A Precious Jewel (25 page)

After five minutes she was swallowing repeatedly. She was beginning to realize that the grimness of such an experience had not been exaggerated. After ten, her hands were clutched together. She was feeling rather as if she had been stripped and pinioned in the pillory. Miss Blythe’s words cut her as surely as a whip, knifing across her back and curling cruelly about her sides. After fifteen, she was in tears.

Miss Blythe sat in silence for several minutes after she had finished, watching the girl who sat before her, head bent sharply forward, shoulders shaking from leftover sobs.

“Dry your eyes now, Priscilla, and look at me,” she said. “Come. You have more backbone than this.”

Priscilla dried her eyes with shaking hands and blew her nose. She lifted her chin and looked at her former employer.

“So you see things as they are again,” Miss Blythe said. “You had a choice, Priscilla. You might have been my secretary or companion and been treated as my daughter. You chose rather to be independent and I must honor you for showing so much pride. But you made your choice. And I made it very clear to you at the time and every single day of your training before it
was too late that being a whore is different from being any other worker that there is. One might be a governess or a factory worker for a while and no longer be a governess or a factory worker when one leaves one’s post. When one becomes a whore, one is forever a whore.”

“Yes,” Priscilla said.

“You are a whore,” Miss Blythe said.

“Yes.”

“It is only in knowing that,” Miss Blythe said, “that you can achieve any happiness at all in life, Priscilla. Happiness for a whore can never come through marriage. There will never be a marriage for you. And it can never come from the men who pay for your favors. Happiness cannot come to a whore from a man.”

“No.”

“It can come only from within,” the other said. “For many girls, Priscilla—for most—that means there never can be any happiness at all. You are fortunate. You have your education and your accomplishments and your pride.”

Priscilla was silent.

“I have taken you apart piece by piece over the past half hour,” Miss Blythe said. “I have not left you a single corner in which to hide. I have made you feel utterly worthless and soiled. I did not do it in order to leave you that way.”

Priscilla looked at her hands.

“I did it so that you can adjust your life to reality,” Miss Blythe said. “Girls who get pregnant have almost invariably lost sight of reality, have given in somehow to their dreams. You have to know beyond a shadow of a doubt, Priscilla, that you are a whore. Only then will there be a hope that you can live in this world with a degree of happiness. Do I make sense to you?”

“Yes,” Priscilla said.

“Very well, then,” Miss Blythe said. “Stand up, dear, and pull the bell rope. You will need some tea before you have the strength to leave here. We must discuss your traveling arrangements and you must tell me how you have been feeling. Has there been any nausea? And have you seen a physician? A foolish question—of course you have not seen a physician. You must come back here tomorrow morning and I shall have my own call here to examine you. We must be very sure, must we not, that you are in good health.”

Priscilla pulled the bell rope and sat down again. All her muscles seemed to be trembling and quite drained of energy.

“You do have backbone,” Miss Blythe said approvingly. “Most of my girls go from here still in tears, Priscilla, even after two or three cups of tea. I suspect that your hands will even have stopped shaking by the time I hand you your cup. Now, let us begin our discussion. I cannot spend much longer with you. Lord Quincy has requested an interview with me in less than an hour’s time. A new client, I believe. An awkward
and fresh-faced youth just down from Cambridge and looking for some experience in manly sports. Just the sort of young man I would have assigned to you, dear.”

S
IR
G
ERALD WAS
not sure if he was glad or sorry for the busy nature of the few days following Priscilla’s announcement concerning her possible return to the country. One part of him wanted to crawl into the deepest hole he could find, like a wounded animal, to lick his wounds. The other wanted to get out, far away from all thoughts of her, to lose himself in activity.

They were a foursome for the wedding day, he discovered. Miss Abigail Gardiner, the new Countess of Severn before the morning was over, brought with her a governess friend, Miss Laura Seymour, a pretty, auburn-haired young lady, and it fell to Sir Gerald’s lot to entertain her through much of the day.

His friend’s bride made him uneasy. She was not as plain as he had expected her to be. Indeed, he thought she looked rather pretty all togged up in a new dress for her wedding. Not at all the striking beauty one would expect of Miles’s bride, of course, but no antidote, for all that. And she was certainly not quiet, either, not the mute, dull creature Miles seemed to have thought he was marrying. She did most of the talking once the wedding ceremony was over and her obvious nervousness had evaporated to a degree.

Miles was going to end up devilishly unhappy with her. That was what was going to happen. He might have been better off with Miss Meighan, the bride his mother had chosen for him. At least he knew the girl. Of course, the very best thing for him would have been to marry neither one but to remain free for the rest of his life.

There was never anything but trouble to be had from marrying. Look at Helena. And look at the new countess, who had apparently deceived Miles right and proper a few mornings before when he had made his unconsidered and insane offer to her.

Sir Gerald was worried about his friend.

And worried about himself, too. But he would not think of it. He smiled determinedly and allowed the countess to chatter to him—she seemed more comfortable with him than with her new husband—and conversed whenever he could with Miss Seymour.

He had sent word to Priss to expect him the following afternoon. He went with dragging steps and a heavy heart. And it seemed to him that she did not have any of the radiance one might expect of a girl who was about to be married, either. Her eyes looked heavy, her face a little puffy. Her face looked rounder than it had used to look, he thought, as if she had put on weight.

“Gerald.” She smiled at him when he was shown into the parlor, but she did not, as she usually did,
hurry across the room to him, her hands outstretched. She stood where she was, close to the fire.

“Hello, Priss,” he said. And he stopped close to the door.

“How was the wedding?” she asked.

“It took place,” he said. “She seems the most unlikely bride for Miles you could possibly imagine. But I suppose it was his decision and he must live with it.”

“He will make the best of it,” she said. “He is a kind gentleman.”

“Yes,” he said.

“Won’t you sit down?” She gestured formally to a chair.

“Priss,” he said, “have you made a final decision?”

“If he sends,” she said, “and I think he will, Gerald, I think I ought to go.”

“Yes,” he said. “I think you ought.”

“But it may not be for another few days,” she said. “Will you mind my staying here until then, Gerald? Perhaps I ought not. Perhaps you would prefer that I went somewhere else?”

“Where?” he asked.

“To Miss Blythe’s,” she said. “She would give me a room.”

“I don’t want you at Kit’s,” he said. “Besides, Priss, I don’t think he would want you there. He surely would not, would he?”

“No,” she said.

“Well, then,” he said, “you had better stay here until you know for certain.”

“Yes,” she said. “Thank you.”

“Priss,” he said. He still had not moved from his spot just inside the door. He still had not sat down. “Is this what you want to do? If it is, then I think you ought to go. But if it is not, then you had better stay with me. I can renew the lease on the house. We could even make a sort of contract for a year or two or even three if you wish. Perhaps I could even buy the house and you could live here when I finally … when we finally …”

“I think I should go, Gerald,” she said.

“Yes,” he said briskly. “Well, then. What do you want to do, Priss? Go walking in the park? It is a nice day, though cool.”

“No,” she said. “I think you had better leave, Gerald. You are uncomfortable, aren’t you?”

“Deuced uncomfortable,” he said.

“Go, then,” she said.

“It’s not that I don’t want to be with you or touch you, Priss,” he said. “It’s just that I don’t think I ought. It wouldn’t seem right.”

She smiled. “I will be gone within the week, Gerald,” she said, “and then you may be comfortable again, dear.”

Dear
. She had called him that before. He frowned. He could not recall when the devil it had been.

“Yes,” he said, “and you will be excited to have this
life behind you once and for all, Priss. I’m glad for you.”

“Thank you,” she said.

“Well, then,” he said, his voice hearty, “I’ll be going. A couple of fellows are expecting me at White’s. I’ll look in on you in a few days’ time again. The day after tomorrow.”

“I’ll be here,” she said quietly.

“Good day to you, then, Priss,” he said.

She smiled at him. All he heard was his name, whispered.

S
IR
G
ERALD MET
the Earl of Severn at White’s the next morning. His friend was looking quite pleased with himself, he noticed when he looked at him closely. He was not totally disillusioned with his marriage yet, then.

“How is Prissy?” the earl asked when they had been talking about Jenny, newly released from the earl’s employ and besieged by eager would-be replacements. “Still threatening to move back home to the country?”

“Some rejected swain wants her back,” Sir Gerald said, “even knowing what she has become. She should go, I keep telling her. She does not really suit the life of a courtesan. It’s time I found someone else, anyway. A year is too long to spend with one mistress—makes them too possessive.”

It was amazing, he thought as the conversation moved on to other matters, how one could make light of a topic that weighed one down with the whole burden of the universe.
It’s time I found someone else
, he had said. Who? Could there ever be anyone else?
A year is too long to spend with one mistress
. Yes, it was. It was far too long. A day had been too long with Priss. That very first hour with her had been too long. He had been lost, surely, after that one hour.

Makes them too possessive
. Unfair. Oh, unfair. When had Priss ever been possessive?

He could not talk about his feelings to his friend. How could he? His feelings were too deep to share. And he was ashamed of them, if the truth were known. He was breaking up with a mistress. That was all. They had been together for a year. She had been thoroughly satisfactory. He was used to her, comfortable with her. Now they were breaking up. It was time. He had been right about that.

He was ashamed of the fact that he could not feel as nonchalant as his words had been.

He had a ball to attend that evening, he remembered, as he walked home later that afternoon. Lady Trevor’s ball. He hated balls. He would dance once with Lady Severn and then take himself off to the card room. At least the entertainment would keep his mind off Priss.

But when he arrived back at his rooms, it was to
find a note from her there. She wished to see him immediately if it was convenient for him. She had never written to him before.

It was late afternoon by the time he arrived at her house. She came downstairs to the parlor as soon as he was admitted.

“Gerald,” she said, “you had my note? I was sorry to have to write to you at home.”

“Don’t mention it, Priss,” he said, clasping his hands behind him, noting that their positions were reversed from the day before. He stood before the fire, she close to the door. “What is it?”

“I can leave immediately,” she said. “He wants me to go without delay, Gerald. Tomorrow. There is a stage early in the morning.”

“Ah,” he said.

“So I will be leaving, then,” she said.

“Yes,” he said. “I’m glad for you, Priss. I hope you will be happy. I’m sure you will be. I hope you have a safe journey. Is there anything you need?”

“No,” she said.

He drew a package from an inner pocket of his coat. “It is your settlement, Priss,” he said, laying it on a table beside him.

“But I am the one leaving you,” she said.

“A wedding present,” he said. “With my thanks. You have always been a good girl.”

“It was my pleasure,” she said. “You were easy to work for, Gerald. You were good to me.”

“I’ll say good-bye, then,” he said. “I have to be going anyway. There is a ball tonight.”

“Ah,” she said. “I’ll not keep you then.”

They stood at opposite sides of the room, staring at each other.

If she were not standing so close to the door, he thought, he would be able to leave. All he could think of was leaving, being out of there, breathing in fresh air, hurrying along the street, never having to see her again.

“Gerald,” she said. She rubbed a palm hard along her jaw to her chin and down her throat. She looked up at the ceiling and kept her eyes there. “Gerald.”

“I’ll miss you, Priss,” he said.

And then she was across the room, her arms tight about his neck, her face buried against his neckcloth, sobbing and sobbing to break her heart. He patted her back awkwardly and bit hard on his upper lip.

“There, there, Priss,” he said. “It will be all right.”

“You have been so good to me,” she said, her voice high-pitched as he had heard it before. “Always so very good, Gerald. And it was never work. It was never, never work.”

“There, there,” he said. “You have a good heart, Priss. But remember what you are going to, love. You’ll be far better off married than just my mistress. You’ll be happy once the good-byes are said. Good-byes are always hard.”

“Yes,” she said, her voice more normal, though her
face was still hidden among the damp folds of his neckcloth. “You are right.”