Chapter Nine #2
Nell waved away her friend’s hands and got to her feet.
Jane poured water from an ewer into a bowl and picked through the wardrobe for a clean shift and a day dress.
Nell rinsed her face and neck, and noticing the clean rag next to it, washed other parts of herself as well.
When she was done with her ablutions, Jane returned and helped her into her underthings and dress.
By the time Jacobs rapped on the door with a tea tray, Nell was appropriately attired for her company. Indeed, as Jacobs laid out the tray, he gave her a small nod.
“Pleased to see you looking so well, ma’am,” he murmured.
Nell nodded. She no longer felt plagued from her episode—the creature inside of her had bedded down once again—but she felt scattered and ill at ease.
As if she’d fallen behind on living. “Jacobs, could you please bring up my writing desk and correspondence? And any new mail that may have arrived as well.”
Jane poured the tea without asking, which was considered presumptuous according to all the manuals of ladies’ etiquette, but Nell was grateful for the breach. Her hands still trembled, yet now it could be explained by a lack of food. Once Jacobs left, Jane’s cheer faded and she examined Nell.
For her part, she knew she was being observed, but didn’t know why.
“It is Lord Beckett, isn’t it.” Jane didn’t state it as a question. Her voice was flat, and Nell wondered if her friend was annoyed or exasperated. Or some other emotion that Nell couldn’t think of at the moment.
But Nell didn’t truly understand. “ What is Lord Beckett?” She picked up the teacup, warm in her hands, the strong, malty fragrance of the blend giving her strength.
“The reason you’ve taken to bed. What has he done? Has he—” Jane broke off and lowered her voice. “Has he been untoward ?”
Nell blinked as she tried to parse her friend’s lowered voice, her thin mouth, her flat affect.
And then it dawned upon her, and she blushed.
“No, nothing of the sort. Lord Beckett has not made any…” Nell struggled to find the euphemisms that polite company was supposed to use for sexual misconduct. “Gestures.”
Jane sat back, nodding once, as if relieved. “Good. I didn’t think he had it in him, given your like for the man, but you can’t put anything past a nobleman.”
Nell looked up in alarm.
“I know, I know, you aren’t supposed to say anything about it, and there are many girls who believe it’s worth it for the chance to be showered in gifts.
But I’ve heard just as many end up penniless with a child and the pox to boot.
” Jane sipped at her tea, as if this weren’t the most seditious thing Nell had ever heard her friend say.
“Don’t look so shocked,” Jane said with a smile the likes of which Nell had never seen before.
“Every working woman knows to watch herself around a well-dressed gentleman. They have expectations and think a woman who must work is prey. Well, it isn’t always so, as long as we remain vigilant and protect each other. ”
Nell felt herself smiling and tearing up at the same time. Her friend that seemed so frivolous and shallow at times was anything but. Even after so many years, she could still surprise.
“And I extend that willingness to protect to you as well. You know that, don’t you?
Is this another thing I must explicitly state for you?
Because I will. If you wish for me to rescind the dinner invitation to Lord Beckett, I will do so.
If you wish me to call upon him with my dear Rafe and some particularly burly friends of his, I shall. ”
The teacup threatened to spill once again, but it was because of the overwhelming gratitude in Nell’s heart. She’d never felt so claimed by a friend before—so welcomed and loved.
“Oh, darling, don’t cry. I didn’t say it to make you weep.”
Nell shook her head and blinked away the tears.
The hot lump remained in her throat, but she spoke.
“It is about Lord Beckett. But not for those reasons. I don’t know what to do.
” Nell’s eyes roamed the room, as if she could find the courage to speak lurking behind the curtains or under the armoire. “You see, he’s stolen my paintings.”
It was Jane’s turn to put down her teacup so suddenly that it clattered. “Beg your pardon?”
“He stole two of my paintings. I have a crate where I keep the ones I do not hang. And he stole two of them. The self-portrait and a landscape.”
Jane frowned, and two lines appeared deep between her brows. “So you wish to demand payment for them?”
“They are not for sale. I want them returned. They are mine. They are personal.”
“The self-portrait. It isn’t that dreadful one with the black demon looking thing—”
“That’s the one.”
Jane made a face. “Why would he have taken them?”
That was what had perplexed Nell. “I have no idea. What could he want with them?”
“You’re sure it was him?”
Nell nodded. “He’s the only one it could be. And why those two? And not the others?”
“Perhaps he wants to get you into an exhibition?” Jane suggested, the pitch of her voice raising, which was typically a sign that she thought what she was saying was far-fetched but good.
The idea of her work in a public show horrified her.
She had no desire for anyone to know her name or look at her art.
The fingerprints of Monsieur Cobb were all over her style.
It was his copies she’d learned from. It was to his ratios that she mixed her paint.
She might as well go into the middle of London and shout that she was the pupil of a murdered man.
She shuddered. “I certainly hope that is not the case.”
“What are you going to do? What have you done already?”
Nell gave a bitter laugh. “Well, I’ve gone to bed for two days and it hasn’t seemed to resolve the matter.”
Jane gave her a sympathetic smile. “You can’t very well approach an earl and call him a thief.”
“It does seem frowned upon,” Nell said, in all seriousness, but Jane still chuckled.
“You could write him a note requesting the return of them. That seems like a decent starting place.” Jane stared at the cold toast Nell still had not touched.
Even without eating it, Nell could feel the hardness of the dried crust in her mouth, the texture of the edges biting into the softness of her cheeks and gums. She couldn’t stand the idea of it, let alone actually putting it into her mouth.
She would eat later, when everything wasn’t quite so overwhelming.
“A note? That’s it?” That seemed so very simple in the face of a very big-feeling problem.
Jane shrugged. “Yes, something informal, so as not to seem angry. Men don’t like angry women, and you don’t want him to withhold something just because you asked for it back in a manner he dislikes. Keep your tone solicitous so as not to cause offense.”
“But he has caused offense to me,” Nell protested.
“Of course he has,” Jane said. “But we aren’t talking about you.
We are talking about him. He clearly felt that he was entitled to your work in some way, and thus, he took it.
I know it is yours, and I know it was a theft and an invasion of your privacy.
I know, Nell. And you needn’t convince me.
We must convince him that it would be a favor for him to give it back. A favor easily granted.”
The whole idea repulsed her. She saw Jane’s wisdom, but still, it was abhorrent.
“Send the note with Jacobs, as he could bring the paintings back with him right in that moment. So easy.” Jane shrugged her shoulders and squeezed her eyes shut, as if she were receiving an embrace from a very large person.
It was Nell’s turn to frown. She wondered if she had those two lines between her brows. Likely so. “Is it easy?”
Jane looked up from the toast. “Isn’t it?”
Nell followed her gaze, thinking that her friend might be speaking about multiple subjects at the same time. But putting the toast in her mouth wasn’t easy. Not right now. Penning the note would be a far less onerous task.
Jacobs entered with her writing desk and yesterday’s post.
“Put it on the bed, Jacobs,” Nell said, her mind churning. Then, she made a decision, and the world snapped into a tidy linear pattern that she could bear. “And stay put. I have a note that I need to write and I want you to deliver it personally.”
Jacobs met her eye, as if he already knew what errand he would be sent on. He put his hands behind his back to wait.
Nell looked to Jane, who nodded her encouragement.
Then she hopped up and got out a clean sheet of paper and wrote a formal note to Beckett, addressing him as obsequiously as she could muster and begging for the return of her paintings.
She sanded the paper to absorb the excess ink and then folded it to seal it.
“I should like for you to return with my paintings, Jacobs. Please wait for them and don’t be turned away.
” Nell handed him the note, feeling more like herself than she had in days.
Jane had been correct. It had been fear keeping her at bay from asking for what was hers.
She had spent so long trying to keep out of anyone’s path that confrontation felt foreign.
“Ma’am,” Jacobs said, sketching a formal bow that seemed somehow appropriate, even in her tiny household.
After he departed, she and Jane continued to visit, and eventually, Nell ate the toast. With the distraction of Jane’s engagement dinner to discuss, she didn’t focus on the brittleness of the bread as it crumbled between her teeth, or the dryness of her mouth before she could sip at her tea.
It went down without only a modicum of trouble, and then Nell’s stomach growled.