Chapter Eighteen
“M rs. Ward—Mrs. Ward!”
Etty glanced up from her mending as Frances dashed into the parlor, her cheeks flaming.
“What is it, sweetheart?”
“It’s Lady Fulford!”
“Fwannie!” Gabriel, who had been amusing himself with his toy boat, set it aside and reached up toward the girl.
“Lady Fulford often walks the cliff path,” Etty said. “Most likely she does it so she can peer through my windows to see whether I have any more gentleman guests about whom she can spread her gossip. Well, I’ll be delighted to disappoint her. And she needn’t bother us.”
“No, she’s coming—” Frances broke off at three loud knocks on the front door. “She’s here!” she whispered. “Quick! We must tidy the parlor.”
“I’ll do no such thing,” Etty said. “If Lady Fulford wishes to impose herself on me, then she must take us as she finds us.”
Frannie’s eyes widened, then, as the knocking came again, this time more insistent, she fled from the parlor.
As soon as Etty heard the front door open, Lady Fulford’s sharp tones cut through the air.
“Do you know how long you’ve kept me waiting, girl?”
“B-beg pardon, ma’am,” Frances said. “W-would you like to come through to the parlor?”
“What a ridiculous question—of course I would!”
Moments later, Frances appeared at the door, her shoulders tensed as if she anticipated a blow.
Lady Fulford appeared beside Frances and looked about the parlor, taking in the pile of mending in the corner and the books on the floor. Her gaze lingered on Gabriel, who grew still, as if he recognized the danger, before settling on Etty.
For a moment, the two women stared at each other. Then Lady Fulford arched an eyebrow and dipped her head—the haughty expression of one who considered herself the principal inhabitant of the village, demanding deference from a subordinate.
With a slow, deliberate motion, Etty rose to her feet.
“Lady Fulford. To what do I owe the pleasure of a visitation?”
Her guest frowned, then wrinkled her nose. Etty gestured toward a chair at the opposite end of the room.
“Please, take a seat.”
Lady Fulford approached the chair. She stood beside it for a moment before bending forward to brush the seat. Then she inspected her glove, making a show of flicking dust from her fingers, before, at length, she sat.
“Some tea, Frances, I think?” Etty said.
“I’m not here for tea ,” Lady Fulford said.
“But I would like tea,” Etty replied.
Lady Fulford let out a sharp sigh. “Oh, very well, if you insist,” she said. Then she gestured toward Gabriel. “What’s that doing here?”
“ He is my son,” Etty said. “And he’s playing.”
“In my opinion, children have their place, and they should be in it at all times.” Lady Fulford fixed her cold blue stare on Etty. “Particularly when their parents have guests.”
“Even uninvited guests?”
Frances drew in a sharp breath, but Lady Fulford merely raised her eyebrows a little further. Then she cast her gaze on Gabriel once more. The boy continued to stare at her, then he let out a wail.
“Frances, would you take Gabriel to his chamber?” Etty asked. “I think he’d be happier there.”
“We’d all be a great deal happier,” Lady Fulford said. “The parlor is no place for a child.”
“Particularly where the child does not feel safe,” Etty replied.
“Are you being deliberately uncivil, Mrs. Ward?”
“I’m merely stating a fact, Lady Fulford,” Etty said. “My son cries when he does not feel safe.”
“In my experience, children that age cry when they seek attention for their own ends. Any competent parent would not yield to their wiles.”
Etty let out a snort. Most likely, Lady Fulford had spent as little time as possible with her children as soon as she’d birthed them, foisting them onto nannies as soon as they drew their first breath, and onto governesses before they uttered their first words.
“Such cunning little creatures children are, Lady Fulford,” Etty said. “But I thank you for your counsel, and will ensure I have my wits about me in future.”
She turned to Frances, who stood open mouthed in the doorway.
“Frances, dear, please take Gabriel to his chamber. And there’s no need to make tea. I have a feeling Lady Fulford will not be staying long.”
“Why, I’ve never been so insulted—”
“I mean no insult, Lady Fulford, I assure you,” Etty said. “I’m thinking of your welfare. A woman of your… particular sensibilities can find little enjoyment in spending time in a home that is so decidedly beneath that which you’re used to. I’m afraid I can never exist on the same level as yourself, and have no wish to prolong your discomfort by insisting you stay a moment longer than is necessary.”
Frances watched the exchange, her gaze flitting from Etty to her guest. The fear in her eyes lessened and a smile curved her lips.
“Come along, Gabey,” she said. “How about we play sailors with your boat?”
Gabriel reached out toward Frances, his gaze still fixed on Lady Fulford in the manner of a rabbit watching a fox. Frances swept the boy into her arms.
“Shall we play pirates?”
“Yes—pirate!” he cried, clutching the toy boat as Frances took him out of the parlor.
Etty rose to her feet to close the door, then remained standing.
“Now my son is safely out of the way, perhaps you’d be so good as to tell me why you’re here,” she said. “Are you perhaps come to discuss the village fete, or to ask my assistance?”
Lady Fulford curled her lip into a sneer. “Don’t be a fool!”
“I see no folly in my assumption,” Etty said. “I can see no other purpose for your visit,”
“Unless you’re a simpleton, you cannot be at a loss as to the purpose of my visit .”
Etty winced at the spite in Lady Fulford’s tone. “On the contrary, Lady Fulford,” she said, smiling, “that’s why I asked.”
“You are extremely frank for a woman in your position,” Lady Fulford said. “It is a degree of frankness that borders on insolence.”
“Would you rather I spoke an untruth? Or—better still—if I didn’t speak at all?”
Her guest let out a sharp huff. “You must consider my position, if nothing else.”
“A position we very much share,” Etty said. “We are both women, are we not—and mothers?”
“Must you always answer back?”
“I’m merely responding to your remarks, Lady Fulford.”
“Insufferable creature!” Lady Fulford said. “I’m referring to my position of rank , Mrs. Ward.” She leaned forward, her eyes glittering with spite. “That is…if your name really is Mrs. Ward .”
Etty’s stomach clenched in apprehension. Did the woman know something, or was she merely speculating based on gossip?
“Why would you assume my name is anything other than that which I have told you, Mrs. Fulford?” Etty asked. “What purpose would I have in deceiving you?”
A gleam of triumph shimmered in Lady Fulford’s eyes. “I find it unfathomable that a woman of your circumstances would ask such a question of a respectable, titled woman such as myself.”
“I understand the title belongs to your husband, Lady Fulford,” Etty said. “And I fail to understand how the wife of a knight can claim superiority over the daughter of a baronet.”
“A…baronet?”
“Yes, that’s right, Lady Fulford,” Etty said. “The gentleman about whom I understand there has been a great deal of speculation among your particular set of acquaintances is, in fact, my father. Though why a father visiting his daughter and grandson is such a topic for gossip, I cannot fathom—unless you have nothing better to talk about.”
Lady Fulford let out another huff. “I see little point in discussing our relative positions of rank when my superiority is evident even to those of the meanest intelligence. Perhaps I should explain the purpose of my visit now we have dispensed with niceties.” Her face wrinkled into an expression of disgust. “Leave the vicar alone.”
“I beg your—”
“Don’t play the simpleton with me, Mrs. Ward ,” Lady Fulford snarled. “You may have fooled the vicar, and most of the halfwits in the village, but I am not so easily deceived.”
“Lady Fulford, are you calling the vicar a halfwit?”
Lady Fulford leaped from her chair, her eyes glittering with loathing. “Insolent girl!” she cried. “How dare you speak to me so! Of course I’m not calling the vicar a halfwit, though he’s been tempted by your wiles. I am calling you a whore !”
Etty’s composure almost faltered, and she recoiled at the hatred in the other woman’s eyes. “Unfounded accusations will not—”
“I thought I told you not to attempt to deceive me,” Lady Fulford said. “Do you think I’d stand by and do nothing while you tainted this village with your presence, seeking to seduce the vicar as no doubt you seduced another before him?”
“I never—”
“Oh, don’t be a fool!” Lady Fulford let out a harsh laugh. “It’s plain to see that your son is some man’s bastard. No doubt you lifted your skirts for the brat’s father for your own gain.”
Etty opened her mouth to deny the accusation, but she couldn’t. Hadn’t she confessed the very same to Andrew only last week?
Her gut twisted with shame. Perhaps, in his judgment of her, he’d related her history to Lady Fulford.
Andrew, I trusted you…
“Ah!” Lady Fulford gave a bark of triumph. “I’m right, am I not? Does the vicar know?” She shook her head. “No—of course not. A man of his morality would have run you out of the village had he known. Perhaps I ought to tell him.”
“Then tell him and be damned, Lady Fulford!”
“Ah, the true harlot reveals herself,” Lady Fulford sneered, stepping toward Etty until she towered over her, her thicker frame dominating the space. “Well, hear this—Mr. Staines will not become your next victim. He’s an honorable, moral man, destined for greatness in the church. An association with you would ruin him. If you had the merest smattering of decency in that black heart of yours, then you’d leave him well alone—for his sake.”
“Should he not be permitted to make up his own mind?” Etty asked.
“In matters such as this, when a man is being tempted by the devil’s work, he needs guidance from the righteous. The poor man is, I’m afraid, in sore need of such guidance. He almost fell into temptation before—in this very house—and I shall not see him succumb a second time.”
“A second time?”
“The previous occupant of this little hovel was a temptress such as yourself. She came here also, masquerading as a widow—the facade of a whores, it seems. In fact”—she fixed her stare on Etty—“you remind me a little of her. I wonder why I didn’t notice it before.”
“I know nothing of—” Etty began, but Lady Fulford continued.
“Does it not seem something of a coincidence that two young women of similar age, both masquerading as widows, would hide themselves away in the same cottage?”
“Of course it’s a coincidence!” Etty said.
“You seem a little too eager to make that claim. What connects you to her, I wonder?” Lady Fulford tilted her head to one side, her brow furrowing in concentration. “Miss Howard—that was her name, though she passed herself off as Mrs. Riley, if I recall. She married a duke, though not before seducing our poor vicar. But Mr. Staines, in his naiveté, continued to defend her honor, claiming that she was the daughter of a baronet. A claim you have made today.”
Etty caught her breath at the sharp pain in her chest as her body constricted with fear. Her secret was out—or on the brink of exposure.
A slow smile curled Lady Fulford’s lips. “Ah—there we have it,” she said. “Another harlot come here to hide her shame.”
“I have done nothing I’m ashamed of,” Etty said.
“And still she tries to deceive me!” Lady Fulford let out a laugh. “Your shame is evident—I see it in your eyes and I hear it in your voice. But let us put it to the test. With regards to the vicar, you instructed me to tell all and be damned. Do you stand by that sentiment?”
Etty’s gut twisted with fear. She met her opponent’s gaze, but the triumph in Lady Fulford’s eyes only increased.
At length, she nodded.
“I see we understand one another, Miss Howard .”
Etty suppressed a shudder, but Lady Fulford’s smile broadened and she gave a nod of self-satisfaction.
“Excellent,” she said, stepping back. “I’m so glad we had this opportunity to get to know each other a little better. But I think the time has come to cease further revelation, do not you agree? For the vicar’s sake—and yours, of course.”
She extended her hand—thin, bony fingers, adorned by a multitude of rings, each jewel glittering with malevolence. Etty took it, and Lady Fulford curled her fingers around her hands in a claw-like grip, digging fingernails into Etty’s flesh.
“Good,” she said. “Very good. I trust you’ll not trouble yourself with the inconvenience of attending the village fete. It is, after all, for those of us who belong to the village and who strive to preserve the moral fiber here. I cannot comment on whether you feel the need to continue to attend church, but I would counsel you on the folly of placing yourself in a position where our vicar is faced with further temptation. There are those us of here willing to undertake whatever is necessary to keep his soul safe. Do I make myself clear?”
She tightened her grip, and Etty suppressed a cry at the sting of pain.
“Perfectly so, Lady Fulford,” she said.
“Excellent. Then I shall intrude on your time no longer.”
Etty opened the door, and Lady Fulford swept out of the room, almost knocking Frances over.
“Out of my way, girl!”
Frances dipped into a curtsey and rushed toward the front door to open it. Once Mrs. Fulford was safely outside, Etty leaned against the wall, her defenses crumbling.
She knows.
Perhaps not everything, but a woman such as Lady Fulford would make it her business to sniff it out.
And, armed with the full history of Juliette Howard and the sins she had committed, Lady Fulford could command Etty in any manner that she liked. For if Andrew was to learn her true identity, then he would justifiably—and irrevocably—hate her.