Mark of Distinction (Price of Privilege) (12 page)

I can still see the picture Lady Dalry made that day.

Tawny hair pulled into a loose braid that wound about her head complemented the crocheted, homemade-looking shawl pinned about her shoulders. Her dress was nothing more fancy than serviceable muslin. Her red jacket was faded. She was the first lady I’d ever encountered in homemade attire, making her a novelty.

As I studied her, she suddenly turned toward me. Whatever expression she saw on my face instantly warmed hers. As easily
as someone pulling out miscounted rows of knitting, she disentangled herself from Kate and floated in my direction.

“Miss Pierson,” she said, her voice as amber as honey. With the gentlest of touches, she cupped my cheek. Then staring at me with glistening eyes, she stated, “Oh, Roy, she’s truly lovely. Lovely.”

At that moment, my soul was laid before her, and as I’d experienced with her son, I had no ability to hide it. My bottom lip trembled as I tried to wall her out. I doubted not she saw everything: my grief over Mama, my fear of Mr. Macy, my longing for Edward, my resistance toward the friendship her children offered me, and the burning anger I felt toward my father. Compassion softened her features as I tried to deflect her direct stare by dropping my eyes.

My father glanced at us, looking choked before he fisted his hands. Instead of answering her, he pulled out his pocket watch and peered at it. “It’s time to leave,” he called out. “Isaac, see the girls to their carriage.” He turned back to his conversation with Simmons before the two of them stormed outside, leaving the front door open in their wake.

Lord Dalry approached, studying me as keenly as his mother had, his expression giving away only what he chose, which was nothing.

“Take care of her, Son.” Lady Dalry gave him a worried look, stepping back. “The situation is more fragile than I realized.”

“I agree.” He kissed her cheek. “I’ll proceed with utmost care. Are you ready, Miss Pierson?”

My throat clogged with tears as I uncharacteristically grabbed Lady Dalry’s hand, then leaned over and whispered, “Do you . . . do you ever come to London?”

The tenderness in her expression pierced my heart as she tipped forward and kissed my cheek. “No, child, but when sessions are over, you must come and spend hours and hours with me.”

I nodded, disliking that I was now acting as forward as Kate.
Yet Lord Dalry beamed with approval as he offered his arm. Though I had extended my friendship to Lady Dalry, I still hadn’t accepted her children’s. I have no doubt my face became petulant, for Mrs. Coleman huffed with disapproval as I unwillingly took his arm.

Wind-driven rain stabbed my cheeks as we hurried to the carriage. James opened the door, looking strange without his powdered wig. Brown hair caked his forehead. To my relief, his thick greatcoat and hat heralded that he would accompany us.

I glanced over my shoulder at Eaton to determine whether he would attend as well. His pale fingers, however, gripped nothing more than a lightweight cape thrown over his shoulders as he listened to Simmons’s instructions. I felt overwhelmed at the thought that I would have a new butler and housekeeper.

“Who’s the footman for this carriage?” Lord Dalry raised his voice to be heard over the hard slap of rain.

James grinned and drew the collar of his cloak about his face. “I am, sir.”

“Good.” Lord Dalry offered his hand so I could climb up to the open barouche door. “It will be dark by the time we reach London. Keep your wits about you. No one approaches this carriage. Is that understood?”

James gave a sharp nod. “Aye, sir. You can depend on me.”

I entered the barouche, losing their conversation to the drumming on the roof. Moist air penetrated the carriage, deepening the scents of oiled leather and axle grease. After a few minutes, Kate dipped her head and entered. Her eyes were exceedingly bright for someone who’d just been crying. She brushed rain from her coat sleeves.

“You are not to disturb Miss Pierson’s peace during the journey.” Water dripped from the brim of Lord Dalry’s hat as he wedged his head in the door before closing it.

Kate turned toward me, dimples denting both of her ivory cheeks. Her eyes sparkled, informing me she had no intention
of remaining silent. When Lord Dalry latched the door, she smeared the window with her gloved hand. “Isn’t Mama wonderful? You should have seen your face as you spoke to her.”

Sinking against my seat, I stared at the hazed-over window, embarrassed that there were witnesses to that moment of weakness. With luck, she’d take the hint that I had no desire to talk. I removed my damp gloves, then started on my bonnet. Already the pheasant feathers Mrs. Coleman had faithfully groomed drooped over the brim.

“Here, allow me.” Kate bounced on the edge of her seat as she reached under my chin. “You mustn’t feel uncomfortable, now.” She giggled and grasped my arm. “Not when you consider our future.” Her smile revealed dainty teeth as I questioned her with a look. “We are to be the best of friends. I just know it! We shall be better than sisters! Shall I sit with you?”

She started to remove her handbag and gloves as she stooped.

“No, please remain in your seat.”

Kate obeyed by falling back to her seat and pressing her forehead against the glass, eagerly drinking in the bevy of servants scurrying about. “I wish I could have been here the night you arrived! It must have been so romantic! I feared you would die of a broken heart from missing your school chums before we could meet. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to die of a broken heart?”

The carriages lurched into motion, and she had to clutch the seat. Weariness took over, and all at once I felt the effects of waking so early to be hustled out the door. I shut my eyes and leaned back in my seat. Though I doubted I could sleep, I hoped it would encourage silence.

“You mustn’t sleep yet.” Kate laid a hand on my forearm. “We’re to drive past Eastbourne. You must see it for yourself. Oh, you must!”

“Eastbourne?” I straightened, alarmed. “You’ve been there?”

“No, of course not. No one is allowed inside.” She grabbed
my hands. “But Mr. Macy is another romantic soul! He’s spent years locked away, refusing to admit anyone into his estate. A lost love kept him there, I just know it. Then after all this time, he married someone our age, only she was unfaithful and ran away with a clergyman.”

I felt paralyzed as our carriages did indeed come alongside the ancient section of the estate. Coldness enveloped me as I viewed the path near the stable where Mr. Greenham had declared he was Mama’s murderer, then the bench where I had tried to tell Edward of my engagement, and the greenhouse where I pledged my troth to Mr. Macy.

Kate leaned forward. “He was so devoted to her, too. For weeks he pleaded in the papers for her return. She must be very ungrateful, for she wasn’t even a peer—”

“Hush.” I frowned, feeling out of sorts. “The story probably isn’t even true.”

“Oh, but it is! It really is.” Kate nodded so furiously that one more curl came loose from her style. “All the newspapers carried it, and everyone whispers about it when they think I’m not listening.”

We passed from view of Eastbourne, and I sank against the back of my seat, contemplating how one week of life had changed everything. The weight of my blame settled into the hollow of my chest.

I closed my eyes, wishing myself home. To combat the ache, I opened the cache of memories comprised of my summers with Edward. Each memory was a paragon, transcendent. The one that kept surfacing was of a rare, jewel-like day in June, when the azure sky was filled with masses of clouds that look like beds of down.

Elizabeth and I had dressed in white lawn dresses and tied pink ribbon sashes about our waists, then hastened away from Am Meer before our mothers could question us. Even though I was a child, as we approached the ancient oak where the boys
waited, the pride on Edward’s face was unmistakable and I felt right again.

Silence was our bond while laughter was Henry and Elizabeth’s; thus we ambled at our own pace. We passed through fields and pastures bathed in sunlight, over mossy stones embedded in trickling brooks.

When we arrived at Henry’s planned destination, Elizabeth gasped in amazement at the large, early field of sunflowers. Rays of sun touched down upon the golden heads, which nodded in the breeze. They had always been her favorite.

“We’ll have to make certain we don’t break any,” Henry said, “but I explored it earlier and found a gap where they planted around a stone. We can eat there.” He faced Elizabeth, grinning. “Ready?”

An adventurer about to embark, she gave a gay laugh, and despite Henry’s admonition, they left a path of bent stalks, strewn leaves, and yellow petals in their wake.

I stared at the oversized flowers, wishing we hadn’t come. Though I didn’t fully understand, this particular flower was a source of tension between William and Mama. They were banned from our house, though she longingly touched the ones that found their way into market stalls. Thus, I associated sunflowers with wrongness. To walk beneath those heavy-headed disks felt unchaste.

When encountering a disjointed part of my soul, Edward knew better than to speak. Words cause so much damage, and even at that tender age, he had the uncanny wisdom to use them sparingly. And though it was irrational to fear walking beneath sunflowers, he simply offered his hand, then his gentlest smile. Not a smile laced with pity, for that would have communicated only how different I was, but a smile of acceptance.

Nothing more was needed to untwist that part of my soul. I took his hand, willing to trust, and plunged into the leafy copse, where I found nothing bad happened. We ate a horror
of confections that only children would pack: chocolates, toffee, and sweet biscuits, all guzzled down with lukewarm water from a flask. Yet it was a golden feast, as epic as any king’s.

Thereafter, when Mama would grow sad and touch the sunflowers in the marketplace, I’d lean against her and join her lament, though I did not know what we cried for.

AT SUNSET, Kate and I had our first view of London. Buildings crowded each other, silhouetted under a bleak sky filled with soot and smoke. The rain had receded hours after we left Maplecroft, but the aftermath wrapped the city in a heavy blanket of fog, so that as we entered the city, it became impossible to see farther than a few feet out the window.

London is not the same city today that it was then. The farther we progressed, the stronger the reek of manure and sewage. In the hazy glow of lampposts, ragged children ran past our carriage with brooms, cleaning the muck of horse droppings off the cobblestones. Once a beggar approached the carriage and clung to the side, babbling at us. From his perch atop our barouche, James beat him off with his crop.

Coaches, omnibuses, and wagons came from every corner. More than once we were forced to a standstill while an entangled mess cleared. My father’s wealth became evident, for police always carved a path for my father first, tipping their hats, wonderment on their faces.

“What if we become separated?” Kate whispered as my father’s carriage crossed a street, leaving us to wait in the murk for another clearing.

“Hush.” I waved for silence, disliking the tingling fear that washed over me. “Even if we did, the coachman knows where he’s going, and James is with us.”

Kate shifted to my seat as she stared after my father’s disappearing carriage. Realizing she needed comfort, I allowed her to sit next to me and take my hand as I observed the streets. If you were to count the number of people I’d met in my entire life, they would have easily been outnumbered by the people we’d just passed in one evening. I eyed beggars sitting in doorways, gaunt with vacant stares, realizing how minuscule my woes would seem compared to theirs. Children in rags that displayed thin legs, digging through rubbish piles, presumably searching for food.

I studied their piteous condition, stunned. If these were some of the realities that Edward faced as a clergyman, no wonder he’d become fanatical during my absence.

My heart burned with compassion everywhere I looked. Under the feeble gaslight, hard-faced women sold oranges and flowers out of boxes that hung from straps around their necks. Even though it was dark, peddlers still called their wares while others packed, presumably to go home for the night. In one building, women leaned out of windows, their arms folded beneath their bosoms. They wore nothing but low-cut chemises and hopeless expressions.

As the streets darkened into night, a herd of cows hemmed us in, delaying us further. Kate whimpered when my father’s carriage turned completely from sight. Sounds of the coachman’s and James’s voices could be heard yelling at the herdsman. With his crop, James began to beat the cattle away.

Without warning, the hefty man reached up and pulled James from the carriage.

“Get off him,” our coachman yelled, and the carriage shifted as though he stood. Using the horsewhip, he lashed at the rogue. Cattle reared their heads, lowing. From the sidewalks, people began to shout, laugh, and throw garbage as James broke free and also beat the vagrant. A cow crushed against the side of the carriage, rocking it, making Kate scream. Then as suddenly as it had started, it ended. The herd made their crossing and their caretaker ran after them.