Author's Note: This one's a few hours early. Hope you don't mind. I have spell checked it and read it through, hopefully less typos and errors slip through than was the case in the previous chapter. I have been thinking of doing a glossary at the end of this of some of the films/books etc. that have inspired me in writing this. What do you think?
Please be aware that this chapter requires a trigger warning for sexual assault.
Chapter 3
Sir Harry was slightly ashamed to admit that he did cry, that night. Sitting in the quiet corner on the swing seat that Miss Evershed had left moments before, the full emotional turmoil of the previous year and everything he had been through seemed to come upon him all at once. His wife's infidelity, the divorce, the spinout from his own infidelity, his children's distance, his son's drinking and gambling, the stress of his job and his officer's reputation ruining the only chance at happiness he had felt for some time. Miss Ruth Evershed was, quite simply, the most brilliant woman he had ever met. Even her refusals had been gentle and logical. After a quarter hour or so of solitude he decided he could not bear to return to the company at the house and instead snuck around the side to the front where he had a servant run to the stables for his horse and asked the nearest footman to convey his apologies to the Carters.
Riding home with haste he went straight to the whiskey at his rented apartments and drank himself into a sorry stupor, waking up in the middle of the night with a pounding headache and a full bladder. He pissed in his chamber pot, shoved it under the bed and then stripped off enough clothes to fall into the bed itself in a reasonable manner. The following morning saw him melancholic and temperamental. Even a cooked breakfast of bacon, eggs and coffee prepared by his landlady could do nothing to improve his demeanour. When he walked into the military offices he shared later that morning, his fellow military men knew at once to keep a wide bearth. His poor assistant took the brunt of more than one bout of temper and his determination to feel sorry for himself was hardly improved when it was announced, just before luncheon, that there was a Miss Evershed downstairs asking for a moment of his time. He refused, sent her away, and spent the next week avoiding every social engagement on his schedule, drinking too much and falling asleep on the uncomfortable furniture of his office overnight only to wake freezing cold in the early hours of the morning.
In complete contrast to General Pearce's profoundly drunken state of unconsciousness, Ruth had lain awake half the night fretting over her decision and the abrupt nature of two marriage proposals in a week from the same man. An eligible man. It was not that she detested the idea of marriage altogether, but she had so many doubts about binding herself to an unsuitable man that he must, surely, understand she could never marry such a powerful man after so short an acquaintance. As soon as the maid got up to light the fires Ruth resolved that she had tossed and turned long enough and got herself ready for the day. As soon as she was dressed and breakfasted she went to the Army Headquarters in the hope of securing an appointment to take up General Pearce's suggestion of her assistance in translating and hoping at the same time that she could ease his suffering by extending the hand of friendship. When she arrived he was not there and was told to return later in the morning. Instead she insisted on awaiting his arrival and so was there to see him enter a half an hour later with a face like a thundercloud and heading straight up the stairs without so much as acknowledging the salutes of the lower ranked officers. Ruth was taken aback, slightly, by the display of temper and almost walked out right then but after a moment's pause she realised that rather than being alarmed at his current temperament she found herself concerned for him. It was not long into their acquaintance as they stood in many a ballroom corner idling away the hours that Miss Evershed had realised the General had a much softer heart underneath the officer's frontage than was generally perceived to be the case. Yet when she sent up word a few minutes later of her presence there the reply was swift and brutal. He would not see her.
In society, too, Ruth Evershed could hardly fail to notice the General's absence. At the next society ball Zoe was the first to ask if something had happened, seeking an explanation for the officer's absence and noting how much the older man seemed to prefer her chaperone's company. Ruth made a polite neutral reply to the effect that the General must surely be busy and hoped that Miss Reynolds would drop the matter.
The next to raise the subject of General Pearce's whereabouts was Mrs Carter, who cornered her in the powder room at the same assembly and asked for an explanation as to why their old friend had departed so suddenly from their dinner party two evenings previous, with no explanation. Ruth tried to duck out of it but Mrs Carter was quite adamant that the footman had said they had been seen in the gardens moments before his departure. Ruth was on the forefront of confessing all but the words wouldn't seem to come out of her mouth and her extended silence resulted in an unhappy and somewhat sharp glare from Mrs Carter that informed Ruth in no uncertain terms that she would drop it for the moment but the matter was hardly concluded. For the first time in her life Miss Evershed felt genuine fear at the prospect of Mrs Carter's wrath. Having considered herself quite astute in the study of people, Ruth was quite ashamed to realise she had failed to acknowledge the true extent of the loyalty that General Pearce stirred up in those around him. In her chest Ruth's heart squeezed and she found herself wondering for the most fleeting of seconds whether she had, in fact, made the right decision before shaking herself and resolving that everything was as it should be and this was the sensible course.
Nevertheless for most of the next week, Ruth spent long hours with her books in the drawing room, brushing up on her Greek and Arabic. The fact that these were the particular languages that the General had sought assistance with was a consideration on which Ruth decided not to let her mind linger. She had, after all, always studied these languages and was simply refreshing her memory of much loved books of her fathers. Other matters soon began to fill up her time. There was the issue of planting in the garden for the new season, the care of the fruit trees and the general running of the household which was being neglected somewhat with the numerous social events of the season. A letter arrived from Cousin Malcolm, one of Miss Evershed's few remaining relatives, and she took her time very carefully responding to the polite overtures for news and gossip from London town.
Before long Zoe called, accompanied by a trusted male servant, asking for Ruth's presence as a chaperone a few days hence. Mr Hunter's father had, it seemed, invited Zoe to tea and Zoe would conscience none other than Ruth to accompany her. She had, therefore, called upon her old friend to solicit her advice regarding clothes, behaviour and everything else. If Mr Hunter's father approved of his son's choice, Zoe confided, then it would soon become known that Mr Hunter and Miss Reynolds were formally courting.
And so it was that a few days hence, Ruth found herself digging out the only really high quality gown she had left, a rather old duck-egg blue satin chemise with faded trim that she managed to update with a new border that the maid fetched from the haberdashers and an alteration to the length of the sleeves. It took some effort to get her hair to do as she wished, raised up in the Grecian style with a few curls offsetting her face. Her hair never would quite curl the way she wished it to, but by the end of a long day's effort she decided she looked as tolerable as any chaperone could expect to in such esteemed company and the fact that her long pelisse was somewhat outdated would surely hardly matter the moment she was inside Lord Hunter's residence and the servants took their coats. Fortunately the generosity of Mr Hunter's father extended to his household sending a town coach pulled by six magnificent matching bay geldings that quite took Ruth's breath away when she first caught sight of them. Two coachmen sat up on top, two footmen at the rear in quite the finest livery Ruth had ever set her eyes upon. Yet still, again and again, her eyes came back to the magnificent, shining, snorting horses that stopped half the street as they drew up to her house. Rarely had finer animals drawn any coach in London and she realised for the first time the sort of comfort that Daniel Hunter's family might offer, regardless of the opinion of high society as to whether he should be amongst them. Clearly his father had decided to favour him and it would be foolish of Zoe, Ruth realised, to spurn such an opportunity. If she truly liked her suitor, who was she or anyone else to decide they were not suited.
Yet in spite of making the best effort she could in the circumstances, the grandeur of the scene before her and the sight of half the street peering out through their windows, if they were not already standing in the street gawping in open amazement, made Ruth feel quite under-dressed as she was assisted by a footman into the coach itself. She was, understandably, the first to be picked up and they progressed to the Reynolds' residence where Zoe was already ready. With her parents gone before her and growing up under the disinterested guardianship of a distant relative who spent much time at his club, Zoe and Ruth had grown quite close but Ruth knew that Zoe longed for the day that she could be a free and independent woman. For a woman like Ruth, no marriage could ever offer such a thing but then Ruth knew that her circumstances were quite unique. With her mother having died before she had finished her schooling, Ruth had grown into womanhood under her father's loving and somewhat modern purview which allowed her all the education and opportunity that any son of a military man could ever have been offered. For Zoe, with all the restrictions of a household of servants and a distant but strict guardian, only marriage could offer the escape she so desired.
Even after the death of Ruth's father, with all the expenses entailed and the extremely modest circumstances she was left in, struggling to afford a servant or new clothing, Ruth still preferred her solitude and her books to any sort of tyranny of a husband. As Zoe chattered away in her excitement, Ruth thought again of the proposals from Sir Harry Pearce. She had told no one of the General's advances although now he had declared himself Ruth finally thought she understood the long gazes and open staring she had found herself on the receiving end of at many a debutante's ball throughout the start of their friendship.
To think that in all her plainness she had attracted the attention of a man of such power and standing! Albeit a man who drank and slept his way around half of London, by all accounts, but there were other aspects to the General's character which did not match up to the reputation. His kindness. His gentleness. The way he worried for his children.
They arrived to be greeted by Lord Hunter himself, home from lately having visited his plantation abroad. The subject made Ruth feel rather uncomfortable. She knew the wealth and incomes of most of society came from those estates abroad and yet the circumstances of the poor souls who laboured on those plantations was, surely, the most un-Christian of things. Never one to consider herself much of a rebel, Ruth had only realised of late that her views probably set her apart as one of the abolitionists and Lord Hunter by contrast was a well known member of the West India Lobby. Quite what the young Mister Hunter thought of his father's views, was a question best left for another day, Ruth decided. From the pamphlets Ruth had read on the subject she understood that the 1807 Act abolishing the trading of human slaves had not, in fact, abolished the institution in its entirety and in fact had only hardened the attitude of those Masters who sought to oppose any attempt at emancipating their property.
Yet here she was, in the home of one of the wealthiest men in London and, Ruth reminded herself, she was here on Zoe's account and so she set her mind to focusing on Miss Reynolds and ensuring she presented herself to the best of her abilities. The hopes of a polite, delicate afternoon tea talking about the weather, however, were dashed almost as soon they were shown into the tea room and Lord Hunter immediately lauched into a tale of disappointment at his son's refusal to accompany him to the family plantation in Jamaica.
"Father..." Private Hunter sighed. "You know I am resolved on the matter."
"You need to learn the family business, Daniel. I'm sure Miss Reynolds agrees with me."
Zoe looked uncomfortable, caught between father and son. "Actually," Zoe said carefully, "I have been reading the works of the late Gustavus Vassa. On your son's recommendation, Lord Hunter."
Lord Hunter sighed, heavily and gestured to the footman for more sugar in his tea. Ruth wondered if the product came from his own estate and if he was therefore trying to make some sort of subtle point.
"You know I cannot countenance people living in such circumstances," Daniel Hunter told his father. "My own influence may be restricted by my low birth and rank but I will use what influence I can, even on you, Father, to make you see reason on this matter."
"They are my property, Son. You cannot tell a man how to run his own estate. Miss Evershed, you are a woman of education I can see. What is your opinion on the subject?"
Put in a corner, Ruth was quite dumbstruck for a moment at being asked such a direct question from such a reknowned proponent of the institution of slavery and wondered for a moment whether to offer an heartfelt or a more neutral reply. Looking around for inspiration she caught sight of the small, chaste Christian cross Zoe wore around her neck and realised there was only one answer she could possibly, in good conscience, give.
"Well if you would permit me to speak as I find, Lord Hunter..." Ruth waited and received a nod in reply. "I find that as a Christian woman I must side with Mister Hunter on the matter."
"You see, Father?" Mister Hunter continued at once, using the support of the women around him to push his pregenitor, "It is not merely a matter of morals. There is also the matter of the rebellions. As a military man myself I can tell you there are far more slaves than soldiers on those islands. In the long run-"
But Lord Hunter seemed to tire of his son's proselytising and sighed heavily, cutting his son off. "Yes, yes, the pragmatic argument. Next you will be quoting the great Plato at me and arguing he was wrong. You must excuse us, ladies, we have had this argument more than once in my household. Let us talk of something more cheerful. I hear there is a concert in town tonight. A recitation of Beethoven's Third Symphony, I understand, in celebration of Napoleon's defeat and exile to Elba. Let it not be said that London society lacks a sense of irony!" Lord Hunter chuckled.
Meanwhile, as Lord Hunter contented himself with his own voice, Ruth could not fail to notice how close Mister Hunter and her charge, Miss Reynolds, sat on the love seat across the room. There was no doubt Zoe would be comfortable, Ruth realised, with a father-in-law like Lord Hunter. He came across as self-important, pompous and arrogant but a man who, doubtless, loved his son.
After tea when they were walking in the gardens, Ruth found herself on the arm of the Viscount himself, listening to the trouble he had had securing a living for his child.
"I tried to purchase him a commission of course, but the bastards wouldn't have it. My daughter is lately married as you may have heard and to a man with a proven track record of producing sons, I made sure, so she will doubtless be with child soon if she is not already and then the title will go to my grandson when one appears, which will surely not be long."
Ruth blushed furiously, struggling to keep her shock to herself at the man's brazen attitude to his daughter's life and marriage bed. To openly discuss such matters with an unmarried lately was, really, quite inappropriate in Ruth's own opinion. "My dear Lord Hunter, you must excuse me but I hardly think it appropriate."
"You never thought of marrying yourself? Or life as a mistress, perhaps? You are quite pretty in your own way. I could make you quite comfortable and give you children. All my liasons have children."
For just the briefest of moments Ruth froze in horror at the realisation the Lord Hunter was propositioning her. Should she stay silent and hope he dropped the subject or would it be more correct to issue and outright refusal. "I'm not sure whether I've just been complimented or insulted, Lord Hunter. I am nobody's mistress. As it happens I am quite content with my situation."
They were just walking past the summer house and ahead of them, Zoe and Daniel turned a corner, chattering away happily. The moment they turned the corner, however, Lord Hunter pounced. Ruth saw it almost in slow motion, the way he turned to her, the way he lunged towards her, the way he pinned her body against the outside wall of the summer with a forearm against her chest. The threatening look in her eye. Too shocked to speak, too shocked to do anything in response to the assault fear struck to Ruth's very heart as he began to lift up her skirt and petticoat.
"Please...please Lord Hunter..." Ruth shook her head
"Please what?" He grinned.
"Stop! Please stop this. Don't do this, please don't do this."
"Begging for it, are you? I like a woman who begs. Daniel's mother begged too, did you know that?"
Ruth began shaking in terror and his arm pressed heavier across her body preventing her escape. She looked around helplessly and spotted a footman at some distance across the way standing, eyes front with his hands clasped behind his back and knew immediately she wouldn't get any help there and all the while Lord Hunter's eyes were dripping with avarice and glee, his hand inching up her leg, past her knee. Frozen to the spot in panic numbness seemed to overcome her. It was as if her mind detached completely from her body as his hand moved over her hip, her buttocks and then to the front and down between her legs.
"No," Ruth gasped, hating his touch with every fibre of her being. Hating the way he parted her lips and explored her, chuckling to himself at her despair and then forced two fingers inside her dry vagina. Ruth bit back a whimper, terror coursing through her as the hand was removed and he began to fumble at the buttons on his breeches when in the distance Lance-Corporal Hunter's voice rang out for this father.
In a moment he was gone, stepping back onto the path with a wave and a smile, joking about his age and falling behind.
Ruth sank against the wall, her shaking legs struggling to hold her up. Shaking hands tried to smooth down her skirts. Blood rushed through her head, she couldn't see, she couldn't hear. A fog of relief and terror flooded her as she struggled to get her bearings. With difficulty Ruth stumbled towards the summerhouse and sank down upon a seat. Clasping her hands together and wishing she was at that moment home, alone, with Fidget. Her eyes did not take in the view. Confusion, guilt and a storm of emotion warred in her mind until a hand on her own made Ruth jump and suddenly Zoe was there, asking of she was quite alright with Lance-Corporal Hunter standing in the distance looking on with concern.
"I...I don't feel well."
"Well why didn't you say something? Come on, we'll get you home. It is kind of Lord Hunter to invite us to the concert this evening but we mustn't overexert ourselves. Come, Miss Evershed. Its alright, take my arm...that's it..."
Ruth was pale, drawn and silent in their walk back. She refused to go in the house, insisting instead on the need for fresh air. Zoe could not fail to hide her concern at Miss Evershed's unusual turn and moreover Zoe thought her chaperone to be quite unlike herself in the manner in which she refused to let go of Zoe's arm. Nearby, Lance-Corporal Hunter hovered, his face the picture of concern as Lord Hunter reassured his son that women were fickle beings and they would surely be quite alright in a trifle.
The fact that Ruth had to bear the ride home in the barouche that Lord Hunter had provided was an added source of fear, anxiety and emotional pain. Anger began to well inside her. Why hadn't she done something? Why hadn't she stopped him? Why hadn't she warned Zoe? Miss Reynolds had been dropped off minutes before with nary a word said except an insistence that Ruth look after herself. The stares of the neighbours as she dismounted from the carriage took on a different hue after her ordeal that afternoon. The question of what sort of family Miss Reynolds might be considering marrying into took on a different tone altogether but Ruth could not think of such things now. Beth met her at the door, took one look at her and ordered her to bed before feeding her with hot, sweet tea with lots of milk accompanied by toasted bread and jam and asking if she should call for a doctor.
"No, thank you, Beth. I took a funny turn, that's all. I'm sure I'll be quite alright in the morning."
Beth looked far from convinced but gave into her mistress's wishes and left her with a bedside bell and promised to check on her in an hour. Much of the rest of the evening was spent with Ruth stroking Fidget who had snuck into the bedroom where he was normally forbidden and jumped up onto the bed. His warm fur and the loyalty of her pet cat were a small solace. She had been attacked, she had been denigrated and she had stood there and done nothing. Zoe was at risk and Ruth had done nothing to warn her. Who could she tell? Who would belive her? Who would believe anything said against such a man, a man with so much power and influence? And even if she were believed who in their right mind would pursue the matter?
Everything in Ruth told her that the son was not like the father. Lance-Corporal Hunter had never once displayed any ounce of ill behaviour towards Zoe or any other woman in his company. Nor could the young man possibly know of his mother. From their earlier discussion on the subject of slavery, it was clear that Lord Hunter believed he could do no wrong and where something was wrong, it was still his right to do as he pleased. Such men were dangerous, Ruth knew. Dangerous men, dangerous masters. Unpredictable and fickle. Not like Sir Harry. Sir Harry may have displayed flickers of quickfire temper at the sight of some unwanted social acquaintance but she had never been treated with anything other than respect in his presence. Thinking of General Pearce and his strange proposal only worsened the emotional ordeal of Miss Evershed, it was difficult to the man she felt so drawn to in the same breath as Lord Hunter and she resolved not to think on the matter, which naturally meant that she spent long hours fretting over what she might have done, what General Pearce would think of her, how to save Zoe and overwhelming anger at everything and nothing. It was a long time before Ruth finally lapsed into an exhausted sleep.
Four days of complete solitude, bed rest, prayer and lots of soup improved Ruth's angry, fraught and volatile mood. She spent long hours pacing. She sat in the garden. She agonised over the chess board. Finally, with no more answers than she'd had the day she was attacked other than the absolute terror that coursed through her veins every time she thought of the ordeal, she came to the conclusion that she was in need of some purpose, some work, that she could absorb herself in in the hope of burying awful memory of that hateful day. Or, at the very least, she might concentrate on the work and let her subconscious come up with its own answers in its own time.
It was with this new resolve in mind that Ruth dressed herself in a plain, demure dark-blue dress that she hoped would allow her to fade into the background and made her way once more to the offices of General Pearce with a singular purpose in mind. She was going to be seen and she was going to take on his translation work because if she didn't do something she was going to lose her mind and end up in Bethlam.
It was, by anyone's standards, quite early in the morning when General Pearce's office door burst open and Miss Ruth Evershed burst in, followed by the desk sergeant he recognised from downstairs, following in her wake and insisting she couldn't go in there.
"Its quite alright, Sergeant. Miss Evershed is welcome here."
"But sir!"
"Miss Evershed is here in a professional capacity," Sir Harry confided quietly, only to make the Sergeant's eyebrows raise up sharply in surprise at the audacity of the officer before him. Only as his words were spoken aloud and elicited the surprising reaction from his subordinate did Sir Harry realise the manner in which they had been taken. "As a linguist, Sergeant. A linguist! Jesus Christ," Sir Harry muttered and rubbed his forehead.
"I wanted to speak to you, General, about the translation work," Miss Evershed announced at what turned out to be quite an opportune moment. Ushering the Sergeant out but leaving the door open for the sake of propriety, General Pearce turned to give his full attention to his visitor. "Miss Evershed, how do you do?"
But already he seemed to have lost control of the situation. Spying the papers on his desk she had made a beeline for the assorted pile of papers he had discarded to one side due to his lack of talent in that direction and in all truth, he should have secured the services of a linguist much sooner than he had. Scratching through them with her fingernails the General watched as Miss Evershed scrambled from one sheet to the next, alarm lighting her features.
"What?" Sir Harry asked finally.
"How long have these been sitting here? This one is dated nearly two months ago?!"
General Pearce blushed to think. It was uncharacteristic of him to let something linger so long but the difficult matter of a trained scholar who was eminently trustworthy was a hurdle which had remained from the day they had come through his door to this one.
"I will need all the materials you have," Miss Evershed told him. "Everything that I'm allowed to see. Did they come with other communications? Some of them refer to other documents. Do you know who he is?"
"Who who is?"
"Your mole."
The General stopped dead.
"You should go and contact your Superiors, General. It is most urgent. The information he's giving out..."
"Miss Evershed," Sir Harry interrupted, "How can you possibly know-"
"Who else has seen these?" Miss Evershed demanded.
He sighed heavily. "They've been sitting on my desk for some time until I could secure the services of a trustworthy translator. May I presume, given the nature of your arrival at my office, that you are interested in taking on the work?"
Ruth did, at least, have the decency to blush. She had almost forgotten for a moment where she was, the old thrill of her work with military missives coming back to her. Once upon a time Admiral Evershed had listened intently to her advice. It was not her place here, she realised, to be so forthright with the General. Yet he was standing there, taking her rebuke and making polite enquiries into the nature of her visit. "Yes, General," Ruth put down the papers. "And now that I see the letters you refer to I can understand that discretion is most definitely required. At first glance it would seem that the matter may be somewhat more complicated than you initially anticipated."
"Miss Evershed, I have known for some time that there is a high level spy amongst society London. However-"
"Yes, yes, but the Americans, General. Why didn't you say something?"
"Say what?"
"All this time we've been worried about Napoleon," Ruth shook her head. "Of course, its blindingly obvious when you think about it."
The General, no matter how hard he considered the matter, did not have the slightest clue to what Miss Evershed was referring. "Miss Evershed," Sir Harry began quietly, "I'm afraid you are going to have to enlighten me."
"From what I can see at first glance, the contents of these letter appear to refer to information gathered from sailors who have worked on illicit transatlantic slave ships. Of course we've known for some time that the United States is unhappy with the clauses under the 1807 Act allowing British privateers to board ships bearing neutral flags. It would seem that whoever your mole is, is passing information to the Americans."
"To try and get the Act overturned? Or for some other nefarious purpose? Whatever does that have to do with Napoleon?" The General began pacing. "Miss Evershed, I shall need accurate translations of all the correspondence as soon as may be."
"Of course," Ruth began gathering up her materials.
"However," General Pearce continued, "I'm afraid I cannot allow you to remove them from the premises. You may have my office. I can have someone sent to your residence for whatever you need to complete the task."
That seemed to give Miss Evershed pause for thought and she stared at him with those piercing blue eyes in a way that made his heart lurch slightly and a sigh escaped him. "I should warn you that depending on the contents of the letter I may also require your presence when next updating the Prince Regent on the matter."
"The Prince Regent? You cannot be serious?"
"I am required to personally update him regarding my progress in my investigation at least once a week," Sir Harry confided. "The last update was, as you can imagine, somewhat strained due to my lack of progress. I cannot imagine the news that we now have to watch out for activities from our former colony as well as Bonepart can be welcome in any way but it is, at least, progress, is it not?"
"General, you must excuse me, I cannot possibly go before the Prince Regent."
The General stopped and looked up sharply. "May I ask why not? Even if the Prince himself commands it?"
Miss Evershed looked away at this and blushed, seeming to lose some of her confidence at this announcement.
"He has informed me that when I do secure a linguist he is intent on meeting with him personally."
"Well for starters, General, I am not a man."
The General waved off that excuse without a word.
"And secondly I have not a thing to wear. I hesitate to own to it, but I have not had a new dress since my father died. Economies will not allow for it, General, and it is not that I mind but my father would mind, if he were still here and I cannot...I cannot..." Sir Harry heard a hitch in her breath and turned towards her, taking the smallest of steps in her direction. "...I cannot bear the thought of my father ever thinking ill of me," Miss Evershed whispered, her eyes blinking rapidly to stop the tears that had welled up from spilling down her cheeks. She sniffled then, and cleared her throat, excusing herself. "I know it is not proper to talk of such things in company, but I think we are beyond such things, you and I," Miss Evershed finished.
Sir Harry reached out and put a gentle hand on Miss Evershed's forearm. "I tend to find, in matters such as these, providence has a funny way of playing its hand, Miss Evershed." She looked up at him then and he was struck by the slight twinkle of hope in her eyes. Sir Harry could not help but respond to the blooming warmth in his chest with a smile that heated his eyes and made Miss Evershed's lips turn up slightly in the corners. "There, isn't that better," He patted her arm. "Why don't I send for some tea and have a second desk brought in and then we can get started."
They worked away for most of the morning, General Pearce at his desk and Miss Evershed at a second desk brought in and situated at right angles to his own. The General ordered a runner to go to Miss Evershed's home to speak to the maid and have the titles she requested sent over for the aid of her translation work. He had tea brought in. By the time lunchtime came around he was just about ready to send for some soup and sandwiches when Miss Evershed announced that she would have to return home and could return again tomorrow or later that afternoon.
"Miss Evershed," Sir Harry countered, "You yourself spoke of the urgency of the matter."
"Indeed, General but there are some matters to which I am not able to attend here that...oh why must you be so! You know perfectly well I cannot speak about..."
"Speak about what?"
Ruth rolled her eyes at him. It was such a personal reaction that Sir Harry found himself taking a moment to memorise it. "You have been married, General, you are perfectly aware that there are some matters concerning a woman's deportement to which a female must attend in the privacy of her own home." She could hardly, after all, change her rags here and while she was at the end of her monthly bleed and had spent the portion of her heavier days cooped up at home, Ruth was still aware of the necessity of changing the rags regularly as it tailed off.
The General's eyes fixed on her in confusion until she made a little tilt of the head that somehow communicated exactly what she meant and he suddenly realised quite what she was referring to. "Ah," Harry's face turned slightly pink partly at the topic of conversation. He was shocked, indeed, that she had even alluded to the subject although he considered that this just another thing to add to the odd and strangely intimate nature of their relationship and he supposed, given his obtuseness. Somehow it had completely failed to occur to him that in engaging a woman for the task he would of course be required to consider such things. He could quite have kicked himself for his thoughtlessness but hoped he could make it up in the manner in which they went forwards. "Of course, Miss Evershed. You must do whatever is necessary to see to your personal comfort. If there is anything I can do, please do not hesitate to ask."
"Thank you, General. I have been sitting for some time anyway. Let me take a couple of hours for lunch and I shall return this afternoon to finish the most important letters. Will that satisfy the Prince Regent for the time being, do you think?"
"Considering, Miss Evershed, that you have made more progress in a morning than I have staring at those letters in two weeks, I should quite think it will, Madam."
Ruth could have blushed, were it not for the fact that her face was already bright red from the embarrassment of having to explain the female body to man who had been married and fathered a daughter. While it was not done to talk about such things, there was no getting around the fact that such things had to be brought into consideration. Since her father had spent much of his time in his study at home and had correspondence conveyed to and from the house by his inferiors, such personal matters had never been something that she had to consider before when taking on work of this nature. It was, however, something which had to be worked around and there was no getting away from it. A few days off here and there, or regular visits home would quite suffice, Ruth was satisfied.
"Well then," General Pearce stood to show her out, "I thank you for your time."
Miss Evershed gathered her purse and pelisse and allowed him to walk her as far as the door where he secured a handsome cab and insisted on paying the fare in advance. As any gentleman would, Sir Harry offered her his hand as she stepped up and found herself strangely reluctant to let it go. It was warm, his hand. Warm and large and gave her the most peculiar sensation of safety, which was at once comforting and yet completely inexplicable after her ordeal with Lord Hunter. Indeed, after that ordeal she had sworn to Beth to spurn the company of any men although the words had been spoken in haste and anger. Yet only as the cab drew aware and their hands were parted did Ruth become aware that she had just willingly spent an entire morning in the company of a man whom she admired and, apparently, trusted.
Yes, in spite of everything, Ruth Evershed realised she did trust General Pearce. Now wasn't that food for thought.
Author's Note: The Slave Trade was abolished in 1807 thanks in part to a quirk of law about ships and flags. Ships at sea are considered to be the territory of the flag they are flying. Slave ships traditionally used the flag of a country that was neutral in the Napoleonic Wars - such as the United States. Privateers - government pirate ships basically - were allowed to seize enemy ships as part of the war effort. However, shortly after the turn of the century a law was passed allowing french ships sailing under neutral flags to be seized by privateers. This meant that essentially any ship sailing under a neutral flag could be seized and since so many slave ships used neutral flags, the trade was severely dented leading eventually to the abolition of the slave trade in the British Empire in 1807. However, slavery itself continued until 1833 so we sit in the middle years here, where the slave trade has been abolished but slavery has not. Those with slaves want to protect what they see as their property while abolitionists wanted an end to slavery altogether and the United States, as you can imagine, was really quite put out that ships bearing the stars and stripes kept getting seized as the US flag was the neutral flag of choice. So that's the context of the politics you see in this chapter.
One quick point about the tea - some abolitionists refused to take sugar in their tea as a protest against the use of slavery in its production. By taking sugar in his tea in front of Danny, Lord Hunter is making a point about the source of his power and wealth.