Lily

  Her stomach growled. Across the room, Lowdy heard. “Lily!” she exclaimed, plain face alight. “I’m just now rememberin’—I filched us a red apple from the resters in the stillroom this mornin’!”

  “Glory be to God, Lowdy, hurry and get it before I faint dead away,” Lily urged dramatically.

  The maid found the stolen treat in her apron and brought it to the bed. A month ago Lily would have gone proudly to the stocks without a murmur before she’d have taken a farthing from her worst enemy. Now Lowdy’s near-daily pilfering of a piece of fruit or a chunk of bread seemed a logical, cold-blooded act of survival, something to feel no more guilt over than a soldier might for shooting back at his foes. She sank her teeth into her carefully apportioned half of apple, savoring the tart spurt of juice in her mouth and making small sighing sounds of satisfaction. “I’m beginning to think they taste better stolen,” she sighed, her eyes closed in pure pleasure.

  “Tes a fact, they do,” Lowdy confirmed with her mouth full.

  “But still, you’re taking an awful chance. If Mrs. Howe ever caught you, I’m sure you’d lose your place.”

  “Don’t ee worry an inch, she ain’t going to catch me. Did ee talk to ’er today, an? About your ‘advance?’ “

  “Yes.”

  “And did ‘er turn you down, like I said?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hah.”

  Lily drooped against the pillow, remembering her meeting with Mrs. Howe this afternoon. She’d chosen the time herself, hoping the housekeeper would be at her most agreeable after a supper of cold salmon, broiled neck of mutton with capers, and fresh peas in lemon sauce—a cut above the barley soup and liver pudding that had been the fare in the servants’ hall. “What do you want?” Mrs. Howe had asked in her ungracious way, ensconced in her comfortable sitting room.

  Lily made her request—a small advance on the salary she would begin to earn once her debts were finally paid off, so that she could start setting a little something by of her own. As Lowdy had gloomily foreseen, she might as well have saved her breath.

  “Think you’re too good for the rest of us, don’t you? Can’t wait to get away so you can put on all your fine airs among grander folk, eh?” Her black, bulging eyes snapped with venom. “I’ll tell you how you can get away, you ignorant girl. You can earn your wage like the rest of us, the way the almighty God intended—with the sweat o’ your brow and the labor o’ your own two hands. ‘He that maketh haste to be rich shall not be innocent.’ ” A crafty smile crawled across her unkind face after that pronouncement. “Why, I’ll even help you. I’ll let you have extra chores, if that’s what you want. You can start with the rugs on the first floor. At the end of each day, after all your other work’s done, you can roll one up, drag it outside, hang it on a line, and beat it until it’s clean and fresh. I’ll inspect it afterward, naturally, and pay you a half-penny for each one if I’m satisfied.”

  “Half a penny! But—I couldn’t even lift one of the carpets by myself!”

  “That’s your lookout. And don’t be thinking you’ll ask any o’ the other girls to help; this would be your work, no one else’s. Now, take my offer or not, it’s the best you’ll get … What do you say? Be quick—there’s chores to do.”

  She’d had to blink back tears of frustration. “You know I can’t!”

  “Have done, then. Stop wasting my time and get back to work. And remember that it’s the duty of servants to perform the will of God from the heart, ‘not with eyeservice as men-pleasers, but with fear and trembling, as unto Christ.’ ”

  “Splatty ol’ pig,” Lowdy said matter-of-factly, swallowing the last bit of apple and licking her fingers. “I telled you not t’ waste time wi’ that one.”

  “She doesn’t like me, Lowdy.”

  “She don’t like anybody.”

  “No, but—I truly think she hates me.”

  Lowdy made a face, but didn’t dispute it.

  Lily plucked at the coverlet, feeling the familiar weight of frustration. She’d been at Darkstone for weeks now, but she was no closer to a solution to her predicament. Her first month’s wages had come to nothing, and now she was in debt not only to Mrs. Howe but to Lowdy as well, for soap, tooth powder, cap, and aprons. She ought to write to Mrs. Troublefield, her neighbor in Lyme, and ask for news. She needed to know what had become of Roger Soames, to find out if he was alive or dead and, if the former, what state of mind he might be in regarding herself. Had he set the authorities to search for her? Did he still claim she was a thief? Or, by some miracle, had he come to his senses and forgiven her out of Christian charity for her part in the fiasco that had brought her to this place?

  That last seemed unlikely. But Lily was an optimist; she would not dismiss the possibility out of hand. Still, she hesitated to find out by writing to Mrs. Troublefield, because she hated to involve that kind woman by putting her in a position, if someday she should be questioned, of having to lie for Lily’s sake and say she didn’t know where she’d gone. For the dozenth time she berated herself for running away. Time was her only ally now, and all she could do was cling to a childlike hope that someday, somehow, things would be all right again.

  “Ugh,” Lowdy grunted suddenly, sitting up in the bed. “The devil ’imself ’ud melt like tallow grease in this oven. Lily.”

  “What?”

  “Let’s go swimmin’.”

  “We can’t.”

  “Why not? Not in the sea, in the lake. Pirate’s Mere, ’aven’t ee ever been there? Nobody’d see, we’d sneak out quiet-like as mouses.”

  “It’s too dangerous—if anyone caught us we’d get sacked.” But even so, she couldn’t help imagining it, how cool and lovely a swim would be.

  “Well, you d’ come or not, Miss Scairty-face, but I’m goin’.” And she threw off her dingy nightrail and began to pull her dress on over her head. “I ain’t wearin’ shift nor stays, neither. Ooh, how cool an’ clean I mean t’ be ten minutes from now. I’ll come back an’ tell all how it was, Lily, make it like ee didn’t miss nothing.”

  “Oh, all right,” Lily grumbled, climbing off the bed and fumbling in the dark for her own dress. “But if we’re caught, it’ll be your fault.”

  “We won’t get catched. We’ll sneak out master’s lib’ry door and scuttle down the cliff steps all unknown. Now, hurry!”

  Darkstone Manor faced north, away from the sea, at the top of a broad, green headland. Terraced gardens sloped behind it for a hundred yards before the cliff’s edge, gentling the precariousness of the aspect. Along the headland a twisting path wound away for a mile in either direction. At the bottom of steep steps leading to the sea, another path curved to the right and rose again, skirting a dark pine wood before it came out at the top of an inland body of water—Pirate’s Mere. It was a natural oddity, its shallow waters divided from the sea by a wide bar of white sand. Tonight it was dark and still and tranquil, in contrast to the surging, whitecapped Channel so close by. Lily and Lowdy undressed beside a line of high black boulders bisecting the narrow beach.

  “You bain’t goin’ in in your shift, surely.”

  Lily glanced across at Lowdy’s sturdy nakedness. She frowned. “You’re not wearing anything at all?”

  “Phaw, sink me if I will! What was ee plannin’ t’ wear tomorrow for shift, an? ‘Twouldn’t ever dry by time. Come, Lily, quit your moolin’ an’ let’s go in.”

  Lily hesitated a few more seconds, considering. She drew off her worn and patched chemise slowly, cautiously, not quite knowing what to expect. She’d never been naked out-of-doors before. But nothing happened: dozens of heads didn’t pop up from the thick woods behind to shout, “Cover yourself!” as she’d half anticipated. And the soft night air on her skin was delicious. Looking down at her own white breasts and belly and thighs, she shivered with an illicit thrill; she’d thought the stealing of apples an exciting sin, but it paled to paltry insignificance next to naked midnight bathing.

  She stepped with great care o
ver smooth stones and soft sand toward the mere’s edge—she’d never been barefoot outdoors, either. Gentle lapping waves wet her toes; she moved farther in warily. “Come in all at onct,” Lowdy advised from fifteen feet out. “Tes warm-like and lovely in no time.”

  “But I can’t swim.”

  “Neither can I; I’m standin’ on my two feet.”

  Emboldened, Lily waded in to her waist, her breath sucked in at the unexpected chill. But in seconds it felt warm and luscious, and she bent her knees and let the water rise to her shoulders. “Oh, it’s wonderful, it’s glorious!” she laughed, splashing her arms. She paddled over to Lowdy, where the water was deeper. The muddy bottom felt cold and squishy between her toes. “Oh, you can float,” she said enviously.

  “Anybody can float.”

  “Not me.” Nevertheless, she lay back and kicked her legs, enjoying the startling chill on her scalp when her head touched the water, and tried to imitate Lowdy’s restful-looking posture on the pool’s surface. She sank.

  “Pull air in your chest and keep still,” Lowdy instructed once Lily had resurfaced and stopped coughing. “Stay calm-like, that’s the knack.”

  After a few more tries, Lily mastered the art of floating on her back. She stared up at the lustrous pearl of the full moon, her arms and legs spread, breathing shallowly, and savored the acquisition of this newest skill, musing that at times like these it was almost possible to categorize her present circumstances as an adventure. If she could see an end to this interlude, this interruption of what she still regarded hopefully as her real life, she might even be able to enjoy it, once in a while. But in truth, she could see no end. Still, she clung to her natural optimism: instead of dwelling on the hopelessness of things, she started a water fight with Lowdy.

  “What was that?”

  Devon paused in the act of drying off his legs with his shirt and listened. “What? I don’t hear anything.” He dragged on his breeches—then stopped again, fingers going still over the buttons. “I hear it now. It sounded like a scream.” He threw his shirt in the sand and strode off in the direction of the sound—a high-pitched, woman’s cry. It came again, and he quickened his pace. Clay stumbled after him, fastening his breeches and shrugging into his wet shirt as he went. The light of the full moon brightened the sandy track edging the pool on the inland side. When he was a dozen feet from a humpbacked line of boulders trailing from the woods to the water and blocking the track, Devon halted. Clay nearly collided into his back

  Lily and Lowdy waded out of the water through the thick sand, heading for their clothes, still laughing. At the very moment they realized they’d come out on the wrong side of the boulders, they saw the men. Lowdy let out a screech and darted forward. Lily followed, unthinking—and went weak when she discovered there was nowhere to run: the high rocks ran straight into the woods, and in front of them was an impenetrable tangle of marram grass and wild rhododendron. They should have fled back into the water!

  Too late now. To retreat would be to expose their naked bodies all over again. Clutching her arms across her chest, Lily stood beside Lowdy in front of the tallest boulder, her back turned toward the two Messrs. Darkwell, and waited for them to go away.

  They didn’t.

  “God’s my life,” breathed Clay, “’tis a pair of mermaids.” He shot Devon a hopeful glance. “I don’t suppose you’d be interested in speaking to them, would you? It’s a couple of the housemaids, you know; I recognize the tall one, she’s—”

  “I know who she is.”

  “Oh.” That surprised him. “Well, I’m only thinking, this being such an auspicious meeting, two of them and two of us, almost like fate if you—” he broke off, startled when, without a word, Devon left him and began to walk toward the two women huddling in front of the black rock “—believe in that sort of thing,” Clay trailed off to himself, and strode out after him.

  Impossible, thought Lily, hearing them come; they cannot mean to speak to us! She made a futile physical effort to become smaller. The nearer they drew, the more potent was her desire to crawl into the face of the granite boulder and vanish. Lowdy began to giggle in the most annoying way; she wanted to box her ears. Now the two men were standing directly behind them; she knew it because the very air seemed to have changed. She imagined she could hear them breathing. Even so, she jumped when a voice drawled, almost in her ear, “Good evening, ladies.” She recognized that amused, good-natured cockiness and knew it was the young master who had spoken. But it was his brother whose presence she sensed most keenly, whose cold, blue-green gaze she though she could feel like an icy brand on the bare skin of her back.

  “Good evenin’ t’ you,” Lowdy threw back over her shoulder with another silly, coquettish giggle.

  “What an unexpected pleasure, meeting you lovely ladies like this. My brother and I were wondering if you would care to join us for a short stroll around the lake. We might even take another … dip together, if you’re of a mind. Hmm? Does that interest you the least little bit?”

  Lowdy said yes. Lily’s eyes went wide with shock and incredulity. But Lowdy had said yes and Lily hadn’t misheard, for now she was bobbing her head and laughing that same idiotic, infuriating giggle that made Lily want to take her by the shoulders and shake her until her crooked teeth rattled.

  “Well, now, that’s fine,” said Clay, laughing too. “What about you?” he inquired, again in Lily’s ear.

  “No! Please, just go away.”

  Every muscle in her body jerked when Devon Darkwell said in a low, compelling tone, one she somehow apprehended more in her body than her ears, “Yes, I think that would be best.” His brother glanced at him uncertainly. Devon made himself clear. “Leave us, Clay. You and your friend have a pleasant walk.”

  Clay finally closed his mouth. His astonishment was greater than his disappointment. Lowdy turned around and faced him without a blush; he took her hand automatically, hardly looking at her. “I can’t remember,” he marveled over his shoulder as he led her away, stark naked and giggling, “the last time you pulled rank on me, Dev.”

  Then he was gone, and Lily was alone with Viscount Sandown.

  Devon roughly shoved to the back of his mind the question of what the hell he thought he was doing; if he considered that for half a minute, he would walk away from this girl without a backward look. He didn’t want to walk away. Or stop looking.

  What he wanted was to touch her. The dress she’d worn that day in his room hadn’t even hinted at the loveliness of the woman underneath the faded blue cotton. He watched his hand go out, then pause in the air an inch or two from her shoulder. His arm cast a shadow across her pale back, darkening the thick stream of hair that hung down past her shoulders. The moonlight silvered her skin and made it look indescribably soft. He saw her white-fingered grip on her upper arms, and wondered fleetingly if she was frightened. He wanted to hear her voice again. “Will you turn around?” he said quietly.

  She shook her head.

  “No?” he prompted.

  “No.”

  “But you must. Have you never heard of the droit du seigneur?” he murmured with uncharacteristic whimsy, mostly to himself.

  Without a thought, Lily snapped out, “That was a Norman, not a Cornish custom, and anyway, it died out six hundred years ago.”

  Devon’s hovering hand jerked away. “How do you know that?” he asked in amazement.

  She bit her tongue. “Please, please, I cannot talk to you like this!”

  “Why? Are you embarrassed?” She looked like a warm marble goddess to him, tall and straight and slender, and he had an urge to touch each fragile vertebra with his fingertips, moving down so slowly, past her narrow waist to her sleek, saucy buttocks. “You’re much too beautiful to be embarrassed.” On an impulse he said, “Meet me tonight, later. Come to my room.” Instantly he regretted his words.

  Lily was so overwrought she wanted to weep. “No, I can’t, I can’t. You’ve mistaken me, my lord, I’m not—like Lowdy.” r />
  “Your friend?”

  She nodded.

  “No indeed,” he agreed in a murmur, “you’re not at all like Lowdy.” Regret drifted away. And now it was impossible not to touch her; his earlier scruples vanished—she was only a maid, after all. But when he pushed her wet hair aside and slid his fingers along the delicate ridge of her backbone, she gave a soft gasp and dropped her head; he could feel light tremors quaking through her, from her shoulders to her long, white thighs.

  “You must let me go,” Lily pleaded in a strained whisper.

  “I’m not detaining you.”

  “Please. You don’t understand.”

  What he understood was that she needed subtler handling. With deep reluctance, he let his hand fall away; when it grazed her hip, she shuddered again and went poker-stiff. “Meet me tomorrow, then,” he suggested in a whisper. “In the afternoon. We’ll go for a walk.”

  She said the first thing that came into her head. “I have to scrub the stillroom floor tomorrow afternoon.”

  He ventured a smile. “I commend your industry. But I think you might manage to postpone that particular chore, don’t you? Four o’clock, inside the park gates.”

  Lily took a deep breath. “A walk?”

  He nodded solemnly. “A walk.”

  “And if I come, will you go away now?”

  “Are you bargaining with me?” When she made no answer, he conceded gravely, “Yes, I will go away.”

  “Very well, then. I—I will meet you.”

  “I’m much relieved.” Did she think he would have accepted a refusal?

  There was a lengthy pause.

  “Well?” Lily said finally. She couldn’t stand this much longer.

  “Ah, I’d forgotten. The bargain.” He took a step back, sweeping her with one last glance. With what he considered saintly restraint, he walked away and left her alone.

  Six

  BUT WHEN FOUR O’CLOCK came the next afternoon, Lily was kneeling in a half-inch of caustic suds and scouring the tile floor of the stillroom with a bristle brush. Devon found her there at four-twenty. His irritation was extreme, and derived from two sources: an inability to understand, in the harsh light of day, what could possibly have seemed so urgent last night; and bafflement over the fact that he’d actually gone to meet the chit anyway, had been waiting at the appointed time and place like some lovestruck footboy come a-courting—and she’d had the gall not to show up! Clay was right, he thought sourly; he ought to get out more. The next time his brother went whoring in Truro, he would go with him. Then maybe he wouldn’t be so eager to make a fool of himself at home.