“Ah. So now rather than a lady you show yourself to be a tradeswoman?”
“No, madam. I was born a lady. Ladies must eat. If no one supports them, or provides what they need, even a lady might learn a skill.”
“Why do you not tell me the name of this craftsman?”
“Gladly. He goes by Barnabus.”
The butler brought the coffee. As he poured, from a corner of the hall where he had left the door ajar, I could hear footsteps passing. When he left us, Lady Spencer said, “Barnabus? I know him. His wife died and left my linen unfinished. I intended twenty-two yards for a summer frock. You can finish it?”
“I was taught to weave in the convent in New France. That was but one of the reasons Wallace thought me unfit to marry. I intend to work until the cloth is finished for the payment of the machine itself.”
“And you want a room in my house?” She stood and paced in a small circle, then sat again, took up her cup and sipped. At length she said, “That is the extent of your request? A room? You ask no money, no—no other entanglements?”
“If I may, a meal each day would be nice. If Barnabus had a wife with him I might stay there, but it would not be proper. Though, if it is not convenient—”
“Wallace will be in Virginia for the summer months. I see no reason you may not stay in this house. He’s bought his own, at any rate, and does not sleep here. We have several unused rooms with beds and furnishings. At the top of the stairs, there, turn to the right and take any of them that suit you. I suggest the last one, for it is on the easternmost wall, and if you are to work in a trade, the sun will awaken you at tradesmen’s hours.”
I smiled. “Thank you, Lady Spencer. This is most kind of you.”
“Not at all. Lord Spencer is in London for the foreseeable future. Supper is at seven. I do not enjoy the habit of tea at four and supper at eight. Bad for my gout.”
A smile brightened my face, and it felt as if it came from the inside out. This was a woman, though not to be called a friend, who at least was genuine and honest with me. If ever there was a person I could respect it was a fair, honest one. “I am so thankful. Now that I know the cloth was meant for you, I shall labor even more carefully on it.”
She nodded. Her face seemed to tighten around the mouth, then she gave a small laugh and a wry smile lit her eyes. “You see, I was quite certain you had come here to tell me something far different. I supposed you carried Wallace’s child and for a handsome sum would go to another town and not destroy our family name. When you said you were compelled to come here, I thought I knew. Hmm. A room. Just a room.” She cocked her head and looked askance at me, then nodded, saying deliberately, “We will do that.”
Lady Spencer sent for my trunk to be delivered from the dock to her house. I worked in Barnabus’s shop six days of the week, commencing at seven in the morning and ending at six every evening. At noon he brought me bits of stale bread and boiled carrots, saying that this was his wife’s one requirement of him as she wove and she insisted it kept her eyesight keen. Sundays, I accompanied Lady Spencer to Boston’s First Church for hours of sermons, songs, and prayers. Some of it enlightened me, some sobered me, and some bored me. At supper every night for the first ten days Lady Spencer asked the progress of the cloth. After that, she spoke to me of whom she had seen about town, who had called, and what news she had from either her husband or Wallace in Virginia, and that their sugarcane was growing well. After those days, she talked more of herself, and as she did, she plied me with questions of my life, not in the colonies or the Canadas, but the plantation at home.
She took a drink from her third glass of wine that evening, and asked, “And why, if you know, were your parents there?”
“Madam?”
“Displeased Georgie-porgie? Or was it fat Anne?”
“The king, madam?” I tried not to register the shock I felt at her villainous familiarity with the monarchy. “I know not.”
“My father, my brothers—one of them was hanged, you know, in Newgate. And I might have been as well, for I would have carried a pike with them.” She downed her glass and rang the bell at her side. A man brought her brandy, and she bade him give me some, too, and then filled her own glass more full. “After Widdrington was taken, and Radclyffe, my natural uncle, you see, for they were not too particular in those days, and Charles went to France, the lot of us were transported here. I know about being transported. I know about losing your home, young woman.”
“Yes, madam. Which Radclyffe was your uncle? James? My father claimed himself a son of the cousin of Edward, the second earl.”
Lady Spencer laughed. She smiled upon me with genuineness that made her stern features almost beguiling. She asked, “Is Talbot your true name?”
“Yes, madam.”