“I notice you have not invited me,” Pitt said, passing a bowl of glistening peas along the table. Charlotte caught his quick glance at Miss Brodie, who looked uncomfortable.
“We do not invite you any longer because you never come,” Henry said, tucking a lock of dark hair behind his ear. “Why, you are quite in your prime, sir, and any man in the place would surely—” Thomas elbowed him hard. “Ow! It was a compliment, do not jostle me so.”
“I would rather not go out,” Miss Brodie murmured, her voice barely audible. “But if Miss Bennet would not mind terribly, I wondered if my friend might visit for a few days? He has secured a little leave from Mrs…” she swallowed, “from my former place of employ.”
“Ooh, Nancy, a special friend!” Henry cried, and earned himself another elbow in the ribs from Thomas. The two footmen descended into giggles.
Mary smiled. “Of course. I am glad that you have someonedear to you.” She mock-glared at the footmen and moved her chair away. “Tell me, boys, is your silliness contagious?”
They grinned, unabashed, and Henry dropped a quick kiss on Thomas’ shoulder. The rest of the meal continued in much the same way, and Charlotte discovered that the servants had at their disposal immense pools of gossips, like great fungal networks, reaching across Canterbury and beyond. Indeed, even shy Miss Brodie seemed to possess a wealth of knowledge about all the nearby families, especially who among them employed a decent cook. Mary chimed in from time to time, looking more comfortable and relaxed than Charlotte had ever seen before. This was clearly a cosy, familial space that Mary had been unable to create while living with the Bennets. Here, she was among her people, and it suffused Charlotte with a warm pleasure to know that class boundaries were, at least in the privacy of this house, not so strictly observed.
Afterwards, once she and Mary returned to the drawing room, she said how pleasant and agreeable the atmosphere had been. Mary looked relieved.
“It is not that I do not have friends of my own rank,” said she, as though preempting an argument that Charlotte had not actually made. “There is Miss Highbridge, of course, but though I treasure Delia greatly, she has her own life to lead and cannot spend every afternoon lunching with me. Besides, she too has a new beau.” Mary smirked. “And I quite understand the desire to be sequestered away with the object of one’s desire.”
“Indeed, I quite understand the notion myself.” Charlotte leaned in for a long, slow kiss, full of tender warmth. “How did Miss Brodie come to your aunt’s employ? She does not seem the type to present herself at the door and make her case.”
“Ah.” The smile vanished from Mary’s face. “Nancy—Miss Brodie—was working as a kitchen boy for a friend of Mrs Tremaine’s, a Mrs Grendel, who espied her more feminine side and made one too many romantic overtures towards her. I havenever known precisely what happened, nor do I wish to, but the result was that Nancy fled. The butler at the house, an old friend of Pitt’s, asked him to do what he could, lest the poor girl be homeless. Pitt brought her here,” she shrugged, “and that was that. Once Aunt Cecily had tasted her cooking, there was never any question of trying to find her another position.”
Charlotte’s jaw dropped. “Why, how terrible! And she is such a dear, sweet little thing. I cannot imagine her saying boo to a goose.”
“The sweetest nestlings make for the quickest meals,” Mary said darkly. “I’ve had them make it clear to the rest of Mrs Grendel’s staff that should such a thing happen again, any one of them would be welcome here. I also warned Mrs Grendel herself, which went over about as well as you can imagine.” She sighed. “Sometimes I would like to burn society down entirely. I know I cannot change anything myself, but if I can provide a small safe haven then perhaps I can claim to have at least improved the lives of a few.”
“You are a noble and courageous knight,” Charlotte said, unable to help a fond smile. “No wonder I have become quite besotted with you.”
The cloud over Mary seemed to lift a little. “Is that so, fair maiden? Do you have any dragons you need slain?”
Her hands wound around Charlotte’s waist as the fire crackled, and the next kiss scorched them both.
Chapter Twenty-One
Dearest daughter,
Of course, we understand very well that spending some time away from the parsonage will do you good.
Mary Bennet always seemed a quiet, steady sort of girl.
Just remember that we are ready to receive you with open arms, and one or both of us are quite prepared to travel down to Kent to help you pack your belongings.
With fondest regards,
Mama and Papa
The next day passed in a blur of kissing, punctuated only by breaks for meals, reading and correspondence, and a little playing upon the pianoforte. Charlotte found it difficult to sit even an inch apart from Mary, so deep was her craving, and only the raptures of Miss Brodie’s cooking kept her from pulling Mary into her lap at mealtimes.
Pitt had warmed to her too, now that it was obvious the relationship between Charlotte and Mary had changed; he watched his mistress with far less anxiety than he had once done, and more than once Charlotte had caught him looking at their linked hands with a kind of wistful longing.How hard it mustbe for him,she thought,to have loved so deeply and lost such a sweet, fascinating man.She would have liked to question him about Barton, but to open such a wound would no doubt be very painful.
When the clock struck ten that evening, Charlotte was astonished that the last hours had passed by so quickly. “Would you stay with me again?” she asked Mary. “I find I do not wish to let you go so soon.”
“Of course. Would you prefer your room or mine?”
“Yours,” Charlotte decided.
They prepared for bed in separate rooms before Charlotte tiptoed along the hallway, feeling like a forbidden lover in a Shakespearian play, and slipped in without knocking. They cuddled up together under the sheets, Charlotte marvelling once again at how hot Mary seemed to run—a wonderful contrast to her own cool hands and feet, which never seemed to warm much regardless of the season. She had hoped for at least a little kissing, and therefore was disappointed when Mary merely slung an arm over her waist and tucked her head under Charlotte’s chin.Time is ticking, the voice in her head whispered.In a few days you will have to leave her, and once you do, things will never be the same.
All the more reason to enjoy things as they are now, she argued back, and though the voice fell silent, she did not feel entirely reassured.
* * *
