Lucia chewed sawdust—or straw—and swallowed over a hillock in her throat.
After dinner, Mrs. Bayles rose and her daughters followed in such rapid succession it seemed a choreographed move. Helen and Lucia got to their feet at a somewhat slower pace. As they were leaving the room, Lucia tried to catch Mr. Bayles’ gaze, to plead silently what she could not voice aloud.
He never looked in her direction.
“Ahem.” Mrs. Bayles cleared her throat after they had settled in the drawing room with their tea. “I fear all did not go well today for Mr. Bayles. He has had a most trying afternoon.”
“What happened?” Lucia fairly exploded. “Why did he not bring Geoffrey home?”
“He tried his best, Miss Wright. But the magistrate would not let your brother out of custody.”
“Why?” But she knew the answer to that.
“Oh dear, I do hate to have to tell you this. I believe they fear that Geoffrey is a danger.”
“He is not.” But even as she said the words, she knew she did not believe them to be true. Geoffrey
was
a danger. Geoffrey had always been a danger—except when kept under control, safely at home under her supervision. She had failed in her duty to supervise him, and now he suffered.
And Lord Rutherford—he had suffered too.
“Well,” Sophie ventured, “perhaps Geoffrey
is
better off where he can be looked after.”
“Looked after? Who is going to look after him in Bedlam? He’s locked up with a herd of lunatics with no one to help him at all.” Lucia felt the pressure in her head that indicated more tears held at bay.
Mrs. Bayles winced. “It is perhaps not what we would choose for ourselves. But the magistrates must think of the good—”
“Geoffrey was fine at home, in the country. He will be fine there again. I must see that he gets home.” Lucia smacked the back of her hand against her palm in emphasis.
“But he
stabbed
another man,” Sophie objected. “You saw it. You told me so yourself. Are you not afraid that he might some night come up and stab you in your bed?”
“No. Geoffrey would never hurt me.”
Sophie shook her head. “You cannot be sure of that. I, for one, must confess I really do think it best for him to be looked after somewhere.”
“He
was
looked after somewhere. He was looked after at home. My only mistake was in leaving to gratify some…worthless whim. I must now do everything in my power to rectify that mistake.” Lucia waved away the teacup proffered by Mrs. Bayles.
“It was not a worthless whim that brought you here, Lucia. It was my urgent entreaty. I so wanted you to enjoy the season with me. We were going to have such fun together, you and I.” Eugenie’s eyes threatened to spill over and her nose turned red. “I thought the visit would be good for you.”
“I know you did, Eugenie.” Lucia patted her friend’s hand. “You simply did not understand about our family. Not many people do.”
“Yes, well.” Mrs. Bayles looked desperate to steer the conversation to something more pleasant. “Mr. Bayles will do his best again tomorrow, I am sure. Sophie, tell me more about how the Lowells do, now that they are back in town.”
Like her mother, Sophie seemed eager to drop the conversation concerning Geoffrey’s unpleasant situation. She launched into an animated description of her meeting with Lady Anna Lowell and the latter’s astronomical projections for marriage partners likely to be secured within the first three major events of the season.
Lucia soon lost interest, having no acquaintance with the said Lowell family and after hearing more of them, no desire to enter into an acquaintance. Instead of listening to Sophie and Mrs. Bayles, she began to plan how she might bring about Geoffrey’s release and return. It was difficult to know what to do when she did not even know what opposition Mr. Bayles had encountered.
“I know what you’re thinking,” a voice whispered into her ear.
“What?” Lucia blinked. Sophie and Mrs. Bayles chatted on about the price of tea somewhere.
“I said, ‘I know what you’re thinking’.” The whispered voice belonged to Eugenie, who had circled the room to stand just behind the sofa where Lucia perched uneasily.
“I do not think you do.”
“Then I do not think you think I know you as well as I do.”
Lucia felt a grin spread across her face despite her worry. “Very well, then.” She kept her voice low. “Tell me of my thoughts.”‘
“You are putting no faith in my father’s efforts and are planning instead to find a way to bring Geoffrey home yourself.”
“Oh, dear.” Lucia cringed. “Am I so very transparent, then?”
“To me, who has known you since you were eleven, yes. Come down to my room after Helen is asleep. I have an idea that might work.”
“Eugenie, no. This is none of your concern, and besides, I believe I’ve had enough of your ‘ideas’.”
“It is my concern, and my idea is a good one. And if you think it is not, you can take great joy in exposing the flaws.”
“Very well.” Lucia sighed and waved Eugenie to take a seat near her mother. What harm could there be in hearing Eugenie’s plan? After all, she had yet to come up with a plan of her own.
* * * * *
Two days later, Lucia came down the stairs fervently wishing she had come up with a strategy of her own. Because Eugenie’s plan could not possibly work. She would never keep the headdress on straight. And she would probably be damned to hell for all eternity.
While it was nice to humor her friend and to allow her to atone for her mistake in bringing Geoffrey to London, eternity
was
a long time.
“Whoops! I stepped on the hem again.” Eugenie giggled as she plowed into Lucia from behind. “We really should have waited until we got into the carriage to dress.”
“Yes, you’re right. Let’s go back upstairs now and—”
“Oh, no. We’ve made it this far without anyone seeing us. Peggy has told Harrison to open the door when I rap on the window at the landing. So then we dash down the last few stairs and out the door.”
“Do you not think someone watching from outside might find it a bit odd seeing two nuns fly out of the house and into your family carriage?”
Eugenie giggled again. “That’s why we have to move extremely fast. Anyone who sees us will think they’ve seen a ghost!”
“If your father finds out, then those people will be right—you
will
be a ghost.”
Eugenie rapped on the window three times.
After a few seconds, the door downstairs cracked open ever-so slightly.
“Make ready!” Eugenie’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “One, two—”
“Oh, let’s just go!” Without waiting for a “three,” Lucia rushed down the final flight of stairs and pushed out the front door, not daring to look about the entrance hall to see if anyone observed them. Harrison, the most junior of the family footmen, stood at the carriage door, swinging it open just in time for her to climb inside without pausing.
Eugenie scrambled in right behind her. “Ouch. I think you’re sitting on my habit.”
“No, you’re sitting on your habit.”
“It feels like every hair on my head is being slowly pulled out by the roots.”
“Then I suggest you not make a habit of wearing that long, heavy veil on your head. Wherever did you contrive to find these, in any case?”
“Lucia, you are too funny. Not make a habit!”
“You did not answer my question.”
“I do not recall you asking one.”
“I asked you where you obtained these costumes.”
“Would you believe that I just happened to find them in the old servants’ clothes press last week?”
“No.”
“Oh. You’ve found me out then. I was up ‘til all hours sewing. I suppose the lack of sleep shows on my face.”
“Well, something is evident from your face, but it would appear to have more to do with a lack of truth than a lack of sleep.”
“Oh, very well. Yesterday I had Harrison drive Peggy over to St. Helen’s, Bishopsgate. We borrowed some of the nuns’ clothing that was airing in the yard.”
“We?” Lucia stared at her friend. “You mean that you went out to steal—”
“Borrow. We borrowed them. We shall return them, with ample compensation, when this whole mess is concluded.”
“I cannot believe you stole clothing from nuns.”
“I could not very well ask my servants to do something I was not willing to do myself. And we
borrowed
it.”
“Just as you borrowed my gloves when we were at school? I am sure you always meant to return them.”
“This
is
like our days at school, is it not? Sneaking off for a bit of fun, hoping not to be caught.”
“It does remind me, somewhat,” Lucia agreed. “We’ve rather more at stake now, though, than just a pie or scrap of lace or whatever else it was we used to make such a fuss over.”
“Do you remember the— You’re right, of course.” Eugenie peeked out the window. “This is much more serious and important than anything we ever did at school. And we never could have procured such good costumes.”
Lucia smiled but made no answer as she, too, peered out the curtained window into the London
streets. They seemed to be moving past at a lightning pace. After a time, she let the curtain fall forward.
Apparently inspired by the mention of school days, Eugenie chattered about their old acquaintances—those who had married, those who ardently sought to make a match this season, those who, in her opinion, ought give up all hope of making a match in any season. She had sighted one of their classmates at the Adringtons’ but had not had the opportunity of conversation, due to the crush.
Lucia recalled the odd conversation she had enjoyed that evening, when Lord Rutherford exhibited a few minutes of civility between his bouts of lunacy. Some memory jogged uncomfortably at the back of her mind, however. And strangely enough, it was not either the thought that such a handsome, engaging gentleman suffered a certain lack of reason, or that he had been grievously injured by her own brother, who was now locked up in the criminal wing of Bedlam. These thoughts pained her so that she had steeled herself not to think of them but in small doses, allowing herself to feel the ache for a time but not to wallow in it.
So it was not these great troubles but rather a small, different, puzzling thought that nagged her memory—a question unanswered, a riddle she had yet to work out.
Something to do with the conversation and Lord Rutherford’s words to her.
There had been a familiarity, as if she had spoken with him before, or heard his words before.
Or as if they were someone else’s words. He had quoted a phrase with which she was familiar.
If she closed her eyes, cleared her mind and allowed Eugenie’s chatter to fade to a gentle hum, she could recapture…
“‘He that departs with his own honesty for vulgar praise doth it too dearly buy.’” Her eyelids snapped open.
“What? Whatever do you mean by that?” Eugenie sat back in her seat. “This time I swear I am telling the truth.”
Lucia grinned. “I believe you always tell the truth, such as you see it to be. No, I was thinking of something said the other night—a quote I was trying to place.”
“About honesty?”
“Among other things. It is from one of Jonson’s
Epigrams
.”
Eugenie wrinkled her nose. “Oh, I knew all this talk of school would be dangerous. Now the conversation has brought forth horrid recollections of Miss Finkle’s literature class.”
“The class was not so very horrid.”
“Well, she was, at any rate. What a memory you have.”
“You give me too much credit for scholarship in those days. I do not actually believe we read the
Epigrams
in school.”
“Do you mean to say that you read Ben Jonson at home without the threat of exams?”
“I confess, I enjoy his work. Much of it is prodigiously funny.”
Eugenie frowned. “Not that I remember. And were he the best dramatist of all time, he could not create a scene half so amusing as looking at you in that ridiculous costume.”
Lucia looked down at the expanse of black cloth covering her from neck to foot, then over at Eugenie, her form all but swallowed up with the combination of black gown and headpiece. She sighed. “I still think I might stand a better chance if I simply went in to the institution, properly dressed, and explained that Geoffrey could be safely released into my custody.”
“They will not even listen to you. They would not listen to Papa, so why should they listen to you who are younger and, moreover, a woman?”
“I am his sister.”
“They do not care about relations. Oh, we’ve stopped.” Eugenie pulled the curtain back again to peer out.
“We’ve already reached St. George’s Fields? What are we going to say? Why are two nuns arriving in a carriage like this?”
“I am not worried about that at all.” Eugenie threw the curtain back into place.
“Good.” Lucia tried to straighten her headpiece. “What are you worried about?”