Knit one. Purl one.
“Ruth,” Mama said, her voice steady and calm, readying to criticize. “Your stockinette stitches are much better but try doing something more decorative for the barrister.”
I pulled the scarf to within a few inches of my face. Horror. I saw the uneven stitches. Mama was being kind. This was awful.
I undid the last row. “I think Mr. Marks likes things uncomplicated.”
That wasn’t the right word for the man who had accepted my son and my predicament like it was a normal thing to be perceived a fake widow.
Mrs. Johnson leaned in and turned up her face, smiling herI-have-a-secretsmile. “Your new friend is up and coming. Popular, too.”
He was.
Barrister Marks was a nice man and a fierce advocate for change, one who’d attracted many female spectators to the Old Bailey with his spirited defenses. “I’m lucky.”
That shut everyone up.
Luck andmein the same sentence were earth shattering, a volcano’s explosion in the offing. Forget the curse of Ham. My problems were Job’s. No one had such bad luck, not like me. But going to Mayfair today would end this.
“Daughter?”
My mother’s tight tone sliced through my jumbled thoughts.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“I asked you to offer Mrs. Carter more tea. Her cup looks empty.”
The softly spoken command called to the little girl still hidden in my bosom. I snapped to attention and lifted the pot and served the serpent to my right.
This side was the weakest of my vision, but I took pride in my aim, not spilling a drop.
The heavyset island woman, whose monied connections were rumored to involve the unscrupulous sugar plantations of the Caribbean, picked up the full cup and slurped. “You look flustered, Ruth. That will serve you well with yoursecondmarriage. I’m sure your barrister will appreciate the pretense in bed. Girly, a man might take used goods, but definitely doesn’t want to be reminded of the bargain.”
Mrs. Carter’s indictment hung in the air like the rosewater scent Mama used to freshen the curtains. A little sniff didn’t annoy, but a full whiff was overpowering, suffocating.
“I’ll remember that, ma’am,”
She leaned near. I couldn’t miss her sneer. “You must smile more when he’s around. It will ensure that banns are read…this time.”
Giggles. Full belly laughs.
Old, wild me might grab her or shake her or say some truth she wouldn’t want uttered about her family, but I was new me, the me who wouldn’t disrespect Mama or dragons. “Say your insults direct. Don’t hide behind half jokes. Come for me head on.”
The chuckles stopped, but Mrs. Carter sang the gossip refrain, the melody that had followed me these four years. “Runaway Ruth, Wanton Ruth, Bad-luck Ruth. Be easy. It’s just jokes.”
Fine. I wasn’t new long-suffering me, but old volcano Ruth. I exploded and swatted the cup in front of me. It flew across the tray spinning toward Mrs. Carter. It clicked against a saucer.
The way the big woman jumped, some of the brown liquid must have landed on her. “Clumsy!”
Clumsy tigress Ruth. “Sorry,” I said in a practiced easy voice. “Be aware, ma’am. All this talk has me jittery. It makes me very unpredictable, maybe a dragon, like you.”
Warning delivered. I stood. “I should go get a towel for you before I leave.”
Mama rang a bell, and Clancy, the Croomes’ faithful butler, came into the room. He appeared too fast, like he’d been on the other side of the door, staring through the keyhole.
The doting man with big, bushy silver locks and big arms like Papa possessed a gleaming ebony mantle. He sopped up the tea with a cloth. “Mrs. Wilky, your carriage has been sent for. It’ll be here in a few minutes. Your father’s still out. You won’t be able to use his.”
I kept my face from falling. Jonesy wouldn’t be able to go with me. I’d have to do this alone.
