The Lost Bee (5 page)

“Wait!” He touched her elbow. “I must see you again. I can’t bear it if you walk away like this.”

“Like what?” she laughed.

“When do you have an evening free? Might we meet again, perhaps here at The Lost Bee?” He had no idea what to do with such a girl. If she were in society, they could arrange to be at the same party or to attend the same theatrical. He only knew he wanted to see her again.

“Tonight is my free night. I was fetching the eggs as a favor to the kitchen. I’ll have another in two weeks.”

“Tonight, then.”

She hesitated long enough to make him doubt success then said, “I will return here in one hour.”

What a marvelous world! That such a creature, unknown to him all this time, should live in London. He returned to the coffeehouse and placed himself where he could watch the door.

“You were too kind to that young woman, sir,” Mrs. Jones said.

“Not exactly. I destroyed her eggs.”

“All the same, most gentlemen don’t take notice of a servant’s troubles, even when
those troubles is
caused by themselves.”

“So you think she is a servant, then?”

“Her hands looked fine enough, and she speaks well. She’s no scullery maid, I’ll give you that. But if she weren’t a servant, what
were
she doing fetching eggs?”

At last, the bell on the door jingled and she was there, in a different dress, looking like an ordinary, respectable young lady of meager means. Though it was chilly the evening was clear, and she suggested they walk.

They passed by his rooms, and she wanted to see his edition of Reveries of the Solitary Walker. She followed him through the sitting room to his bedroom where the book lay open on a table. With real interest, she turned the pages. She actually began to read, her expression changing with Rousseau’s clever phrases.

“You astonish me,” he said.

“A servant should not read French?”

“Or a woman philosophy.”

“Hmph. I take it you have not read Wollstonecraft. Thank goodness I was stopped from learning German, or you should be overcome by wonder.”

She shivered, and he realized her thin shawl was not equal to its task. He added coals to the grate and worked on getting some heat into the room. He liked making things comfortable for her while she read. He checked the kettle for water and put it on for tea.

“What prevented you, Susan?” He’d call her Miss Gray, but she’d probably think he was mocking her. “What stopped you learning German?”

“Say, Singer!” A boisterous rap on the door stopped her answer. “Are you in? Come, man! You are wanted at Lady D’s.” Leopold moved toward the door, but didn’t open it. “She’s asked for you especially!” The caller knocked again, half-heartedly. After another minute, he went away.

Susan set aside the Rousseau. She came to Leopold and touched his face and traced his cheek. She led him back to the bedroom and pressed her palm against his chest until he sat down on his bed.

His heart pounded. The lads at school often told stories, exaggerated or imagined, some perhaps true, of their first sex, how sometimes it happened with servants who thought it a lark to deflower the young master. He had urges like any man, but he had not yet indulged them with a woman. To bed any woman, his equal or no, would give her a claim on him he had no wish to allow, not yet. Not until he’d smelled Susan’s hair that afternoon in the rain.

She kissed him, not the clumsy kiss of a novice. Her lips pressed full on his with purpose and desire. She opened his mouth with her tongue, teasing him. He reached for her, and she ran her hands over his chest. He helped her to remove her dress and drew her close to him in her chemise. He caressed a precious breast. Such heaven, such heat, such sweet pressure. Loosening herself from his grip, she did seem to take her own pleasure. With the swirl of a finger, she motioned for him to undress.

Just as he got his trousers off, the kettle began to boil. He stumbled getting it off the hook. “Tea?”

“Darling Leopold.” She sat on the bed and opened her arms. No tea, then. She swallowed him up until he had no idea who he was. He wasn’t a person. He was an animal, her creature, sinking, down, in, through. He thought he heard her moan, but maybe that was his own voice. He shuddered and felt himself lose everything to her. In
a bliss
of spasms, he let go.

He fell into a delicious brief sleep. Through the night, they coupled and slept, coupled and slept. They awoke in the very early morning and loved each other again. If only the world could stand still. But the world spun on, and Susan left his bed.

“Some people must earn their bread, sir. I am one of those people.”

“Susan, sir, don’t be cruel.”

“Tonight, you’ll be with fashionable ladies at the duke’s party. You’ll know then how you have degraded yourself with me.”

“Never say that, Susan. You are wonderful.”

“That may be true.” She wrapped her shawl around her shoulders. “If after tonight you still wish it, I’ll meet you again at The Lost Bee on my next free night.”

“But you said that wasn’t for two weeks!”

“You’ll have time to attend a few lectures.” She kissed his cheek and eluded his outstretched hand. “Good day, sir.” She curtsied. With another ironic grin, she was gone.

He lay in bed and contemplated the miracle that was Woman. He thought of Marta Schonreden. Of course, Marta was too modest and far too innocent to care for him in the way Susan had done.

Lovely Marta Schonreden, the most beautiful creature he had ever seen, and so sweet. If God made Woman for Man, surely He had made Marta for Leopold. He would be twenty-one next spring, as good a time as any to marry. He was sure his father would approve the match. The whole village admired Marta Schonreden’s exceptional beauty. He imagined himself with her now.

In the meantime, “Susan, sir” would greatly brighten his stay in England.

Lady Delia chose Leopold Singer for her husband in the same way she chose all her accouterments. It had taken a long time to find her perfect object. She was twenty-five years old. Every year the competition was fiercer, her rivals younger, richer, nicer. This year more than ever, she needed a propitious match.

Bad luck at the gaming tables was a common disaster. No shame there, of course, but the debts coupled with her dwindling personal assets had affected her self-confidence. She would bring only beauty and connections to a marriage, and one of those was not secure.

In the last year, she’d watched her skin lose youth’s freshness. Her hair had dulled, and there seemed to be less of it. Whether her mouth smiled or frowned, her eyes always showed the same flat expression. Her appearance benefited greatly by the quality of her garments.

The great mark of her fading bloom was the number of her would-be lovers. This year had brought only one proposal—the one she received every year from Millie.

In August she’d accepted his invitation to the country, resigned to accept him at last, when everything changed. Lady Whitley told her about the young foreigner also visiting Millam Hall, Mr. Leopold Singer from Austria, here to attend Oxford—or was it Cambridge? His family had a fortune but no title; he was a ripe plum. She resolved to pick that plum the moment she saw him.

A shock of pleasure had shot through her. He was simply lovely. Muscular and earthy brown in contrast to the refined pretty pastel creatures she was used to. To give that man children would be no sacrifice. He’d left Millam Hall before she could secure him, but no matter. Tonight, she’d maneuver Mr. Singer into her net. He wouldn’t turn her down any more than a dressmaker would turn down her custom.

Still. He’d snubbed her own late supper last night, and after she’d invited him particularly. Lady Delia was always honest with herself, if no one else. This seduction was not going well.

“I’ve discovered the root of your Austrian problem, D.” Delia’s friend Sir Carey Asher offered his arm to walk her in to dinner.

“Whatever can you mean, m’dear?” she said, she knew exactly what he meant.

“Apparently the object of your affection prefers to dip his oar in less exalted waters.” Sir Carey nodded toward one of Millie’s servants speaking with the butler at the door.

Miss Gray.
Delia knew her name. She wasn’t even the head housekeeper, but she carried herself in a manner above her class. She shot an angry glance toward Mr. Singer, across from Delia and down the table. He saw and answered with an apologetic expression, following her fondly with his eyes as she left the room.

Sir Carey was right; something was going on between the two. She was neither young nor pretty. It was vaguely humiliating.

“But surely that,” Sir Carey purred, “presents no great obstacle.”

Lady Delia was not so confident. She lifted her glass to Mr. Singer. He returned the gesture politely but without enthusiasm.

She hated him then. She saw him with new eyes. He was one of those horrible idealistic young men of the bourgeoisie, likely a republican, noble in character all out of proportion to his station. Were he fool enough to fall in love with a servant, he might accord to her honors of a lady—even the unthinkable, marriage. You couldn’t count on a foreigner to know what isn’t done.

“Dear D,” Sir Carey said. “I don’t know why you won’t have me instead of that earnest fellow. He could never appreciate you.”

“You don’t like me all that well,” she said. “Anyway, neither of us can afford the other.” She wondered if there would be cards later, and if she might risk a hand or two.

***

Susan Gray went down the servants’ stairs, trying to calm her nerves. She never should have gone upstairs during the duke’s supper. There was no call for her to be there. She just wanted a glimpse of Leopold Singer. It had only brought her grief.

He’d followed her into a hall and kissed her, and she’d felt then how unbearable her situation was. Lady Delia’s friend Sir Carey had passed by them, excusing himself to Mr. Singer with an amused smile and of course ignoring her.

She didn’t truly belong to the world of service, but would anyone believe she was a gentleman’s daughter? When Sir Carey was gone, she’d admonished Mr. Singer. “Sir, if you won’t consider your place, then
do
think of mine.”

Then she’d agreed to meet him again on her next free day!

In the kitchen, Matthew Peter brightened when he saw her, but she avoided him. She asked Cook for a pot of tea and took Mary aside to speak to her near the kitchen fire. “Mary, I’ve spoken with Mr. Peter. You’re going to have to continue on as Lady Delia’s maid.”

“Oh, Miss Gray!” 

“I’m sorry, Mary. But you know the duke makes up handsomely for her ladyship’s failings.” Susan never thought of the duke as Millie now. He was no longer a family friend and benefactor. He was her employer.

He often invited Lady Delia to stay at Gohrum House when she was in town. Not only did she fail without fail to bring her own maid, she never left anything for the one the duke provided. He always gave a generous present to the maid, usually Mary, who drew the duty, but Lady Delia was so demanding and critical that it wasn’t really worth it.

“She’ll be with us for the month. I know you will do your best.”

When Mary left, Matthew Peter took her place. “I missed you last night. You were out late.”

“I was visiting a friend in Highgate,” she said. “Not that it’s your business.” Her tea was ready, and she took the tray to her room. She didn’t like to be unkind, but it would be worse to encourage him.

Had her excellent brain any sway with her unrealistic heart, she would forget Leopold Singer and love Matthew Peter. Everyone called him by his full name to distinguish him from his father. He was good-natured and very good-looking. He was exceedingly kind, and he adored her. She didn’t love him. She would never love him.