Of Moths and Butterflies

CHAPTER forty-one





ETTY MASON TURNED from the work table as the door of her cottage opened.

“You here?” she said, putting down the knife and a rather spindly carrot.

“Aren’t you pleased to see me, Bess?”

Yes, of course she was, and he knew it. That was the problem. He had always been too fine for her. Too hard and too fine. She had set her hopes very high indeed at one time. Fool, she was. Now she was here, always to be at his beck and call, never to have the privilege of calling upon his protection. Only his mercy, when it was available to her.

Miles Wyndham entered and laid the purse down.

“What is this?” she asked him warily.

“You know what it is.”

She wiped her wet hands on her apron and took another passing glance at the pouch before going back to her work of preparing the evening’s meal.

“Are you going to count it?”

Unheeding, she continued with what she was doing. He waited. When the last of the carrots had been chopped, she gathered them into the same bowl in which had earlier been placed potatoes and cabbage. She threw the lot in with the simmering cut of beef, mercifully provided for her through the recent donation of another.

Finished now with her cutting and preparing, she wiped her hands once more and took up the purse. Leaning against the work table, she weighed it in her hand. It was far lighter than the size suggested.

“Just open it,” he said.

She tipped the pouch into her hand and poured out the loose coins. Indeed, they were few.

“Is this a joke?”

“Open it, I said.”

Drawing the strings loose, she opened it wider and found, neatly folded inside, a number of bills.

“What is this?”

He didn’t answer right away.

“What is this, Miles?” she asked, afraid to make too much of this sudden show of generosity. “Why is there so much?” And then suddenly it seemed obvious. “You are buying me off. It’s come to that at last, has it?”

“That’s enough, Bess. You’re being ridiculous.”

“Am I? I’m perfectly aware of Sir Edmund’s hopes for you. I’ve heard them often enough, after all”

“I said that’s enough.”

“Then what is this? Tell me.”

Miles sat down.

“This isn’t from her? It came from Sir Edmund, not from her?”

This won from Miles a curious look.

“I’ve seen her, you know. Mrs. Hamilton. I’ve spoken with her.”

The look suddenly became warning.

“The night of Charlie’s accident. I went there.”

“You went to the Abbey? Do you know what risks you took, Bess? If you had been found there...”

“I didn’t care. I don’t care. I needed to see him. But I spoke with her. She promised to help him. To help us. And to give us money if we need it. She’s given us some already—and has promised more besides.”

“Why would she concern herself with Charlie? He’s hardly her responsibility.”

“But she thinks he is. Or might be. She believes he’s Mr. Hamilton’s.”

“What?”

“It’s true. She asked me.”

“And what did you tell her?” he asked as he stood to tower over her.

“I didn’t tell her anything to the point. If she wants to help him, why shouldn’t I let her?”

He seemed to consider this, and relaxed a little, though he remained standing.

“So then. If this is not from her, and it’s not to buy me off, then what is it for? There must be a reason. What is it?”

“There is a reason for it,” he said at last. Whether it’s Sir Edmund’s doing or Mrs. Hamilton’s, I don’t know….” His gaze met hers. “Charlie’s to be sent to school.”

Bess dropped the bag and the coins with it. This was good news. Of course it was. And yet… “School? Which school? The one in Kennington, do you mean, or—”

“London,” he said, and then went on as if it were but a small thing to consider. “It’s a good school, and he’ll—”

“London?”

“They’ll prepare him for Eton or Harrow, and then—”

“I’ll not send him so far, Miles. I need him here with me.” Her hands had begun to shake, and so she placed them behind her and leaned against them. She’d not been well of late, but she could not let him see that.

“Sir Edmund is prepared to pay a not inconsiderable sum to have your boy—”

“Our boy, Miles.”

“I never said he was mine! How do I know he’s mine? He might be Hamilton’s after all, for all I know!”

“Miles Wyndham, you are the very cruellest man alive!”

“We’ve been through this before, Bess. I’ll not discuss it again. I told you I’d help you as far as I’m able, and that’s as much as I’ll commit to.”

Bess turned away from him. It was useless to argue with him. They’d had this same debate so many times it made her head ache to think on it.

“This is no small thing he’s willing to do,” Wyndham continued, returning to the former topic. “Charlie’s fortunate. You’re fortunate.”

“But why now? And why must Charlie go so far? You want him out of the way.”

“This isn’t my doing, Bess.”

“But you do not object. This is convenient for you as well.”

“I thought it’s what you’ve always wanted,” he said again. “Dash it all, Bess! Think what he might accomplish with a Cambridge education!”

“You don’t know Sir Edmund means to see him that far. You don’t know he isn’t simply shipping him off to get him out of his hair.”

“Not his alone, I think.”

“So that is the reason!”

“Now calm yourself, Bess. I don’t understand it any more than you do. Yes. It seems Charlie’s in the way. But if he’s being sent to school, and not just any school, Bess, but a very good one, then our hopes are not quite dashed.”

“Your hopes.”

He turned on her. “I’m sorry?”

“He uses Charlie as a lure to keep you obedient. And as a threat to keep Hamilton loyal. He always has done, and you know it. You won’t acknowledge him, but you’ll use him when it suits you. Where does that leave me?”

Wyndham released a breath of frustration.

“You say this is what Sir Edmund wants. Is it what you want? Is it?”

“What I want is of little consequence. Neither are your wishes, I’m afraid. He’s going and that’s that.”

“No.”

“Bess,” he said, that familiar warning thick in his voice.

“You won’t send my son away. And you can tell Sir Edmund I said so. If you won’t acknowledge him, then you have no claims upon him. Nor me.” With that, she kicked the money, still lying in its pouch on the floor, in Wyndham’s direction.

“You’re making a mistake, Bess,” he said, bending to pick it up.

“No, you’re making a mistake thinking you can bully me. If he is inconvenient to you, you ought to have thought of that before you—”

Miles turned to her, raising his hand as if to strike her. The door swung open then, and Wyndham turned towards it, lowering his hand at the same time.

“Good evening, my boy,” he said as Charlie entered, a scowl on his face.

“Mr. Wyndham,” Charlie answered dryly.

Bess rushed to meet him.

“Mr. Wyndham deserves our respect, Charlie,” she whispered, nervously straightening the boy’s clothes and combing his hair with her fingers. “Treat him kindly, will you?”

“Where’ve you been today, Charlie?” Wyndham asked him. “At the Abbey as usual?”

“No,” Bess answered for him. “He’s been helping me. I was without him nearly a week, you know. It’ll take me two to catch up.” She turned to Charlie. “Did you deliver the laundry to Mrs. Digby?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said.

“And?”

“She said she’ll pay you next week.”

Bess stood, plainly disappointed, but then recovered. “Never mind,” she said, glancing at Wyndham, and the pouch he still held. “We’ll make do.”

“Wouldn’t you much rather be a gentleman, Charlie?” Wyndham asked him, “Rather than running about the countryside doing your mother’s errands?”

“I need him here, Miles.”

He ignored her. “How would you like to go to Cambridge like your uncle Hamilton?”

“Miles, stop.”

He didn’t listen, and Charlie answered honestly, though his manner was yet reserved. “I’d like that very much, Mr. Wyndham.”

“What if I told you that if you were very good, and did everything that was asked of you, that you might go there one day? Would you do it?”

“Stop it, Miles.”

Wyndham threw another warning look in her direction. It was quite menacing this time, and so she bit her tongue.

“Well, Charlie?”

“Yes, of course, sir.”

“When?” Bess dared to ask.

He answered, but with his eyes still on the boy, a victorious smirk on his deceptively handsome face. “Soon. Very soon, I think. In a week or two.”

“A week? No, Miles. Don’t ask this of me.”

“I’m not,” he said, turning to her at last. “It isn’t a request. He’s going to London and that’s an end of it. Until then, I’ll just hold onto this for you.” He tucked the purse in his pocket, and, putting on his hat, took his leave of them.

Bess returned to the simmering stew pot. With her back to Charlie, she could give way to the tears without raising suspicion. But her sobs caught in her throat and the cough she had been fighting to suppress during the whole of Wyndham’s visit tore through her, bending her double, rattling and ravaging through her lungs. From the pocket of her dress, she withdrew a small bottle. She removed the cork and took a sip…and then another. And sat down to await the effects. At last the coughing subsided and the soothing caress of the laudanum passed its hand over her frame.

Charlie crossed to the fire. From the pot he ladled the stew into bowls and set them upon the table, along with some bread and a spoon for them each.

“Thank you, Charlie,” Bess said, lifting her head from the hands in which it had been resting. “I’m better now. I promise.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“Tell me, Charlie. Do you truly wish to go to school?”

“You need me here. Perhaps I can go later. When you are well again.”

She reached out and laid a hand on his arm. “Yes, darling. When I’m well again.”