All we have, p.24
All We Have, page 24
“Mmmmm,” I nodded my agreement, not trusting myself to say more.
“Would you like me to run you a bath, Miss?” she offered. “The bathroom’s just through there,” she waved a hand to indicate a smaller set of carved and gilt inlaid doors, almost hidden from view by a particularly gigantic vase of blooms. “It’s all hot running water right through the whole place now of course, since the master took the place on,” she added, bustling off to turn on the taps for me without waiting for my response.
I soaked for an age in the luxuriously deep tub, filled to the brim with steaming hot water that had been softened and scented with what Molly knowledgably informed me was bath oil made from the purest magnolia blooms money could buy, pressed at their most fragrant. Lying steeping in the hot scented water, I began to mull over possible escape plans. The first problem was I had no idea where I was, so even if I could get away from the watchful eye of Molly, and then avoid running into the surly guy with the hook for a hand, I still had no idea where I was, or how to get back to the schoolhouse. In the end I kept coming back to this issue, and I decided before I did anything else I was going to have to try and extract some local information out of Molly.
Just as I was thinking this, a knock at the bathroom door announced Molly’s return. She entered carrying a stack of Egyptian cotton towels with a pile so deep you could have spread them on the floor and called it shagpile. Bobbing a rudimentary curtsey, she withdrew and left me alone with the ridiculous towels. Quickly drying myself, I went back into the bedroom to find my clothes. I have to admit that I was somewhat dismayed by the selection Molly had thoughtfully laid out on the bed for me. The undergarments were fine, if a little unusual. The large pantaloons with the drawstring waist were interesting but not uncomfortable, and the chemise, whilst lowcut in the extreme, was a perfect fit. But when I spotted the corset, I nearly fainted just looking at it. Guessing there was no way I was going to manage to squeeze into the narrow waisted pale pink evening gown that was also laid out, and having hunted in vain for my own clothes, I decided I’d best at least attempt to get it on. I’d managed to force it on over my head, not without considerable tugging and heaving, and was standing in front of the dressing table mirror assessing the effect when there was a loud rap on the door. “Come in?” I ventured, and seconds later Molly was back, and all business as she advanced upon me with a glint in her eye. “Oh miss, you should have waited for me to help ye,” she tutted.
“Ummm, do you think I might need a bigger size?” this final word escaped as a squeak moments later, as Molly yanked the constricting laces at my back so tight that I swear she nearly cut me in two.
“Nay, Miss. Ye’ll be just dandy in a matter of minutes, jus’ wait and see,” she grunted, heaving on the laces once more. I’ve always been a fan of period drama, and not least because of the eye candy factor of the costumes, which are some of the most sumptuous creations to be found anywhere, on any screen, big or small. I’d always nursed a secret yen to be one of those graceful, swanlike creatures, á la Miss Elizabeth Bennett, and glide across a dance floor on the arm of some dashing, thoroughly smitten young swain, who would preferably be attired in a well-fitting uniform and wearing a shiny sword. You may call me cliché, if you like. I may even agree with you. But I’m no Keira Knightley, and I think even she would have balked at Molly’s guerrilla-style approach to dressing.
By the time Molly had finished hauling on those laces, I could barely stand and certainly had no show at all of bending in the middle. When Molly lifted the dress, because I couldn’t bend, she tossed it in the general direction of my head, like someone throwing a hula hoop over a netball hoop. Amazingly, I managed to lift my arms just in time, so they slid into the armholes of the little puffy sleeves. I wriggled my head about until it found the wide, lace-trimmed neckline of the gown. Molly did the rest, deftly tugging the bodice into place around me, shaking the skirts out so they fell smoothly from my waist to the floor.
“Oooh, Miss, you do look a pitcher!” she cooed. And, as I looked in the mirror, I had to agree. From the neck down, I truly looked like Keira Knightly! Only significantly curvier. From the neck up, well that was a different story. But Molly had not finished with me yet. “If you’ll just take a seat, Miss,” she pointed at the dressing table stool. I blinked at it in dismay. How was I going to sit when I couldn’t bend? Gingerly I crossed the room and somehow managed to insert myself into the narrow gap between stool and dressing table. Then, taking as deep a breath as I could under the circumstances, I sort of fell backwards onto the stool, which wobbled under the assault but thankfully stood firm.
The next half an hour was devoted to makeup and hair. By the time Molly had finished with me, I could barely recognize myself in the face of the sophisticated looking society belle that looked back at me in the mirror. If Dan could see me now! I thought, then looked down at the daring among of skin revealed by the lowcut nature of my gown and decided, all things considered, I was quite glad he couldn’t. One thing was sure: I couldn’t go anywhere like this! I felt so exposed. It wasn’t so much the amount of flesh I had on display. My bikini was one hundred times skimpier than the gown. It was the way it was displayed. The push-up bra had nothing on this get up.
But Molly was already clucking about how late it was. “His Grace will be wondering where you are, Miss,” she scolded. “You’ve taken far too long already with all this fussing and primping.” Huh? I wasn’t the one who’d spent fifteen minutes debating which side of my chin would most benefit from the application of a fake beauty spot! And besides, the clock on the wall read barely half past eleven. Surely luncheon wouldn’t be on until at least noon?
But I didn’t have time to throw a snappy retort at Molly, because she was already at the door, holding it open for me and rolling her eyes impatiently. Managing to struggle to my feet without too much trouble, I swished my way over to her, the sound reminding me of the noise nylon sports pants make when you walk in them. As I entered the hallway, I noted the dark presence of the hooked man. His eyes widened slightly when he took in my changed appearance, but he made no comment, only offered me his arm. Although I wasn’t sure how I was going to manage the stairs done up like a giant pink meringue, I couldn’t bring myself to take his proffered arm. Ignoring him completely, I picked my way carefully down the stairs, leaving him to follow silently behind me. By some miracle I made it to the bottom without tripping over my feet and plummeting to my death.
The Duke, who could hardly have missed the sound of my tromping down the stairs, appeared in the doorway of the library. He looked me over approvingly, like a horse trader admiring his latest purchase. “My dearest, you look wonderful. How well that color suits your fine skin, like porcelain,” he gushed. “As we are a little early for luncheon, I think we might take a stroll in the garden. I think it wise that you take a parasol.” He clicked his fingers at Molly, who scurried away and returned moments later with a lacy parasol, which she pressed insistently upon me. The Duke gestured that I was to precede him out the front door, which an attentive footman was now holding open and standing stiffly to attention beside. Regretting now that I hadn’t taken even longer getting dressed, I left the gloom of the hallway behind and walked out into the bright sunshine.
It was a beautiful day. Under other circumstances, I’d have relished walking in this garden, which was laid out in square beds brimming with flowers. A wide central path led between the flower beds to a hedge enclosed fountain, which to my untrained eye appeared to be carved entirely from a gigantic piece of creamy marble. Four seahorses rose symmetrically from the center of the fountain, each opened-mouthed and spouting water into the circular pool of water. The path continued beyond the fountain, and in the distance beyond the tall hedges I saw the wide spreading trees I’d seen from the window of my cell that morning.
“So, my dear,” the Duke began, seating himself on the edge of the fountain and smiling benevolently at me. “You admire the house? These immaculate gardens?”
“Indeed I do,” I nodded. “Has the place it been in your family for many generations?” I probed, thinking perhaps he would tell me something, perhaps something related to a detail in his poem, that might help me work out where I was.
By my attempt to fish for information came to nothing. He shook his head, laughing. “My dear, you can’t imagine I’d be stupid enough to hold you within the walls of my own home? That is the first place your friends would look. Common they may be, but they are not entirely devoid of intellect,” He continued. “No, this place belongs to a friend of mine, a friend who is otherwise engaged at present.”
Just then, I was distracted by a flash of something darkly moving, something out among the trees. Attempting to appear crestfallen at the Duke’s clever ploy, I turned slightly away from him in order to get a clearer view of the lawn. But whatever had caught my attention was gone. A person? I couldn’t be sure. Had Dan somehow managed to track me here? I couldn’t be sure what I’d seen, and there was nothing there now. Probably it had been nothing more than a deer; this looked like the kind of estate that might have deer roaming about loose. Disappointed, I turned back to the Duke, who was still burbling on. “...and I have the bishop coming for dinner tomorrow night, to discuss arrangements.”
“Arrangements?” I didn’t like the sound of this at all. “For what?”
“Our wedding, of course!” His tone was positively jocular, but underneath I sensed the steel of his will. “It is to take place in three days’ time.”
Chapter eighteen
“Three days!” Feeling faint at the thought, I sank onto a conveniently placed bench. “You cannot be serious?”
“I assure you, I am entirely serious,” He snapped back, then smiled a smile that did not reach his eyes. “You will learn, my dearest, that I rarely joke, and never say anything I don’t mean.”
Ugh. I just wanted to smack him one when he called me dearest in that oily voice of his. But maybe if I could fool him into thinking I was prepared to go along with his insane plan, I might just be able to fool him into thinking he could trust me. If he thought I was coming around to the idea of marriage to him, he might loosen off some of his security measures. It was a slim chance, but for want of any better ideas I decided I might as well try. “But Duke....” I began.
“Please, my dearest,” he smirked at me. “Please call me by my Christian name.”
“Your Christian name?” I parroted, trying desperately to recall what that might be. Had his first name been mentioned in Browning’s poem?
“Yes,” he confirmed, looking at me expectantly.
“Ummm....yes. Of course, I’d be happy to do so, Duke, only....I’m afraid, that is....your Christian name has slipped my mind,” I smiled apologetically up at him. “In all the excitement, you understand.”
“Oh, but I do not expect you to know what others do not,” he replied somewhat bafflingly. “I’d be honored if you would choose a name for me.” He bared his yellowy teeth at me, and I worked out what he meant. He was in the same boat as Myriam. His first name didn’t exist.
“You want me to give you a name?” I asked, making sure I’d heard correctly.
“Well, of course, I’ll have final approval of your selection,” the Duke hastily added a proviso. “But yes, that is exactly what I want. You did so well with Bertha’s sis....with Myriam. I’m sure you will select most wisely in my case also.” He beamed at me again, and I had to look away from those teeth. Ugh.
“Ummm, of course, well, let me see....” I prevaricated, turning to gaze again at the trees in the distance. As I did so, I saw a face appear and then just as quickly disappear again behind the corner of the hedge just beyond the far side of the fountain. It was only a momentary flash, not enough time to see who it was, but it was definitely a face. My mind began to race. Had Dan had managed to track me down? Did he have a plan? One thing was for sure, I’d to keep the Duke’s attention on me and away from the lawns beyond the fountain. If he took it into his head to start wandering about again, this time in the direction of the hedge, whoever was hiding beyond it would be exposed. A name. I needed to come up with a name that the Duke would like, and then get him inside pronto. Trailing my hand in the water of the fountain, I put my head on one side as if considering the options carefully. An idea had just occurred to me, a way of communicating with whoever was out there watching us.
“Well, undoubtedly you want a name that reflects your personality,” I began. “You’re obviously a man of breeding, a man of taste and discernment.” Using one finger, and the water from the fountain as ink, I wrote a word in capital letters along the stone fountain surround. The duke, preening a little at my flattering remarks, didn’t appear to notice. “Any name would have to reflect these aspects of your personality.” I dipped my fingers back in the water, then painted another two words quickly on the stone. How long would the words remain visible out here? The sun would already be drying them out. If I wanted the mysterious person beyond the hedge to be able to read them, I was going to have to work quickly. Taking the duke by the arm, I gazed up at his face, summoning my best serious face. This face is usually reserved for fooling my biology teacher that I am in fact deeply engaged in the learning moment at hand. Unlike Mr Bledwell, the Duke seemed completely charmed by my display of earnest interest. “Perhaps we should consider the options further over tea on the terrace?” He suggested.
“Oh, yes, that sounds ideal,” I gushed, casting about for something that would convince him of my sincerity. “I noticed the prettiest shady spot up there, and I must admit to feeling a little overheated by this sun.” Hoping I was doing a reasonable impression of a genteel Victorian gentlewoman, I fanned myself with my free hand and then, as I steered the Duke back towards the house, I swung it behind me, jerking my thumb in the direction of the fountain in a gesture that I hoped conveyed my intended meaning. I only hoped that the person behind the hedge was watching and managed to get the message.
Half an hour later the Duke, now happily enjoying being addressed as Nicholas (having rejected my first five suggestions: Hank, George, Augustus, Julian and Dick, the last two on the grounds that they were fatally alliteratively flawed when used in combination with Duke) was seated beside me and taking tea from a dainty rose patterned china cup. Between sips he imparted, with the air of once bestowing great favors, details of his plans for our impending wedding ceremony. I had to resist the urge to inch away from him on the stone bench, and instead make myself feign an avid interest in all the gory details of his plans for the ceremony. Of course, as befits an event planned by a complete control freak, every one of these details was nailed down like the lid on a boxful of vipers. He sent for a footman, who delivered a file of sketches showing the layout of the church, complete with color coded seating plan which identified friends by both length of acquaintance and degree of closeness. At this point, I interjected that I’d of course want to invite my family, at the very least my parents. Nicholas, frowning slightly, merely acted as if I’d not spoken. I tried again when he was going through, line by line, the three page schedule for the ceremony itself, by pointing out that really my father should be the one to give me away, rather than Nicholas’s butler. To this Nicholas responded stiffly that his butler also happened to be one of his oldest, dearest friends, who would be mortally offended by any change to his role in proceedings. In desperation, I wondered aloud whether it was entirely legal for him to marry me, as I was after all only sixteen, at which point he slammed the plan down in a huff declaring it was almost like I didn’t want to get married at all, then stalked off to the far side of the terrace to stare out over the garden. Disaster! The last thing I needed was for him to spot whoever it was that was skulking around in the gardens.
Quickly extracting the designs for the wedding dress from the stack of planning documents, I began to coo loudly and approvingly over a design that resembled one of those frilly crinolined dolls designed to cover spare loo roll.
My ploy worked. The Duke returned to my side, delight lighting up his face at my interest. “Yes, I personally supervised all aspects of the design,” He enthused, then his face darkened. “My last duchess refused to wear it,” he added, looking angry at the memory. Thinking back to what had happened to his last duchess, I reminded myself that. although he came across as a complete twit, the man beside me had murdered, or at least arranged for murder to occur, before. I’d have to watch myself if I wanted to avoid the same fate.
The Duke now was looking at his fob watch. “Time for luncheon, I think my dear.” He offered me his arm, which I didn’t have much choice but to take and allow him to escort me inside again, where indeed lunch awaited us in the dining room.
It was the sobering thought of what had happened to his last duchess that kept a civil tongue in my head and we ate lunch in silence, the Duke at one end of the long dining table and me at the other. This thought was only reinforced by the presence of the former duchess herself, or at least her painted image, for the Duke had arranged to have her portrait hung on the wall in the space above the fireplace. As I ate she looked down at me with what I fancifully imagined to be pitied amusement, her eyes doing that strange thing eyes in paintings do, following my every move.
Goodness knows where Myriam had disappeared to. Lunch was three courses, took at least two hours to complete, and she failed to put in an appearance at any stage. I was relieved when the Duke informed me that he would be going riding this afternoon and would not expect to see me again until dinnertime. Hook arrived then, as if summoned telepathically, to escort me back to my suite. As I entered my bedroom, I turned in time to see him take up his station outside. My thoughts of skulking around the house in search of escape routes effectively scuppered, I closed the door on his smirking face and spent the remainder of the afternoon sitting at my window trying to see any familiar landmark, or perhaps catch a glimpse of anyone still hiding in the garden, but I saw nothing and no-one.
