Issie #2
Blithe Cottage was not a cottage at all and had once been a real jewel box of a house, cozied into a winding suburb of Neck most often referred to as the Ruff.
Its stacked compartments consisted of the kitchen and cellar halfway below ground level, a parlor and a library on the main floor, the dining room and Issie’s chambers above that, Ysette and Auntie Floret’s rooms on the third, and garret apartments for Cook and Meg at the top, though Issie strongly suspected that Meg snuck out most nights, to do goodness knew what.
The house sat flush with the street at the front but had a large walled garden tucked behind it—and, most important, a tiny stable.
The place had been built some one hundred years prior for Issie’s maternal great-grandmother, who was married to a duke but in later life spent the majority of her time dallying with various lovers in Neck.
Blithe Cottage had been designed to facilitate her particular lifestyle, and as such, its décor was better suited for a brothel than a family home, all gem-colored velvets and gilt trim, though the velvets were now all rather moth-eaten and the gilt chipping at the edges.
It also possessed a shell-encrusted bathing closet, a sizeable collection of erotic books, and rather a lot of scandalously vulgar tapestries, statuary, and other art.
It even had a secret, hidden staircase and tunnel that led from Issie’s bedchamber down to the stable, presumably for clandestine liaisons.
The bumbailiff had made himself quite at home in the parlor, from which Issie had attempted to strip the more obviously unseemly decorative elements.
He was sitting on a plum brocade chaise, with his filthy boots propped on an embroidered stool, and she hoped he hadn’t noticed that the embroidery depicted scenes of an ancient battle that seemed perfectly innocent unless you looked closely and saw that the knights were riding giant, flying phalluses instead of horses.
He didn’t stand or even formalize his posture when Issie entered, opting instead to leer up at her from underneath the brim of the tricorne he’d rudely failed to remove.
“Nice place,” he drawled.
“Yes, and I can’t imagine what makes you think you’re welcome to treat it like whatever pinchpenny lodging house you live in.
Kindly remove your feet from my great-grandmother’s crewelwork.
” Over the past six months, Issie had tried many approaches to dealing with debt collectors.
Cheerful and earnest appeals to their humanity bore nothing but ridicule and contempt.
Flattery puffed them up but never gained her any compassion.
Truly, the only thing that had ever allowed her to keep any ground at all was treating them like they were grubby-handed little graspers who ought to be flogged for daring to take up her time with their nonsense.
It was against her nature and required the staunchest of nerves, but needs must.
The bumbailiff’s mouth tightened into a grim line, and for a moment, she feared that even her best bluster would not be enough to fend him off. But then he slowly lowered his feet to the ground and dragged himself upright to stand beside her.
“Good,” she said, swallowing hard. “Now, you must tell me your name, and on whose behalf you have come calling.”
He seemed to be swishing words around inside his mouth while he considered her.
“My name is Frost, mum. I’m here on behalf of Lord Roland Ballum. It seems your husband owes him quite a sum, and I have been sent to collect it.”
“You will address me as Your Ladyship, if you must refer to me at all,” she said, as stiffly as she could manage. Lord Ballum? She kept thinking they’d hit the bottom of the pool, only to get sucked deeper and deeper.
Frost’s eyes had hardened. “Would Your Ladyship care to remit the payment to me now, then?”
“I was unaware there was an amount owing,” she said.
“I shall have my solicitor write to Lord Ballum to sort this matter out immediately. Your services will not be required further.” This was a blatant lie.
They had long since run out of money to pay John’s lawyers, but it might at least buy her some time.
“Bit late for that,” said Frost. “The courts have heard Ballum’s case, and your husband failed to appear.
I’m empowered to collect on Lord Ballum’s behalf.
You can’t swan your way out of this one, Your Ladyship.
” He produced a writ from the Courts and handed it to her.
The words blurred as she tried to read them.
The one thing she could focus on was the sum, and seeing it made her feel as though she was plummeting from the parapets of Arris House.
It was an impossible amount. Blithe Cottage, the small yearly allowance—none of it would be enough to fill the void.
“Well, I…” she stammered. “I certainly don’t have this amount on hand. I shall have to make arrangements. You must tell Lord Ballum that I will write to him to settle our accounts with all due haste.”
Frost smirked at her. “Mayhaps her Ladyship can make arrangements from Hargate.”
Hargate. Neck’s infamous prison, where criminals were sent to rot.
Murderers, pickpockets, highwaymen, debtors…
it made little difference what you’d done once they locked you away.
She’d thought that if she gave up everything she possibly could, she might somehow avoid facing such a horror on John’s behalf.
“Please,” she said. “I have a child.”
“They let women bring their children with them, if there’s no one else to mind them on the outside,” he said. “Doesn’t usually go well for the kids, though. Hargate fever eats through them like pigs in an apple orchard.”
Panic beat in her chest like a trapped dove.
“You can’t possibly have the authority to arrest—” she began, but was interrupted.
“Mummy! Are we going to go to Hargate?” Ysette spilled into the room, running over and grasping at Frost’s hand as though she expected him to go skipping off with her to play some game. “Is this gentleman going to take us there to visit Flatnose Jim before they hang him?”
Issie’s mind spun as she struggled to find some way to reply to her daughter. How could she tell her that no, they were not going to pay a morbid visit to one of her favorite criminals, but instead her own mother was to be locked up as penance for her father’s crimes?
“No, darling,” she managed to say, though her voice was quavering. “We aren’t going to go anywhere with him.”
Ysette frowned at her, then looked up at Frost. “You should leave, then, sir, for my mama needs to help me with my lessons.”
Frost cleared his throat, and his countenance seemed to soften. He was looking at Ysette and chewing on the inside of his cheek. Then he released her hand and reached up to lift his hat, running a hand through his hair.
“I’ll leave you to your lessons, then,” he said.
“I…” Issie said, completely baffled by his abrupt change of heart. Perhaps talking about children dying of fever was one thing, but seeing Ysette—a living, breathing child—was another. “Thank you?”
He nodded, replacing his hat.
“Talk to Ballum,” he said. “Sort things out. If not, I’ll be back. And if it comes to that…” He leaned in close to her ear, she supposed so that Ysette would not hear, which was strangely kind of him. He smelled of lye and pipe smoke. “Make sure you’re ready.”
He leaned away from her and found her eyes, as if to make sure she understood. She understood perfectly.
“Thank you,” she said again.
He nodded once, then winked at Ysette. “Stay out of Hargate, young miss. It’s no place for a fine lady like you.”
“Pshaw!” said Ysette, and Frost actually laughed.
Issie didn’t see him out. She stood there in the parlor, staring at the wall, long after he left.
She had a week. One week to come up with a small fortune and thereby fend off disaster a little longer.
Charmers help her.