Page 17 of A Devilish Element
“Oh, I’m sure Jane has no fancies in that regard.”
“A new wife often wishes to redecorate.”
“That is hardly the same as tearing the place down to its foundations and rebuilding it anew.”
The Cluetts exchanged tight-lipped expressions, the sort that were a form of silent shortcut between familiar persons. Eliza had enjoyed many such conversations with her siblings. Some sort of accord was evidently reached, for George harrumphed, and Henrietta, hand settled across the top of her bosom said, “Perhaps dear Jane hasn’t told you that she’s also seen the ghost.”
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Eliza
Jane soon arrived, along with everyone else, so there was no opportunity for Eliza to take her aside and grill her over her apparent sighting. They were not many in number; Eliza was surprised to find she had met all Cedarton’s inhabitants. They were uneasy bedfellows, which was obvious enough from observing the various figures around the table: Jane steeled herself before every interaction with Linfield, then there was the calculating joviality of both Cluetts, coupled with a thread of obsequiousness from George. He rattled on at length about fishing and past wagers, all of which seemed to involve Linfield’s ultimate triumph. Lady Luck evidently smiled upon his lordship.
For her part, she found Linfield an unremarkable sort. Sandy fine hair that fell over his brow in delinquent waves. He was, as many a young man she’d met, possessed of an old bloodline and an indecent allowance, an indolent wastrel. Perhaps in time he would make something of himself, many did, but at present he was still firmly entrenched in making as many of the errors of youth as seemingly possible. Starting—and she was desperately sorry to observe it—by marrying a woman he had not an iota of regard for. It wasn’t just affection that was lacking between Jane and her earl’s son. She was like an object come into his possession—one that would fall from his memory were it not for her unfortunate presence at his dining table.
Eliza swallowed her soup, hardly tasting it so sick did she feel for her friend. No wonder Jane hadn’t wanted to speak of him. She could only wonder why Jane had ever consented to the match. It had to be a result of family meddling on both their parts.
Across the table from her, Doctor Bell cut his fish into flakes and stirred them around his plate. Eliza tried to recall if she’d seen him eat anything at all. He could do with a good meal. There wasn’t much to him, though his height rather added to the appearance of slenderness. She would have liked to talk to Jem some more, but he was at the other end of the table. His presence remained such a pleasant surprise that the unexpected fizz of it still sang in her innards.
Linfield caught the line of her gaze. “How are you finding Cedarton so far, Miss Wakefield?”
Instantly the table gave Linfield their whole attention, leaving Eliza with a wary sensation crawling up her spine as if she was being led into a trap. They were probably simply affording their host the courtesy he deserved.
“It’s been very agreeable, so far, and of course it is a delight to see dear Jane again.”
“Jane—yes, Jane.” He threw a sidelong glance at his wife. Jane in turn blushed and lowered her gaze to her plate. “I suppose it’s good that you’ll keep one another busy.”
“I had observed the numbers were a little uneven before,” Henrietta remarked. She shot a glance at her son, as if expecting an explanation from him, then hunched inwards when he failed to provide one.
“I’m sure that’s always how you’ve claimed you prefer it,” George shot her a constipated look across the table. “What is it you say? Ladies chatter like birds, and you can’t abide their constant shilling?”
“I’m certain I never said such a thing in my life.” Henrietta produced a fan and wafted away the very notion. “Yes, ladies like to chatter, but they aren’t fishwives. They are graceful, unlike you gentlemen with your slovenly ways and determination to appear as if you’ve just fallen from bed. In my youth, the mark of a true gentleman was that he was impeccably turned out. Oh, the balls I could tell you of from when I was a girl….”
Eliza remained convinced, despite such proselytising, that Henrietta was not a day over thirty-five, even with a grown son beside her to suggest otherwise.
“Eliza? You are the acclaimed Miss Eliza Wakefield?”
The speaker this time was Doctor Bell. They had already been introduced, so it struck her a rather odd query. Jem seemed to think so too, judging by the glare he shot along the table.
“Is that significant?” Cluett regarded her through a squint.
“Really, George, must you glower like that? It’s most unbecoming. How will you ever attract the right sort of young lady if you insist on glowering at them like that?”
George, ignoring his mother’s complaints, continued to regard Eliza like a suspiciously undercooked vegetable. Only after a painfully long appraisal, did some penny or other drop, whereupon so did his jaw. “Not the Eliza Wakefield responsible for saving the Marquis of Pennerley’s leg?”
“Ah!” Heat rushed to Eliza’s cheeks.
“You? But you’re just a slip of a girl.”
“George.”
Henrietta’s admonishment again fell on deaf ears.
“It’s said he insisted on you over any other surgeon, and that you dug the ball from his leg yourself.”
“Well, yes. That is true, in a sense, but—”
“Your father was a ship’s surgeon or some such,” Bell remarked drily, and far too dismissively for Eliza not to take it as the slight it was clearly intended to be.
