-12-

Eliza

Jane continued her drugged sleep, stirring occasionally to murmur softly and turn over, or to cough ash from her lungs. Eliza had washed the soot from her face and clothed her in a clean shift and neither had woken her. Given Jane's vulnerability, Eliza was determined to stay by her side.

Eliza perched on the bed to begin with watching Jane sleep in frustration. Then, as the afternoon drew on, and a fine misty drizzle steamed up the windowpanes, she took to pacing the uneven floorboards while her mind conjured endless cycles of knotty thoughts. There did not seem to be one single thread that she could pull on to begin unravelling the mysteries here at Cedarton. Questions merely led to other questions, rather than answers. What was certain to her was that foul play was at work. Eliza no more believed Edith responsible for the blaze that had almost consumed her mistress than she believed Jane had seen an actual apparition the night before, or that Linfield had any regard at all for his wife.

A loving man, even an undemonstrative one, would have shown some regard for the fate of his wife. Linfield had been dismissive, almost irritated by her misfortune. Heavens, could he not see that someone among them meant Jane harm?

Or perhaps the issue was that that someone was him, the man that Jane had, in good faith, wed. She could only pray that time proved otherwise. For dear Jane, this was the sorriest of sorry situations to be trapped in.

There was no joy to be found in this accursed place, other than the sort to be found at another's expense. At least, not for Jane. She could not deny there were bright sparks for herself. Jem was here, and Jane's misfortune could not eradicate the pleasure that awoke deep in her chest every time her thoughts strayed in Jem's direction. She fluttered her fingers against her throat, recalling the sensation of his lips there, and then her brazenness at taking him in her mouth. It made her giddy in a senseless way… an undignified way, yet she wouldn't exchange that singing sensation under her skin for… Well, a lot of things.

It was not pleasant to think her joy had come at Jane's expense. If she had stayed by her side, then Jane might not have brushed against death in such a horrifying way.

Her gaze strayed again to the pale form occupying the bed. Why in heaven's name did you marry him? He was exactly the sort of aristocratic bully they had decried at their meetings of the Women's Natural Philosophical Fellowship. Cruel. Selfish. It wasn't even as if love had blinded Jane to his qualities; she was no love-struck goose. Something had to have persuaded her, some so far undemonstrated quality, or an outside pressure. Why else would she marry a man she had no regard for and who seemed unlikely to ever grant her a smile let alone a boon or affection?

As dusk arrived, and the drizzle continued, Eliza pulled a chair over to the hearth. Mrs Honeyfield had been and gone twice, providing her first with a pot of tea and seed cake to nibble on, then later with a fine chicken broth for Jane. As Jane slept on, Eliza had partaken of the broth as it seemed certain it would grow cold long before her friend ever stirred. The next caller was Betsy. Would she like her dinner on a tray, or did she mean t' join the gentlemen? Mrs Cluett wasn't going down, having being terribly taken by the shocking events of earlier.

It didn't surprise Eliza in the slightest to hear that Mrs Cluett had taken the opportunity to make Jane's misfortune all about her. Suffering a nervous disposition—pah! That woman was no wispy dumpling, she was forged of steel beneath her pillowy outer, of that Eliza was sure. She'd met her type before. Women who circumstances had honed into survivors. But then, was that not most of them?

She declined the offer of Mrs Honeyfield coming to sit with Jane while she dined. She was not keen to eat with Linfield and his cronies even for the chance to see Jem. Nor had she yet forgiven herself for her earlier absence. No, she would take her meal on a tray, and stoically endure until Jane was whole and hearty once more.

Betsy nodded her head like a sagely old crone at this announcement. "I thinks that's probably for the best, Miss Wakefield. I know it's not for me to say, but I don't rightly know that it's safe or altogether proper for ya to be alone wi' so many rogues. I know he's me master, but the rumours, Miss… They say he's all manner of vices. Mrs Honeyfield won't even let us maids wait on t' gentlemen t'night. We 'ave t' stay in servant's quarters, and let footman and Lord Linfield's man, Clement, attend 'em. If that's not signs of rakery and him being a bad 'un…" She nodded her head. "It's not reet, you and hers haven' t' stay up on this corridor next t' tha great ghastly hole at end. It's like a gapin' sore 'tis. I tell ya, Miss. I was talkin' to me cousin just last week. Wednesday, it were… Yes, Wednesday—that's me afternoon off—an' she said—"

"Betsy," Eliza interrupted, seeing the girl was in no hurry to leave. Her amble around the room, ostensibly to gather bits of crockery had so far taken her to every surface bar the one in need of clearing, and she didn't care for how her fingers had a habit of wandering over things they had no business touching. The maid was a fair few years older and a deal less delicate than Edith, and far too gossipy and proud of herself to win Eliza's admiration. She piled the used crockery onto the tray they'd been delivered on and held it out to her.

"Oh, ta, Miss." Betsy accepted the burden with sigh. "As I was sayin', best ya stay up here outta sight, like. Though, I'm sure I can't picture what four upstandin' gentlemen could get up t' that make it necessary to keep us women outta sight."

She cocked her head as if expecting Eliza to enlighten her. Eliza forwent that pleasure. She was sure the girl was fully versed in the dangers inherent in such a situation to both one's person and reputation. Civility, after all, was only ever a veneer pasted over a base form of sin. Every preacher in the land sang that song from the pulpit on a Sunday morn, and a Yorkshire-born village lass like Betsy was no hothouse flower from whom the hard realities of the world had been hidden. She'd likely witnessed all manner of bawdy behaviour afore she'd even walked on her own two feet.

"Is Edith recovered?" Eliza asked as she guided the girl to the door.

"Aye, Miss, tha Mrs Honeyfield gave her a proper scolding. Bet her lugs are still ringin'. I know mine are jus' from hearin' it. Surprised she didn't belt her too. It's only cause we're so short a hands she weren't got rid of reet away."

"Well, I'm glad she still has her employ. She didn't deserve to be dismissed, nor a hiding either." She hadn't deserved any punishment. Poor Edith had suffered aplenty already. "It wasn't her fault."

"Weren't it?" Betsy's attention perked up. "T'was someone's, Miss, an' Edith was the one watching over t' mistress at the time. Ah reckon she dozed off, meself, an' so does Lord Linfield's man. He reckons she probably knock't candle over. I dunno mind. I think it were Old Lady Cedarton's doing meself. I bet the old hag's out for vengeance. Doesn't want Cedarton t' 'ave a pretty new mistress. Dun't want any of us here. You be watchin' yerself for 'er now, Miss. Ya wouldn't want t' be tumbled up in 'er malice."

"Thank you. You may go now, Betsy." She had no time for ghosts, vengeful or otherwise. Whatever haunted Cedarton's corridors was no spirit, rather a would-be murderer of an altogether earthy guise.

The girl bobbed her another curtsy, then balanced the tray on her hip so that she could reach for the doorknob. Eliza held it open for her. She breathed a sigh of relief when the maid was finally gone, only for her to poke her cheeky face around the jamb again not two ticks later.

"Beggin' ya pardon, Miss, but Mr Whistler wonders if—"

Jem.

Jem… she could see him now. Standing behind Betsy in the only slash of light in the gloomy corridor. Candlelight from a wall sconce caught in the fine strands of his hair making the soft browns and golds shimmer. His eyes were soft as she stepped into the beam to greet him.

"Miss Wakefield, I—"

"You may leave, Betsy." She ushered her off.

The girl went, but she gawked at them over her shoulder for the length of the corridor and even had the audacity to linger at the turn, while she rearranged the items on the tray.

Eliza and Jem exchanged huffs of disbelief when she finally turned the corner.

"I pray my presence at your door hasn't metamorphosed into a tale of an illicit liaison by the time she reaches the kitchens."

"Oh, I imagine we've kissed and agreed the time of our elopement afore she's even reached the back stairs. We'll be halfway to Gretna Green before she enters the kitchen, and one of them will be up to see I haven't abandoned my post and that I still require dinner within a half an hour. Betsy will naturally volunteer."

The pinching of his brows rather suggested Jem didn't relish so much embellished gossip circulating.

"Don't fret so," Eliza soothed. "No one will take her seriously. I'm sure they all know precisely what manner of person she is and tolerate it because nothing speeds away the tediousness of endless chores than a good gossip about one's supposed betters."

"Supposed?"

"Well, I don't consider myself better than anyone else, just fortunate enough to have been graced with some education and not to have been born into a hovel."

"Ah." He found his smile, and Eliza tilted her face up to better appreciate his handsomeness, feeling strangely shy after the circumstances of their last parting. They'd changed things between them, but then they'd been torn asunder in a fashion that hadn't lent itself to reassurances. Eliza reached up to touch his face, but he caught her fingers before they came close to making contact and pulled their hands down into the shadows between them.

"Take care, Miss Wakefield. There are eyes aplenty in these old corridors, not just those of a tattle-tale maid, and few of them kindly." Still, he held her fingers and gave them a reassuring squeeze. "How is Lady Linfield? That's what I came to enquire."

"Settled." She squeezed his fingers back, noting the calluses at their tips, and smoother patches of skin, perhaps wrought from chemical burns. "Still in a very deep sleep, thanks to Doctor Bell's heavy-handedness with his dosing." He could surely have knocked a cart horse out with the amount of opiates he'd administered to Jane.

"I imagine he would tell you that sleep is the ultimate restorative."

"Yes, I imagine he would, and he'd probably have a few other scathing things to say." Wretched man. And the worst of it was that she couldn't even in good faith argue with him. "It'll be a relief to see her wake again." Only then would she know if Jane was truly well and not injured in some unforeseen way, or still suffering the delusion that a ghost walked Cedarton's hallways.

"I think we all will."

"Not her husband," she muttered, bowing her head.

Jem twitched as if struck by her words. When she looked at him, his jaw was clenched. "He's resentful," he admitted. "It's not a match of his choosing, rather one that familial obligations obliged him to make. I'm sure in time…"

Would time make a difference? She wasn't so sure, and remained unconvinced that Jem believed any differently. A shadow lurked in his eyes when he spoke of the pair that made her suddenly mistrustful. She knew him as a soulful and clever man, but she would do well to remember that he was also one of Linfield's barnacles and a man who hadn't hesitated over agreeing to a passionate affair with her.

"Is that the only reason you are here? To enquire about Lady Linfield?" She took a step back towards the doorway, making him blink at her obvious retreat.

"No… No, that wasn't entirely it. I thought… rather, it occurred to me that you might… That you might appreciate something with which to help you pass the time. I know how slowly the minutes can crawl when one is confined. I brought you these." He scooped a pile of books off the window ledge and thrust them into her arms. "I wasn't at all sure of your preferences… but, well… they are what they are. You may put them aside if they don't suit, and I won't be at all offended."

Well, he might be one of Linfield's cronies, but he was not at all like that man.

"Thank you." She accepted the gift with a smile. "It was a kindly thought."

"Perhaps. You may not think so when you give them a look."

Given the weightiness of the pile, Eliza took them to the table she and Jane had sat at yesterday afternoon exchanging gossip. Jem didn't enter the bedchamber, but lingered on the threshold instead as if he expected a raucous alarm to sound if he did anything so transgressive as entering.

Eliza opened the cover of the topmost volume. It was a novel. Something her younger sisters would have delighted in and had likely read a dozen times apiece. It would, she supposed, pass some hours, though Cedarton had mysteries aplenty of its own, without the need to dive into those of an imaginary abode.

"Mrs Cluett was keen to lend her expertise," Jem explained. "That top volume is one of her recommendations. She was rather dismissive of my choices, said they were not at all the sort of thing a young lady would appreciate, but then I said to myself, she doesn't know Eliza as I do, and I made the rest of the selections accordingly."

Intrigued by his words, Eliza opened the second volume, the title of which startled a gasp of delight from her lips. A treatise on algebra, and below it, Zoonomia part one by Erasmus Darwin.

"That latter one I managed to persuade Bell to temporarily part with. He was not entirely complimentary about its author, but agreed there was merit to the discourse. There are chapters about motion and various organs." He took a tentative step into the room, leaving the door wide open, then another few bolder steps when he wasn't immediately struck down for the transgression. "I thought you might especially appreciate the chapters on diseases and the oxygenation of the lungs and placenta." He pointed them out in the index with one long finger.

"Fascinating," she agreed, provoking a broad grin from him that was at once both boyishly charming and intellectually gleeful.

"I'm sorry I'm making such assumptions, and I shouldn't. Maybe you'd have preferred a stack of novels—"

"I definitely wouldn't."

"It's just, I've never met a woman with such a similar passion for science as myself."

"These are all marvellous, and I will thoroughly enjoy them all." Though she would also not be surprised if Jane woke the moment she turned the first page. That would be a very Jane-like thing to do. She'd never decried Eliza's thirst for knowledge in the way others did, but nor did she entirely understand it, and she did possess a remarkable knack for derailing Eliza mid-thought.

"I believe I'll start with Mr Darwin, and then move onto the mathematics. Shall I follow it well enough, do you think?"

"Oh, I should say so. I'm afraid there are rather a lot of my notes in the margins. I hope you won't mind them. I do like to make sure I'm following as I go along."

"I shan't mind them at all." She would read them all and perhaps add a few of her own that he might read once she'd returned it to him.

"I ought to go," he said throwing a disheartening glance towards the open doorway. "If Linfield catches wind…" A dark thought, judging by the storm clouds that gathered in his eyes, hit him causing him to pause. "No matter. I shouldn't linger. I'll let you get back to nursing Lady Linfield."

"An overgenerous description," Bell said from the doorway. He entered, leading with his completely unnecessary cane, the ends of his wig trembling. "How is my patient?"

"Sleeping." Eliza could not find it in herself to be entirely welcoming.

"Best restorative for a woman in her position."

He lingered only long enough to take Jane's pulse and lift her eyelids to shine a light into her pupils. They were, Eliza observed, still narrowed to pinpricks.

"You drugged her far too severely," she admonished.

"Are you a qualified apothecary, Miss Wakefield?"

He knew she was not, as only men were permitted to qualify.

"Then I will take your advisement with a pinch of salt. Lady Linfield will awaken when her mind is fully rested and her wits and senses restored. That is the outcome we all desire, is it not?"

Grudgingly, she admitted so, but that didn't stop him being a pompous twit.