“So you came here for a single day, to see me, your only surviving child, who you’ve barely spoken a word to in years, and tell me you are throwing us out of our house, so you and that…that woman can live here?”
“It is time,” he said with deadly finality. “I will discuss this no more. See you find a suitable husband, daughter. I shall return soon.”
She moved to the door and opened it, but before she left, Alice had a last thing to say. She’d never taken her father to task, but it was clearly past time.
“You are a selfish, horrible man. You have neglected your children for many years and now want to throw one of them out of the only home she’s ever known. This speaks to your weak, mean spirited, and shallow character, my lord. I will be more than happy to never see you again. I will also ensure to never look at another of the household accounts or the investments Ihave undertaken on your behalf. Your estates and finances are flourishing because of me, but that will no longer be the case.”
Her father’s mouth dropped open at Alice’s speech.
“Rot in hell, Father. It’s what you deserve, and know that for your many sins there is a single one I will never ever forgive you for: Turning your back on your son when he most needed you.”
She walked out the door to her father roaring her name. In the hall, Phipps, the butler, waited with his impenetrable calm. “A card came for you, my lady. Delivered not ten minutes past.”
Her stomach tightened. “For me?”
“Yes, my lady.” He extended the silver salver.
Alice did not look. She knew the quality of the card before she turned it, felt it in the crispness of the edge beneath her gloved fingers. Lord Stafford’s crest. The ink black as a bruise.
A single line, written in a strong, slanted hand.
We must speak. Tonight.—S.
Heat flared up her spine, as she looked at that bold stroke of a letter. She slipped the card back onto the tray.
“Please send word to Lord Stafford’s townhouse,” she said, keeping her tone even, “that I will be unable to see him this evening.”
Phipps hesitated, perhaps surprised by the steel in her voice. “Very good, my lady.”
“And, Phipps?”
“My lady?”
“If any other notes arrive from Lord Stafford, they are to be placed on my writing desk unopened. I will attend to them myself.”
“Of course.”
She climbed the stairs, rage, hurt, and pain roiling inside her, and made for her room.
Once there, she resisted the urge to hurl herself onto her bed, and instead sat in the chair before the fire. Maggie followed with a tea tray and a small plate of sugared biscuits.
“Eat please, my lady,” her maid said, setting the tray by the writing desk, “before you faint on me and give the housemaids stories to tell their grandchildren.”
“Why would I faint?” Alice said, picking up a biscuit and nibbling. It tasted like dust.
“I have eyes,” Maggie said, and then, softer, “and I can see you are pale and upset.”
“’Tis nothing,” Alice added. “My father is a fool, but that’s nothing I did not already know.”
Maggie’s brows climbed, but she only bobbed a curtsy and left, closing the door with the quiet efficiency of a woman who had learned how to vanish when her mistress needed to think.
Alice rose with her tea and went to the desk she’d had placed before the windows. Opening a drawer, she slid out the little inlaid box. Pulling out paper and pen, she began to write.
Ledger stolen. Three nobles in disguise. Questioned girls about K. Jackson, and the men who questioned them, Lord Stafford being one of them.
Look into securing more staff for clinic. Supplies: carbolic, laudanum, liniment—more. Ward: at least six beds to begin; two nurses.
She paused, and ink blotted the paper, before writingStafford did not tell me what he was doing, or had uncovered.She set the nib down hard enough to nick the paper.
