The Spinster's Secret (20 page)

He stripped off his gloves and flung his hat on the table. A mirror hung on the wall. Edward scowled at himself in it, seeing the scarred face, the missing ear.
Look at you. You fool! How could you believe she cared for you?

He limped to the decanter of brandy. It was almost empty. He upended it roughly into a glass, splashing brandy onto the sideboard.

“Tigh!”

The bâtman came through from the bedchamber, a clothes brush in his hand. “Sir?”

“Get some more brandy.” Edward fished in his pocket, pulled out some crumpled notes, and thrust them at the bâtman.

An ugly hand, missing three fingers.
How could I be so stupid as to think that she would want to be touched by me?

Tigh raised his eyebrows, but all he said was, “Yes, sir.”

“And order the curricle around from the stables tomorrow morning. We’ll leave for Northhamptonshire at eight.”

Dismay crossed Tigh’s face. “Not…Creed Hall again, sir?”

“Yes,” Edward said grimly.

He swallowed half the brandy in one gulp. It burned down his throat.

He shrugged out of his heavy frieze coat and threw it over the back of a chair. On the table, alongside his discarded hat and gloves, were two parcels. The books, ribbons, shawl, and ermine muff that he’d chosen for Mattie.

“And get rid of those.”

“Sir?”

“Throw them out, give them away. I don’t care, just get rid of them!”

“Yes, sir.” Tigh gathered up the parcels.

Edward turned away. He gulped another mouthful of brandy, remembering the words that Mattie had uttered in the library at Creed Hall.
I should like to know what it’s like to have physical congress with a man
.

He’d built dreams of affection, of love, when all he’d been for Mattie was the means to an end.

…

Mattie worked through the day, sewing. As afternoon crawled past, she found herself listening for the sound of Edward’s return. He’d only been gone for four days, but if his business was brief, if his horses were fast . . .

She shook herself. “Fool!”

It was stupid to miss Edward, stupid to hope that he’d be back today, stupid to look forward to seeing his face again, and yet she couldn’t stop it. It was an animal, instinctive thing, utterly beyond her control.
Just let me see him once more
.

At dusk, she lit the candles and continued working. The reek of mutton fat filled the room as the tallow candles spluttered and flickered. When the clock struck half past five, Edward hadn’t arrived, and the gown was almost finished. It lacked only buttons.

Mattie laid down her needle. It was too late to expect Edward today.
Perhaps he’ll be here tomorrow
.

She sighed and rubbed her forehead and went to prepare for dinner.

…

“Sermon Twelve,” Mattie read aloud. “On Good Works.”

Sir Gareth wasn’t one of her audience. He’d left that morning to obtain a special license.

Aunt Marchbank’s stiff-backed posture and conspicuously averted face perfectly expressed her resentment at Cecy’s imminent departure. Mattie caught Cecy’s eye and gave a ghost of a wink.
A few more days and you’ll be free of this.

Cecy seemed to understand the silent message. A tiny smile lit her face before she folded her mouth into a prim line.

Mattie took a deep breath. “If from what has been advanced concerning Female Piety, you are satisfied of its importance and necessity…”

She was halfway through the sermon when she heard footsteps and voices in the entrance hall. Her voice faltered for a moment. It
couldn’t
be Edward, not at this hour. She continued reading. “…their gentle ministrations to the sufferers, their stooping so meekly to the meanest of offices of compassion . . .”

The door to the drawing room opened. Griggs stood framed there.

“Mr. Kane,” he announced.

Uncle Arthur swiveled in his chair. “Kane? At this hour?”

Edward stepped into the room. Seeing him—the dark hair, the square face, the scars—made Mattie’s heart turn over painfully in her chest.

“My apologies for arriving so late, Sir Arthur. One of the horses cast a shoe just out of Gripton.” Edward bowed. “Lady Marchbank. Mrs. Dunn.”

His gaze lifted to Mattie. “Miss Chapple.”

Her face broke into a smile. She could no more hold it back than she could stop her heart from beating.

Edward didn’t return the smile. There was no friendliness in his eyes.

Mattie stared at him, while her joy at seeing him slowly congealed. Why was he looking at her like that? As if he hated her?

And then she understood.
He knows that I’m Chérie
. The knowledge was blazoned across his face, as plain to see as the scars.

The floor seemed to lurch beneath her feet. Mattie gripped the mantelpiece to steady herself.

“We’ve dined,” Uncle Arthur said, a querulous note in his voice.

“I ate en route,” Edward said, turning back to his host.

Mattie looked down at the book of sermons in her hand. The words blurred, unreadable.

“You were successful?”

“Yes.” One short, curt syllable.

Mattie glanced up.

Uncle Arthur struggled to his feet, leaning on his cane. An expression of triumph lit his gaunt face. “Come to my study.”

“It can wait until morning, sir,” Edward said, still not looking at her.

Mattie let go of the mantelpiece. She closed the book of sermons. Her lungs had constricted. Each breath was a struggle.

“No,” she said, forcing the word out through numb lips.

Let’s have done with it. Now.

Both men turned to look at her, one blankly, the other with anger burning in his eyes.

Mattie hugged the book of sermons to her chest. Beneath it, her heart beat rapidly.

She took a shallow breath and grabbed hold of her courage. “Uncle Arthur…I am Chérie.”

Her uncle’s mouth opened. No sound came out. He looked like a dead fish, gaping at her.

“I apologize for doing something so…so discreditable while living under your roof.”

Uncle Arthur’s mouth shut with a snap. “You?”

“Yes.”

Rage rushed into her uncle’s pallid cheeks, flushing them red. “Get out of my house! Get out now! This very instant!”

“It’s night-time, sir,” Edward said.

“I don’t care!” Uncle Arthur cried, his voice shrill with righteous anger. “I won’t have such…such
corruption
in my house a moment longer!”

Mattie put down the book of sermons.

“Do you hear me, you filthy creature?” Her uncle’s voice rose in a quavering shout. “Out! Out!”

“You can’t do that, sir.” Edward spoke with flat, implacable authority.

For the first time in their acquaintance he sounded like an officer, used to giving orders and having them obeyed.

Uncle Arthur drew breath to argue.

“Not at night,” Edward said. “Not in winter. It would be unChristian.”

Uncle Arthur’s face grew purple as he wrestled with the truth of this statement.

“Start packing!” he cried finally. “I want you gone at dawn!”

“Yes, Uncle.”

Cecy half-rose, her confusion clear to read. Mattie shook her head.
Don’t ally yourself with me
.

Cecy read the silent message. She sank back onto the sofa.

Mattie gripped the mantelpiece again briefly, finding the balance to walk to the door, then pushed away from it. Her uncle struck her with his cane as she passed him, a sharp, stinging blow to her upper arm, almost making her stumble.

“Sir!” Edward said.

It was one word only, but his tone made Uncle Arthur flush. He lowered the cane.

Mattie halted when she reached Edward. She met his gaze squarely. “I apologize for not telling you.”

His mouth tightened, pinching at the corners. “I read the first chapter.”

The outrage burning in his eyes abruptly made sense. He’d recognized the scene, recognized himself.

“Edward…” There was nothing she could say to him here, in public. “I’m sorry.”

His jaw hardened. He turned away from her.

Mattie heard Aunt Marchbank’s voice as she closed the door. “I don’t understand. What has she done?”

Mattie climbed the stairs, rubbing her arm. She had deserved the blow. If her uncle had chosen to beat her, she would have deserved that too.

In her room, Mattie locked her door and leaned against it. She was shaking, sick to her stomach.
I deserve this
. She pressed her knuckles to her mouth.
I deserve this!
She squeezed her eyes shut, as if by shutting out sight she could shut out the scene in the drawing room: Uncle Arthur’s fury, Edward turning his back to her.

Finally she opened her eyes, blew out a trembling breath, and pushed away from the door. Standing here, feeling sorry for herself, wasn’t going to help matters.

But her thoughts spun so chaotically that it was hard to know where to start. Mattie turned on her heel. What should she do first? Empty her dresser? Clear out the secret cupboard? Write a note to Cecy? It was too much, too overwhelming . . .

“Stop it!” Mattie said aloud. “Just stop it!”

She inhaled a deep breath and marched across to the escritoire. One thing at a time, that’s what she’d do. One thing at a time.

The first letter she wrote was to Cecy. It was the easiest. The second, to Uncle Arthur, was much more difficult. Mattie labored over it for more than an hour, thanking him for taking her in and explaining why she’d embarked upon her shameful career, and finally apologizing for deceiving him.
It was not my intention to ever cause you distress, Uncle. I am fully aware how much I owe you
. . .

Someone tapped on her door.

Mattie’s heart lurched in her chest and seemed to stop beating. Was it Edward?

“Mattie?” The voice belonged to Cecy. “Are you there?”

Mattie hurried to the door and unlocked it. “Shh. They might hear you.”

Cecy was in her nightgown, her hair in a plait down her back. “Mattie, what on earth have you done?”

“It’s all in here.” Mattie handed her the letter she’d written.

Cecy took it and turned it over in her hand. Her face was troubled. “Is it very dreadful?”

“Shockingly dreadful. Now go! Before anyone finds you here.”

“But Mattie…will you be all right?”

“I’ll be fine,” Mattie said firmly. “Don’t worry about me. Go, Cecy! If Uncle Arthur should find you here, there’ll be the most dreadful row.”

Cecy hugged her. “Will I ever see you again?”

Tears choked in Mattie’s throat.

She hugged Cecy back. “I hope so. If you don’t disown me when you discover what I’ve done!”

No one else knocked on her door while she finished Uncle Arthur’s letter. Mattie sealed it and put it aside.

The letter to Edward was the hardest. She wrote it with absolute honesty. When it was finished, Mattie sealed it, wrote his name on the front, and dated it. She fetched the letter that she’d written to him five days ago and placed it on top. Explanation, apology, farewell.

The long case clock in the entrance hall struck midnight, the echo reverberating hollowly through the house. Mattie rubbed her aching arm. If she was to walk to Gripton in time to catch the morning stagecoach, she needed to leave soon.

She dressed in her warmest clothes and sturdiest boots. In the pocket of her thick winter cloak, she tucked the only item of jewelry she owned, the pearl necklace that her parents had given her on her seventeenth birthday, to be pawned in Gripton for her fare to London.

Next, she hauled the battered bandboxes that contained her belongings from school out from under her bed—translations in French and Italian, stiff little watercolors, sheets of music—and emptied them both. She re-packed the first one with the Countess’s diary, the copy of
Fanny Hill
, and the letters she had from her parents and Toby. On top of those things, she laid her hair brush, toothbrush, and toothpowder. Lastly, she crammed in her nightgown and fastened the lid.

In the second bandbox, she packed as much clothing as would fit. When that was done, Mattie sat back on her heels and glanced around the bedchamber. Was there anything she’d forgotten?

What about Mama Cat and her kittens?
A voice whispered in her head.

Mattie looked at the two bandboxes. She couldn’t carry them both,
and
a basket for the cats.

The cats will be all right in the barn
. She rubbed her forehead with her knuckles.
They are only animals, after all.

But she had promised to take them with her. She’d promised the kittens a home where no one would try to drown them.
And drowning the kittens was exactly what Uncle Arthur would order done if he discovered their existence.

Mattie hesitated and then shoved the second bandbox away. Clothes she could do without.

She let herself out of her bedchamber for the last time, carrying one bandbox, a woolen shawl, and the letters that she’d written.

…

Mattie tiptoed downstairs and placed Uncle Arthur’s letter on his desk. He would probably burn it without reading it, but at least she’d tried to apologize.

She left the two letters for Edward on the breakfast table, took a large covered basket from the kitchen, and let herself out the side door.

In the stables, Mattie lined the basket with the woolen shawl and then climbed the ladder to the hayloft.

“Mama Cat, I’m taking you all with me,” she whispered. “Where are you?”

The kittens woke, making squeaky, sleepy mews. Mattie captured them, carefully shutting each round-bellied little body in the basket.

“Come here, Mama Cat.”

Mama Cat purred as she was picked up and rubbed her face along Mattie’s jaw.

“It will be uncomfortable,” Mattie said, stroking her sleek fur. “But trust me. I’m taking you somewhere safe.”