Chapter 5
A Dreadful Revelation
The next day, Lizzie sat with Anna in the family salon, an unopened book on her lap.
Anna held a piece of embroidery, but she had yet to make a single stitch, just as Lizzie had yet to read a single word.
Yesterday they had wisely decided to retire to their rooms—they had each been given a separate bedroom—and Eleanor had not asked them down to dine.
They knew she did not leave her rooms until eleven, so they had spent the morning in careful preparation for their next fateful encounter. It was eleven now.
Lizzie’s head was aching. She rubbed her temples, aware of the beautiful spring day outside the house, and wished she were able to enjoy it.
From the windows in the salon, she could see a sky as blue as a cornflower and she could hear birds singing in the park.
But how could she enjoy anything, much less the pleasant day, when she did not know if she and her sister were about to be booted from the house? The throbbing in her temples increased.
Suddenly Eleanor’s clicking heels sounded. She was rapidly approaching. Lizzie shared a terribly worried glance with her sister. Anna began to sew industriously and immediately, Lizzie pretended to read with great absorption.
Unbearably stiff, Lizzie stole a glance at the door.
It was opened by the dapper Frenchman, Leclerc, and her aunt appeared in his wake.
As always, Eleanor wore black. This gown was a stiff, shiny black satin with black lace cuffs and sleeves, and she wore a different diamond necklace today, this one boasting a huge ruby pendant.
Although small and slender, Eleanor had the stature of a queen.
Lizzie shot to her feet, tripping in her haste, and curtsied. Anna also stood, curtsying. “Good morning.”
“Is it a good morning? I wouldn’t know, as I was not expecting houseguests,” Eleanor said, marching into the room. She went directly to Anna. “Are you still ill?”
Anna curtsied again. “I have a cough,” she lied, and coughed delicately behind her hand. “But I feel better and I cannot thank you enough for your kindness yesterday.” She smiled brightly at her aunt.
Lizzie held her breath.
Eleanor stared coldly back. “You mean Rory’s kindness, do you not? Are you taken with him?” she demanded.
Anna’s eyes flew wide. “Oh no, certainly not! I mean, he seems a very fine gentleman—”
Eleanor cut her off. “He’s too charming for his own good when it comes to the ladies, and don’t you forget it.
You are still a beauty, even if you are getting plump.
Rory might prefer politics to romance, but he still finds time to chase the beauties.
I want no affairs in this house, do you hear me? I will not have it.”
Anna curtsied, lowering her gaze in deference. “Aunt Eleanor, I am engaged. Surely Mama wrote you?”
“Of course she did, but you are hardly wed yet.” Eleanor turned to Lizzie. “And that goes for you, as well.”
Before Lizzie could speak, Eleanor turned back to Anna. “Why are you so plump? What happened to that fine figure you once had?”
Anna hesitated. “I have developed a fondness for chocolate.”
“That’s a shame,” Eleanor said bluntly. “If you get too fat, you will lose your extraordinary looks.”
Lizzie dared approach, inwardly quaking. “Aunt Eleanor? It’s a beautiful day. Would you like to take a stroll with me in the gardens?”
Eleanor turned. “You don’t have to humor me, girl. How old are you now?”
Lizzie somehow smiled in spite of her fear.
“I am sixteen, auntie, and I will be seventeen this summer. And I would never be so foolish as to humor you. But I would love to take a walk myself and I simply thought you might wish to join me. But if you would rather sit inside on such a spectacular day,” Lizzie shrugged, “I will walk by myself.”
“I thought you were going to bake a pie,” Eleanor said shrewdly.
Lizzie’s heart raced. “I made an apple pie this morning. If you do not have plans tonight, we shall have it for supper.”
Eleanor actually faltered, although she quickly recovered. “Well, so you intend to earn your keep? I do recall some excellent pies at Raven Hall. Did you make those?”
Lizzie barely breathed, wondering if Eleanor’s remark meant that she was going to let them stay. “Yes, I did. I was thinking of making a lemon tart tomorrow,” she said. “I saw a crate of Spanish lemons in the pantry. If you do not mind, I would use them.”
Eleanor’s eyes sparked and she almost smiled—until she realized what she was doing. She scowled. “I do prefer a good tart to a good pie. But you will have to ask Cook if he needs the lemons.”
“I have already asked him.” Lizzie smiled, and this time it was genuine. “He asked me to show him my baking secrets. I remembered from your visits to Raven Hall that you prefer a tart to a pie.”
Eleanor made her harrumphing sound and faced Anna. “And you? Are you too ill to read to me?”
“Of course not,” Anna said, although her gaze remained extremely anxious. “What should I read? Or do you prefer to walk first?”
“I will walk first,” Eleanor said flatly. “But you may read to me, if you wish, when I come back. I would hear about the comings and goings at Dublin Castle. Rory pens those columns on government affairs and he also sketches—his cartoons are rather amusing.”
Lizzie was surprised. “He is a journalist?”
“He is a Radical Reformer,” she said with a snort, “and that will surely be the death of him, at least socially! But yes, he earns his living like a commoner, by reporting on the government’s affairs for the Times. They pay him some small sum for his clever sketches, too.”
Clearly Eleanor did not condone her nephew’s having employment, as true gentlemen did not sully their hands or reputations by earning a living. “He did not seem very radical to me,” Lizzie remarked, more to herself than anyone else. “But I did see that he was somewhat the ladies’ man.”
Eleanor now seemed interested in her. “His politics are excessively radical, Elizabeth. There would be many doors in polite society closed to him for his extreme views were it not for his relationship to me.”
Rory McBane was very fortunate, then, Lizzie thought, but merely smiled.
“Radical or not, he is my favorite relation!” Eleanor cried. Then she glared at them all in warning. Her message was clear—if anyone was to inherit her fortune, it would be her darling Rory.
“Do you think she will be pleased?” Anna asked anxiously as they hovered about the dining room doorway. The long cherry-wood table was set for four with crystal, silver, a gilded candelabra and three lavish floral arrangements. It was a beautiful table, indeed.
Anna had not gone with them that afternoon to the Capel Street shops, as the plan was for her to remain in seclusion now until after the baby was born.
Still, she had managed to sneak away to a nearby market and had returned with an armful of flowers.
Lizzie had helped her make the arrangements. No table could be lovelier.
“I hope so,” Lizzie said mildly. But it did not seem as if anything could please their aunt. She had been in a very ill humor all day. Still, Lizzie was beginning to wonder if her bark was far worse than her bite.
“Perhaps, in spite of her harping, she enjoyed our outing today. After all, we went to a dozen shops and all we bought were two boxes of chocolate.” Lizzie had thought that telling, indeed, after Anna’s earlier confession.
Before Anna could reply, Eleanor said from behind them, “So I harp, do I?”
Lizzie turned beet-red. She whirled to find Eleanor standing in the doorway, her face a mask of abject disapproval, and then she realized that Rory McBane stood behind her, laughter in his eyes. Their gazes met as Lizzie cried, “I didn’t really mean it!”
“Oh, you meant it,” Eleanor said, scowling.
Rory led his aunt into the dining room. “I have never seen such a lovely table,” he exclaimed, winking at Lizzie. “Auntie, don’t you agree?”
She harrumphed, but she stared at the table with narrow eyes.
“And you do harp, incessantly, but it is what makes your character unique,” Rory added. He smiled charmingly at Anna. “Are you feeling better today?”
She smiled back. “Yes, thank you.” Anna asked eagerly, “Aunt Eleanor? Do you like the flowers? I decided to go out after all and I thought you might enjoy them.”
Eleanor did not respond.
Lizzie continued to wring her hands. “Aunt Eleanor? I am sorry, really, and I did not mean it. What I meant was—”
“You meant it. Since when did you start speaking your mind?” Eleanor asked her very bluntly. “Your sister Georgina was the bold one, the one with the tart tongue,” she said. “You were the shy one, and here you are, calling me a harpy. Not only that, you chattered ceaselessly all afternoon.”
Lizzie flushed. She had been trying to make light, pleasant and very innocent conversation in an attempt to get their aunt to like them.
Very carefully, she said, “I know you do not mean it, but when you speak so harshly to us, it can hurt our feelings, and that is what I meant, that you tend to overly scold.” There, she had probably done it, for no one ever criticized Aunt Eleanor and survived.
Eleanor gaped.
Rory grinned at her, clearly in approval. “Have I not been telling you to mind your manners?” he teased his aunt. “Apparently Miss Fitzgerald agrees with me.”
Eleanor glared at him. “You are the one with no manners. Coming here to flirt with my nieces! And do not tell me you have called on me, for I know you too well, Rory. I know exactly why you are here.”
Rory laughed. “I am utterly dismayed to know that you can see right through me!” he exclaimed. “But I do confess, I did come to call on your lovely nieces. In fact, I have come to make certain they have a roof over their heads while they remain in Dublin.”
Eleanor scowled.
“That is very kind of you,” Anna said, touching his sleeve.
“I cannot thank you enough for persuading Aunt Eleanor to allow us to stay. I feel indebted to you, sir.”