Chapter Eighteen.

At the very time that Emily was falling off her horse, Miss Leac.o.c.k was making a revelation to Kitty in the sewing room. The sewing room was a small, cozy place where the fire was always burning, where the ironing board was always set up, and where a tired abigail could find refuge. It was shabbily cheerful, with two high windows through which the afternoon sun slanted in cathedral-like majesty. One of the walls was covered with little spokes that held spools of thread of every color imaginable. The room also contained a worktable (which stood against the wall under the windows), a number of shelves containing fabrics and b.u.t.ton boxes, and a padded mannequin of Lady Alicia's form on which a half-made blouse of ecru silk was presently pinned.

Kitty liked this room best of all the rooms in the servants' quarter, but what pleased her most of all were the room's two armchairs. Worn and ragged though they were, they were thickly upholstered and very comfortable. There was also a padded footstool set between the two chairs, large enough to hold two tired pairs of feet. Since only Bess, the resident seamstress, and the two abigails ever used the sewing room, it became a convenient hideaway when the busy maids needed a moment to put their feet up.

Miss Leac.o.c.k and Kitty met there almost every afternoon, for it was the place where they mended small tears in their mistresses' gowns, pressed out their petticoats, and did whatever other little ch.o.r.es were necessary to prepare the ladies' dinner clothes for the evening. On the afternoon that Miss Leac.o.c.k made her revelation, she was sitting on one of the armchairs, her feet up on the footstool and her hands busily fashioning a lace collar with only a crocheting needle and a spool of white thread.

Kitty stood at the ironing board struggling mightily in her attempt to press out the flounce along the hem of a blue muslin gown that Emily would wear that evening. Between the soreness of the burn on her palm and the fullness of the flounce, she was having the greatest difficulty. Nevertheless, she managed to glance across the room several times, admiring the dexterity with which Miss Leac.o.c.k managed her crocheting needle and the beauty of the lacy concoction that seemed to emerge from her fingers like magic. Neither one of them spoke for a long while. Then, out of the silence came Miss Leac.o.c.k's voice. "The name is Thisbe, you see," she remarked without preamble.

"What?" Kitty gaped at her stupidly, unable to make sense of the remark, which seemed to be part of a conversation that Miss Leac.o.c.k had been conducting with herself. "You said ye'd tell me your story if I told ye my name.

Well, my name is Thisbe."

"Thisbe? Like the Thisbe who was supposed to be eaten by a lion but later perished for love of Pyramus?" Kitty bit her lip to keep from laughing. The image that flashed through her mind of the decorous Miss Leac.o.c.k fleeing from the lioness on her large bare feet with her corkscrew curls bouncing was ludicrous indeed. But it wouldn't do to tease the abigail; she was evidently very sensitive on the subject. "It's a very romantic name," Kitty said soothingly. "I don't see why you're ashamed of it."

"I'm not ashamed of it. It's just that it doesn't suit me." She gave an embarra.s.sed giggle. "Thisbe Leac.o.c.k. It makes me sound like a Vauxhall Gardens fancy piece." Kitty blinked. "What's a Vauxhall Gardens fancy piece?" The older abigail's fingers ceased their work as she looked up at Kitty in surprise. "Good gracious, girl, you are an innocent. Have ye never heard of pets of the fancy? Ladybirds? Cheres amies?"

"Yes, of course I have," Kitty said with more confidence than she really felt. "A pet of the fancy is ... well, like an opera dancer, is she not? A woman of loose character? The sort who's offered a carte blanche by a gentleman who is unhappy in his marriage?"

Miss Leac.o.c.k resumed her crocheting, smiling to herself at the girl's obvious innocence. "Yes, or who doesn't wish to marry at all."

"Oh, I see. Then a Vauxhall Garden fancy piece is such a woman who is found at Vauxhall?"

"At Vauxhall, or Castle Tavern or one of a dozen other places." She glanced across at Kitty with a mischievous gleam. "Lily says that Lord Toby had one of them tucked away at Limmer's Hotel, but that his lordship discovered her and bribed her to disappear."

"Toby Wishart kept a mistress?" Kitty queried, shocked. "What a deuced loose fish the fellow is, to be sure!"

"I don't know," Miss Leac.o.c.k demurred. "He's not so different from most of the men in his circle. Keeping a mistress is not at all unusual."

"It's not?" Kitty gaped at the other woman for a moment and then resumed her ironing, her brow wrinkled thoughtfully.

After a long while she looked up again. "Has ... does his lordship keep a f-fancy piece?" she asked, trying to make the question casual.

"Oh, I don't think so," Miss Leac.o.c.k responded promptly. "A very proper gentleman, his lordship. Though I suppose one can't be certain. He was once engaged to Miss Helen Ingle sham, and she, ye know, was the most elegant of females. A man who chooses someone like Miss Inglesham isn't the sort to keep a mistress."

Kitty resumed her ironing with angry vigor. "Then why didn't he marry the so-elegant Miss Inglesham?"

"They were to be married three years ago this fall, but it was the time that Miss Alicia was taken with her first spell.

We all thought she was on the verge of death. The wedding had to be postponed. Then, when she recovered, Lord Edgerton decided to go abroad to study the French system of dairy farming. He was gone so long that Miss Inglesham must have believed he'd lost interest. She married the Earl of Glenauer and now has two babies."

"Oh." Kitty carefully replaced the iron on the coal brazier and frowned down at the flounced gown. "Do you think his lordship is ... sorry?"

"I don't know. A thing like that . . . it's hard to say."

"What was this Inglesham woman like?"

"Oh, very lovely. Tall and willowy, ye know, with the most graceful fingers. I remember when she came here to visit-I was helping to serve the tea that day-I remember that she picked up her cup with such delicacy that I couldn't take my eyes from her beautiful hands."

"Mmmmph!" Kitty grunted, involuntarily looking down at her own hands, which were far from beautiful. The right, with its burnt palm, was bandaged with a worn and begrimed handkerchief, and the left, after only one week of household labor, was already becoming red and rough. "If Lord Edgerton is the sort who seeks out elegant ladies with graceful hands," she snapped, pulling the evening dress from the board in irritation and stalking to the door, "he's not the man I took him for."

"Goodness, what did I say to set ye so off the handle?" Miss Leac.o.c.k inquired in surprise. "And where might ye be going so abruptly? Ye can just take yerself back here and sit down. You have to keep your part of the bargain."

"Bargain? What bargain?"

"You said ye'd tell me your name if I told you mine. Well. I've told ye. Why do ye think I revealed it to ye if it wasn't to get something in return?"

"You know my name," Kitty said evasively. "It's Emily Pratt."

"It may be," Miss Leac.o.c.k retorted, "but there's more to yer story than that."

Kitty shook her head. "I'm sorry, Miss Leac.o.c.k, but it's too long a story to tell you now. I have to bring this gown to Miss Jessup's room. We'll talk about it sometime soon, I promise."

The older abigail frowned. "How soon?"

"In a few days. I give you my word to reveal all to you in a few days." And before Miss Leac.o.c.k could protest, she whisked herself out of the room.

Miss Leac.o.c.k shook her head in annoyance, put aside her crocheting, and was starting to rise from her chair when the door opened again. It was the young abigail, poking her head round the door and peeping in. Miss Leac.o.c.k sat back and asked hopefully, "Changed yer mind, Emily Pratt? Have ye decided to make yer confession?"

"No, not that. Only to tell you that you're wrong about your name." She threw the older woman an affectionate grin. "If you ask me, the name Thisbe Leac.o.c.k is positively beautiful."

Chapter Nineteen.

Emily's climb up the stairs proved more difficult than either she or Toby had antic.i.p.ated. A stabbing pain in her hip made itself noticed at the first lift of her foot, and when she clutched the banister to support herself, she almost cried out from the even greater pain in. her shoulder and arm. By the time she reached the top, her whole left side was throbbing. She managed to reach her bedchamber by clinging to the hallway wall, but as soon as she stepped inside the room and closed the door, she fainted away.

It was Kitty who found her. She'd come up intending to help Emily change from her riding clothes to the newly pressed dinner gown. Terrified at the sight of her friend sprawled unconscious on the floor, she first tried to bring her round by calling her name and patting her cheeks. When this method failed, she forced herself to be calm and searched through the bottles on the dressing table for the salts volatile. One whiff of the salts brought Emily back to consciousness.

Kitty, awash in guilt for having encouraged Emily to ride, couldn't seem to keep her knees from trembling uncontrollably. Nevertheless, she helped her friend onto the bed and gingerly removed her boots. Then, remembering that she'd heard Miss Leac.o.c.k remark that Dr. Randolph was expected again this afternoon to take tea, she raced downstairs to see if he was still on the premises.

She caught him at the doorway, attended by both Mr. Naismith and Miss Alicia. While the butler helped him into his caped overcoat, Alicia hovered about, clutching his doctor's hat and medical bag while awaiting the opportunity to say a private farewell. Under normal circ.u.mstances, Kitty would have remained hidden in the background to observe the coy glances exchanged between the doctor and his now-favorite patient, but at this moment she was too alarmed about Emily's condition to hold back. "Dr. Randolph," she cried, bursting in on the little group, "you must come at once!"

Mr. Naismith glared. "You've not had permission to speak!" he hissed. "Can't you ever-"

"You don't understand! Em-er, Miss Jessup's taken a tumble from her horse! I found her fallen senseless on her bedroom floor!"

The doctor did not have to hear more. It did not even occur to him to question the illogic of someone's falling from a horse onto a bedroom floor. He s.n.a.t.c.hed his bag from Alicia's hand and ran immediately to the stairs, with Kitty close behind. Naismith, well able to distinguish between major and minor problems, did not bother to reprimand the abigail again. Instead, he hurried after them, knowing that his a.s.sistance might be needed upstairs. Alicia wavered on her feet for a moment, as if she, like poor Miss Jessup, would faint dead away, but love had so strengthened her character that she quickly got hold of herself. "Alicia," she said to herself aloud, "you will be strong!" With that, she squared her shoulders and followed the others up the stairs.

Kitty and the others entered the bedroom to give the doctor whatever a.s.sistance he required. Kitty helped to remove the white-faced Emily's clothes and, during the doctor's examination of her bruises, squeezed her hand when the injured girl cried out in pain. After a thorough going-over, the doctor lifted Emily's head from the pillow and discovered a smear of blood. Kitty saw the smear, too. "Oh, my G.o.d!" she cried.

"Look!"

Alicia clutched the bedpost. "It's blood!" she gasped, whitening. "She's bleeding profusely. I think I...I'm going to swoon!"

"You will not swoon," the doctor snapped, throwing Alicia a quick glance of reproof. "The girl has a minor laceration here on her scalp. Scalp wounds tend to bleed rather freely. No need to make a fuss." He examined Emily's head, bound it round with a length of gauze bandage, and settled her back on her pillow. "Now, Naismith and I are going to have to set a bone," he announced, rising from his place at the side of the bed.

"A bone?" Kitty gasped, exchanging looks of consternation with her white-faced friend. "What bone? Is it... broken?"

"I shall tell you the details in due time," the doctor responded with what Kitty thought was infuriating terseness.

"Alicia, you and the abigail are to wait outside."

"Yes, Hugh, if you wish it," Alicia said, looking chastened and ashamed. "I'm sorry if I behaved foolishly a moment ago."

"No need to apologize," the doctor said, softening. "I don't know why the sight of blood causes such consternation among the uninitiated. But you must learn to observe bleeding with dispa.s.sion, my dear, if you intend-" He stopped himself in midsentence and blushed.

"Yes, Hugh ... I forgot," Alicia mumbled, blushing also. Kitty took no notice of this interesting little exchange.

"May I not stay?" she begged the doctor.

Mr. Naismith growled and looked skyward. "You heard the doctor, did you not? Wait outside!"

"It's all right, Emily," the white-faced Emily said, trying to give Kitty an encouraging smile. "I'll be all right."

Kitty and Miss Alicia waited anxiously in the corridor outside Emily's door, both of them too absorbed in their own thoughts to engage in conversation. Kitty's mind was racing about, trying to decide how this latest calamity might affect Emily's and her own precarious position in this household. She felt strongly that Emily's accident was the last straw in a series of mishaps that had been occurring during the last few days. Everything about this adventure was turning out to be more complicated and troublesome than she'd expected. In the first place, her position as abigail, which seemed a great lark when she'd begun, was now a daily drudgery. She didn't mind attending Emily (who was not at all a demanding mistress), but her other tasks were becoming a heavy burden. She was expected to keep her mistress's room heated, which meant she had to carry buckets of coal up from the cellar and empty the ashes three or four times daily; she had to help the upstairs maids make up beds and dust the bedrooms; she had to wash and iron undergarments, petticoats, sashes, camisoles, or nightclothes almost every day; she had to take her turn serving at the servants' meals; and if Mr. Naismith or Mrs. Prowne suspected that she had an unoccupied moment, they found some task-like cleaning the wax from the candleholders, polishing the lavaboes in all the bedrooms, shining the crystal of the dining-room chandelier, or sweeping the hall carpets to keep her busy. By bedtime she was so tired that she fell instantly asleep despite the lumpiness of her mattress and the narrowness of her dreadful cot.

In the second place, the burn on her hand had blistered, the blisters had burst, and the palm was now red and raw. Instead of healing, it was becoming more and more painful each day. She had complained about it at first, asking Mrs. Prowne to excuse her from carrying the coal scuttle, but the housekeeper had accused her of trying to malinger, so she never mentioned it again. Miss Leac.o.c.k had dusted her palm with a medicinal powder and wrapped it with gauze after the blisters had burst, but since then Kitty had been reluctant to draw further attention to it. It seemed to her that the housemaids on the staff were all strong and hardy girls who, when they did become ill, bore their ailments with admirable stoicism. She wanted to be as strong as they. To be forever crying about a little burn would be behaving like the spoiled child she used to be. Therefore she padded the palm of her hand with a folded handkerchief, bound it with another, and merely gritted her teeth when the pain became severe.

The third troublesome situation had to do with Emily's request that they cut this visit short. It was a very sensible re quest, and in the light of the other problems, Kitty realized perfectly well that it was just what they ought to do. Emily was obviously becoming enamored of the odious Toby Wishart, and the best thing for her would be to leave. Emily's suggestion had other advantages as well: if they left at once, Kitty would no longer have to slave away belowstairs, Emily could get over her infatuation, and Lord Edgerton would never have to learn what a dreadful liar and trickster she, Kitty Jessup, really was.

But there was the rub. Gregory Wishart, Lord Edgerton. If Kitty took Emily's advice and went away, she would never see him again. Nothing she'd suffered in the past several days pained her as much as that thought. She didn't know when or how it had happened, but she'd somehow lost her head over Lord Edgerton. He'd become someone special to her. She hated to admit it, but the most appropriate word for her condition was obsessed. She thought about him constantly. It seemed to her no man existed who was more handsome, witty, kind, wise, or, in a word, wonderful. She found herself hoping, during every waking moment (and even in her dreaming ones), that he would cross her path. She peeped down every corridor, looked constantly over her shoulder, found any possible excuse to go upstairs to the family's part of the house, just to catch a glimpse of him. Any day which failed to grant her that glimpse was an overwhelming disappointment.

This obsession with the master of the estate in which she was living as a servant was the fourth, and probably the greatest, of all the troubles that had beset her until Emily's fall. She knew that an obsession such as she had for Lord Edgerton was bound to lead to pain for her. In the long run, no good could come of it. When his lordship discovered who she really was, he'd be as angered and disgusted with her as her parents would. As an upstart little servant girl she held a bit of charm for him, but as the spoiled, troublemaking daughter of Lord Birkinshaw she could not expect him to feel anything but revulsion.

After all, his only interest in Kitty Jessup was as a possible wife for his brother. She was certainly not the sort he would ever consider for himself. Miss Leac.o.c.k had described the sort of lady he wanted; that tall, willowy, elegant creature with the beautiful hands was nothing at all like Kitty Jessup. As long as her ident.i.ty remained undetected, she could hope to see him, speak to him, find ways to tease and irritate and flirt with him. But once the truth came out, it would be all over. That was why her every instinct cried out to remain. Her time for happiness was so short. There was less than a week left to her. These few remaining days were all there would ever be of her a.s.sociation with his lordship.

But now there was this last straw-the accident that had happened to Emily. And it was all Kitty's fault. She had to face the facts: everything was going wrong. If, miraculously, Emily proved not to be badly hurt, Kitty promised herself that she would take Emily's advice and arrange to leave Edgerton Park as soon as possible. Besides being the most sensible solution to the coil she'd created, it was the best way to make amends for the suffering she'd caused her friend. "Don't let any bones be broken," she prayed silently.

Though the doctor soon emerged to inform them that indeed no bones were actually broken, his news did not encourage Kitty to hope for the prospect of a quick departure. "The young lady," he informed the two females waiting in the corridor, "has sustained a dislocated left shoulder, a severely bruised hip, several sc.r.a.pes and contusions on her left arm and leg, and a laceration on her head which, though it bled profusely, is really only a minor injury. There are no signs of concussion. I've reset and bound the shoulder, cleaned and medicated the open wounds, and administered a laudanum sedative. Only time will do the rest. She's to spend a few days in bed, and her arm will have to be carried in a sling for several weeks." He took his hat from Alicia's hand and clapped it on his head. "For the rest of today," he ordered, turning to the abigail, "Miss Jessup must be left to sleep undisturbed. You are to watch over her all night, understand, to administer laudanum if she wakes and is in extreme discomfort. She is to have no visitors and is not to go downstairs or even leave her room. As for tomorrow, I shall call in the morning and we shall see."

In his abrupt fashion, he turned and made for the stairs, Alicia following hurriedly in his wake. Mr. Naismith, however, hung back and took Kitty's arm, preventing her from going in to Emily's room. "Hold on there, miss," he said in a hissing whisper. "I'm not at all certain you're up to sickroom duty. Per'aps I should ask Miss Leac.o.c.k to take your place."

"No, please, Mr. Naismith," she answered earnestly, "I promise to do my very best for her, really I shall. I'll sit beside her all night. I won't let myself drowse for an instant! She'll be much more pleased to see my face when she wakes than a stranger's, I swear she will. Please?"

Mr. Naismith made eyes at the ceiling and relented. "Very well," he said, wagging a finger under her nose, "but if you go wrong in any way, it's the finish of you."

Kitty entered the bedchamber, closed the door quietly, and went over to the bed. Except for the bandage around her forehead and the remaining pallor of her cheeks, Emily looked quite normal. Her breathing seemed regular and untroubled, and her expression was not that of a person in great pain. Kitty, relieved, closed the drapes to blot out the light of the setting sun, lit a small candle to give herself enough light in which to observe the slumberer, drew up an armchair near the bedside, and sat down for the night's vigil.

She'd just settled into the chair when there was a knock at the door. She opened it just a crack. Toby stood outside, tap ping a foot impatiently. He was disheveled from the top of his unruly hair to the bottom of his mud-spattered boots, and his face was tight with distress. "Let me in!" he ordered. "Sorry, sir, but the doctor said-"

"The devil take the doctor!" he growled, pushing the door back and forcing his way past her with such angry strength that she fell back against the wall. He strode across the room, but when he caught sight of the dimly lit figure lying unmoving on the bed, he stopped short.

Kitty, regaining her balance, ran up to him. "Please, sir, don't wake her. The doctor told me most particularly..."

But Toby wasn't listening. He was no longer aware that she was there. He was staring down at Emily's white face with a look of horror in his own. "Oh, my poor, sweet little kitten," he muttered in a choked voice. To Kitty's utter astonishment, he sank down on his knees beside the bed and lowered his head until it rested on the bed beside Emily's bandaged shoulder. "What've I done?" he asked himself thickly. "My love, what've I done?"

Kitty's throat tightened with unshed tears. She was both profoundly shocked and profoundly moved to see the rakish, wild, sportive Toby Wishart brought so low. But after watching him for a moment, she felt uncomfortably like an intruder. On tiptoe, she backed out of the room and carefully, silently, closed the door on the private scene within.

Chapter Twenty.

If Kitty expected Toby to recover his composure and emerge from the bedchamber within a short time, she soon discovered her mistake. The grandfather clock at the end of the corridor chimed the half hour and then the hour, but the door remained closed. Another half hour pa.s.sed. Kitty became bored with pacing up and down the corridor. She began to wonder if she should return to the bedside and eject the young man bodily. After all, the doctor had said no visitors. And what would Mr. Naismith say if he came by and discovered her out here in the hallway instead of inside at the injured girl's bedside where she was supposed to be?

The question had barely crossed her mind when she heard a step behind her down the hall. If it was the butler, she was doomed. She couldn't duck into the bedroom now, for she'd surely already been seen. She wheeled about and peered down the hall. But the figure approaching was not Mr. Naismith. It was Lord Edgerton himself.

He came down the hallway with a quick, purposeful stride. "Ah, Emily," he greeted her, his brow knit worriedly, "good evening. I've just come in from the dairy and only just heard about the accident. Is Miss Jessup badly hurt?"

"I don't think so, my lord," Kitty replied, dropping a little curtsey. "A dislocated shoulder and several bruises. Contusions, Dr. Randolph calls them. But no bones broken, he said."

"That, at least, is a relief. I'm very sorry this has happened. May I go in and see Miss Jessup for myself?"

"I don't think so, my lord. Dr. Randolph said she was to have no visitors today."

"Oh, I see." The amused look that was missing from his eyes on his arrival now returned. "Is that why you're pacing about out here? To keep visitors away? Shouldn't you be in side, keeping an eye on your mistress?"

"Yes, my lord, but, you see, your brother is with her now."

"Oh, he is, is he?" Lord Edgerton's eyebrows rose in mock displeasure. "How is it that he's permitted to visit and I am not?"

Kitty lowered her eyes, the very epitome of modest virtue. "I don't usually care to tell tales, my lord, but in self-defense I must confess that he forced his way in."

"Did he indeed? The blasted rudesby!"

She flicked him an enigmatic glance. "Yes, I've heard him described so."

"Oh? Have you?" He studied her with an intent interest. "Is that what you think of him?"

"It is not my place to make judgments of my betters," she responded primly. "In all fairness, however, I must admit that he seemed very upset by Miss Jessup's accident."

"I should hope so. And he's still in there, I take it. How long has he kept you out here?"

"Over an hour. But he isn't keeping me here. It was my own decision to leave the room. It didn't seem proper for me to .. . er . . to be an observer of his distress."

"Well, you may not wish to be an observer of it, but I do," his lordship declared, and he turned and opened the door.

The sight that met his eyes caused him to stop in his tracks on the threshold. Toby was still on his knees beside the bed, but he'd laid his head upon Emily's pillow and was gazing at her face with a look that could only be called adoring. Lit by the single candle on the nightstand, their faces surrounded by shadow, the scene looked exactly like a painting by a master of French Romanticism, a dark canvas with only the faces shining in an amber glow. If the scene had been a painting, it would have been given a t.i.tle of mythic significance, like "Eros et Psyche" or "La Nuit de l'Adoration."