Page 60 of The Book of Lost Stories
‘Of course you must stay, but Lady Mersham is George’s godmother, and a wealthy widow with no children of her own, so I am sure he will not allow me to cry off from the party. I will make your excuses, Alys.’
‘Pray do. And if Lord Rayven should be there, Nell, tell him …’
‘Yes?’
‘Nothing … that I was detained. But I do not suppose he will notice I am not there. My grandfather asked him to discover the source of my income, you know, so now he has ascertained that, I suppose he will have no more interest in me.’
She had noticed, however, that the old soldier, Jarvis, was still lurking about outside the house, especially in the mornings when she walked Pug.
But when Nell popped her head in on her return late thatnight to see how Pug did, she brought a message from his lordship. ‘Lord Rayven was sorry to hear about poor Pug, and he said he would call for you early tomorrow, in order to take the invalid out for an airing, if he should be recovered enough.
‘He did?’
‘Yes, and he was most urgent that you not eat any of the sweetmeats yourself, in case they were the cause of the illness.’
‘No, of course not. I have already disposed of them.’
‘I am so glad Pug is better, Alys, just sleepy.’
‘I knew he was on the mend the moment he sat up and looked hopeful when my supper was brought to me on a tray,’ Alys said drily.
*
Alys ran up the steps of the Rivers’ house the next day with Pug in her arms. He seemed to have enjoyed the excursion to the park in Lord Rayven’s carriage, especially looking down on other, lesser dogs who had to walk instead of being driven in style.
She was a little doubtful when he made it plain that he wished to be put down and then headed purposefully in the direction of the kitchen quarters, but he did seem quite himself again.
Upstairs she was met by Jane, who, with an anxious face, asked her to go up to her mistress. ‘The master has just gone out, Miss Alys, and Mrs Rivers is in great distress.’
‘Straight away!’ she said, untying her bonnet as she went in. ‘Nell, what on earth is the matter?’ She sank down on thebed next to her weeping friend and patted her shoulder. ‘Is it George again? Do not cry.’
‘Oh, Alys, I do not deserve that you should be kind to me, for I have betrayed you!’ cried Nell, lifting up a tearstained face.
‘Betrayed me? How could you betray me?’
‘I-I found George looking in your little desk just now, and when I asked him what he was doing, he turned on me! He’d found the manuscript and h-he made me tell him what you were writing – everything: Orlando Browne, the novels—’
‘Howdid he make you?’
‘He twisted my arm behind my back, and I thought it would break,’ she sobbed, ‘and I am very sorry not to be braver, but I am such a coward and … I was so afraid, for he was quite wild. It must be due to laudanum and drink, for he is turned into a positivemonster!’
Alys sat back. ‘So he knows. But why should he have been so curious?’ She patted her friend’s heaving shoulders and added, ‘Never mind, Nell, it’s no use crying over spilled milk and I certainly would not have wanted you to withhold the information at the expense of getting hurt. Perhaps George’s curiosity is now satisfied, and he will say nothing about his discovery, for how can it be of any real interest to him when he is in his right mind? But Iwillspeak to him on his return.’
‘Oh, do not say anything that would set his back up!’ Nell begged, clutching her arm. ‘For if you left the house, I do not know how I would go on without you.’
‘Very well, but I should like to give him a piece of my mind!’
However, when she bumped into George rather furtivelycrossing the hall later that day, she managed to keep her tongue within her teeth, but with a great effort.
‘One moment, sir: I believe you have taken an interest in my private affairs?’
He looked hangdog and defensive. ‘Yes. I-I believe Ishouldknow such a thing as that, about a guest under my roof.’
‘Even though it would seem to outrage common civility to violate the privacy of my desk in order to do so? Well, sir, it is of no great moment, but I prefer to keep my authorship a secret, so must ask you to give me your word that you will not tell anyone.’
‘No, I swear on my life I will not! I do not read novels myself, you know, but I have heard of Orlando Browne’s works.’
There was something unsettling in the way he looked at her that made her wonder precisely what he had heard. Her novels seemed to have gained notoriety on a level with those of Monk Lewis, yet she thought she had done little to deserve such a comparison.
