That night, as I passed down the hallway to my bedroom, I tarried briefly by the door to Uncle's Study. I truly did not want to belief Lord Norbert, certainly he must be mistaken! A simply turn of the knob would prove his thesis wrong and thus place the whole argument into question. That is all that was required, a simple turn of the knob. I reached out my hand but then drew it back - what if it did not turn? What if it was locked as he had said? Was I ready to face the implications that mere failure in rotation would raise. The idea made me feel ill. The lock itself was big, ancient - requiring a heavy iron key to be turned. No. I was not ready to test that knob. I was not ready to surrender my faith in my Uncle just yet, I decided taking a deep breath - surely tomorrow. I took two steps before I was back at the door, my hand firmly on the knob. A quick twist of my wrist yield my answer: the knob did not budge.
I sat on my bed that night cleaning under my nails with a brush - it was a nervous habit (Mother would call it a filthy one, getting dirt on my clean covers that I was then to sleep under) that I found, under the circumstances, necessary to indulge. Sarah rapped on the door. "Come in." I called. I heard the knob turn and click hard against the lock. I jumped up quickly, "Oh dear, I'm sorry Sarah - I forgot I had locked it." I apologized turning the key.
"It's fine Miss." Sarah said pushing the door in with her behind, her hands otherwise occupied by a large basin of steaming water. "Though I can't see why you'd need to lock your door."
"It's an old habit." I lied. "Growing up among a younger brother and his troublesome friends leads a girl to be more cautious."
"Oh yes, I understand, I have 3 younger brother myself and one older (not that age was in any way a help) - had we had locks to lock I am sure I would have been spared a great deal of embarrassment growing up. Anyhow, let's get you ready for bed." In a short time I was scrubbed and changed while nary a word passed between us. Finally, the silence grew too much for me to bear:
"Sarah, I have a question for you."
"Dale did mention you had been looking for me earlier, what is it you need?"
"Well, and I don't mean to pry, and you do not have to tell me if it's too much: but it's about that man you told me about the other day." I noticed her smile waver for a moment.
"Yes, Miss?"
"I was just wondering, what was his name?"
"Oh Miss, even if I knew his family name I wouldn't tell you. I should hate to bring any trace of scandal on him."
"You don't know his name?"
"No Miss, I didn't pay any mind to it when I first met him - I mean what is the name of a Lord to a maid? I only knew him by his Christian name."
"I'm sorry, I know I'm being unfair by asking all this."
"Not at all Miss, I'm a bit flattered that you thought enough of the story to ask."
"So what did you call him then? I shouldn't be able to identify him by his Christian name so it should be safe to sate my curiosity without exposing him." She thought for a moment, weighing the merits of my argument.
"James."
I spent the better part of the night staring at the ceiling above my bed unable to sleep. My thoughts circled around one theme as water down a drain, the name of Sarah's suitor - I heard her whisper it over and over "James." It must be mere coincidence. No. It had to be mere coincidence - James was such a very common name! Her suitor had disappeared as she said: because he was a gentleman who must marry a lady, not a lowly maid - it was only the final dalliance of a besotted man before the irresistible gravity of obligation stole him from her orbit. And yet I knew, in my heart this was a lie. But the alternative was so much beyond worse I desperately sought to convince myself of the alternative. A coincidence - that was all. A coincidence that a spy had disappeared in my Uncle's house. That the very spy in question bore the same name as Sarah's suitor. That both had vanished with nary a trace three months ago. Coincidence that my Uncle locked the door of his Study! I sat bolt upright in my bed. Throwing aside the covers I sprang to the cool floor and set to pacing, hand to my chin, its neighbor supporting on the opposite's elbow. If it were no coincidence - and no power on heaven or earth could convince me that coincidence were all it was - then what did it mean? James had begun his relationship with Sarah six months past - by this time he had been engaged to Miss Underhill and those who knew the pair attested to James's fidelity. Equally, Sarah attested the man had pursued no improper relations with her beyond what would be scarcely scandal if happened upon - and such relations were the only reasonable explanation why a gentleman would confess his love for a maid while engaged to another. Since infidelity could not be the reason for his meetings there must have existed another. But what could it possibly be? I paced across the room and back again for quite some time. What use could a simple maid have? If it were information on the household he sought would not it have been more profitable to seek the friendship of Dale who could be found at the pub without fail on his day off? His fondness for spirits approached legend in town, overshadowed only by his famed propensity for imbibing copious amounts in a single evening. He was no lush but he took his personal days quite seriously in his desire to empty as many bottles as possible before the evening was ended. No one knew the workings of the house as he! Or he might even have sought to captivate the attentions of Clara, the head housekeeper. She was older but still had not lost a trace of the formidable beauty of her youth. She was not so far gone that the notice of a gentleman would not turn her head. Or would it? Sarah was, unquestionably, young, naive - and pliable of will. But she also held no information that could be of use to a spy. So what could such a young woman give him that would be of such import? I stopped dead in the middle of the floor - my fist dropped to my open hand: "Access!" I whispered aloud. It had never been about what secrets might be opened to him by careless tongues - only what doors! In the morning he would hang the fishhook over the door - a sign noticed only by Sarah who would see it when she took the laundry out to be washed. In the evening, she would be the last to pass through the garden when she took up the dry laundry from the lines. She would then unlock the garden gate to allow her paramour to pass into the garden unnoticed - presumably he would then wait on the bench under the willow until late in the night for Sarah to come join him. But, he had not been content to wait for her! Rather he had used that time to conduct his investigation in the house! Three months time! What must he have uncovered in all those weeks! And what was so very important that he felt the need to continue it so terribly long? He had not met Sarah that last night - instead he had vanished leaving no trace and abandoning his fiance. Was what he discovered so urgent it required he immediately remove himself from all acquaintance with not even so much as a word of explanation? Or so perilous? The latter thought arrived unbidden but from its very inception it dominated all others. Had he found himself in such great danger it required he flee town for his own safety and the safety of those around him? I could not imagine my Uncle posing any threat to him, but perhaps there were those in Uncle Richard's circle who might. Nicholas had mentioned his father's own cruel propensities - perhaps Mr. Martin and others like him were Lord Bond's true target and, as Sarah had been, Uncle Richard was but a means to an end. I could readily envision this man, Lord Bond (whoever he was, for in my mind he appeared as a tall shadowy figure possessing no distinguishable feature), crouched before a keyhole watching a party of older men with pipes held aloft in one hand, brandy in the other, and generally crowing boisterously of the intricacies of their professions. Even as I entertained this notion I knew it to be wishful thinking - but he was my Uncle and one of the few people who showed any manner of true kindness to me; I could not bear to suspect him so long as it was possible the truth might prove otherwise. I had to get into that Study as soon as possible! Better I than Lord Norbert who had already judged Uncle Richard guilty by the mere virtue of there being no evidence to the contrary. Now, firmly decided on a plan of action, I returned to my bed with intent to surrender myself to the void the moment my eyes closed. I slept little that night.
The following morning I was awakened by the pensive knock of Sarah at my door. Bright sunlight streamed in through my bedroom window - had not the sky just been turning to pale pink a moment ago? I groaned, throwing an arm over my eyes to block those hateful rays I called out, "Come in. Just leave the tray." I ordered, intending to return to blissful unconsciousness the moment she had left. The doorknob shook but refused to turn.
"I'm sorry Miss, it's locked." I winced behind my arm. This locking of the door would prove the death of me yet!
"Just a moment." I grumbled ruefully throwing the sheets from my form.
"It's ok Miss, I can ask Dale to bring the key." she answered from behind the oaken barrier. 'Ok? What did that even mean again?' my sleep addled brain attempted to decipher - I'd heard the word, some piece of low quarter slang Chet slurred when drunk, but I could not place the meaning. I began to suspect they must have been rather desperate for staff when they took on this girl for she lacked greatly in social graces - even in their most rudimentary forms - and displayed a startling lack of judgment... even for a maid. But then, she did own the rare ability to make one such as I appear presentable and a pleasing temperament... perhaps this was the charm that induced my Aunt to bring her on. A maid could be taught propriety but cosmetologie was a dark art one must be born to.
"It is no matter, Sarah, I am up. There is no reason to bother Dale about it." Certainly, I would prefer he have no knowledge of my new habits and most assuredly I did not wish for him to see me in my bedclothes! Regardless, I was already standing by the time the suggestion had been made and there was no realistic possibility that sleep might again find me now that my mind had begun its incessant whirring - though what had set it about its activities I could not yet guess for, while it might be working, my consciousness was not yet able to acknowledge the fruits of its labor. I unlocked the door on the second attempt (locks were an impossibility this early in the morning) and Sarah entered with the tray. Setting it to rest she bowed slightly.
"Thank you Sarah, that will be all for now."
"Miss, we received a letter from Mr. Martin that he will be calling after dinner - would you prefer to dress for his arrival before or after the meal?" she inquired innocently. Nicholas! In the blur of yesterday's events I had entirely forgotten him!
"Before dinner. Yes, definitely before."
"As you wish, Miss." she demurred, leaving the room. As soon as she had disappeared I fell backwards onto the tuffet stool that stood beside the vanity. Gathering my courage I peered at my reflection. 'Perhaps it is not too late to cancel' thought I pressing gingerly on a swollen eyelid. No, best to soldier on - were I to cancel there would be no telling when I might see him again and I must see him! If only just to escape the horrible thoughts which swirled about my tormented mind.
Nicholas was punctual, arriving just after the meal had been cleared. I wondered: had he waited for this hour with as much eagerness as I? But today there was to be no intimate tete-a-tete; no, the thing had been forcibly pried from my Uncle's lackadaisical grasp and was now firmly held in Aunt Mabel's steely grip. Taking my seat across from him I felt less a lady being called on than a mouse trying to avoid the ever vigilant gaze of the hawk - I saw Nicholas shift in his chair, visibly discomfited by my Aunt glaring at him from across the room preemptively accusing him of bringing shame upon the house of Moore. There should be no hint of scandal so long as she might prevent it! I cannot say what we managed to discuss for at all times I was only aware of the vengeful stare which bore into the very heart of me. I was not forgiven for my antics on the trail and now I must reap the scattered grain I had sown so irresponsibly with regimented diligence that it might all still come to a proper harvest. Well before it seemed the proper time, Nicholas took up his top hat, bowed, and, taking my hand with a gentle press, left. "Now that, my dear, is as a call from a gentleman should occur." my Aunt intoned imperiously. I could have wept for the injustice of it all! What good was it to merely sit with a man across a table and idly discuss the simple business of the day - things of so little consequence they were forgotten as soon as said! And Nicholas Martin held so much promise for greater, higher thoughts! Were it his brother I might be able to tolerate senseless prattle - I had come to expect it of him - but to deny me the nourishing meat and substitute it instead with thin milk when I knew the former to be there for the giving was just about more than I could bear. Yet this was to be the new way of things. I had proven myself unequal to my Aunt's trust and prone to ruination so far as she was to be concerned and now I must rue my headstrong ways. But such punishment did not produce the desired penitence but rather a burning disdain for my vindictive relation.
The following week I determined to defy my Aunt. This time, when Nicholas took my hand in farewell a small slip of paper fell from the tips of my fingers into the cradle of his palm. The paper was of little note excepting that upon it was written a day, an address, and a place. That Sunday I only just happened to pass Nicholas on my sojourn into the south wood just beyond the garden gate.
"Your Aunt would be furious to know what you have been about." Nicholas chided gently.
"Do you intend to reveal me?" I inquired, a mischievous grin spread across my lips.
"How might I without revealing myself and bringing us both to shame?"
"Perhaps you might show the missive but falsely claim you did not heed it."
"No, my princess, I strive to be an honest man - I will not claim that which I have not done, nor vice-versa as the situation may require."
"Then, I believe, there is no way that you might expose me without casting that same light upon yourself."
"I suppose we must be sworn to secrecy."
"But you are an honest man." I taunted.
"And, were anyone to ask if, while walking by the spring in the glade I encountered you then I must affirm it. And were they to ask if said encounter had been orchestrated by either party then that I would be honor bound to affirm as well. But were no one to ask such questions... then it is not my obligation to provide unsolicited answers to all potential queries." he responded, smiling in that conspiratorial manner.
"I cannot fault you in that." The sharp crack of a twig breaking startled me. I quickly scanned the glade for whatever interloper may have happened upon us. There, only a short distance from the spring, my eyes met with the great dark stare of a deer. Nicholas and I glanced at each other with a laugh of relief.
"It would probably be best if I go, we may not be so lucky the next time."
"That is certain! But when might I chance to meet with you again?"
"I'll call next week." he caught my sour expression. "No, that won't do - not with your Aunt... there is a ball at the Keeting's estate in Farningham, just to the south, in a fortnight. It is a private affair but I shall request the host extend an invitation to you and your relations." he turned to go, but I caught his arm,
"Will you still call?" I inquired anxiously.
"Yes." he chuckled. "Otherwise they might become suspicious, or worse."
"Worse?"
"They may believe I have lost interest and thus may attempt to replace me with another - and I shall not allow my position to be usurped."
"Your position?"
"Yes, as my princess's humble servant." he answered crouching to take my hand in mock submission. The electricity of his touch thrilled through my arm to my mind where its flash blinded all ability to do anything more than grin dumbly, my face aflame. A wink of his eye and he had departed leaving me still standing, not yet able to comprehend how to move my legs in similar fashion.
The following weeks proceeded in just the way we had discussed. Nicholas called each Wednesday just following dinner, and, as with the first time, Aunt Mabel never once allowed her stare to wander from us even a moment lest she turn back to find us engaged in unforgivable sin: which I imagine to be something as terrifically shocking as touching hands or holding the other's gaze for too long. Temptation to spite her under the guise of a sudden fit of madness boiled within me - how I longed to catch Nicholas in a sudden furtive embrace "Oh dear Aunt Mabel! I'm so sorry, but the cat told me I must protect him from an attack by the devil himself." or some such rot. I don't pretend to have any skill in my excuses - but for one who has already indulged in the belief of my madness even the most transparent tale becomes plausible. Nicholas would know it to be all in pretense - unforgivably willful, perhaps; but not mad. He would forgive it - I daresay he might enjoy it - I can readily envision him laughing as he played along, assuring me that now that he was aware of the Devil's plot he would be more vigilant in resisting it. My Aunt would be in a panic, believing all was lost and the suitor would now flee. What would she think when he returned the next Wednesday at his appointed time?
But this I did not dare for such theatrics would certainly leave me banned from any social activity for the remainder of the season and I could not tolerate missing the Keeting's Ball. "When have balls become something I anticipate rather than loathe?" I asked myself while lying in bed, the night before, unable to sleep from the excitement pulsing through my nerves. "It seems love is more of a madness than all my sense is equal to. I don't know whether I should despise or indulge it!" I saw again the moment he took my hand in the glade; his face, still young for he had not long passed the age of thirty, dappled by the rays of sunlight breaking through the canopy of leaves. And those eyes! Pure and honest pools and yet always dancing with a hint of mischief - I could watch that light dance upon them all day and never grow weary of it. "There will be no watching at all if you cannot sleep." I reprimanded myself sternly. Still he and I danced about the ballroom in my mind heedless of my warning. 'How do people ever sleep in such a state!' I wondered. 'I am in desperate need of that which tears me from my ruminations which I equally have no desire to depart from. Yet, if I do not cease in entertaining those thoughts how may they ever come to fruition!' I lay my head on the pillow willing the memories from my mind but every time I thought I had them beaten back within minutes they had rallied and reasserted their dominance once more over my consciousness assuring that it might remain. Finally, frustrated I sprung from under the covers - perhaps a walk through the house would satisfy my senses enough to allow them to yield. I padded down the darkened hallway, pitch black but for the light from the windows adorning either end. But then, no! There was a small slice of amber escaping from under one of the doors further down the way. "Now that is a curious thing." I whispered to none but myself. Ever so carefully I treaded the hall, careful that not even a creak should be produced underfoot. Slowly I approached the portal, it was now I recognized the room it emanated from - my Uncle's study! Slowly I approached and knelt before the lock, peering in through the keyhole. Within my Uncle sat at his desk clad in his bedclothes, a letter held before him. He seemed to read the missive with great interest, pausing only to scribble in a nearby book. I watched him for I cannot say how long - no more than a quarter of an hour - suddenly the clang of a gong pierced the silence, sounded twice, and faded into the darkness. Two in the morning already! That left no more than four hours before the sun rose bringing with it those accursed birds! Thinking of nothing but my foul luck I allowed my weight to shift to my left foot - I heard the scream of the creak before I even realized the cause of it. My Uncle started from his writing and stared at the door. For what seemed the longest moment of my life I dared not even breathe as I watched, rooted to my place. He listened carefully for further sounds but none came. Seemingly satisfied, he folded the piece of parchment, placed it in the small brown book, and placed it high on the shelf. Letting out a loud
"Harumph!" he looked to the mantle where sat a sizable marble clock. "Two o' clock already." he mumbled. He turned towards the door. Immediately I fled my position at the lock dashing as fast as I silently could to the foyer; turning the corner I flattened myself against the wall. His heavy footfalls came ever closer. I heard the knob turn, harsh as the aging metal shifted. I held my breath as the door opened, the footsteps stalled for a moment, then continued in a staccato pattern that gave me to know he was moving to shut the door. The key turned in the lock. Summoning my courage I peeked around the wall's edge - Uncle Richard slipped the key into his pocket and turned down the hall toward his room. I waited until I heard the door of the room shut before I abandoned my hiding place, I followed his path to the door and peered inside. I observed as Uncle Richard took the key from his robe pocket and slipped it under the pillow.
"Rats." I hissed. The sound of my own voice startled me - I clapped my hand over my mouth, eyes wide. Uncle Richard made no stirring to indicate he had heard my utterance but continued in his late night routine. Finally, climbing under the covers, he blew the candle out obscuring the scene in instant blackness. I breathed a sigh of relief and hurried back to my room any thoughts of my Uncle's innocence dying with every step until I heard the metallic shift of my own lock. I fell backwards against the door, key still in hand, and slid to the floor. What could my Uncle be about that would require such secrecy? And what might his involvement be with the disappearance of Lord Bond?
I awoke late the following afternoon slumped against the door, my key still in hand. It was a few moments before I recognized the hollow sound of something knocking on wood and quite a few more before I was able to connect it with the door pushing at my back. "Miss?" Sarah's voice called. I scrambled to my feet.
"Miss Moore?" another voice boomed. The doorknob shook as from someone repeatedly turning it. I felt a hard push against my back from the sharp wooden edge.
"Y- yes!" I cried, scrambling to my feet. The door burst open revealing Dale flanked by a terrified Sarah. Relief washed over the whole of her form.
"Oh thank the Lord!" she ejaculated. "I was so worried! When you didn't answer the door for breakfast I thought you must be dead to the world, but when you didn't come down for dinner - and then we couldn't open the door..." the poor girl seemed on the verge of tears.
"I didn't mean to worry you; I was so eager for the ball I wasn't able to sleep until an obscenely late hour - I suppose I was so deep in my dreams I could not hear you calling me. It is a singular thing the door getting stuck so soundly." I attempted a smile to conceal my guilt.
"We shall have Mr. Jones examine it." Dale assured me.
"See that you do. I should not want to find myself trapped in my own room." I answered haughtily, wakefulness allowing me to more fully commit to the deception. "That will be all, thank you Dale." the Butler bowed, taking his leave of the entryway.
"Oh Miss, I was afraid something had happened to you." Sarah said, bustling into the room.
"Fortunately it was nothing of the sort." I answered. I became aware of the cold metal clasped against my palm -a thought occurred to me, "How were you able to unlock the door?"
"Dale has a skeleton key; it opens any door in the house." she replied absently, pushing through the fabrics of the wardrobe; at once drawing out one fine silky thing and then another and another.
"Any door?"
"Any as far as I know, Miss. Here, let's see how the green one looks." she held an emerald gown up to me.
I stepped nervously from the carriage, pulling my gown from my feet so to keep it from catching. The dress was a fine pale blue dress with six fat white roses arranged across the front of the skirt not unlike a naval officer's buttons. The house before me was enormous! It was near as large as the Duke's mansion in the Commons though much darker in coloration. I could not help but stare at the facade as the footman guided me to the ground. My Aunt whispered in my ear, "Sir Keeting's fortune springs from his family's long involvement in the East India Company." She continued to list the man's various associations and financial holdings as though these were of paramount interest to me. I could scarce feign attention, my head spinning from attempting to view the paintings adorning the ceiling as we passed underneath. I lurched suddenly to the side before my Aunt caught my arm to steady me. "Pay attention to where you are walking Philomena - a lady does not gawk like a common child when entering a house." These heels would be the end of me!
"Yes, Aunt Mabel." People milled about the exterior rooms talking - there seemed so many it was difficult to identify any one of them from their knot. We passed a room from which music emanated, peeking inside I saw a woman singing at the Harpsichord while another accompanied her on the guitar. How I should ever find Nicholas amongst this crowd I could not even begin to fathom. The path seemed to open up into a vast cavernous room, with no less than four lines of reeling couples.
"Is this your niece?" I turned to see a portly older man with a prodigious red nose addressing my Aunt.
"Yes, Mr. Longrin. This is my niece, Miss Philomena Moore."
"Well, isn't she a lovely girl!" the man was either blind or a liar. "Perhaps I shall have the pleasure of accompanying her to the floor this evening?"
"I'm sorry sir, but I believe I will be monopolizing the lady's attention this evening." A familiar face swooped to my rescue. "I am certain you understand."
"Ah!" the older gentleman chuckled. "I see then, my apologies." He returned his attention to my Aunt.
"Thank you, Nicholas." I sighed.
"Do not thank me yet, for you have not been subjected to my dancing - you may yet come to rue it."
"That is doubtful." I said, turning to watch my Aunt who, for all her manners, could not keep her nose from wrinkling under the vile stench of whiskey that seemed to compose Mr. Longrin's breath.
Nicholas did not suffer from false modesty where his dancing was in question. He led well with his arms but his feet seemed unable to form the tri-step pattern tasked to them. My own lack of grace only compounded the trouble, for, while I might be equal to performing the steps, I was less able to accommodate my partner's errors. I tripped, falling against his chest. Embarrassed I fought to extricate myself. He laughed. "I did warn you."
"Yes, you did." was my red-faced reply.
"Do you regret my rescue?"
"No." I glanced down at the fat roses.
"Perhaps we might take it down to a simple two-step."
"That would be best. I thought the host was supposed to only invite those who possessed the ability to dance." I teased provokingly.
"They are, and they did." he indicated with a nod to the center of the floor where Darby was lightly sweeping a young lady across the room in wide, gracefully steps. "But it would have been rude to invite my entire family sans myself."
"Oh quite rude, though perhaps more merciful." I smiled.
"Whatever will I do with you, my princess." there was a softness in his eye that cause me to color yet again.
"Nicholas," the name sounded strange on my tongue. "I cannot begin to fathom what attracts you to me over all these others who would suit a gentleman far better."
"I suppose it was that you were the first woman to not appeared horrified that I might abandon my position for my principles."
"Perhaps I merely was too indifferent to you to regard the information as important."
"No, even in the eyes of the most indifferent woman I have seen the disappointment - as though I am guilty of defying the most sacred and honored traditions of our kind."
"It is a shocking proposition. The idea that a gentleman might leave society for a life of poverty based on conscious alone would certainly give most the impression that you were a radical."
"And perhaps I am." he grinned rakishly as he carelessly spun us across the floor. He slowed to a stop near the room's edge, "I don't believe you were indifferent, you would not have done me the disservice of suffering me so long had you been. My princess, I do not believe you would feel any sorrow surrendering your crown any more than I my wealth - don't take me to mean that I might lead you into a life of poverty: I would never shirk my responsibility to provide for my family - but the trappings society holds so very essential simply have no hold on you. You are a free woman in thought and spirit, unencumbered by those silken chains - it is only that which I can respect in a woman; that she might be able to think and speak for herself. I do not wish for a mute companion or helpmate (for what good is that sort of woman to me!) but an equal unafraid to offer her counsel and opinion. A woman of high mind and powerful conscience, of intelligence. I promise you those things I would nurture in you - I would never bring you to shame for them... If you would allow me the privilege to." he finished, his eyes cast downward. I gaped in astonishment, unable to form a proper response for this I had never expected. Should I have? What had I believed all his attentions had been leading to? Certainly three months was not so short a time -
"My Uncle..." I managed.
"He has already granted his consent; though if you should wish to wait until your father has been consulted before you give your answer I do understand."
"Then you are asking..." I sought for clarification though his intent had been unmistakable.
"I am asking for your hand in marriage Miss Philomena Helen Moore, if you will have me."
"Yes." the word flew from my mouth before reason had time to check it. What I had just done! I faltered, attempting to find my senses, "I mean... I mean... well, yes."