Page 42 of The Fee Entail

He held a grim expression. “Her testimony will be unnecessary. Yours is enough for the punishment that is due. I know it will not be much help, but your name shall not be mentioned in my actions.”

I nodded, and the deed was done.

Truth be told, I believe Colonel Blackwood actually enjoyed deploying the lash. He certainly never assigned the task to anyone save himself, and he had quite the skill, and frankly, the frightening look of a predator when he was at his work.

By the time the thirtieth lash was laid right on top of the twenty-ninth, which, to the best of my knowledge, was right on top of the twenty-eighth, the man was bleeding like a stuck pig, hanging from the pillory by the chains on his wrists, begging for mercy.

All this had a profound effect on me. Well, actually, that is a lie. It had no effect whatsoever. The colonel could have killed him, and I would have thought no more nor less of it. Pillory and noose were all the same to me. It was just the way it was, and I knew I would have a different life. So be it.

My father, bless his ancient heart, arranged transportation to a distant relative somewhere in Scotland. It was a good plan. It was a thoughtful plan. It was an excellent plan. It served all the various purposes for all the various players. In fact, it had every chance of actually getting me to said relative in Scotland with only a minimum of fuss and bother, and very little effect on my father, brother, and sister, who would go on just as before, but short one spinster daughter.

I went along with the plan in principle because I did know that my sister’s life would be greatly affected if I stayed, she had done nothing wrong in her life, and she was already nearly crippled in society by shyness.

That said, I should mention that when I say, ‘in principle’, it really means, ‘I borrowed an enormous amount of money from my father and brother—everything I could find about the house or convince some tradesmen was owed—and combined it with some money I borrowed from a few neighbours, with promises of repayment from my father and brother.’

When I finally left, nearly two months after the incident, I was in my own chosen coach, at my own chosen time, to my own destination, with my father and brother none the wiser. I was still about a month from really showing, and arranged to spend a few weeks in town as a sort of holiday before our lives were thrown to the wolves. I did not want my father or brother to have an easy time ascertaining my true destination.

When I left, I also had my own companion, Betsy Clymer, who fared no better with her father and brothers, but at least was not with child. She could not possibly eat much, and since I needed to learn to do real work, we might be useful to each other. She could teach—I could protect. Even if not, I just could not leave her to her fate, since she obviously did not have any conveniently well-off brothers to steal from. We would make do.

As I say, I followed the plan in principle, but since I considered the primary principle to be my absence, one absence should serve their purpose as well as any other.

I knew where I was going, but had no idea whether I would be welcome. It mattered not, since I had liberated enough funds to go to my relatives in Scotland if necessary, and even if not, I could always threaten to return and my father would send all the funds I needed by the fastest express rider he could find, particularly if I threatened to return with Betsy and two babes!

I wondered why we English considered the Scottish as somehow below us, when they were charitable enough to take in our wayward daughters with hardly a second thought. In reality, I thought perhaps the Scots were superior, and we simply had to look down on them to make us feel better. I thought I might like to go to my relatives in Scotland just to see if my supposition were true, but I did not quite have the courage for that before I tried something else.

The day I left Meryton, I did so on my own terms. I had a short journey to take by carriage, as well as a spiritual journey from acknowledged spinster to mother. I thought I might be able to fashion a Mrs to stick to a surname; it mattered not which name. Since the natural father was almost certain to die in Spain, I should be able to hold myself up as a respectable war widow. It could be done. Nobody would distrust the notion, since it happened nearly every day in nearly every neighbourhood. I would, however, need some assistance in arranging the particulars.

I needed a parson willing to sign a wedding register without being overly fastidious about the presence or lack of the groom, or perhaps one too stupid to keep careful track of said register. A parson’s wife who might be willing to do a tiny insignificant little favour for her former best friend might also be just the trick. If none of that worked, I would be no worse off. Come to think of it, I was so angry with my father and brother, I sometimes thought I would be happier as a Cyprian in London, but that thought was obviously irrational, so perhaps… perhaps I was not so unaffected after all.

I only had one direction I could go where I might be able to create some kind of life. I would be poor as a rat unless I managed to trade my widow’s weeds for a husband. Widows have a certain amount of cachet, certainly more than a country gentleman’s spinster daughter, but having another man’s child and a tiny dowry might make things difficult, unless of course, I liberated a dowry by threatening to return child in hand. Yes, that scheme could work. Wedding another soldier would not be ideal, but a farmer or tradesman was not out of the question, and I could be happy enough. If I ended up with my own home, how could I repine?

It all hinged on making a reasonable case that I was a widow. It was an easy enough assertion to make. Father of the child sent to war: truth! Father of the child killed in action: eventual truth! Marital status of the union: fully consummated! What more could possibly be required? As long as nobody quibbled about any little niceties, such as the saying of vows, reading of banns, and that sort of thing, all should be well.

I just needed to get a few signatures on a piece of paper, and the only place I could make that happen was in Kent. My journey was to take me into the little village of Hunsford, where I hoped I would be able to make the right story so that my life could become something not-miserable sometime in the future.

I left with one indomitable hope that would not go away. It was the hope that would drive me the fifty miles I needed to go, and the hundreds of miles I would have to go after that, through all the pain of childbirth, the pain of raising a child on little money, and the uncertainty of life. There was only one thing I knew about all this, and even it was sorely tested by the past year.

Lizzy! I knew for a fact that if I could get myself to Kent, Lizzy would help. Lizzy could be depended upon, and considering the miserable wretch she was chained to, all my needs for the stupidest parson in England should be satisfied in one place. I hoped beyond reason that one day I could repay her by performing some task for her.

Elizabeth Collins was my biggest hope as I climbed into the coach with Betsy in tow, ready to claim our lives.

Bargain

Lady Catherine

“Fitzwilliam, we need to speak about Elizabeth.”

Despite all efforts to make my voice calm and soothing, my nephew started at the sound. I was not certain he even heard the carriage arrive, but I could not tell if that was pure devotion or the fact that he had not had more than a few hours’ sleep in ages.

He answered carefully. “Yes, Aunt. What is it?”

I knew the rest of the conversation would be difficult, so I sat in another chair facing him. Mrs Hewes had moved out of the room for obvious reasons, but it was still crowded as there were frequently three or four people who wanted their share of the company, and several mismatched chairs had been brought in for their comfort. Fitzwilliam was not alarmed at my use of Elizabeth’s given name. There was not a single person in our circle willing to speak the alternative, and I truly thought Elizabeth would not mind in the least. In fact, I would welcome her censure and the ensuing argument, should she just be able to once again participate. I missed her terribly, though we only had one real conversation, which I doubt she enjoyed.

I could see my nephew’s attention drifting back to the bed. I would have moved the conversation to the parlour, but that would have only had him staring at the door. I thought it best to just get it out, then the real battle could begin in earnest.

“It has been six weeks. Neither your constant care nor your seventeen physicians have changed the fact that Elizabeth’s recovery is entirely in her own hands. We do not know if or when she will recover, but your constant attendance will not change the outcome, and her condition is stable enough that she can be safely moved. It is time to take her to Rosings.”

As expected, his head snapped back to me and his full attention was engaged, as much as I was likely to get anyway. As obvious as the notion was to me, it was clear it never even occurred to him.