Scales and Sensibility by Stephanie Burgis

Chapter 20

When Elinor made her excuses to the company and left before dinner could be served, she half-expected Benedict to follow her. All the way back to her room, she braced herself to be caught up with at any moment.

He knew—or at least suspected—what she and Sir Jessamyn had done to Lady Hathergill. How could he not pursue her for answers?

But she arrived at her room without being stopped, and when a knock sounded on the door twenty minutes later, it was only Sally, holding Elinor’s dinner on a platter. The maid looked at Elinor’s discarded gown, lying over the dressing-table chair, and nodded briskly.

“Mrs. Braithewaite said that would need cleaning. He’s still up to his old tricks, is he?”

Sir Jessamyn, on Elinor’s lap, looked unoffended by the comment, as well as unruffled by his earlier accident. All of his attention was on the platter that Sally set down on the bed, with its tureen of soup and full plate of pheasant, jelly, and macaroons. A glass of wine, warmly golden against its crystal glass, stood beside them, perfectly unspilled.

“Thank you,” Elinor said. “I’m afraid Penelope frightened him, and—”

“Oh, I know,” said Sally. “I wouldn’t let a pet of mine anywhere near her, I wouldn’t, nor a baby, for that matter.” She poked at the soiled gown with one finger. “Still, I should have it ready for you by tomorrow morning.”

Elinor frowned. “I thought that none of the maids would touch—”

“Not for Miss Penelope, no, not anymore,” said Sally, “and Mrs. Braithewaite is behind us all the way, believe you me. She said it was too much for anyone to bear, the number of times every day we were expected to clean those messes up, especially when we all knew Miss Penelope was causing them herself. But you’re an honored guest, Mrs. De Lacey—or at least, we’re all supposed to think so. So…”

She sat down on the foot of the bed and looked expectantly at Elinor. “Tell me what happened with our Lucinda this afternoon.”

“Ah.” Elinor took a deep breath. Sir Jessamyn nosed the tray, and she cut off a slice of pheasant. Feeding it to him gave her a good excuse to lower her head and not meet Sally’s gaze. “I emptied her reticule onto the couch—”

“That must have been a nasty shock to her,” Sally said cheerfully. “How did you manage it?”

Elinor winced. “I spilled my tea all over her.”

“Good.” Sally reached over and scooped Elinor’s wine glass off the tray with casual authority. She raised it to her lips as she asked, “And which of our little knick-knacks took her fancy today?”

“None,” Elinor said. “There was nothing in her reticule that shouldn’t have been there.”

“What?” Sally lowered the glass so quickly, wine sloshed against the crystal rim. “Something must have distracted her. She almost always—”

“Not today,” said Elinor, “and I expect she won’t take anything on her next visit, either. Not now that she knows I’m watching her.”

“Bloody hell.” Sally shook her head. “You’ve torn it!”

“I did tell you I probably wouldn’t be able—”

“Well, you’re going to have to think of something!” Sally took a long sip of wine and slammed the glass back down onto the tray with an ominous chink. “If you imagine you can give up just because you made one little mistake—”

“I’m only here for six days!” said Elinor. “How many chances do you expect me to have? Now that she knows I suspect her, she’ll be on her guard. Why would she take the risk of stealing anything this week? She isn’t stupid. She’ll wait until I leave before she tries anything else.”

Sally raised her eyebrows. “Then you’ll just have to help her along, won’t you?”

Dread twisted in Elinor’s stomach. “What do you mean?”

“You think she won’t take anything herself? Fine. You’ll just have to do it for her.”

“I beg your pardon?” Elinor stared at Sally. She’d been carefully feeding slices of pheasant to Sir Jessamyn, but now her hand dropped limply to her lap, and Sir Jessamyn took over the task with enthusiasm. “You can’t mean—”

“All you have to do is take something yourself and slip it into that little bag of hers,” said Sally. “Who’s going to take her word against the great Mrs. De Lacey—especially when everyone sees you discover the stolen goods?”

“I can’t do that,” said Elinor.

“Of course you can. Miss Lucinda does it all the time. Just wait until no one’s looking and then—”

“That’s not what I meant!” Elinor was breathing hard, the meal before her forgotten. She barely even noticed Sir Jessamyn nosing forward onto the dinner tray, golden eyes glinting with excitement, to attack the jellies on her plate. “I will not steal something myself and then plant it in her reticule. That would be wrong! It would be—”

“It would be exactly what she did to my sister!” Sally crossed her arms. “She planted all that jewelry in Daisy’s room and ruined her life just to keep herself safe. Do you really think she doesn’t deserve the same treatment? Just because she’s a lady and we’re—”

“She might deserve it,” said Elinor, “but I cannot do it to her. Not without behaving just as cruelly and dishonestly as she did to your sister.”

Sally’s cheeks flushed with colour. For a long moment she looked at Elinor in a silence so ominous that even Sir Jessamyn stopped eating to look up questioningly.

Then she said, “Dishonest, is it? Well. If you’re so worried about honesty, maybe I should go to Sir John or Miss Penelope right now. Maybe you want me to tell them exactly who you are. Because we’re all just so terribly worried about honesty now, aren’t we?”

Elinor swallowed. “If I can help Daisy in any other way—”

“You can’t,” Sally said flatly. “She will never get another respectable position until Miss Lucinda is revealed. And if you’re too dainty to get your ladylike hands dirty, then it’s never going to happen.”

“There has to be another way,” Elinor said. “Something that doesn’t force us to sink to her level. If we—”

“You can spend the whole time you’re here fretting your heart out about what’s proper,” Sally said, “but I don’t have that liberty, ma’am. All I have is a little sister who’s lost everything, and I’m watching all my hopes for her future thrown away to salve your pretty conscience!”

“Sally…”

“No!” Sally stood up and slapped down her skirts. “I’m going to Sir John right now. And I’m going to tell him—”

“What?” Elinor demanded. “What exactly are you going to tell him?”

It was the last of too many crises in one day. She couldn’t even bring herself to be frightened. Not anymore. “You just told me that no one would take Lucinda’s word against the great Mrs. De Lacey. Do you really think that Sir John will take your word against mine?”

Sally blinked rapidly. “Well, maybe not Sir John, but when I tell Miss Penelope—”

“My cousin has never had a real conversation with a servant in her life,” said Elinor. “She thought that I was too low to be her equal, only because my parents lost our money. Do you think she’ll take you any more seriously than my uncle would?”

“If they find out the truth, no matter who brings it—”

“And what evidence of it will you offer them?” Elinor asked. She turned to let Sir Jessamyn slide off her lap…and her gaze fell on the mutilated newspaper that still lay on top of the pile beside her bed. Her muscles went taut; all her momentary calm evaporated. She had to force herself to meet Sally’s gaze once more, even as she realized that her own words were pure bluff: “There is no way to prove it to them.”

Sally must have seen the change in Elinor’s expression. Her shoulders relaxed. Her lips curved into an unpleasant smile. “Oh, there’s always a way,” she said. “Isn’t that what you just told me, Miss Elinor, when you were dismissing my Daisy’s problems as unimportant compared to being kind to the gentryfolk?”

“I am not dismissing them,” Elinor said. “I’m only saying—”

“I think you’ve said quite enough, thank you.” Sally leaned over to scoop up the pile of newspapers. Before she could stop herself, Elinor gave a jerk of alarm. She couldn’t tell whether Sally had noticed it…but there was a glint of satisfaction in the maid’s eyes as she straightened.

“I’ll find that evidence of yours,” she said, “and I promise you, I’ll find it before the week is up. So you’d better find that better way you’re hoping for to expose Miss Lucinda…or else you’ll be the one who gets caught out in front of the whole company by the time Miss Penelope’s début ball is over...and won’t that make it easy for Sir John to arrest you just as he wanted to in the first place!”

She snatched the soiled gown off the chair and stalked out of the room, leaving Elinor with an empty wineglass and a dinner tray picked perfectly clean.

Sir Jessamyn looked up at Elinor and belched.

“Oh, yes,” she said fervently. “It is definitely time for bed.”

* * *

She had just blownout her candle and closed her eyes, with Sir Jessamyn curled warmly on the pillow beside her, when a soft knock sounded on the door.

Sir Jessamyn looked up alertly. His golden eyes gleamed in the shadows.

“Ignore it,” Elinor whispered, and pulled her covers more tightly around herself. She didn’t care who it was, or what they wanted. All she wanted now…

The door opened. Candlelight glowed in her cousin’s hand.

“Mrs. De Lacey?” Penelope whispered. “You aren’t asleep yet, are you?”

Elinor gritted her teeth and remained stubbornly silent.

Penelope stepped further into the room and closed the door behind her. “You must wake up, Mrs. De Lacey! I need to talk to you.”

Inwardly, Elinor let out the kind of curse she would never allow herself to utter out loud. Resigned, she pushed herself up in bed. “What is so important that it cannot wait for the morning?”

“Well…everything!” Penelope set down her candlestick and collapsed onto Elinor’s bed. In the flickering glow of the candlelight, her beautiful face was shadowed, but Elinor could still make out the signs of recent tears. “Everything’s going wrong for me. You have to help!”

“Do I?” Elinor sighed. Sir Jessamyn was a still and watchful presence beside her, tense but not yet frightened. “I promised I would help you with your début, Penelope, and I will. But I’ve had a rather long day, and—”

“You’ve had a long day?” Penelope let out a huff of disbelief. “What about me? First my father fails to find my cousin or my dragon…then he announces he won’t even try to hunt her down—and then my mother goes mad!”

“Lady Hathergill has not gone mad,” Elinor said, trying hard not to sound guilty. “As ladies grow older, they do often tend to speak their minds more strongly, and—”

“What kind of mind would even come up with such evil things?” Penelope sniffed. “I picked those draperies in the drawing room myself! Papa and the draper both approved them and said how perfect my taste was. Now she decides to call them ‘vulgar’? And to claim that I go into hysterics when anyone criticizes me—! Me? Of all the—”

“I understand,” Elinor said hastily. Penelope’s voice was already rising, sending Sir Jessamyn shrinking towards Elinor’s side. “You were hurt by the way that your mother spoke of you in front of company.”

“I was hurt by the fact that she belongs in a madhouse!” Penelope’s tone was venomous. “Papa is going to summon a physician to inspect her, he promised me. He thinks it very likely that she may have developed some sort of mental disorder.”

Elinor stared at her. “You cannot be serious.”

“No one would change their entire personality so suddenly unless they had gone mad,” Penelope said. “It’s the only possible explanation for her behavior! But…” She drooped, her voice turning piteous. “It may already be too late. When I came back down to supper, you should have seen the way everyone looked at me. They’d all been listening to her! And Mr. Hawkins…”

Elinor stiffened. “Mr. Hawkins…?”

Penelope burst into tears. “He barely even looked at me!” She launched herself forward into Elinor’s arms. “What if she’s given him a disgust of me? I couldn’t bear it!”

Elinor patted her cousin’s back and took deep, steadying breaths. Things could have been worse, she told herself. If anyone else had thrown their arms around her, they would have been shocked by the difference between her curvaceous appearance and the figure that they felt against them.

Penelope, on the other hand, was far too self-absorbed to take any notice.

When her cousin’s sobs finally began to subside, Elinor said, “I am sure he still admires you.”

“I don’t believe he does.” Penelope choked on her tears. “When I said that your dragon was just as horrid as all the rest, he actually looked as if he didn’t care for me at all!”

Elinor couldn’t halt the burst of rebellious warmth inside her chest. “Perhaps he’d eaten something that displeased him,” she suggested. “He might not even have been listening to what you said.”

“But that would be just as bad.” Penelope drew back, her chest heaving with her final, hiccupping tears. “My mother has ruined all of my marital chances!”

“Penelope…” Elinor sighed. “You haven’t even had your début yet.”

“But by the time I have my season in London, she might already be in a madhouse,” Penelope said. “Even if she’s only kept restrained in a cottage somewhere, in the care of a nurse, people are sure to find out in the end. Then no one will ever want to marry me!”

Elinor cringed. “Your mother certainly does not need a nurse—much less a madhouse! And if you want to be certain to attract a good husband without any unpleasant rumours spreading around—”

“Oh, I know,” said Penelope heavily. “There is only one thing that I can do, anymore. I simply must become betrothed by the night of my début. It’s my final chance.” She drew herself up, looking tragic and heroic. “Mr. Hawkins and Mr. Armitage must both offer for me. It’s my only chance at happiness!”

“But…” Elinor blinked at her. “You can only accept one of them, you know.”

“So?” said Penelope. “They both have to ask before I can say yes to either of them, obviously. I couldn’t bear to have only one proposal of marriage. If I couldn’t turn even one gentleman down…well, then, I’d be a positive laughing-stock! Don’t you see?”

Elinor sighed. She did see, all too well.

She hadn’t been able to save her own family, but she could still help Benedict save his…and there was only one way to do that.

“Very well,” she said to her cousin. “I’ll help you.”