Part 19 (2/2)
Robert smiled at her. ”He's right, Emma. What do you want me to do?”
Please, Emma, do not leave me, Lord Ragsdale thought. If you go, I am sure I will not have the courage to propose to Clarissa and ”fix my fate,” as you so ingenuously expressed it. I might not treat my servants right, or keep away from alcohol, or find anyone half so fine to handle my correspondence.
”Your decision, Emma,” he added, determined not to hold his breath and appear like a small boy.
She picked up the rosters again and looked at him, then at Robert. ”Take your money and go home, Mr. Claridge,” she said quietly. ”I know your father will be pleased.” She touched Lord Ragsdale's hand. ”Lord Ragsdale has promised to release me when he is engaged, and I think he has almost reached that point. I want you to go home, Mr. Claridge.”
Robert leaped to his feet, pulled Emma up, too, and swung her around until she protested and told him to let her down. He kissed her on both cheeks, and hugged her until Lord Ragsdale feared for her ribs.
”Emma, you are a game goer!” he said. ”I will leave you enough money to pay your pa.s.sage back to Virginia, if you should choose to rejoin us. I am sure Father will find you a position as a teacher, or nursemaid.” He went to the door. ”And now I want to find Sally and tell her.” He leaned against the door. ”Thanks, John and Emma. I wonder why I never noticed before what wonderful people you are.”
”Perhaps because we were not so wonderful,” Lord Ragsdale commented, after Robert left the room. He looked at Emma. ”My dear, I will release you from your indenture anytime you say.”
She took that in, and settled herself more comfortably on the sofa, kicking off her shoes. ”We have not yet finished the bargain, my lord.” She got up suddenly then and went to the desk. ”Now I think you should write a note to Miss Partridge and tell her that you will be at her home first thing in the morning, so you can set out for Bath.”
He joined her at the desk, sitting down and picking up the quill. ”I know she will do terrible things, like make me propose,” he grumbled.
”And it will be good for you,” Emma insisted. ”When you are finished, I will give it to Lasker and tell him to have the footman deliver it tonight.”
He did as she said, pausing here and there for advice on lover-like words. He finished and signed his name with a flourish. ”I suppose you realize this means that I will be reformed, rehabilitated, married, and will probably turn into someone so dull that my children will wonder what their mother was thinking.”
She smiled at him. ”Serves you right, my lord,” she replied, with just a touch of her former acidity. She took the note from him and opened the door upon Lasker, who appeared to be waiting outside. ”Please have Hanley deliver this to the Partridges on Whitcomb Street,” she instructed.
”And bring us some coffee, Lasker,” Lord Ragsdale said as he returned to the sofa. ”It's going to be a long night.”
”I told you to go to bed and rest your eye,” Emma said, then blushed and added, ”my lord.”
He resumed his former position on the couch. ”I won't leave, Emma. Sit down right here and let's start looking.”
I am seeing the backside of too many dawns, he reflected several hours later as Emma finally admitted defeat after two readings of the lists. I would have quit after one reading, he thought, closing his eye to the smudged, faint lists, and weary of looking.
Ever mindful of his eye, Emma had done much of the reading, going slowly through the lists, saying each name aloud, and only troubling him when she could not decipher the words before her. He lay with his eye closed, listening to her, holding his breath when she paused, and sitting up once or twice when he heard her sharp intake of breath. But each time was a false alarm. There was no David or Samuel Costello on any of the lists they had searched so hard for.
”Could it be that the political prisoners were not even mentioned?” he speculated at one point. ”I mean, if the a.s.sizes have no record, why should the s.h.i.+ps' manifests?”
It was a discouraging thought, but early morning was a time for discouraging thoughts. Emma considered it a moment, then rejected it. ”I cannot see how that would be so,” she argued. ”A s.h.i.+p would need to know precisely how many were on board, concerning matters of s.p.a.ce and food.”
”I am sure you are right,” he said, happy to agree with her.
And so she had read through the manifests two more times, grumbling the second time about s.h.i.+p captains, and bad handwriting. On the third reading, her voice was subdued. Finally, after the clock chimed three, she put down the lists.
”They're not here,” she admitted.
She sat on the floor beside the sofa, leaning against it. He reached down and rested his hand on her shoulder. ”Emma, do you really think they ever left Ireland?” he asked quietly.
She was silent for a moment as she rested her cheek against his hand. ”Yes,” she said finally. ”They were in good health, and it was Eamon”-her voice faltered-”Eamon who confessed to everything.” She drew up her knees and rested her chin on them. ”Do you know, the interrogators pressed him for other names of accomplices, and he recited the whole family graveyard.” She turned her head to regard him. ”No. Eamon implicated no one else alive. They had no reason to kill Da and Sam, too. No reason.”
”Well, then, we must find the Minerva and the Hercules,” he said. ”Give me a hand up, Emma.”
She stood up, rubbed the small of her back, then helped him to his feet. ”I suppose it can keep until you return from Bath,” she said as she placed the lists on the desk.
”Emma, you have my permission to return to the docks and check some more,” he said. ”Only please take the footman with you, and enough petty cash for bribes. Oh, and return the lists tomorrow.”
She nodded. ”I'll make sure you have receipts for anything I spend.”
”It's not necessary, Emma.” He opened the door, surprised how dark the hall was, then remembering that everyone else was long in bed. ”I'm so tired,” he said, more to himself than to her. And discouraged, and wondering when this will end for you.
They walked upstairs together, and she said good night to him on the landing that led to the servants' quarters on the third floor. Emma, stay with me tonight, he thought suddenly. It's only a few hours before dawn, and I'm a little low in spirits.
He shook his head at the thought and wished it would go away. But there it was, dancing about in his head like a little shadow puppet. I do not wish to do anything to you-I'm too tired for that-but I would like to hold you in my arms.
”My lord,” Emma said, her hand on the railing.
He looked up expectantly, wondering if by some miracle she could read his mind, and was not opposed to the idea.
”Yes, my dear?” he asked, his voice soft.
He could hear her chuckle in the gloom, even though he could not see her. ”You should know that I made another confession this morning.”
Her tone was playful, but not amorous, so he put away his own roguish thoughts. ”Say on, Emma.”
She must have sat down on the stairs, because he heard a rustle of skirts, and her voice was lower. ”When I went to Fae Moulle, we... I encouraged her to cheat you. The receipt we compiled for her milliner's shop was greatly more than she really needed.”
”Emma, you're a rascal,” he said, amused where a month ago he would have been angry. ”You wanted to cost me money.”
”I hated you, my lord,” she said simply, her voice coming at him so quiet from the darkness of the stairs. ”You were just another Englishman.”
He felt his way to the landing again, and rested his arm on the newel post, not certain of where she was. ”Well, what penance did the priest suggest?”
She laughed, and got to her feet, and he could tell that she was farther away than he thought. ”Remember, I told you he was Irish, too! He told me to pray for your soul, but only if I thought I wanted to.”
He joined in her laughter. ”And do you?” he asked finally.
”Oh, I already have,” she said quickly, and she seemed almost surprised at his question. ”Good night, my lord. I'll be in the book room for your instructions in the morning.”
And then she was gone, hurrying up the stairs to her little cubbyhole under the eaves. In another moment he heard a door close quietly.
Chapter 19.
Could it be that this is what the French aristocrats felt like on their way to the guillotine? Lord Ragsdale thought, as the Partridge carriage rumbled on its sedate way to Bath. He could almost imagine the cheering, c.o.c.kaded crowds milling about and ready for a whiff of blood.
But this is absurd, he thought, as he smiled down at Clarissa Partridge, who had captured his hand so possessively and pressed her thigh against his in a manner that was faintly pleasant. When they clamp me to the board, slide me under the blade, and we are p.r.o.nounced man and wife, I will be the envy of my generation. Envious males will probably drink my health in clubs all over London, and marvel at my good fortune. The thought sent a shudder through him, which he could only ascribe to feet of the coldest sort.
See here, John, he told himself, it is merely that you are afraid for nothing. Surely every man experiences some little trepidation at the loss of liberty, and at the reality of life with a wife. He returned his gaze to Clarissa again, admiring the gold of her hair, and her flawless complexion. Clarissa, if you happened to throw out freckles like Emma Costello, you would probably lock yourself in a dark room and remain there. But there was no danger on that head. Clarissa possessed skin that most women could only dream about.
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