Lady of Devices

chapter 9



Directly upon removing her hat, Lady St. Ives dispatched a tube down to Gwynn Place to prepare the staff for their arrival on Saturday. “Despite what Mr. Arundel suggests, I would rather go to Cornwall by airship,” she told Claire, tugging on the bell to summon the housekeeper.

“Mama, you cannot. With as much luggage as a trip to the Continent, the weight charges would amount to a fortune.”

“I have never had to concern myself with such a thing, child, and I resent having to think of it now.”

Claire thought quickly. “Besides, the public will expect you to go by airship. There could be demonstrations on Hampstead Heath, and I shudder to think what might happen if you took Nicholas there. If you go by train you slip out of town undetected.”

Lady St. Ives’s eyes narrowed, and for the first time, Claire saw the faintest tracings of lines at the corners. “I will allow no harm to come to my son. Perhaps you are right. We must put Nicholas first, regardless of the inconvenience to ourselves.” She glared at Claire as if she had been the one insisting on the airship, but Claire did not protest. She would far rather have the lioness than the defeated, weeping woman who had haunted the viscount’s rooms this past week.

Her mother assembled the staff that very noon and delivered the unhappy news to them. She distributed the viscount’s bequests and promised everyone, right down to the scullery maid, a letter of reference before the week was out. Only Penwith, two footmen, the nursemaid, and Silvie would go with her to Cornwall.

As the upstairs maid came into her mother’s room to light the lamps that evening, Claire paused in her packing, a froth of fashionable evening dresses on the bed beside her. “Mama, Mrs. Morven is staying until we close the house, isn’t she? If she isn’t, I must inform you that cookery was not my strongest subject.”

“Of course. I would not leave you alone in an empty house, prey for every brigand roaming the streets. Silvie, the lavender damask goes next. I shall want it when the year of mourning is up.” Carefully, with layers of tissue between each fold, Claire helped Silvie lay the damask in the steamer trunk next to the bed. “Except for those going to Gwynn Place, the staff will stay on until the end of the month. You must send a tube telling us which train you will take and I’ll have someone meet you at St. Ives station with the trap.”

Claire took a deep breath, Mr. Arundel’s words still fresh in her mind. “I’ve been thinking, Mama.”

“Yes?” Her voice came muffled from the closet.

“I believe I should like to stay in town a little longer.”

Lady St. Ives emerged with a fresh armful and handed it to Silvie. “Longer than what?”

“The end of the month.”

“Nonsense. The staff are all leaving.”

“If we could keep Mrs. Morven on, I could—”

“The black walking skirts should go on top. I shall want them immediately when we arrive.” The topic closed, her mother had already returned to the matter at hand, dismissing her daughter as though she were a servant—as though her thoughts and wishes did not matter. Resentment burned in Claire’s chest, her corset restricting its rise.

She took the walking skirts from Silvie, placed them on top, laid a layer of tissue on top of them, and closed the trunk. “Mama, I do not wish to go down to Cornwall right away, I wish to stay in London and look for employment.”

A full five seconds of silence passed. Perhaps, in the depths of the closet, she had not heard. “Mama? I said—”

“I heard you.” Lady St. Ives emerged with a rack of evening slippers and calling shoes. “This is no time for silly jokes. Save the next trunk for unmentionables, please. Silvie, you may pack them in the morning.”

“I am not joking. Mr. Arundel said I was a young lady of spirit, and if I do not want to join the ranks of other Blooded ladies looking for a husband, I should look to supporting myself.”

“Mr. Arundel is a liberal-minded fool. I’m surprised your father retained his firm if he harbors Wit tendencies.”

“He was only trying to be helpful.”

“And you at this moment are not. Please stop this chatter and help us finish. My head begins to ache.”

Claire tightened her lips against a sharp retort, and after a moment, relaxed them enough to speak. “If I can find employment before we close the house, may I stay with friends afterward?”

“With whom would you stay?”

“Emilie. Or—or perhaps Julia, at Wellesley House. Goodness knows they have room enough.” The Channel would freeze over before she asked Lady Julia for anything, but her mother did not need to know that.

“I’ll not have a daughter of mine begging for rooms in the street. Stop this at once, Claire. You’ll come down to Cornwall as planned, and I’ll do my best to find a suitable match for you once our period of mourning is concluded. It is obvious that your active mind needs to be engaged with the running of a home instead of these wild schemes.”

“But I don’t want a—”

“Claire.” For a moment her mother’s face softened into grief. “Please do not talk of separating yourself from me. I cannot bear it. We must stay together. For now.”

It was the softening that cooled Claire’s resentment into compassion as her own heart reproached her for adding to her mother’s burden. “Yes, Mama. For now,” she said at last, and turned away to pull in another trunk from the hall.

It was fortunate that now was a very flexible concept.