "What time is it?"

  "Past eleven." Molly closed the window reluctantly and turned around. "Ye was sleepin' like the dead, ye was. I tried to bring that Button up ter ye, but ye wasn't answerin'."

  Elise turned over and yawned. Seeing the depression in the other pillow brought forth a flood of night memories that left her nearly weak. Then she spied Patrick Hamilton's wadded stocking on the floor, and her heart paused.

  "Yes—well, perhaps you ought to bring her up now. I daresay Lizzie must be quite tired of her."

  "No, she ain't And I wish ye'd been up ter see that monsoor when we was a-taking the creature out the back door ter do 'er business."

  "Oh?"

  "She ain't but a mite, but she fair jumped outer that tweeny's hands, and there she was a-barkin' and squeakin' at the Frenchy's foot like she was a-goin' ter bite 'im." Molly grinned. "Aye, ye'd a-thought her was big as one of them mastiffs, ye know."

  "But she didn't bite him surely?"

  "Oh, her tail was a-waggin' the whole time. But ye know what?" Before Elise could respond, the maid went on. "He was a-laughin' at her. Picked her up in his hand, he did, and gave her a sausage ter take out wi' her. Course we didn't get her out in time, and she piddled on his floor, but he said as one of the fellows could get it up. Ye got her named wrong though," Molly declared. "Button don't fit her. Flirt'd be more like it. All the men is liking her, and James says she's got ter be some sort of spaniel, 'cause her ears is floppin'."

  "I have no idea." Seeing that Molly was about to move around the bed to straighten the disorder of her hastily discarded clothes, Elise rose quickly to block her path. "Why don't you bring her up to me?"

  But the maid was not easily deterred. "Aye, and I will, but I got to get yer things up from the floor." She eyed Elise askance for a moment. "Ye ain't usually one as makes a mess, ye know."

  "It was the punch—I could scarce find my way to bed."

  "Oh, aye."

  Elise took a long step to cover Hamilton's stocking with her foot. "Actually, it gave me quite a headache."

  "I told Joseph as they was givin' ye too much of it," the maid murmured, bending to gather the muslin dress and lawn petticoat. Holding up the dress, she sighed. " 'Tis ruined, it is—ain't no ways as I can get It cleaned fer ye."

  "I have others, so you might as well throw it in the fire."

  "Be more like ter make rags of it," Molly decided. "And if ye was ter move, I'd get yer shoes and stockings up also."

  "I'll pick them up myself later. Just now I should lather have a tisane for my head, thank you."

  The girl nodded sympathetically. "Aye, ye was weasel-bit then, wasn't ye? I ain't never seen ye dose yerself fer anything." Folding the soiled clothes over her arm, she started for the door with them, then as Elise started to step off the stocking, the maid turned back. "Er—was ye wantin' a hair o' the dog mebbe? Or was ye wan tin' what Simpson gives yer papa?"

  "I don't care—whatever you think is best."

  "Aye—ye miss yer mum, don't ye?"

  Elise didn't answer. Molly sighed, then left, closing the door. As soon as the maid was gone, the girl lifted her foot and picked up the soiled sock, looking for somewhere to put it. As new footsteps could be heard coming up, she hastily opened her writing desk drawer and shoved the stocking inside.

  "Miss?" Joseph asked as he knocked.

  "I am not dressed," she answered through the door.

  "Ye got a caller downstairs as says the More woman has sent her."

  "Hannah More sent her? What does she want?" she asked cautiously.

  "She wasn't saying."

  "Yes, of course." She could not very well spurn anyone Hannah sent, and she knew it. Not when the woman had taken care of seeing Pearl decently buried. "All right," she decided. "Put her in the blue saloon, offer her tea or something, and tell her I shall be down directly."

  She washed her face and hands, then dressed quickly before pulling a comb through her tangled hair. Taking pins, she pulled the worst of it back and fastened it atop her head, leaving a few straggles to frame her face. Making a face at her image in the mirror, she went down.

  As she entered the reception room, a black-clad female rose to greet her, holding out her black-gloved hand. "Miss Rand, I am Mrs. Barrow." Looking down at her dress, she murmured rather sadly, "The Widow Barrow now."

  "I'm sorry," Elise said politely.

  "Yes—well, Mrs. More thought perhaps we could help each other."

  "Oh?"

  The woman brought up her other hand, showing a small Bible. "She rather felt as though you might wish to pray with me."

  "Oh."

  "A terrible business about Mr. Rand—utterly terrible."

  "Yes, it is."

  "Prayer is good for the soul, you know." Mrs. Barrow stepped back self-consciously. "I daresay we are not at all acquainted," she conceded, looking at the rich elegance of the room. "Indeed, but I cannot say I have moved in your circle at all."

  "I am not precisely certain what my circle is," Elise murmured. "But do sit down. Er—did Joseph offer you anything? Tea—or coffee perhaps? Or a sweet bun?"

  "The footman? Yes, he did. I believe he is gone to get something just now." "Good."

  The woman smiled wanly. "As if anything could make me forget my loss."

  "How long has it been since Mr. Barrow passed on?"

  "Last March." The woman looked down at the Bible in her lap. "But it seems as though he has been gone forever. Hannah—Mrs. More—said you had suffered a bereavement also, but I cannot think it quite the same."

  "I was betrothed once, but Ben died before we were wed."

  "I'm so sorry."

  “Yes—well, so am I."

  "We must believe that God's plan, however obscured from the eyes of man, is best, my dear." "Somehow I cannot accept He meant Ben to be murdered."

  "No, of course not. And your poor unfortunate father—shocking, utterly shocking. Of course, I am sure he did not do those terrible things."

  Mercifully, Joseph interrupted them by carrying in a tea tray. A junior footman followed with a silver plate of sugared buns. After they left, Elise dutifully poured two cups, asking courteously, "Sugar and cream?"

  "Yes, but not too much."

  Elise settled back with her tea, sipping of it, wishing the other woman at Jericho. "You must tell Mrs. More I appreciate her concern—and yours, of course."

  "She thought it a very good thing if I should find someone to pray with besides her, particularly as I am not overly fond of her place at Cheddar." Mrs. Barrow set aside her cup and reached for a bun. "Mmmmm. These are quite good."

  "Thank you. Monsieur Millet supervises the baking also."

  "A Frenchman?" the woman said, sniffing. "Well, I have always thought perhaps we do not properly appreciate our own English food, but I expect it is not at all fashionable to say it."

  "My father likes almost everything."

  "Oh, the poor man." The woman popped the last of the bun into her mouth, then washed it down with her tea. "Now—where were we? Speaking of prayer— yes, that was it." Looking at Elise again, she shook her head. "You poor child. Hannah says you are possessed of such a goodly heart." When Elise remained silent, she went on, "When she told me of that unfortunate person who died alone in that hospital, I knew I should like you." Holding out her Bible, she said, "I have found divine sustenance in this. Indeed, but one has but to open it anywhere to discover the truth, and I have made a practice of trying to divine God's message to me through it."

  "Sometimes God's message is difficult to fathom," Elise murmured.

  "Oh, I assure you it is not—not at all. Here—you shall see precisely what I have discovered." She pushed the gold-stamped book into the younger woman's hands. "Go on—open it anywhere, and you will see. Whatever page it is, we shall consider it a divine revelation of the Almighty."

  "Perhaps you ought to do it."
<
br />   "No, no—I am here because of poor Mr. Rand. Now, close your eyes, open my Bible, and let the Lord guide your hand. Then when you look, you will have your comfort in Scripture."

  "Yes, well, I cannot see how anything can help beyond direct divine intervention." But under Mrs. Barrow's determined gaze, Elise sighed and closed her eyes. Her fingers grasped the edge of the Holy Book, feeling along the top of the pages, then opening it. Her finger moved down halfway, then she dared to look at the printed words. As a chill went all the way to Elise's marrow, the woman leaned closer to see.

  Elise read silently, then said tonelessly, " 'The wages of sin are death.' "

  "Oh, dear. Well, perhaps we have not gone about it quite right. Perhaps we ought to pray for guidance first," Mrs. Barrow decided nervously. "I am sure that cannot be quite right." She took her Bible back and bowed her head. Closing her eyes, she prayed silently.

  But Elise sat very still, turning her thoughts not to her father, but to Patrick Hamilton. The wages of her father's sin could not be death—Hamilton was going to save him—he had to—he had to. Dear God, but fie had to save Bat Rand from paying the wages of his sins.

  When she looked up, the woman's lips were moving as she carefully opened her Bible. Her thin, black-gloved hand traced slowly down the page, then her finger pointed and stopped. As Elise watched, she looked down, then reddened.

  "Well, I cannot say this is going to help at all," she slid uncomfortably.

  "What is it?"

  "Ezekiel, chapter 16, verse—well, 'tis either 38 or 39, but I am sure it does not signify in the least."

  "May I see it?"

  "Yes, but—" She handed across the open book.

  Elise's eyes scanned the page, then stopped at “Wherefore, O harlot, hear the word of the Lord." Her eyes dropped lower and the words seemed to accuse her. "And I will also give thee unto their hand, and they shall throw down thine imminent place, and shall break down thy high places: they shall strip thee also of thy clothes, and take thy fair jewels, leaving thee naked and bare." Her finger moved down the page, finding more. "And they shall burn thine houses with fire, and execute judgments upon thee in the sight of many women: and I will cause thee to cease playing the harlot, and thou shalt give no hire any more."