Mistress of My Fate (27 page)

I knew such places existed, and such women as well, but I had not thought they would be so perfectly disguised as this! Why, in dress and manner, Mrs. Anderson and Miss Bradley seemed a picture of virtue, but they were not. These creatures were sirens, and they had swept me off my course and taken me upon their rock.

“Mrs. Anderson,” I said, my voice quite sharp, “I wish to be shown to my room at once.” My hostess did not oppose me. On her face I saw what seemed to be some hint of disappointment.

“Very well,” said she, ringing the bell.

I was taken one floor above, to a small room with a French day bed. All the way up the stairs, I wept silently as I followed the maid through the dark corridor. I could hear the group below burst into laughter at various intervals, and then fall silent. I did not wish to know what they did in the space of those quiet pauses.

Once within the sanctuary of the room, I did as I had become accustomed to, and dragged a chest of drawers across the door, to prevent a forced entry.

“Oh God…” I fell to my knees and howled. “Allenham.”

Chapter 20

I slept fully dressed that night, ready for a flight, should I find myself under attack. Fortunately, there came none. I was aware only of the noises, the groans and cries that leaked through the walls from the adjoining bedroom. I pushed the bolster over my ears, not because it disturbed my rest, but because the sounds were like those I had once made, and it mortified me to hear the echoes of my own debauchery in the cries of a whore. I sobbed with shame.

On that night I felt more disgusted with myself than I thought possible, for until I gave myself to Allenham, all that had befallen me was on account of Fate. Now where I had landed was on account of my own choices and errors of judgement. I had stepped off the path of moral rectitude and found myself among harlots! This was what I had become in the eyes of the world. No more the obedient and good Miss Ingerton, these dissolutes saw me as one of their own. It must have been as plain as day to them. I resolved to leave the next morning, as soon as I was able, though where I would go, I knew not.

I cannot say when I drifted into sleep. I lay with my ears covered and my eyes staring into the darkness of the room. I could make out the shape of a dressing table and the shuttered window beyond it. A broad chair stood beside the dead embers in the hearth. I recall shutting my tired eyes and then opening them again. On this occasion, I could see more details of the room. On the wall nearest to the window hung a cluster of miniature portraits or silhouettes, while a gown
lay draped over the chair. I did not recall seeing it there when I came to bed. Certainly, it must have been composed of heavy silk, or wool, perhaps even brocade, for it held its shape remarkably well. Oddly, the more accustomed to the darkness my eyes grew, the larger the gown became. Soon it seemed to be sitting upright in the chair, as if it were being worn. It struck me then that this was no heap of lifeless fabric but a woman. There was a woman in my room! How she had managed to gain entry, I could not fathom, for the chest of drawers stood firm against the door. My heart pounded in my ears. Gracious heaven, I was too terrified to move, fearful that if this marauder knew I was awake, I would find myself at her mercy.

I shut my eyes tight, pretending to lie in the deepest grip of sleep. My heart pounded so loudly within my ears that I feared she would hear it. I lay perfectly still for several moments, my limbs rigid with dread. I expected her advance upon me, but it did not come. Instead she seemed content to linger a distance away, and began, rather curiously, to hum beneath her breath. I listened carefully. The hum grew louder, until whispered words floated upon it.

“There were two sisters who lived in a hall,

Hey with the gay and the grandeur O

And there came a lord to court them all

At the bonnie bows o’ London town.

“He courted the eldest with a penknife,

And he vowed that he would take her life.

“He courted the youngest with a glove,

And he said that he’d be her true love.”

The voice lifted again in volume; this time it sounded as if the singer had risen to her feet. By then, I knew who sang it, and the sweet,
unmistakable tones of her voice. I knew, as well, the song she had chosen.

“ ‘O sister, O sister, shall we go and walk,

And see our father’s ships how they float?

“ ‘O lean your foot upon the stone,

And wash your hand in that sea-foam.’

“She leaned her foot upon the stone,

But her cruel sister had tumbled her down.”

She took one slow step and then another in her progress towards my bed.

“ ‘O sister, sister, give me your hand,

And I’ll make you lady of all my land.’

“ ‘O I’ll not lend to you my hand,

But I’ll be lady of your land.’ ”

Her shuffling movement ceased and then I felt her beside me, the folds of her gown brushing against the bedding. By God, she sounded so much alive that I would have sworn an oath to it.

“ ‘O sister, sister, give me your glove,

And I’ll make you lady of my true love.’ ”

“Why do you torment me, Cathy?” my mind begged her. But she did not respond. “Do I not suffer enough?”

“ ‘O I’ll not lend to you my glove,

But I’ll be lady of your true love…’ ”

She stopped.

“You will taste suffering, sister—and you will remember well who bestows it upon you!”

I awoke with a cry. No sooner had my eyes opened than the most unbearable dizziness came over me. Frantically, I reached for the chamber pot and retched violently. Believing I had recovered, I sat up to find myself sick for a second time. Only after I had caught my breath did I dare peer over the rim of the porcelain basin. I was alone in a daylightfilled room. Even the gown upon the chair was no longer there. I had dreamed it, just as I had at Orchard Cottage. Nevertheless, I remained greatly disturbed. Lady Catherine’s voice still rang in my ears, as if she had stood in the flesh beside me. I was unwell, I told myself, rubbing my cold, wet brow. There were no ghosts. No, I had not seen a ghost. Perhaps I had consumed something at Mrs. Anderson’s table, or perhaps some poison had been slipped to me in a drink. I lay back down upon the bed, attempting to compose myself.

Hardly had I pushed the disturbing incident from my mind when there came a gentle rapping at the door. “Miss Lightfoot,” whispered a soft voice. It was Miss Bradley. “Are you taken ill?”

I did not wish to see my false friend, or anyone among her household.

“No,” said I, “I am perfectly well.” And I might have convinced her of that, had my words not been interrupted by a sudden return of vomiting.

“Miss Lightfoot…” came the voice again. “I do believe you are unwell. May I enter?”

I considered her request but did not answer.

“Please, Miss Lightfoot. I will not harm you. I wish merely to see if you require a surgeon.”

I wished to leave that house. I wished to quit it as soon as possible, and my intention was to unbar the door and tell Miss Bradley so. I would go as soon as the sickness passed.

“There you are,” said she, standing on the threshold, her face alight
with health, her pink complexion offset by her deep blue gown. “By Jove, you are as white as a sheet!”

Miss Bradley was as sweet-tempered as she had been when I first encountered her. She behaved as if nothing untoward had come to pass the night before. She was a whore. How was it possible for her to behave as a gentlewoman? (Oh reader, I had so much to learn!)

I was a good deal cautious of her as she sat beside me upon the bed. Had I felt stronger I might have gathered my belongings, sprung from her company and down the stairs, quick as a hare.

She looked directly at my face, her lips formed into a thin simper. “How far gone are you?”

I did not comprehend her meaning.

“How many months are you along?”

“Months?” I asked.

Now she looked at me with disbelief.

“You are breeding, are you not?”

“Breeding?” said I, entirely confused. “But…” It had never occurred to me. In all my fluster, in the shock of his lordship’s disappearance, I had not even thought, and how could I? I had no prior experience of pregnancy. I did not know the signs. I did not have a mother to direct me. This was indeed the first moment at which the idea had so much as entered my head.

“Dear girl!” exclaimed Miss Bradley, quite taken aback at my innocence, which she most certainly mistook for dullness. “Did you not know?”

“Is it possible?” I asked incredulously, placing my hand against my belly, thinking I might feel something, some swelling or quickening.

“It is possible if you lay with your fiancé.”

I cast my gaze downward. How might a whore know my secrets, unless I myself were like her?

I nodded.

“And when did you last bleed?”

I squirmed at this intrusive question, but began to cast my mind back to the last time when I had my monthly courses. Since I began them at fourteen, they had never come regularly, and after Lady Catherine’s death they did not come at all for a spell. “November,” I stated.

“Late or early?”

“Early.”

“Then you are near to two months gone, my dear.”

I did not know how to take this news. I was, quite frankly, a great deal shocked by it. But for the sickness, I felt no differently. I certainly did not look like a woman big with child.

“Will you have it?” asked Miss Bradley.

“Have it?”

“Oh come now, you silly thing, you need not play the innocent with me. You are among friends here,” she said with a laugh and a shake of her head. “It is not too late to rid yourself of it. Blatchford’s elixir works quite a trick. There is a bit of sickness, but it is not as bad as taking a mercury cure, and then it is out of you, as easy as that.”

I must admit, this was all entirely new to me and I could not fathom what to make of it. I had hardly taken in that I was with child and now Miss Bradley was advising me of a way to remove it from myself.

“But why, why should I want to do that?”

My confidante let out a great laugh, and then placed her hand upon my sleeve.

“Miss Lightfoot, I take it you have not been upon the town and that your story is genuine.” She cleared her throat. “In which case you must forgive my affront to your sensibilities, but there are a few things you must understand.” She stopped, caught my eye and sighed. “You are an innocent… of a sort, poor lamb.” Her expression then became quite sober. “Your fiancé, the father of your child… I take it he has abandoned you?”

I wished not to weep, and shut my eyes fast. “I do not know. I do not believe he could. He loves me.”

“All men will say they love you, dear, but most do not mean it.”

“No,” I corrected her. “No, he meant what he said. He pledged it to me. He called me his wife. We lived as husband and wife. I shall not give up hope. I shall not. I have nothing else, Miss Bradley, but him… and now”—I began to laugh and cry as I spoke—“and now there will be a child… and he swore an oath to me that he would love…” I could speak no more.

“Then, Miss Lightfoot,” my counsellor began, “if you are determined to keep this child, should it live and should you not miscarry, you will be in need of a livelihood until you are reunited with your beloved.”

I stopped at her words. They were practical and harsh.

“How do you propose to keep yourself off the street, or the child alive for its father to see it? You will need an income, madam.”

I had never before considered this, for I had lived always under the protection of someone.

“And what thoughts have you on how you might procure one, should you quit our house? Where have you to go?” Her voice had risen in pitch. “Miss Lightfoot, I do not wish to cajole you but I have known many a girl like yourself end as a common harlot, deep in pox and pints of wine, plying her trade in the by-ways and taverns till she is as worn as an old broom. The babe, should it live to be born, will almost certainly die young or end as footpad or rogue. Why, I have only to look through this window on to the road to show you an example of such a hapless creature. They are all about us, or have you had no cause to notice them before?”

I stared at Miss Bradley, quite shaken by her sermon.

“If you wish it, you may have a home with us. Our life here is quite comfortable. My sister and I concur that you are exceptionally fair and would do well. We pay heed to no bawd, but trade off our own bottoms and my sister has the run of the house, owing to the good favours she had secured from the Captain, her protector… not her husband, as you
may have gathered,” she explained with a wry smile. “We are free to choose our own beaux from among the gentlemen who call on us, and take no one but a select few.”

I could not look at her as she posed her offer. I had withdrawn into my mind, which was twisted and tangled with thoughts and terrors. Indeed, my world had shifted shape so quickly that I had hardly come to accept one truth than another was thrust upon me, and another, in rapid succession. What on earth had my life come to? I was not six months earlier a modest young lady with no parentage; I then became the daughter of an earl and his mistress, before becoming a mistress myself. And now I sat upon a whore’s bed with a child in my womb. I was numb. I ceased to hear Miss Bradley’s words; there came nothing but a dull noise.

At that moment, instinct caused me to fold my hands over my belly, as if to cradle what lay inside. A strange thing happened as I did it; my heart became like a flower unfolding, blooming with a pride and happiness in the midst of this terrible winter. It was as if I could feel Allenham inside me. I shut my eyes against the tears that wished to come.

“Should you like to join us,” continued Miss Bradley, oblivious to the wanderings of my head, “there is but one condition.” She hesitated. “I shall tell you now that to keep a child in a house such as this is a folly. As might any wife, you are likely to find yourself breeding often, and were we to maintain all the children of our liaisons, we should have hardly enough bread for our table.” She laughed merrily. “And… gentlemen do not like the sound of squawking babes… as it calls to mind too much of their homes.” She turned to me. “You should rid yourself of this burden, Miss Lightfoot… if you wish to be among us.”