by Abigail Agar
How complex it all was. Again, he considered the next several years of his life, at Parliament. Each decision he was bound to face would have equally as many sides, equally as many horrific realities. How could anyone deduce the proper thing to do?
“Please,” Lord Linfield said, his voice low. “I know I don’t deserve the truth from you. I know that I’m an imbecile, a fool. I wouldn’t be where I am today, poised to take this seat in Parliament, if it wasn’t for the brilliance of your brain. But I’m asking for just one more thing: understanding. Can you give it to me?”
Lady Elizabeth swirled her little toe across the cobblestones, just outside her skirts. Lord Linfield imagined tugging at the bottom of the dress, allowing himself to see the full foot, even up to the very bottom of her ankle. He imagined the starkness of being alone with her in a bedroom, of being allowed to gaze at her face, perhaps her bare shoulder … all without pause.
But he shoved the thoughts away, choosing instead to focus on her words. They turned back to face the road and began to toil along it. Peter scampered up behind them, still not listening. He whistled to himself, and then muttered French words for practice. He left Lady Elizabeth and Nathaniel in peace, at least for the moment.
“When I was a debutante, I met a man named Conner Graves,” Lady Elizabeth said. The words hung in the air between them. Sometimes, Nathaniel thought that the whole and complete truth had this capacity. That it was somehow three-dimensional, rather than just words exchanged between friends.
“I fell for him immediately. I was rather young, of course, and idiotic and open to love,” she continued. “At the time, you know, it was kind of a contest between debutantes. While it’s true that we were awash with academia, that we each spoke various languages and prided ourselves on being well-read, the true essence of our world was that we each wanted to marry better and quicker than the rest.”
“I’ve always suspected this,” Lord Linfield said.
“And rightly so. For I believe that many of us debutantes wore this fact upon our perfectly painted faces. But I digress,” Lady Elizabeth continued. “When I met Conner, I knew my life would change forever. He was handsome and smart and eager. Several of the girls I knew were incredibly jealous of the match I’d made. Already, I was awash with expectation. I felt he would be the father of my children. That we would grow old together. And my expectation only grew when Conner met my father. For you see, the moment they met one another, it was as if another portal opened up between them. They couldn’t stop speaking. I stood in the background, equally enamoured with both of them, for very different reasons. For, throughout my childhood, my father had taken very little interest in me. But with Conner, I felt suddenly that I had a kind of power with my father. He now regarded me with a sense of purpose.”
They neared Lady Elizabeth’s home. It seemed she was anxious, teetering back and forth on the path. Nathaniel was awash with a sense of something he felt was absolutely true: she felt too anxious to invite him back to her home, as she felt it was perhaps too measly for the likes of a lord.
“May I suggest that we return to yours?” he asked.
Lady Elizabeth’s lips quivered. It was clear she was frigid, hunting for the proper place to return. She nodded, murmuring, “If that’s quite all right with you. I know it’s not much.”
“Please. The place is cosier than ever,” Lord Linfield said.
And, with a motion he hadn’t expected of himself, he brought his elbow out and watched as Lady Elizabeth slotted her arm through his. It occurred to him that no woman, no one he’d ever met in his life, had ever fit alongside him as well as she did, now.
Lady Elizabeth paused the story as they walked back to the house. Peter scampered up the steps in front of them, unlatching the door and rushing to make another fire. He hollered that he would have tea prepared in no time at all, that the pair of them could expect wine and biscuits, as well.
Lady Elizabeth offered to take Nathaniel’s coat. He pulled it from his shoulders, slipping it into her hands. Her eyes found his for a moment before pulling away.
“I’ll be back shortly,” she whispered. “Go. Warm yourself in the kitchen. I can’t imagine what you feel, after wandering around my neighbourhood all afternoon. It’s certainly not what you’re accustomed to. But …” She paused for a moment, hunting for the proper words.
“But what?” Nathaniel asked.
“I really appreciate your coming here,” she offered.
“Lady Elizabeth,” Nathaniel murmured, trying to speak low enough so that Peter didn’t hear them—only ten feet away. “Lady Elizabeth, you’ve been privy to so much of my life. Why shouldn’t I be privy to yours?”
“We’re simply meant to be employee and employer, Lord Linfield,” she said, still clinging to his coat.
“Well, I think we might have accidentally bypassed that line,” Nathaniel offered.
Lady Elizabeth had no answer to this. She spun back towards the staircase and scampered up the landing, where she deposited his coat, and hers. In the silence, Nathaniel returned to the kitchen and perched on the edge of the shoddy wooden chair in which he’d sat earlier. Peter dropped another scone on a platter for him, gesturing with red, chilly hands. “Please, sir. Eat, if you wish. I won’t be said to be a poor host.”
Nathaniel nibbled anxiously at the edges of the scone, waiting for Lady Elizabeth to patter back in. When she did, she’d removed her hat, and curls cascaded down from her back up-do. She looked vaguely tired, and her cheeks were fresh pink from the chill of outside. Nathaniel felt another wave of something rather like love.
Of course, he’d never been in love. How was he supposed to know what that felt like?
Lady Elizabeth sat across from him. Peter set down two cups of tea, along with a platter of biscuits and the rest of the scones. Elizabeth thanked him with earnest eyes before lifting the piping hot tea to her face and inhaling the steam. Nathaniel felt he could watch her tiny mannerisms all day long. He felt every bit of her was unique, unlike any other woman he’d spent a moment with his entire life.
“I know exactly where I was in the story. Don’t worry.” Lady Elizabeth sighed. “I’ve told myself the story of Conner, and of my father, so many times now that I ache with it. I know the dialogue, the script.”
“If it’s too difficult …” Nathaniel began.
“No, no. It shouldn’t be. Not anymore.” Elizabeth sighed. “What you must know is this. Conner had this … this plan. This plot. Even I didn’t see through it. See, he came from an adventuring father. A father who often sailed ships across the oceans, met cultures far and wide. And one day, Conner informed me that his father had discovered a brand new island off the coast of South America.”
Nathaniel hadn’t expected something like this. Again, he flicked off the edge of his scone, feeling unable to eat but needing something to do with his hands.
“According to Conner, his father told him this island was absolutely astounding. The variety of animals was remarkable. It was said to contain gold, silver, bronze, and oil. When he told me about it, I was quite young. But I felt the excitement in his voice. I burst into tears, imagining such a glorious place. It seemed to me that the island would have vibrant colours I hadn’t before imagined. It seemed that it was beyond my wildest dreams.
“After this discovery, Conner informed my father, and then the two created a business—along with, apparently, Conner’s father. Mind you, Conner’s father wasn’t around for any of this and was instead sending letters from this far-off location. At least, that’s what Conner and my father told me at the time. It sounds so ridiculous now, to my 28-year-old ears. But gosh, each and every day with Conner back then sizzled with excitement. I found myself caught up in it, easily. It was impossible not to be.
“He and my father decided to begin asking for money to head out and colonise this new island. My father, Thomas Byrd, was the 8th Baron Conway, and he had a great deal of trust throughout the upper echelon of Society. I soon found
myself going with Conner and my father to countless dinner events, during which Conner and my father would convince more and more people to invest in their endeavour.”
At this, Elizabeth’s face crumpled a bit. “I know they must think I’m a complete imbecile, now. For I remember even trying to convince them, myself. I would sit in the side room with the women, telling them that Conner was a genius. That my father had never made an ill move when it came to money, in my entire life. And because I was beautiful, because I was well-dressed, I suppose I acted as a kind of—shall we say—advertisement. How could they doubt my father and Conner? They had everything, and they were preparing to take on the world.”
Nathaniel fought every urge not to reach across the table, to place his hand across hers. He felt the pain and torment behind each of her words.
“It’s truly wretched to remember yourself this way. I understand,” Nathaniel murmured.
Elizabeth’s eyes were like those of Nathaniel’s dog, just after he’d been caught in that hunting trap. She swallowed hard, dotting her cheeks with a napkin.
“Of course, the island wasn’t true. The man who discovered it had been Conner’s best friend and ally, a man who’d contributed the most money of all. Immediately, Conner was tossed into prison and sent to trial.
“My father, on the other hand, was the 8th Baron Conway,” she continued. “And while I watched Conner hang from a rope for his crimes, my father fled. He would never be prosecuted for his crimes, you see, as he was a peer. He simply fled from shame. He didn’t stay behind to ensure that I didn’t have to lose everything. He didn’t stay behind to fight for Conner’s life. His partner! The man I was meant to spend the rest of my life with!”
Elizabeth lifted her chin. It quivered slightly, showing the ferocity of her thoughts.
“And that’s why I don’t wish to belong to society. That’s why I wish to write for The Rising Sun, to volunteer at the shelter, to live in this house—” She slashed her hands through the air, gesturing at the shoddy table, the crooked chairs, the crumbs of scones on the ground below. “How can I possibly belong to a society that engenders and encourages that sort of shame? The shame that cast my father away from me and left me to rot. You know … my friends, my dearest debutante friends. They all turned on me, except for Irene. Irene offered me a job at The Rising Sun. And every day, it seems she offers me more opportunities to rise in the ranks. I’m fighting for my own life, now. I’ll never fall for another man the way I did with Conner. I’ll never allow myself to be so vulnerable. It’s simply idiotic. And that’s that.”
The words hung in the air between them.
Nathaniel knew it was his time to say the right thing. To verbalise that her story meant something to him. That his heart ached with the reality of it. How horrific it must have been to be alone, after that. He envisioned Elizabeth in what had surely been a large mansion, surrounded by a proper estate, falling to her knees as she realised what had happened to her. The person she’d believed in most in the entire world had duped her, led her to believe he was this incredible force of nature, for good.
And now, she was alone.
But she didn’t have to be.
Nathaniel brought his hands atop the table. They were mighty when compared to hers, the hands of a man who longed to exist outdoors, to hunt, to fish. Elizabeth’s eyes traced his fingers, drawing up towards his wrists. He watched her eyes explore his body, his face, his thick beard. And then, he brought one of his hands to her upper arm, and he gripped it. Her eyes finally found his. They held one another’s gaze for many seconds. Behind Nathaniel, a seemingly anxious Peter had bolted away, not wanting to be caught watching this sort of event unfold.
“I’m sorry. I should have told you sooner,” Elizabeth murmured. “But now, you must understand the importance of the Judgement of Death Act. To save the children of this city. To ensure nobody has to endure what I did with my father and with Conner, ever again …”
“I understand,” Lord Linfield murmured. And for the first time, he did. He recognised that whatever anger he felt towards the horrific men who’d robbed his father of his life was very small when compared to the countless lives that could be saved as a result of the Judgement of Death Act.
Elizabeth made no motion for him to take his hand away. Everything within Nathaniel told him to lean forward, to take her lips upon his. How soft they must be. How tender. Despite the horrors she’d witnessed, she was every bit the flourishing woman he’d longed for.
Elizabeth opened her lips to speak again. Nathaniel feared what she might say next. But seconds later, there was a crack at the door. Nathaniel removed his hand immediately. Peter bolted across the kitchen, drawing open the door to find Irene on the other side. She pummelled in, unravelling her scarf. Her cheeks were bright red, and her eyes spoke of the chaos of the streets. She knocked off her boots at the door, hollering.
“You can’t imagine what it might take to find a single writer who can avoid the simplest mistakes.” She sighed. “Goodness me. An Oxford comma? Decide if you’re going to use it. And as far as passive voice goes, I can’t truly deduce where in the world they got the idea that …”
Irene paused, sensing the tension in the room. Elizabeth sprung up from her chair, adjusting her skirts. Nathaniel rose, knowing it was proper to greet Irene. He did as he was meant to do, kissing her hand and watching as she drew her arm back slowly. It seemed he and Elizabeth were on full display. She analysed each and every body movement.
“This seems rather cosy, now, doesn’t it?” Irene finally said. “Peter, you’ve made scones?”
Peter jumped to action, reaching for the platter and drawing it towards Irene. Irene snapped up one of the bigger ones before hobbling to seat herself alongside Elizabeth. Nathaniel ached to be in the moment of just a minute before when he’d felt dangerously close to telling Elizabeth his feelings for her.
“What about you, my lady,” Irene said, dribbling crumbs atop her dress. “Last we spoke you were in the midst of writing up your first non-political essay. How did it turn out?”
Elizabeth’s face broke into a smile. She began to speak about the process, about how it was flowing out of her much better than expected. Irene just rolled her eyes, turning her attention back to Nathaniel.
“How completely unsurprised are we both, hmm, Lord Linfield?”
Nathaniel sensed it was time to take his leave. By his guess, it was perhaps closing in on seven or eight in the evening, and his mother would be expecting him at home. As Lady Elizabeth retrieved his coat and walked him to the door, he ached with the sadness of a brilliant night coming to a close. It was time he could never return to.
“Good evening, Lady Elizabeth,” he said. He felt his eyes growing larger. He yearned to translate everything he felt—his complete compassion for her experiences. “It was remarkable to peer into your world.”
“Thank you for giving it your time,” Lady Elizabeth offered.
In the kitchen, Irene had begun to prattle on to Peter in a lilting and broken French. Peter responded in an even more broken, almost cockney accent. Both Elizabeth and Nathaniel shared a rather sad smile before Nathaniel donned his hat and coat and spun towards the door.
But then, with a jolt, he remembered what his mother had told him. He spun back, catching the big-eyed look of Lady Elizabeth. Everything in her told him she didn’t want him to go.
“Lady Elizabeth, won’t you come to my home for dinner, to meet my mother?” he asked, ensuring that his voice was low enough that Irene didn’t hear.
At this point, Irene was speaking loudly to Peter about Lady Elizabeth’s essay before her, reading bits of it aloud. Perhaps she couldn’t hear everything Lord Linfield said. He prayed she couldn’t.
“Your mother?” Lady Elizabeth murmured. She looked incredulous as if this was coming out of left field. “I don’t suppose that’s entirely appropriate, do you?”
