Page 16 of Reforming Lord Ragsdale
“My husband commanded a regiment of East Anglia Foot—our family seat is located near Medford. He was sent to Ireland in 1798, to serve under Lord Cornwallis.” She paused and looked at Emma. “Do you remember the ’98?” she asked.
It was Emma’s turn to look away.Oh, how I remember it, she thought. “Yes, I remember,” she said, her voice low.
Lady Ragsdale looked at her, a question in her eyes, and Emma was grateful for once to be a servant. The woman in the bed knew better than to bother with the affairs of a servant, so she did not ask.
“John had finished his second year at Oxford, or nearly so. His father purchased him a captaincy in the regiment, and they were posted together in County Wexford. They were very close, Emma.”
Lady Ragsdale was silent then. Emma sat back in her chair.
And somehow I know what follows, she thought. “Did your husband die at Vinegar Hill, my lady?” she asked, her voice soft.
Lady Ragsdale nodded and then waited a long moment to collect herself. “He was captured by that rabble and piked to death. John watched.”
Oh, mercy, this is worse than I thought, Emma told herself. “And John was injured,” she said when Lady Ragsdale could not continue.
The widow nodded, her eyes staring into the paisley pattern of her bedcovers. “His men managed to drag him away before they killed him too, but he lost an eye. And my husband. . .” Her voice trailed away, and she began to weep. “Emma, they never found enough of him to bury.”
Emma sat in silence as Lady Ragsdale sobbed into the sheet.
“My husband was dead, and John was so gravely injured,” she managed to say at last. “I despaired of his living, and then when he finally recovered, I knew that my son was gone too, to some private horror I cannot reach.”
“Lady Ragsdale, I am so sorry to have asked you,” Emma said, her own eyes filling with tears.
To her surprise, the widow reached out again and grasped Emma by the arm, her grip strong. “You needed to know. John has never allowed an Irish servant into this house. He is moody and bitter and drinks too much for his own good. He engages in frivolous pursuits and cares for no one. He uses people.” She released her grip on Emma. “He may say some terrible things to you.”
I am sure it will be nothing I have not heard before from the English, Emma thought,and I doubt he will resort to torture.“Words, my lady, only words. Will you help me, then?”
“Most emphatically,” Lady Ragsdale said as she dabbed at her eyes and looked up as the door opened. “Ah, Lasker. How good of you to come to me. We have some work to do. Tell me, can we lock up the wine cellar?”
~
Well, thought Emma as she stood outside Lord Ragsdale’s door,this certainly can’t be any worse than other indignities I have suffered at the hands of the British.She crossed herself, said a little prayer, and opened the door. She took a step back as the odor of stale liquor assaulted her nostrils.Courage, Emma, she thought as she entered the room and closed the door firmly behind her.
The room was still shaded into darkness, so she hurried to the windows and pulled back the draperies. To her relief, the rain had stopped. Letting out her breath, she threw open the windows, and the cold air blew in like a declaration. Emma looked back at the bed where Lord Ragsdale lay sprawled on top of the covers, in much the same pose as she had left him.
“Johnny boy, you are a disaster,” she whispered as she tiptoed closer. She looked down at him, his face pale, his eyelid flickering now as the light streamed across the bed. His dead eye was half open, staring whitely at her. He groaned and then belched, and Emma stepped back again. His breath was foul with stale liquor. At some point during the night, he had been sick all over himself.
She shook her head.By all the saints, I am going to earn this release from my indenture, she thought grimly as she squeezed out a washcloth in the warm water she had brought with her. She sat gingerly on the edge of the bed and wiped his face, brushing the hair back from his forehead as he tried to pull away from her.
“Not so fast, my lord,” she muttered, pinning him down until his face was wiped clean. “I wish you would open your eye. It’s morning.” She smiled, in spite of her extreme revulsion. “Morning is probably a phenomenon you have not experienced in some years, my lord.”
She did not expect an answer, and she did not receive one. She refreshed the cloth and continued to wipe his face and neck until the evidence of his evening of excess was gone. Emma watched him, grateful right down to her shoes that none of the men in her family were drinkers beyond an evening sherry or an eggnog at Christmas. “It is a vile business, Lord Ragsdale.”
To her amazement, he opened his eye. “Yes, ain’t it?” he agreed. He lay there watching her, as if trying to rally those parts of his brain necessary for rational thought. The attempt was unsuccessful, because he burped and closed his eye again.
She should have been revolted; he was a disgusting sight. As she sat looking at him, he sighed and rested his head against her leg, and she found herself resting her hand on his shoulder. In another moment, she brushed at his hair again. “So you are an ogre who uses people?” she whispered. “Well, I am an ogre too, and I intend to use you, sir.”
Her thoughts were interrupted by a scratch on the door. “Do come in,” she said, and the door opened on the footman and several housemaids, who carried buckets of water. The footman went into the dressing room and pulled out a washtub, setting it in front of the fireplace. Emma nodded to the maids, who stood on the threshold, appalled at the messy room. “Pour it in there. Is it good and hot, Hanley?”
The footman nodded, then grinned in spite of himself. “I disremember when he ever got up before noon.”
Emma smiled back, grateful there was one person in the household who didn’t regard her with indifference or disdain. She looked at the maids. “We’ll need more water.”
They left and Emma looked down at Lord Ragsdale again. His eye was open and he was watching her. When she glared right back, he looked away, his disfavor pointed.
Emma took Hanley’s measure, and saw a young man in service, starting out as a footman and probably full of ambition. She gestured with her head, and he followed her to the corner.
“Hanley, I need your help. Lord Ragsdale is going to become furious and hateful in about a minute.”
