Scales and Sensibility by Stephanie Burgis

Chapter 15

Lucinda’s unopened reticule tugged at Elinor from the corner of her vision, but the arrival of food was enough to brighten Sir Jessamyn’s mood immediately. He raised himself from his wary crouch on Elinor’s shoulder to stretch his neck hopefully towards the tea tray, and when Elinor took the plate of meat onto her lap, he only let her feed him politely for a moment before scampering down her arm to take over the job himself.

Penelope’s nostrils flared with disgust as she watched him tear into his meal. “I cannot believe you allow him to eat in front of you.”

Elinor, accustomed to her cousin’s views, only rolled her eyes inwardly and prepared to change the subject.

Before she could say a word, though, Benedict Hawkins asked, “How did you feed your own dragon, Miss Hathergill?”

“Well, I didn’t feed him myself, obviously!” She shuddered. “The servants took care of that. Or Elin—well, anyway, I would never dream of letting him eat while he sat on my lap, of all places. That would be like—well, like letting a dog roam around your very own sitting room!”

“Ah…” He blinked. “You don’t like dogs either?”

“Penelope has always been afraid of dogs.” Millie beamed with self-importance as she passed on the news. “Ever since we were little, we always had to put our dogs away when she—”

“I am not afraid of dogs!” Penelope glared at her friend, even as Lucinda nudged Millie reprovingly. “I don’t like them, that’s all. Horrid, slavering creatures. My father would never allow any in our house!”

“Oh.” Benedict visibly adjusted to the news. “Perhaps, if you met the right sort of dog—my niece’s pug, for instance, who—”

“I would never allow a dog to run free in my own house,” said Penelope. “Honestly, they all do very well outside in kennels, and I do think they prefer it, really. If their owners weren’t so fussy and unreasonable, they’d all be kept outside, where they belong! It is better to treat animals as animals, don’t you think?”

Mr. Hawkins hesitated. Hurt crept into Penelope’s expression. “Oh, I suppose you’re about to say something horrid to me, like everyone else does. My cousin—that is, some people have been completely unreasonable and cruel to me in the past, but I’d thought that you were kinder than that. Especially when I’ve just suffered such a terrible loss…” Tears clogged her voice. She turned her face away. “She stole him away from me, you know.”

“Your...dragon.” Reluctance was etched across Benedict’s face. “Your father did say that your cousin had taken him, but—”

“She stole him,” Penelope said, “out of my very arms! When I had chosen him myself, and named him and loved him, and he was my father’s most expensive gift to me, ever…!”

Sir Jessamyn swallowed the last of the meat on the plate and let out a belch of satisfaction. Penelope’s nose crinkled in distaste. She scooted another inch away from him.

Lucinda seized the opportunity to lean forward and catch Benedict’s eye. “It really was quite shocking,” she said. “If you had known Miss Tregarth and seen what a perfect pretense of self-righteousness she wore—if you’d heard all of her fine words about his treatment, as if she were a veritable saint herself!—well, you would be shocked at the hypocrisy of her theft.”

If anyone should know about hypocrisy, it would be Lucinda...but suddenly, Elinor was rather looking forward to exposing her thefts after all.

“She probably needed the money,” Millie pronounced with satisfaction. “My parents say she had absolutely nothing to live on. She must have taken him to sell him. He’s probably living in a traveling circus right now, being used for unholy rituals.”

Elinor blinked. Her gaze met Benedict’s. For a moment, despite everything, she felt their mutual connection return in full force as both of them reacted to Millie’s words.

His lips twitched; she cleared her throat. “Exactly what sort of unholy rituals do you imagine they would want him for in a public circus, Miss Staverton?”

“Well!” Millie’s eyes sparkled with delight at the invitation to unburden herself. “My father’s undergardener says that he heard from his cousin’s friend—”

“Only a week before my début!” Penelope wailed. Tears flooded her cheeks; she snatched a handkerchief from her reticule and buried her face in it, muffling her next words. “She wanted to ruin me, that’s all. She did it to hurt me and punish me for being kind to her when no one else ever was, and I will never forgive her for it.”

“Luckily,” said Elinor briskly, “you are not going to be ruined after all. In fact, I think you will do very well without a dragon.”

“But every young lady in high society—”

“Precisely.” Elinor set down her tea cup with a clatter. “Do you wish to be one of a thousand young ladies, Penelope, all doing exactly the same thing?”

“Well…”

Elinor sighed. “Would you attend a ball wearing the same gown as every other débutante?”

“Of course not!” Penelope lowered her handkerchief.

“Then why should you want to imitate all the rest? You will set your own fashion by daring to do without a dragon!”

“Lucinda and I don’t have dragons,” Millie said helpfully. “We don’t mind, do we, Lucinda?”

Elinor winced. Penelope’s face, which had looked so hopeful for a moment, was beginning once again to crumple.

Lucinda and Millie, of course, could not afford to have dragons any more than they could afford to have expensive London seasons afterwards. Penelope had flaunted her own dragon in front of her friends as the greatest symbol of her triumph.

If Elinor didn’t act fast, she would lose all the ground that she had gained…and some other poor dragon would be in for a miserable servitude. Elinor leaned forward, her eyes intent and her voice infused with certainty.

“You,” Elinor said to her cousin, “will choose not to have a dragon, unlike all those dreary, unoriginal young misses you meet in London. You will carry something else instead, something that will make you stand out from the crowd.”

“I will?” Penelope said, with tearful hope.

“She will?” Lucinda frowned.

“But what will she carry?” Millie asked.

Benedict raised his eyebrows and waited.

Elinor searched her brain for inspiration…and came up empty-handed.

“You will carry…”

Even Sir Jessamyn was looking up at her expectantly now.

Elinor searched the room around her for anything suitable. Nothing, nothing, nothing. She swallowed hard. “You will carry…”

A raucous cry split the moment in two. Elinor jumped; so did everyone else, even Sir Jessamyn.

“Oh, those peacocks.” Penelope rolled her eyes, laughing as she re-settled herself on the couch. “They are beautiful, but so noisy! Now, what were you saying, Mrs. De Lacey?”

“That’s it,” Elinor said. All or nothing. She fixed a smile of pure, blazing Mrs. De Lacey confidence on her face. “You will carry…a feather!”

“I beg your pardon?” Penelope blinked rapidly.

Lucinda and Millie stared. Benedict’s eyes narrowed.

Elinor seized the moment, before anyone could spoil it. “You will carry a single feather from one of your father’s peacocks—and you will wear it attached to your shoulder, exactly where everyone would expect a dragon to sit!”

“But…” Penelope’s brow furrowed. “I don’t quite see—”

“It will make a daring statement.” Elinor summoned the power of every description she had ever read about the latest London fashions to infuse her voice with certainty. “It will say: I know what you expect from me…but I shall not bow down to fashion! It will be amusing, it will be powerful, and it will mark you out as a force to be reckoned with.”

“Well…” Penelope’s frown became more thoughtful.

Millie leaned over to whisper excitedly in Lucinda’s ear.

Could they actually be persuaded? Elinor held herself as still as she could, not even daring to breathe in case it broke the spell.

Benedict Hawkins shook his head…but a smile was tugging at his lips. “Do you know, Mrs. De Lacey, I believe you may be right.”

Elinor let out the breath she had been holding. “Of course I am. When have I ever been wrong about fashion?”

As she saw the look of excitement grow on her cousin’s face, though, a wave of unexpected guilt attacked her. Even after everything Penelope had ever said or done, it still felt cruel to do this…but truly, Elinor asked herself, was a shoulder-feather any more ridiculous than the real Mrs. De Lacey’s many more famous sartorial inventions?

“Do you really think people will be impressed?” Penelope said. Her eyelashes fluttered appealingly, but her blue eyes were full of intense calculation.

Elinor thrust aside her guilty conscience and nodded firmly. “Trust me,” she said. “With me standing by your side at your début, you will set the fashionable world alight.”

And it had to be better than letting Penelope buy another dragon.

At the moment, though, Elinor had an even more pressing concern. “Now,” she said. “Shall we think about exactly where to fix it? Perhaps…” She turned, letting her gaze sweep the room…until it landed on Lucinda’s plump, beaded reticule, tucked into Lucinda’s side on the couch nearby.

“Miss Grace.” Elinor smiled sweetly. “You must have something in your reticule that can aid us. A pin, perhaps, that we could fit to Penelope’s gown to mark the spot for her feather?”

“Um…” Lucinda frowned, but picked up her reticule obediently.

“It has to be just the right feather,” Penelope said. “If it’s too small, no one will notice.”

“Of course,” Elinor said absently. She wasn’t looking at her cousin anymore, though. She was watching Lucinda untie the ribbons that held her reticule closed. “You certainly mustn’t carry the wrong sort of feather…”

Drat. Lucinda had opened her reticule…but only by half an inch. She peered inside, then reached inside to rifle among its contents. The angle of her hand kept the inside of the reticule fully hidden from view.

Surely she was being too careful. If she hadn’t anything to hide…

“Why don’t I look for you?” Elinor said, and held out her hand. “I know exactly what I’m looking for, after all.”

Millie gave a squeak of surprise. Even Penelope broke off her chain of thought to stare.

Lucinda’s hand froze in place as she met Elinor’s gaze. For the first time since Elinor had met her six months ago, she saw a flash of cold, wary intelligence in the other girl’s eyes.

Then Lucinda’s face eased into a smile. “You needn’t worry, Mrs. De Lacey,” she said. “I’ve already found a pin for Penelope. You see?”

She drew out a shining hairpin, with a rounded end.

“Oh, good.” Penelope reached across to take it from her. “Shall we put it here, do you think, Mrs. De Lacey?” She pointed to a spot on her shoulder. “And if the feather is just the right length…”

Penelope’s words faded into the background of Elinor’s hearing. Lucinda’s head bent over her reticule as she tied the ribbons closed. As she finished, she looked up, met Elinor’s gaze, smiled sweetly…and lifted the reticule across her lap to deposit it on her other side, safely out of Elinor’s sight.

Elinor smiled back at her...and thought of Lucinda smiling just as sweetly when she’d led all of her parents’ horrified guests to that poor maid’s quarters, full of her own stolen goods.

Sir Jessamyn let out a cheep of protest. With a start, Elinor realized that her fingers had been digging hard into his sides.

She let go, with a quick murmur of apology. When she looked up again, she forced herself to look at Penelope…but she could feel Lucinda watching her.

She would have to tread very carefully from now on. Lucinda was already suspicious, but if Elinor let the matter go for the rest of the afternoon’s visit, her suspicions might be allayed.

On the other hand, who knew when Lucinda would come to Hathergill Hall again? It might not be for days, and Elinor had less than a week.

“You can find a way…if you care enough to try,”Sally had said.

Elinor thought about the letters in Sally’s pocket and swallowed over a suddenly-dry throat.

She cared. And when she imagined how she’d feel if Lucinda had done it to one of her sisters...

“My goodness,” she said, “Penelope certainly was right about dragon appetites. I believe my dragon is still hungry, despite all that meat he ate.”

Sir Jessamyn looked up at her with surprise, but Elinor had no fear that he would betray her. If there was one thing that could be relied upon with the little dragon, it was a never-failing appetite when food was available.

“Miss Grace…” She smiled ruefully. “I do hate to burden you again, but would you mind ringing the bell one more time?”

Lucinda began to rise from the couch—then hesitated. She glanced briefly at the reticule, reached out as if to pick it up…

“I’ll do it this time, Lucinda.” Millie bounced up off the chair. “I wouldn’t mind eating a few more cakes, too. Penelope?”

“Oh…” Penelope waved impatiently. She was leaning towards Benedict, in the middle of a question about her pin. “I’m sure that will be fine.”

“Thank you,” Lucinda said, and sank back down onto the couch.

“How kind of you, Miss Staverton.” Elinor forced a smile.

Lucinda sat between her and the reticule. The table stood in the middle of their cluster of couches and chairs, still holding the half-full tea urn and the empty cake plates.

If only Harry was here! Elinor’s youngest sister always had a creative solution to hand. If Harry was the one who had to do this…

Penelope leaned even closer to Benedict, pointing to the pin as she moved it about her shoulder. “Here, do you think, Mr. Hawkins? Or here?”

His cheeks flushed, but he kept his eyes manfully raised from her only-partially-hidden bosom. “I’m sure it would be charming anywhere, Miss Hathergill.”

“Oh, but…” Penelope pouted. “Don’t you have an opinion? Where do you think it would be most attractive on me?”

Enough. Elinor hated gambling, but she couldn’t stand to wait any longer—and if she could put right even one injustice in this house, perhaps she could bear all the rest so much more easily.

She stood up, setting Sir Jessamyn down on the couch in Millie’s place. “I’ll just pour my own tea, shall I, and—oh!” She gasped dramatically as the teapot twisted in her hands. “Oh, Miss Grace! I am so sorry! Your lovely gown!”

Lucinda leapt to her feet, slapping at the skirts of her gown. The tea might be no longer hot, but it spilled just as quickly when it was cold.

“Oh, and your poor reticule, too—here, while you deal with your gown, let me....”

With a lunge, Elinor had hold of the sopping wet reticule. She untied the laces—

“Let’s get this aired out, shall we?”

—up-ended it over the couch before Lucinda could react…

…And a cluster of completely unremarkable objects fell out.

Five hairpins, two hatpins, several assorted coins, a rock and a letter… Elinor stared at the pile and tasted despair.

“How kind of you, Mrs. De Lacey.” Lucinda held out her hand for the empty reticule. “I can take care of the rest by myself now.”

Elinor met Lucinda’s eyes and read the message in them.

“Yes,” she said, letting the reticule go. “I do believe you can.”

Lucinda knew exactly what she was after…and Elinor had lost her wager.