The Lady from Holsten
By Michelle Lee Burgin
Cover Art by Landon Edwards
Copyright 2011 Michelle Lee Burgin
Smashwords Edition
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Book One: The Sun Catcher: Chapter 1
The floorboards warmed Laura’s bare feet. She stopped reading her letter long enough to look out her window. Two stories below, Cross Street ran parallel to the front of her father’s townhouse. The street was clogged with traffic. She saw an overturned carriage. Street vendors stood on either side of the mess, selling everything from bread to fake dragon’s blood.
A flash of brilliant purple caught her eye, bringing her attention back inside. She admired the small, colored glass sun catcher her grandfather had given her for her ninth birthday. She could still remember the fuss her mother had made over it. The vibrant blue, red, and yellow glass had been brought from the far north. The colors blended on her wall. The late afternoon sun sent her warm, lazy beams of light that made the colors even richer.
She sighed. As much as she longed to savor her letter, she knew it had to be finished and concealed before her father returned home. She raised the well-creased pages and began the last part of her brother’s letter.
Did I mention the weather here is glorious? I swear the sun is made of gold and the moon of silver. I know how you detest insects though, and I’m afraid we get a lot of them. But overall I’d say Belthus suits you, dear sister. Ah, yes. You’d like the social advances here, as well. Women are treated much more reasonably. I hope that someday you will visit me. However, I fully understand your difficulties in getting away.
Be patient, Laura. By law on your next birthday father must release you to your own devices. Then, you can come and stay with my wife and I until a suitable bachelor can be found. I assure you we have many excellent, unattached young men here.
But I note in the tone of your last letter a certain amount of dread. You fear that our dutiful father has other plans. Well, it would be foolish to ignore the danger entirely, but I think it unlikely he’ll meddle with you now. A marriage contract requires a minimum six months to be processed. You admitted that he has found no one to stick on you, eligible or otherwise.
It’s true that father is desperate. I had a letter from him less than a month ago. He suggested we enter a business partnership. You know how he hates me. His last venture on those merchant ships must have gone terribly awry. I am certain that he is quite preoccupied with his financial troubles, and the embraces of his mistress. So, I think you are quite safe. I must close now or carry on another four pages. I miss you and wish you well.
To my dear sister,
Rufurd Mendlin
Laura placed the letter on the bed beside her and sighed deeply. She tried to take comfort in her brother’s reasoning, but she couldn’t. She knew too well what was happening with their father. He had devised one business failure after another since the departure of his highly successful son four years hence. He had lost all credibility in the eyes of other businessmen.
Arnold Ethfrost, his former partner, found it quite amusing. Ten years ago Ethfrost had made a very deft investment with a fledgling textile factory. Her father had scorned joining him in it. This mistake had plagued his career ever since. It marked the end of their partnership. Ethfrost would prefer to not be seen in public with him.
Laura shook her head. She knew there couldn’t be much money left in the account. He’d been late in paying the servants for two months. The most condemning blow had come six months ago. He had invested in three merchant ships, the majority of their passage, and 65 percent of their cargo. He anticipated high returns; 75 percent of their profits. One ship sank in a storm. The remaining ships fell to pirates. Two weeks ago he’d tried to secure a loan, but unfortunately his reputation had preceded him. Considered a bad risk, he was declined.
Lately, she could see by his complexion how much the ship cargo loss had afflicted him. His skin had a pale, cold texture. His eyes were frequently bloodshot from too much wine and too little sleep. He snapped at the servants over the smallest inconvenience or perceived slight. Due entirely to this moodiness, two servants had already offered their resignations. Laura feared that more would follow.
Rufurd underestimated the scope of their father’s losses. He was past desperation. He clearly felt obliged to consider options now that he would have found distasteful in the past.
She hadn’t seen her brother in nearly five years. In the last two years, relations between her brother and their father had soured to the point of estrangement. If her father was asking him for help, then she saw more reason than ever to be concerned. Well enough for her brother to be safe in Belthus, where it was perpetually warm. She was trapped in Welchstad in the middle of autumn. The world seemed to go by all around the dull port city of Holsten. If that wasn’t enough, she had a long winter to look forward to
She collected her brother’s letters from a mailbox across the city, which she had purchased using her meager savings and her father’s forged signature. She generally found an excuse to go out there every two or three months. She sent her correspondence in the same fashion.
Laura delayed no further in the letter’s concealment. She’d been hiding her secrets under a loose floorboard since she was six years old. She made sure to replace her heavy trunk over it. This fail-safe kept the maids from discovering it. Then, Laura sat on the edge of her bed and contemplated changing her dress. Admittedly it was old, faded and fraying around the edges, but she liked it best. She found it comfortable and familiar. No, she wouldn’t change. Laura knew her mother would throw a fit, but she decided not to care.
She sighed and tossed herself onto the bed. She had eluded most of her mother’s notice by retreating to her room promptly following lunch. Breakfast had been a total disaster. While Laura had abandoned dreams of her attendance at the Yuletide Ball, mother had not. She pressed her husband on the subject for a quarter hour, cutting her ham into severe, ladylike pieces. At the last Mr. Mendlin’s eyes had all but popped from his head. The ordeal concluded with his storming from the house, heralded by a succession of slamming doors.
Laura turned on her side and stared intently at the little sun catcher. Tears seeped from her eyes. She stretched full-length and threw her arms behind her head.
“It’s no use,” she whispered to the room.
The Winter Yuletide was celebrated by a string of festivals and dances that continued for almost a month. People were able to make more overt expressions of romantic interest at these events. Many rituals surrounded it. Couples often became engaged in the first month of winter and got married in midsummer. And of course, the largest, most anticipated celebration would be the Yuletide Ball, this year to be held at Castle Redscale. The Ball moved annually, from one wealthy family to another. The most eligible marriages would be there, as well as the best room and board and longest running celebration.
All this was excellent to be sure, but Laura’s secret longing for Redscale stemmed not from those opportunities. Rather the chance to simply get away from Holsten, even if only for awhile; that was her desire. She dreamed of it. Just packing up and going somewhere different. Anywhere. It didn’t matter.
Her father strictly opposed her attendance on two main grounds. In the first place, he claimed a lack of chaperones made such an event risky. In the second, the trip would lose him money. By all accounts the journey required a week, with stops at local inns each night. Of his two claims, Laura knew more about the latter. The quality of supervision at Redscale lay beyond her knowledge. The state of her father’s monetary affairs was beyond concealment.
Her mother felt the chance of a good marriage for her daughter was worth the initial loss. Her father considered it one venture too many. Also, he believed his sole motivation for sending Laura would be embarrassingly obvious.
She was shaken from her contemplation by a scratching at the door. A smile touched her lips. She sprang to her feet and hastened to answer. She opened the door just enough to admit a gangly, fifteen year old boy. He smelled faintly of flour, lard and sweat. She closed the door and locked it. Then Laura turned to her friend.
Kelf had on the deep-pocketed pair of trousers he usually wore. To her knowledge he owned two other pairs of breeches, one which she had purchased for him last winter as a Yuletide gift. His soiled shirt settled on his shoulders rather snugly. His arms were like coiled springs. His black hair stuck out in all directions. Her passing attempts to comb it down had proven useless. Kelf’s hair would begin to stick up only minutes afterward.
He grinned at her.
“All right, let’s see it,” Laura said dryly.
From one pocket he drew a pint bottle of fresh milk; from the other, two cinnamon rolls from the cook’s greedy horde, wrapped in wax paper.
“Well done.” She smiled at him.
They edged round the side of her bed facing opposite the door, and sank down onto the floor, leaning against the bed. Kelf handed her a roll. Then he pulled the cap from the milk jar with his teeth. He offered her the first drink, which she gladly took. She didn’t eat well in her parents’ presence anymore. There was too much tension. In any case, she and Kelf had devised these meetings four years ago, because they found them companionable.
For a few minutes, they ate quietly, passing the milk back and forth. In this fashion their snack vanished quickly.
“Any word on my father’s business?” Laura whispered. It was best to be cautious of the servants overhearing.
“Somethin’s up.” Kelf shrugged. “I seen him with a tall, thin, ill-lookin’ man. He smelt worse than the cook.”
“Oh, no,” she groaned. “He didn't have long, stringy hair with a bald spot on top?”
“He did.”
“Nashton.” She rested her head in her hands.
“That’s the name I heard around. They gone and talked in Mendlin’s library several times, and he’s been seen ta get into Nashton’s coach. Look’s like yer ol’ man’s got a new partner.”
“No,” she bemoaned. “Not, Miles Nashton.”
“He’s really that bad?” Kelf asked.
“You described him well: tall, thin and ill; known for brawling and drunkenness. My father is certainly desperate.”
“Yeah, well, Betty quit.” Kelf looked down at his compact hands.
“Our best maid.” Laura wasn’t surprised. “She left today?”
“This morning.”
“That’s right. I couldn’t find her when I needed my bath drawn.”
“About 7:00 she went to yer father to ask if he could pay her anything. He threw a book at her, they say. She quit on the spot. Said she’d have no more stupidity.”
Laura laughed. “Betty would say that. So, that drops the household compliment to a cook, a kitchen assistant, a maid and one errand boy.” She turned and smiled at him.
“Yeah. I turn sixteen in three weeks, though.”
“Oh! I’d forgotten. You’ll be needing a different job whether or not my father can pay you.” Laura was excited for him.
He shrugged. “I could stay on, I guess, but people’d wonder why. At sixteen I can get work as a porter, which pays two or three times more.”
She gave his hand a squeeze. “You have to think about your future. Stay on until your birthday. Then ask my father for a recommendation.”
“I’ll miss you.” His dark eyes softened.
Laura nodded. “Well, when you have a fixed address, give it to me and I’ll write you. Your reading skills are much improved.” She smiled again.
Kelf’s ears turned pink. “Speakin’ of writing, I’ve been watchin’ the mail real careful. No letters from Miss Sopub.”
Laura’s whole mood sank. She leaned back against the bed. Morgan Sopub had moved to Holsten last summer. She was one of the few friends she had since Kay-Rown Ethfrost’s coup de tat on Holsten society. Morgan was from Belthus, a country of deep interest to her since her brother had moved there. Morgan didn’t seem to care much what anyone thought of her, a trait Laura found refreshing. She hadn’t seen or heard from her friend in close to a month. She was forbidden to write her, and mother checked all the outgoing mail.
“Is there any good news, Kelf?”
“That might depend on perspective.”
She turned him a wary eye. “You look pleased with yourself.”
“I got a piece o’ news you ain’t supposed to learn yet. Another gal from Holsten is going to Redscale’s Yuletide Ball.”
“I know of Kay-Rown.”
“No guesswork there. It’s Desnia I’m thinking of.”
“Desnia!” Laura’s voice rose. She immediately clapped a hand over her mouth. They were quiet for a moment, waiting to see if they’d been overheard.
“She’s goin’ with Levar Forrest and his parents,” said Kelf. He grimaced.
“Of course,” Laura muttered. “Between her age and her announced engagement, father could have no quarrel.
Desnia was her twenty-two year old sister. She’d become engaged to Levar about a month past. They were to be married in the second month of spring. The Forrests were socially a step above her family. Of course, the Mendlins were in reality sliding even further down.
Levar himself had becoming-enough light brown hair and deep blue eyes. His tall, firm build made him fairly attractive. His personality, in Laura’s opinion, did not match. She had known Levar since she was four. She recalled the time she’d caught him pulling the whiskers off a small cat. She had shouted at him to stop and he only laughed, pulling harder. He had three out before she punched him in the mouth. He dropped the cat and it scrambled to escape. They had never gotten along well since then.
But Desnia had always liked him. He could be all things charming if it suited his ends. They flattered each other; thus their egos were fed. Laura rather wondered if they had anything beyond window-dressing in their future. It seemed like a marriage of convenience.
Her sister had often informed her that Laura was the more attractive girl between them. Never their mother. To Mrs. Mendlin’s credit she’d always treated them exactly the same. But that hadn’t helped much. Desnia would compare her visage to Laura’s before parties, and fret about it. At first Laura had tried to encourage Desnia, insisting that she was quite pretty. But one night she’d belatedly realized she might as well talk to the air. Apparently Laura’s beauty was a grave social inconvenience to Desnia, especially since Laura looked nothing like either of her parents.
It hurt Laura to see such resentment and it had grown as she matured into a young woman. She couldn’t help it. And while she confessed her looks advantaged her at times, at others they caused her grave complications. Some people would judge her solely based on her appearance, and she constantly had to second-guess the intentions of suitors. And sometimes she really wanted to be the wallflower her sister complained of being herself.
After Mr. Ethfrost and Mr. Mendlin had broken business ties Laura’s friendship with Kay-Rown had unraveled in a few months. And what she’d learned then wounded her heart. Her alleged friend had always hated her for being too pretty and too well-liked—even after Mendlin’s business affairs became public knowledge. She resented Laura’s perfection. And Laura, who was far from perfect, lost all her friends. Anyone who wanted social vitality leaped to Ethfrost’s side, and that included her own sister, Desnia. Laura’s only friend now was Morgan Sopub.
Desnia had been pestering Laura ever since her little sister had made friends with Morgan Sopub. Morgan showed no signs of conforming to the pattern that was Holsten’s social circle. She talked to the people she liked, and those she didn’t were beneath her effort. Indeed, Morgan’s advent to dances and other such affairs had inflamed hostilities with Kay-Rown, for she saw Morgan as a clear threat to her status as queen of Holsten’s ladies. Her fear was not entirely unwarranted. Morgan’s family was old money; foreigner though she was.
In any case, the friendship and affection Laura had felt for Desnia was nearly dead. She could still recall childhood memories of the three of them together, all of them laughing. Times when Desnia had scolded her for some offense and Laura’s explanation had made her sister and brother laugh. Laura had not managed a wholly pleasant conversation with Desnia since Levar’s proposal. Desnia now considered herself an authority on men, having landed one herself. Laura could do nothing that lacked embarrassment for her sister.
Kelf touched her arm. “And guess who they’re gonna meet halfway there?”
His question shook Laura out of her momentary reverie. She stretched. “I haven’t a clue.”
“The Ethfrosts.” He made a face.
“Wonderful.” Laura rolled her eyes. “That way, they can all pamper Kay-Rown the rest of the journey.”
Kelf touched her shoulder. “I’m sorry you can’t go.”
She laughed. “What, and be struck at every turn by that pack of vipers? I don’t want to go so badly.”
But Laura did, and Kelf’s expression showed he knew it.
“I should leave.” He smiled.
She nodded slightly. She felt him climb agilely to his feet, and heard the soft pad of his shoes as he moved to the door. When it closed, there was a gentle brush of air.
Laura sat quietly a moment. Then she retrieved her small lute from underneath the bed. It was a cheap instrument, but once tuned it played all right. She had spotted it in the back corner of a secondhand music shop. She’d wanted to buy it on the spot, but held off. She knew that if her father or mother saw it, it would be confiscated.
Rufurd had bought her the lute, complete with case. It had been their last Winter Yuletide together. He taught her a little on the instrument. Her parents were uneasy about her playing music. They considered music the toil of servants, not eligible ladies. Last year Desnia had complained loudly of Laura’s playing at public gatherings—no matter how small they were. Father ordered that the strings be removed so she could play it no more.
Last summer, long before her father had completely cut off her allowance, she had saved enough to buy new strings for the lute. She had given Kelf the money, insisting he keep whatever was left. She laughed again remembering how his face flushed red, when he gave them to her the next day, and she greeted him with a hug and a kiss on the cheek.
Laura sighed, and began the delicate process of tuning the lute. She judged that she could safely play for about an hour. Then she would need to prepare for dinner. She strummed the lute, first going through the exercises her brother had shown her. She completed four songs before she knew she should put the lute away. She carefully pushed it back under her bed and went to sit at her vanity.
Another round with her parents awaited her. The prospect offered little hope for sound digestion. She tried not to think on it. Instead, she focused on locating her comb and untangling her thick, curly hair. Desnia and Rufurd both had father’s sand-brown hair. Her mother’s was a rich auburn, in some lights red and in others golden. This brought into question the origins of Laura’s hair, which was so black it had blue highlights. She’d always been told she got it from one of her grandfathers, but she wondered if that was true. In any case, there was no excusing her hazel eyes, with which her father took particular issue. The unspoken possibility that she was illegitimate remained a specter in her family. Her father had never legally pressed the issue against her mother.
She had just managed to pull the comb through her hair one time, when someone knocked at her door. She found Maira, the last of their maids. The woman’s graying hair was rolled into a loose bun at the back of her head. Her watery eyes hardly seemed to see Laura.
“The master sent me ta tell ya that supper’s on. Yer mother’s hopin’ you’ll wear the red dress with lace,” she reported.
“Thank you, Maira. Please, tell my father that I’ll be down presently.”
She curtsied and walked away.
Laura closed the door. The red dress to which she referred had a rather low cut in front and fit improperly. Her mother knew that, and that its revealing cut made Laura uncomfortable. Well, they could take her as she was or send her back like spoilt sausage for all she cared! Her appetite was gone anyway. She promptly headed downstairs.
She passed quickly through the drawing rooms, noting the pungent smell of wood polish. As she closed on the dining room, she distinctly smelled the mixed aromas of venison, quail and lobster. Of these meats only one was standard fair. Dread like a lump of ice formed in her stomach. Maira awaited her at the doors, confirming her worst fears. Laura could think of only one reason for such formality.
She entered the dining room and blinked at the brilliance of the candles set in the lowered chandelier. Through squinting eyes she noted her mother’s specially dressed hair, which was corralled into tight little sausage curls. As her eyes adjusted, she saw how neatly her father had waxed his mustache. The man who sat on her father’s right, she recognized from the Fall Dance. She recalled laughing with Morgan at his absurd attempts at winning over the ladies. Whenever he came near, all his prospects would move gracefully away.
Miles Nashton flashed a smile at her, revealing yellowed teeth. His face was so thin that when he smiled, his cheeks set into narrow lines. The whites of his eyes had also turned yellow. He wore a fashionable suit, which had sleeves that stopped at his wrists. Whenever he moved his arms, his elbows would catch. He was bald on top with long, shaggy hair and crookedly trimmed bangs. He’d apparently tried to shave in a hurry, as two cuts on his chin bore witness.
Laura scarcely had the time to take in all this before her father’s beefy face had gone from red to purple. He glared at her.
“H-How dare you –”
“Go back up and change at once,” her mother cut him off.
Mr. Mendlin shot his wife an irritated look, and turned to address Laura again.
“Oh, now—there’s no call for that,” Nashton said jovially. “Your daughter defines splendor.”
Under other circumstances this could have been funny. As matters stood, Laura managed a smile. She wanted to sit by her mother, but Nashton was too quick for her. He pulled out the chair next to him. Seeing no alternative, she rounded the table and allowed him to push in her chair.
Her parents seemed to have marginally calmed down, though her father’s face was still flushed. Sputtering under his breath, he rang the bell for service. The kitchen maid portioned out the meats, bread and honey, cooked onions and red wine. To Laura’s relief the food seemed to calm him.
Silence hung over the table as they ate. Lobster was one of her favorite dishes, but she hardly tasted it. During the course of the meal, she stole furtive glances at her father, alert for any change in his expression. She saw none. As dinner winded down, Laura began to gather hope that Nashton was merely visiting.
“So then.” Her father tossed his napkin aside. “Daughter, I have an exciting piece of news for you.” Her mother clasped her hands together, and flashed a smile. She could scarcely contain her excitement.
Laura swallowed. “Yes, father?” She tried to sound interested.
“Mr. Nashton has agreed to marry you,” he said, watching her narrowly.
“Well….what a surprise.” Somehow Laura turned and smiled at Nashton.
She instantly wished she hadn’t. He smiled back, revealing bits of venison between his yellowed teeth. She smelled his breath, which nearly caused her to gag.
He leaned toward her. “I know we’ll be happy together.”
She turned back to her plate, and began cutting her quail into tiny pieces. “You think so? What of my dowry?”
Her father stared at her, the color draining from his face. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen him so enraged.
“Don’t worry your head about that,” Nashton said quickly. He shot a worried glance at father. “I’ve got plenty of money.”
Laura felt herself losing control. “So that’s it!” She trembled, meeting her father’s angry stare. “You’re not paying my dowry. Mr. Nashton is paying you.”
For a moment he seemed stricken, unable to speak. The mood swiftly passed from his red face. “That’s not your concern.”
“The dowry is mine by right!” Anger washed through her like scalding venom, until she could hardly see straight.
“Go to bed!” her father exploded.
Control escaped her. In her effort to stand up, she swung her hand, knocking her wine glass to the floor. She hardly noticed. In a blur of tears she staggered from the dining room and headed for the stairs. Secure in her room, she bolted the door and sank to her knees. For a short while she lay huddled there, crying into her arms. Gradually the pieces of her sanity fell together. Laura sat up. She forced herself to become still. She needed to think clearly.
“Does he hate me?” she whispered.
Laura would not be around to find out—not if she had her way. Her mind was feverish with thoughts of escape. She tried to slow herself, and seriously considered what meager options she had.
“If I try to escape by myself, the attempt will surely fail,” she confessed to herself. “Perhaps escape is not the answer.”
If not flight, then what? If Rufurd were present, he could protect her. Trained in the law profession, he could find some little known clause in the codes. Or if nothing else, he would simply arrange a hasty marriage for her with one of his friends. Or, he might even take her back to Belthus with him. But he resided an ocean away.
She then sat dreaming up and discarding a series of plans using her mother or Kelf or both. Mother loved her, but the dear woman understood no more than she wished. She saw the match with Nashton as a good thing. If Laura expressed her intentions to her mother, all would be betrayed to her father. Even if she proved sympathetic she would never dream of approaching a law magistrate to contest the marriage, say on grounds of incompatibility: the age difference.
For Kelf’s part, he was a good and loyal friend. If she asked for help, Laura knew he would try something. As a fifteen year old, he had less clout than she did, though not by much. He had access to no useful resources. In any case, Laura did not want to involve him. He needed her father’s recommendation. A mark on his job card at such a young age would grievously effect his future.
Morgan Sopub seemed the only viable solution. Laura bolted at the thought of trespassing her friend’s kindness in such a way. But Morgan had advantages. She was Desnia’s age, twenty-two. She had legal independence and ran her household, when her father was abroad. She might have a solution or know someone who did.
“I must write her at once.”
The enterprise required a sheet of parchment, quill and inkwell, and a lighted candle. The receiver of the letter was the one who paid, so money was no concern. A well-bred lady was expected to request parchment from her father or husband. That way the lady’s purpose in writing might be screened. Laura circumvented this custom by stealing whatever she required from her father’s study at highly discreet intervals, so he would not take notice.
Laura sat at her vanity and pulled out the bottom right drawer. She rifled the clutter of odds and ends she kept at the front, dumping them onto the floor. She reached way back, feeling around for her stash. For a heartbeat she panicked, fearing she’d used the last sheet. But then her fingertips moved the parchment. She gingerly lifted it free of the drawer and laid it flat on top of the dresser. She reached in again and retrieved the quill and inkwell.
She arranged her desktop carefully. Then she unscrewed the cap on the inkwell, dipped her quill and wrote with care, lest her shaking hand render it illegible.
Morgan,
I am to marry Miles Nashton. I have no power to prevent it. My brother is not here to intervene. It you have any counsel on this matter, however far fetched, I am ready to hear it. I implore your help.
Laura
She folded the letter over on both ends, and creased them smartly. She struck a match, lighting the only candle in her room. Simple yellow was lacking in fashion, but she had no time to hunt for more colorful wax. She allowed the top to fill with shining liquid. She observed how the hot puddle of wax around the wick reflected the orange flame. Before the wax could overflow down the side, she took the small pendant Morgan had given her in hand. She tipped the candle, pouring the wax squarely on the overlap of her fold. She pressed the pendant into the wax, setting it into the fine relief of a cat. Once the wax had cooled thoroughly, she turned it over and clearly wrote the direction.
Then she sat back in her chair. The letter was prepared. It had to be sent at once or it would be worthless. The moment she signed the engagement papers her legal window of escape would shrink to a pinhole. Kelf often ran letters for the family and had done the task for Laura numerous times. But if he was caught, he’d be in serious trouble. All her good intentions would then come to nothing. However, she doubted he’d get caught. No one but her had talked with him long enough to credit his intelligence. Her family, Rufurd included, all believed that socializing with servants was bad and unnecessary. If she found him, he could make it to the night post, but she knew that within the hour he would be turned toward home.
Laura despaired. She had no way of concealing the letter. Even if she could conceal the letter and make it to the kitchen, he might be elsewhere, and everyone would be watching her.
“Even if I knew exactly where to look for him …” Laura shook her head.
She heard a familiar scratching sound. Her palm rested on the doorknob in a heartbeat. Then she stopped. She needed to be doubly sure.
“Kelf?” she called.
“Sssht!” he hissed. “Don’t open the door. Can’t stay but a second. Laura, is there anything I can do?”
She scrambled, nearly falling over herself to retrieve the letter. She slid it under the door. “Get this to the night post before it closes.”
“Done.”
“Thank you,” she whispered back. Then she realized he was already gone. She could hear his light footsteps down the stairs.
Then, there was nothing left to be done. She changed for bed, and fell back onto her pillows. She watched the occasional shimmer of light dancing on the far wall, cast by her grandfather’s sun catcher.
“Kelf’ll get through,” she whispered in the darkness. “No one will think of checking his deep pockets.” She hoped she was right.
“How can he?” she whispered, thinking again of her father.
She turned on her side, and pulled the covers around her head. Laura recalled being a young girl and how father used to make silly faces at her to make her laugh. She cried.
***
Laura rose early the next morning to ensure her bath would be drawn by Maira. Normally she found her bath relaxing, but her mind was too crippled with anxiety for much comfort. She got to breakfast late, which was fortunate because her father had just departed. She heard the usual succession of slamming doors. Warily, she sat across from her mother.
Mrs. Mendlin sat in a prim, alert position. She had her hair rolled into a tight bun. She was still in her nightgown. She hadn’t eaten a single bite of her ham. Laura guessed that between annoying her husband with conversation and cutting her food into small, ladylike portions, she hadn’t found the time to eat yet.
Laura tried to contain her hunger, because she didn’t feel like being lectured on her manners. More important was that any letters from Morgan be passed along immediately.
“I wish you’d come down sooner,” Mrs. Mendlin said pointedly.
“Sorry, mother. I lost track of the time.”
“You also lost track of your mouth. Your father was very displeased last night.”
Laura refrained from commenting, not doubting that her mother would simply continue. She began tentatively eating her ham.
“You arrived dressed inappropriately and brought up your dowry –”
“I didn’t realize my dress was so inappropriate.”
“But I sent you word,” Mrs. Mendlin insisted. “You knew to wear your red dress.”
“Mother.” She sighed. “I had already dressed. You didn’t explain why I needed to wear that particular dress, so I thought it was optional. And as for bringing up my dowry, I didn’t realize it was off limits for discussion. Am I not entitled to it?”
Mrs. Mendlin shook her head slowly. She suddenly looked tired. “Dear girl, you know that dowry is based on the size of the father’s house, not his income. For a house such as this, any suitor would expect at least a thousand gold pieces. Remember your sister’s dowry? He’s paid half down, you know. Right now, your father could scarcely afford one-hundred.”
“But –”
“Mr. Nashton is your father’s business partner,” mother said sharply. “I know he’s not as young as you’d wish, but he is fairly respectable. And he is well off, which is of the utmost concern. He’ll be able to care for you with no difficulty whatsoever.”
“You say he’s fairly respectable, mother?” Laura raised an eyebrow. “What has he done?”
“Nothing you need worry about,” her mother snapped.
At that moment, when she felt sure she’d lose her sanity, Kelf entered the dining room and handed her mother the mail. He grinned at Laura. Mrs. Mendlin filed through the mail, tossing the majority of the letters into a pile for her husband. She stopped to look at one. Laura craned her neck in an attempt to see. Kelf began fidgeting.
“It seems you’ve had a letter from Miss Sopub.”
Laura’s heart leapt into her throat. She had known Morgan would reply quickly. She suppressed an urge to lunge across the table for the letter.
Mrs. Mendlin turned the letter over, examining it from every angle. “Do you suppose she’s been affecting your behavior?”
Laura blinked. “Um, no. I’ve not seen her in weeks.”
“Then, you’ve had no other letters from her?” she asked pointedly.
“No, ma’am.” This was true. She waited.
“Oh, very well. Kevin, hand the lady her mail and take your master’s to his study.”
Kelf came around and gave Laura the indicated letter. Then, he hurried to exit the dining room. Mrs. Mendlin resumed her slow process of eating.
“May I please be excused?”
“Oh, go on.” Mother sounded vaguely annoyed.
Laura rose carefully from her seat. She kept her pace to a slow gait until she got to the foot of the stairs. Then, unable to contain herself any further, she bounded up the two flights. She closed the door to her room and sat at her dresser. She looked over the letter for a moment. She took notice of the fine grey parchment. She broke the blue wax seal and unfolded the letter.
Dear Laura,
Meet me for lunch at The Meringue on 12th Street at precisely half past one o’clock, today. This is the only time I can meet you.
My best wishes,
Morgan
Laura stared mutely at the succinct message, reading it over and over. The Meringue? She’d heard of the place. To her recollection, it was an expensive restaurant with a bakery in front and a tavern in the back. How in the world could she get there? If father learned about it, he’d prevent her going. The odds were a little better on her mother, but not much. Even if she could get permission, she had only a general idea of where it was. The distance was also a problem. Therefore, she would have to take a carriage.
She guessed it was about nine. That left her precious little time to prepare everything. Laura now regretted her hasty departure from her mother. It would make acquiring her consent all the more tiresome and uncertain. She stuck the letter in a drawer. Then, she purposefully approached her wardrobe.
Laura impatiently tossed half a dozen dresses to the floor in search of the right one. She didn’t select the red dress from last night. That would have been too obvious. Instead, she chose a light blue gown and accessorized with jewelry and her mother’s favorite pair of shoes. Then Laura hastily arranged her hair, while searching for a romance novel her mother had pushed at her over a week ago. After finding it, she sat down and skimmed it for the main ideas. Pained by its low quality, Laura tossed the book onto her dresser.
She went downstairs and found her mother knitting in the front drawing room. Laura selected a straight-backed chair to ensure that her posture would be excellent. She sat just so, with her hands neatly folded and waited for her mother to notice.
“Well, what did Miss Sopub say?” Mrs. Mendlin didn’t look up.
“It was a short letter. Mostly, she invited me to lunch.”
To this, her mother put down her knitting and looked up with a ready answer and set expression. Her whole demeanor was overturned by her daughter’s appearance. Laura half-wondered if her mother would burst into tears. Mrs. Mendlin clasped her hands together with a big smile on her face.
“Oh, darling, you look wonderful!” she gushed. “I only wish your father and Mr. Nashton could see you.”
“He will.” Laura smiled, her nose itching. “I’m quite pleased with the whole arrangement, now that I’ve had a chance to think it through. I was merely startled by the suddenness of it all.
“Oh, yes.” Mother nodded sympathetically. “I urged your father to break it gently, but he never listens.”
“Well, it’s all right now,” she reassured.
“So you want to marry him?”
“Of course. He’s more mature—like the hero in The Quiet Maiden.”
“You read it?” Mother asked, delighted.
“Certainly, I did.” Laura kept a smile plastered to her face. She rarely lied, so she didn’t think she was particularly good at it. Her mother normally caught her in the act. This time she seemed unaware, which in spite of everything caused Laura a pang of guilt.
For over two hours Laura talked to her mother about the romance book, men, children and knitting. She knew that The Meringue was located on the other side of town. If a carriage wasn’t ordered soon, she’d never make the appointment.
“About lunch …” Laura said tentatively.
“Oh, yes. I should put in an order with the cook, soon. What would you like?”
“Mother, remember Miss Sopub’s letter?”
Her eyes widened in surprise and the memory registered on her face. “When does she propose this meeting should take place?”
“At half past one.”
“Where, her house?”
“Um, no. The Meringue.”
Her mother blinked. For once, Laura could read nothing from her expression. It was a closed book.
“The Meringue? That’s on the corner of 12th and Imperial, I believe.”
“Yes, I think so.” She kept track of her mother’s hands, hoping they wouldn’t clench up.
“Well, that’s a rather adult establishment, you know.” Mrs. Mendlin frowned.
She stared at her for a moment in bewilderment. “Mother, I’m engaged to marry.”
“That’s true.” Her mother smiled warmly. “I forget. It seems like yesterday you were just a little girl. I can still remember how you’d steal your brother’s tin soldiers and hide them with your dolls.”
Laura felt an upsurge of affection for her mother and a second pang of guilt. “I used to paint them,” she offered.
“Yes.” Her mother laughed.
Silence stretched between them for several minutes.
“So….about lunch?”
“Of course. Go order the coach immediately. Go dressed just as you are. As for the expenses at the restaurant, if Miss Sopub has any class, she’ll pay. After all, she invited you.”
“Mother …” Laura wanted to say something, but nothing came to mind.
“Go on, dear.”
“Right.”
Within the hour she was in a coach pointed toward The Meringue. She hadn’t dared to hope for such luck.
***
The doors to The Meringue were inlaid with gold leaf designs of whimsical creatures, such as unicorns and werewolves. Laura heard the carriage moving away. She stood out front for a moment, shivering in the cold. At last, she pulled on one of the doors. It moved soundlessly. She held it open just wide enough to admit herself.
Inside there was a wide hallway with an arched ceiling that ended about 50 feet above her. The walls were oak-paneled, and the floor was white marble. The candle sconces that she saw at regular intervals looked to be solid gold. Only a few of them were lit, which caused her to wonder at the brightness of the hallway. There were no windows to be seen. Then Laura tried looking straight up. She discovered round windows in the ceiling, every other space. They were at least four feet across.
“Madam?”
Startled from her contemplations, Laura refocused on a middle-aged man in fine red felt livery. His hair was cropped neatly and his face was clean-shaven. His mud brown eyes were a little small for Laura’s taste. When he saw he had her full attention, he bowed deeply. She curtsied. A smirk tugged at his lips. Evidently, he was amused. Laura didn’t care. It was common politeness to curtsy.
He smiled. “Welcome to The Meringue. I am Devon. May I be of service?”
“I’m to meet someone here.”
“Really? What is your name?” He didn’t quite believe her.
“Laura Mendlin.”
His face sparked with surprise. “Oh—I didn’t realize. Please, forgive me for keeping you. Come this way.”
He led her down the hallway. They passed a staircase to Laura’s right. Laughter, talking, and the clinking of dishes drifted up from it. She saw that the hallway before them was lined with numbered doors. Devon stopped at the first one, and rapped twice with a small doorknocker. By pressing his ear against the door, he seemed to hear some confirmation. He opened the door and held it for her.
The room beyond had dark brown carpet, stone walls, a big fireplace and a round table set for two. Behind the table there was a tall, arched window of colored glass. Morgan Sopub was studying it, arms folded. Her long, blue velvet dress nearly brushed the carpet. She had confined her rich brown hair in no discernable way, which didn't surprise Laura. When she heard the door, she turned with a contagious smile. They greeted each other with a brief hug. When Laura attempted to apologize for being late, Morgan waved the matter away.
“You didn’t have to a get a private room.” Laura cringed at the expense.
“Oh?” Her green eyes shined with humor. “You think it’s nothing to discuss running from a marriage?”
“No, but –”
“We will discuss things that make a private room preferable.” Morgan approached the table. “Won’t you sit down?”
Laura seated herself quietly. Morgan sat across from her. She propped her elbows on the tabletop, and rested her head in her hands. Her emerald eyes were trained on Laura. She fidgeted under the scrutiny.
“Now, tell me all about your father’s little scheme.”
She shrugged. “Miles Nashton is his new business partner.”
“Ah. Well, that brings everything to light. So, they mean to solidify their business relationship with you? How unoriginal.”
“Is this common?” Laura was surprised.
Morgan laughed. “Are you jesting?”
“He’s not paying my dowry.”
“What?” Her eyes narrowed. “Is that old fart truly withholding your dowry?”
“He can’t afford to pay it,” she replied, suddenly feeling embarrassed. She looked away. For once, Morgan seemed at a loss for words. Laura shrugged. “It’s actually worse than that. I think Nashton is paying my father.”
Morgan’s eyes hardened. “I’ll ring for the food.” She rose from her chair and pulled on the nearby silk chord. Then she sat again.
Laura felt unwanted tears come to her eyes. “What can I do?”
“Well, that is the main problem, I’m afraid.” She rested her hands on the table, lacing the fingers. She shook her head. “It’s unfortunate Rufurd isn’t here. He could easily prevent this foolishness. You could go to a magistrate, but the chances of his taking you seriously are fairly nonexistent. My father might have found a means of helping you, but …we are leaving this city.” At the last, Morgan met her gaze with a sad smile.
Laura felt physically stricken. “When are you leaving?”
“Tonight.”
Her eyes widened. “And for how long?”
“My friend, I think it unlikely we shall ever return to Welchstad.”
For a couple minutes Laura stared blankly at the table. “Then I must marry him,” she whispered, almost to herself.
“Now, who in all eternity said that?”
“You see another way?” She looked at Morgan dismally.
There came a knock at the door. Laura stood up to answer it, but Morgan motioned for her to sit back down. “Come in,” she called.
Devon carried in a large platter of expensive-looking food and white wine. After he’d gone Laura examined her plate, trying to figure out what was on it. She didn’t quite have the nerve to ask.
“Do you like my selection?” Morgan watched her closely.
“Oh, yes.” Laura smiled. She grabbed her fork and knife and started in.
They mostly ate in silence. Occasionally Morgan would inquire about the food, apparently amused. The food was delicious. Laura repressed the desire to ask her what it was. She wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.
Morgan pushed away her plate. Her face had turned serious again. “If you could go anywhere in the world, where would that be?”
“Belthus,” Laura answered promptly.
A smile crept over Morgan’s face. “We have the same destination in mind.”
Her jaw dropped to the floor. “You—I couldn’t.”
“Why?”
“I’m closely watched.”
“Closely?” Morgan scoffed. “You got yourself here all right.”
She shook her head. She wouldn’t think of it. “My parents would never forgive me.”
“Who cares?”
She looked up from her hands to Morgan’s face. Laura had to see the expression that went with such a cold sentiment. She held her gaze unwaveringly. Laura finally looked away.
“Come on. A withheld dowry? An old, stupid drunk for a groom? It is unforgivable. Why should you pull the yolk your father has prepared?”
Laura shook head back and forth. “My mother still loves me.”
“Yes.” Morgan nodded. “I’ve met her. She seems like a kind woman, but she’s weak. She won’t help you, Laura.”
“True, but ...”
“Laura.” Morgan massaged her temples. “Your concern for propriety is extremely refreshing, but when I am gone that is all you will have left—if that much after becoming Nashton’s wife. On this matter there is no tomorrow. In a few hours I will be on a ship bound for my home country.”
“I’d have nowhere to stay,” she protested. “My brother wants to visit the east coast. He has surely gone there by now.”
“Well, and of course you couldn’t possibly stay with us.” She took immediate offense.
“Morgan –”
“No.” She held up her hand. “The moment we land in the harbor, you’re on your own. You’ll have to find transportation, room and board, obtain food and learn the native language all by yourself –”
“Morgan –”
“And don’t even think of trying to find us, and asking for the smallest degree of help, because you won’t get it.”
Her expressions were so grave, that Laura laughed.
“Will you come with us?”
“I …”
Morgan closed her eyes. “Laura, though we’ve only known each other since last summer, I consider you one of my best friends. I don’t want to abandon you to this fate, but I’ve said all I can. If you’re determined to remain here, then I must bid you farewell.”
Laura heard the finality in her words, and knew Morgan was done with the conversation. She wrapped herself around the situation and measured it. She didn’t want this to be her last meeting with Morgan. She wanted to avoid her marriage. And she longed to see Belthus.
“I’ll go with you.” Her mouth acted independently of her head, but she didn’t want to take it back. She was relieved that she’d finally said it.
Morgan sagged in her seated. She slapped her hand on the table. “Laura, don’t ever do that to me again. You had me on the verge of tears.”
“I …” Laura was horrified.
“Now, then.” She stood up and started pacing. “My father’s plan is to leave from the opera house tonight.”
“I heard it was sold out.” She frowned.
“Oh, we always pick up an extra seat or two, in case we’re bringing along a guest.”
“So I’m to meet you at the opera house as though it were an ordinary evening?”
“Well, I thought you would remain in my company until then.”
“My belongings are at home.”
“I thought you were concerned about your parents stopping you,” Morgan said pointedly.
Laura shook her head, thinking intently. “I can fit my most cherished possessions into my leather bag and slip out when my mother is distracted and my father is gone to a tavern. Not too much trouble; especially if I wait until an hour and a half past dinner.”
Morgan nodded. “All right, then. Dinner’s at six?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll send a carriage around for you at half past seven. The opera starts at eight. When you arrive at the opera, don’t wait for us. We’re always late, and my father is sure to run some last minute errand.” Morgan lifted a small satchel from her shoulder, which matched her blue dress. She unsnapped it and pulled out a long, narrow sheet of heavy parchment. She handed it to Laura. “Your ticket. Don’t wait. I mean it. We might be as much as half an hour late.”
The ticket listed the name of the opera house, the show, the date and the time in square, printed type. Laura clutched the ticket like a talisman.
“I’m looking forward to tonight.”
Morgan nodded. “As are we. In a way, we’re all escaping this place.”
Chapter 2
Laura returned home to an empty house. Apparently, mother had called upon a neighbor. Father wouldn’t return until dinnertime.
She went to her room and tore it apart searching for the leather bag. At length she found it, all wadded up in a far corner of her closet. If her mother knew she had the beaten-up old thing, she’d have discarded it long ago. It was a castoff of Rufurd’s. It had a zipper and a long shoulder strap. She judged it possible to stuff three dresses, her money, her favorite accessories, the lute if unstrung, and the sun catcher into the lumpy old bag. When finished, she could barely zip it closed.
Then, Laura threw herself on the bed and tried to relax. She knew the best way to remain calm was not to think of the night ahead. When the plan was set in motion, everything would fall into place, one way or another. Laura knew it would profit nothing to dwell on uncertainties.
Despite her grasp of the situation, Laura sweated through the late afternoon. At dinner her heart nearly stopped every time one of her parents cast a glance in her general direction. If last night’s meal was festive and expensive, this night’s was ordinary and meager. Urgent business kept Miles Nashton away, which relieved Laura. She excused herself at the earliest opportunity and purloined a pocket watch from her father’s study. He had several and she took the simplest among them. She doubted he’d ever miss it. In this way she could keep track of the time.
At 7:25 Laura quelled the rush of anxiety, and shouldered the bag. It might take a few minutes to leave the house undetected. She didn’t want to cut her time too short. She suppressed an urge to straighten her room one last time, and moved soundlessly into the hallway. She closed the door gently, heading for the stairs.
Laura nearly collided with her father. His face was sickly soft and flushed pink from too much liquor. Tears stung his normally shrewd eyes. He met her gaze. She stood transfixed, the weight of the bag throwing her slightly off balance. She swayed in the middle of the hallway. Her father didn’t seem to notice. He approached her slowly and then put his arms around her in a loose embrace.
“Oh, Laura, you must think I hate you. It’s all my fault.” Tears escaped his eyes. “My business failures….I feel so bad doing this to you. Your mother’s crimes bear nothing on you. If there was another way ...” His embraced tightened. “And listen!” he said, eyes suddenly fierce. “If Nashton ever hurts you—tell me; I’ll file against him. If he does it again I’ll challenge him to a duel.”
He released her at last and caressed her cheek gently with his old, calloused hand. “You will save this family from ruin. It is more than your brother or sister shall ever boast.”
“... Yes, father.”
“Goodnight, my dear.” He smiled kindly.
“Goodnight, father.”
He walked past her to his bedchamber.
She let the bag slip from her fingers and stood there in a daze. How could she leave? His words were meant. All else was merely a front. But Laura shook her head. The liquor had loosened her father’s tongue. He’d expressed feelings beyond his capacity when sober. So how could she believe he would intervene against Nashton on her behalf? His sober mind would never honor promises made in a drunken stupor, however sincere their meaning. All his fine words would never amount to more than wishing he could help her.
And the fact remained that Laura did not want to marry Nashton; not for all the money in Holsten. She reasoned that if she came into some money she would send it to her mother. Otherwise they would have to make do without her.
Morgan! Laura glanced at the pocket watch; only a couple minutes until the carriage would arrive. She could waste no more time. She feared if she did not move now, she never would at all.
Trembling, she ran down the stairs, past the drawing rooms through the front hall, making for the foyer. She saw her mother chatting with Mrs. Cherken their next door neighbor. Perhaps mother called to her. She didn’t wait, rushing head-on. A swipe of her hand and the door was unlatched. She covered the walkway to the street, feeling the chill of the late autumn air.
She had a split second to worry that her mother would come after her, but then the carriage rolled in. The doorman scarcely had time to reach street-level and pull down the step before Laura mounted it and pulled the door closed herself. She promptly rapped the door, signaling her readiness. The carriage lunged forward and the scenery in the window began to move. Laura looked straight ahead. She had no wish to see her mother running frantically after her.
The whole ordeal took a matter of seconds. With a start, Laura realized she was not alone. Mr. Sopub’s manservant Alfred Gray sat across from her. Gray’s mouth circled into a small smile. It seemed he believed the show had already started. Of course, he knew of Sopub’s plan to leave Holsten directly from the opera. It was an easy conclusion that he also knew that Laura was to join them.
“Promptness is a fetching quality in ladies,” said Gray, the smile still on his face.
Laura didn’t know what to say to that. She shrugged and looked out the window. She hoped they’d reach the opera soon. Gray made her a little uncomfortable.
Twenty minutes later they turned into a long circle drive, where guests could be let off to enter the opera house. She saw lanterns in the trees and minstrels moving among people headed for the opera. In the air Laura smelled spice and smoke. Her carriage got its turn. She reached for her bag, which she’d rested beside her.