Page 44 of A Devilish Element
The notion seemed to confound Linfield, causing him to scratch his head and then his balls. “You’ve changed your tune. Figured you’d be doing anything at all to delay proceedings. Shall we say after dinner tonight, then?”
He was an idiot. “You said you would exhaust other options first.”
“What other options? We both know my cock’s not going to stand for her without assistance. Your assistance. I’m not interested in potions and leeches and whores—”
“There’s Davy’s gas.”
“And do you have this gas?”
“I can make it.”
Linfield chewed over the prospect while he righted his clothes. “Fine, I’ll partake of your gas, but I don’t anticipate—how was it you described it? That it’ll put me in a theatrical mood.”
Honestly, Jem didn’t know that it would work either, but he had to try. He would try near anything at this point. The chamber door opened, and Linfield’s harried valet scurried in.
“Good, you’re here. This bathtub needs emptying.”
“Of course, my lord. Right away. Mrs Cluett asks if she might have a moment of your time? She’s in your study, my lord.”
“What the devil’s she in there for?” He eyed Jem suspiciously, like he might have something to do with it. “Stop loafing around the place, James, and put some clothes on. Don’t you have an element to extract?”
“I’ll fetch you some clean things,” Linfield’s man remarked.
The door banged behind both servant and master as they exited.
Jem slumped against the bedspread and pulled a pillow over his face. “It’s not an element, you dolt. It’s a compound.”
-12-
Eliza
Jane continued her drugged sleep, stirring occasionally to murmur softly and turn over, or to cough ash from her lungs. Eliza had washed the soot from her face and clothed her in a clean shift and neither had woken her. Given Jane’s vulnerability, Eliza was determined to stay by her side.
Eliza perched on the bed to begin with watching Jane sleep in frustration. Then, as the afternoon drew on, and a fine misty drizzle steamed up the windowpanes, she took to pacing the uneven floorboards while her mind conjured endless cycles of knotty thoughts. There did not seem to be one single thread that she could pull on to begin unravelling the mysteries here at Cedarton. Questions merely led to other questions, rather than answers. What was certain to her was that foul play was at work. Eliza no more believed Edith responsible for the blaze that had almost consumed her mistress than she believed Jane had seen an actual apparition the night before, or that Linfield had any regard at all for his wife.
A loving man, even an undemonstrative one, would have shown some regard for the fate of his wife. Linfield had been dismissive, almost irritated by her misfortune. Heavens, could he not see that someone among them meant Jane harm?
Or perhaps the issue was that that someone was him, the man that Jane had, in good faith, wed. She could only pray that time proved otherwise. For dear Jane, this was the sorriest of sorry situations to be trapped in.
There was no joy to be found in this accursed place, other than the sort to be found at another’s expense. At least, not for Jane. She could not deny there were bright sparks for herself. Jem was here, and Jane’s misfortune could not eradicate the pleasure that awoke deep in her chest every time her thoughts strayed in Jem’s direction. She fluttered her fingers against her throat, recalling the sensation of his lips there, and then her brazenness at taking him in her mouth. It made her giddy in a senseless way… an undignified way, yet she wouldn’t exchange that singing sensation under her skin for… Well, a lot of things.
It was not pleasant to think her joy had come at Jane’s expense. If she had stayed by her side, then Jane might not have brushed against death in such a horrifying way.
Her gaze strayed again to the pale form occupying the bed.Why in heaven’s name did you marry him?He was exactly the sort of aristocratic bully they had decried at their meetings of the Women’s Natural Philosophical Fellowship. Cruel. Selfish. It wasn’t even as if love had blinded Jane to his qualities; she was no love-struck goose. Something had to have persuaded her, some so far undemonstrated quality, or an outside pressure. Why else would she marry a man she had no regard for and who seemed unlikely to ever grant her a smile let alone a boon or affection?
As dusk arrived, and the drizzle continued, Eliza pulled a chair over to the hearth. Mrs Honeyfield had been and gone twice, providing her first with a pot of tea and seed cake to nibble on, then later with a fine chicken broth for Jane. As Jane slept on, Eliza had partaken of the broth as it seemed certain it would grow cold long before her friend ever stirred. The next caller was Betsy. Would she like her dinner on a tray, or did she mean t’ join the gentlemen? Mrs Cluett wasn’t going down, having being terribly taken by the shocking events of earlier.
It didn’t surprise Eliza in the slightest to hear that Mrs Cluett had taken the opportunity to make Jane’s misfortune all about her. Suffering a nervous disposition—pah! That woman was no wispy dumpling, she was forged of steel beneath her pillowy outer, of that Eliza was sure. She’d met her type before. Women who circumstances had honed into survivors. But then, was that not most of them?
She declined the offer of Mrs Honeyfield coming to sit with Jane while she dined. She was not keen to eat with Linfield and his cronies even for the chance to see Jem. Nor had she yet forgiven herself for her earlier absence. No, she would take her meal on a tray, and stoically endure until Jane was whole and hearty once more.
Betsy nodded her head like a sagely old crone at this announcement. “I thinks that’s probably for the best, Miss Wakefield. I know it’s not for me to say, but I don’t rightly know that it’s safe or altogether proper for ya to be alone wi’ so many rogues. I know he’s me master, but the rumours, Miss… They say he’s all manner of vices. Mrs Honeyfield won’t even let us maids wait on t’ gentlemen t’night. We ’ave t’ stay in servant’s quarters, and let footman and Lord Linfield’s man, Clement, attend ’em. If that’s not signs of rakery and him being a bad ’un…” She nodded her head. “It’s not reet, you and hers haven’ t’ stay up on this corridor next t’ tha great ghastly hole at end. It’s like a gapin’ sore ’tis. I tell ya, Miss. I was talkin’ to me cousin just last week. Wednesday, it were… Yes, Wednesday—that’s me afternoon off—an’ she said—”
“Betsy,” Eliza interrupted, seeing the girl was in no hurry to leave. Her amble around the room, ostensibly to gather bits of crockery had so far taken her to every surface bar the one in need of clearing, and she didn’t care for how her fingers had a habit of wandering over things they had no business touching. The maid was a fair few years older and a deal less delicate than Edith, and far too gossipy and proud of herself to win Eliza’s admiration. She piled the used crockery onto the tray they’d been delivered on and held it out to her.
“Oh, ta, Miss.” Betsy accepted the burden with sigh. “As I was sayin’, best ya stay up here outta sight, like. Though, I’m sure I can’t picture what four upstandin’ gentlemen could get up t’ that make it necessary to keep us women outta sight.”
She cocked her head as if expecting Eliza to enlighten her. Eliza forwent that pleasure. She was sure the girl was fully versed in the dangers inherent in such a situation to both one’s person and reputation. Civility, after all, was only ever a veneer pasted over a base form of sin. Every preacher in the land sang that song from the pulpit on a Sunday morn, and a Yorkshire-born village lass like Betsy was no hothouse flower from whom the hard realities of the world had been hidden. She’d likely witnessed all manner of bawdy behaviour afore she’d even walked on her own two feet.
