Carla Kelly (10 page)

Emma chose her words carefully. “I owe your son a hefty debt and mean to pay him back. It was his idea, by the way.”

To her chagrin, Lady Ragsdale regarded her in silence. Emma returned her stare, pleading in silence for the woman before her to understand.
I must have an ally, or this will not work
, she thought.
Oh, please, Lady Ragsdale.

She leaned forward, testing the waters. “Lady Ragsdale, doesn't it bother you that he is frittering away his life?”

“It bothers me,” the widow replied quietly after another substantial pause. She took a sip of tea. “John is a stubborn man. I cannot control him alone. Since his father's death …” She paused again, then visibly gathered herself together. “I'm afraid my guidance is not to his liking.” She sighed. “He's bitter about the loss of his eye, and he can't seem to settle down. What he needs is a good wife, and so I have told him.” She took another sip. “Naturally, he does not listen to his mother.”

Emma settled back a little in the chair. “What I propose is this, Lady Ragsdale. Since he told me last night to reform him, I intend to do just that. When he is organized, dried out, and—hopefully—married, I think he will agree to ending my indenture. I will feel the debt is paid.”

“
If
he will go along with any of this,” Lady Ragsdale warned. “John sober is different from John drunk. What will you do if he denies all knowledge of this pledge of his and refuses to listen to you?”

Emma looked Lady Ragsdale right in the eye. “Then I will plague his life until he does.”

How, she did not know. She knew as well as John Staples's mother that there was nothing she could do if Lord Ragsdale decided to ignore her. But Lady Ragsdale was looking at her with something close to hope in her face, and she knew she had an ally. She took a deep breath.

“The first thing I want to do is lock up the liquor supply in this house.”

Lady Ragsdale opened her eyes wide. “I do believe you are serious.”

Emma stood up and went to the window. The rain thundered down. It was perfect weather for reformation, she decided. “I have never been more serious. I truly intend to tidy up your son and receive my release papers from him in exchange.” She hesitated, and then plunged on. “I have business of my own in London, and now that I am here, I need the liberty to carry it out.”

The two women regarded each other for a long moment, and then Lady Ragsdale held out her hand. After another slight pause, Emma extended her own, and they shook hands. Lady Ragsdale smiled and called for Acton, who came out of the dressing room so fast that Emma knew she had been listening at the door.

“Acton, I want Lasker up here right away. We have a matter of a lock and key to discuss.”

When the dresser left the room, Emma returned to the chair. “It is perfectly obvious that for some reason Lord Ragsdale cannot stand the sight of me,” she said. “Why? I never did anything to him.”

Lady Ragsdale indicated that Emma remove the tea tray, and she did. The widow settled more comfortably in bed as the storm raged outside. “It is not you, my dear, but the Irish that he loathes.”

“Why?”

It was a simple question, but it seemed to hang on the air.

Emma watched as Lady Ragsdale's face grew as bleak as the morning outside
. I have to know
, she thought as Lady Ragsdale touched the corner of the sheet to her eyes again. She folded her hands in her lap and looked at Emma again.

“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 and 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 warily.

“I don't recall inviting you into my room,” he said.

“You didn't,” she agreed as she unbuttoned his shirt. “But I intend to hold you to your word, my lord.”

He stared at her, and she nearly laughed out loud to watch a variety of expressions cross his face. He finally settled on irritation and clamped his hands over hers. “Leave my shirt alone, Emma Costello,” he ordered.

She brushed his hands aside and kept unbuttoning. “As to that, if you wish to take a bath with your shirt on, you may, but it seems a little ramshackle, even for an Englishman.”

He tried to glare at her, but the effort of squinting must have hurt his tender head. “Who said I was going to take a bath?” he asked and rubbed his forehead.

“I did, my lord,” she stated firmly. “You are disgusting, and we have things to do today. Now, take off your shirt.”

“I won't.”

“You will.”

He did, to her surprise. The maids returned with more water, which they poured into the tub, and then beat a hasty retreat for the door, their eyes wide with amazement. The footman stood there with a towel draped over his arm, grinning from ear to ear. “Come on, my lord,” he wheedled. “It's not so bad.”

Lord Ragsdale lay back down again and stared up at Emma. “I seem to recall something last night. I signed a paper. Emma! What are you doing?”

“If you won't unbutton your trousers, then I will,” she said, hoping that her voice sounded firm and her hands did not shake. “You asked me to reform you, and even signed a statement to that effect. Hold still, my lord, or do it yourself.”

He leaped up from the bed, nearly toppled over, and sank down, his head in his hands. “Emma, this is insane.”

“I have it in writing, my lord,” she stated. “Once you are reformed, I am released from my indenture. Now take off your pants and get in that tub.” Emma rose and went to the door. “Hanley here said that he would fill in as your valet, my lord.”

“I want a drink first,” Lord Ragsdale said and looked toward the dressing room. The longing in his eyes was unmistakable.

He looked at her, his eyes pleading, and she had a moment's pause.
Such Turkish treatment is a lot to thrust on a fellow,
she thought.
I shall enjoy this part especially.

“So that's where you keep it,” she exclaimed and hurried into the dressing room, stepping over dirty laundry and nearly tripping over his boots by the door. She found two brandy bottles and a quart of wine, which she tucked under her arm.

Lord Ragsdale watched her from the bed and smiled as she came back into his room. He held out his hand. “Give it here, Emma,” he ordered.

Emma took a deep breath and went to the open window. She looked down to make sure that no one was passing below and then dropped each bottle out of the window, listening with satisfaction to the crash and tinkle on the pavement below.

She did not think it was possible for Lord Ragsdale to go any paler than he already was, but he did. He whimpered something disjointed and flopped back on his bed as though she had shot him. He lay there in silence for a long moment, and then he waved his hand toward the footman.

“Hanley, go to the cellar and get me some more brandy.”

The footman grinned and shook his head. “Oh, I can't, my lord. It's been sealed up, according to your orders.”

“What?” he shrieked.

“Just so, my lord,” Emma chimed in. “You signed a paper last night. I am to reform you.”