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ELIZABETH SAT ON THE edge of the guest bed and stared at the boxes, trunks, and crates of books. They were stacked on top of each other, shoved under the bed, stacked in the closet, pushed into the corners, and just generally everywhere.
She had prepared herself for the sight of familiar book spines. She had not prepared herself for journals, personal spell books, and letters. She wept at the sight of her uncle’s handwriting. This was going to be harder on her than she had thought. However, these books were precious to her. They were worth more to her than the pounds, shillings, and pence she could fetch. These were her uncle’s words and thoughts; his entire life’s work in ink. Those she would hoard for herself, and never share.
Grief washed upon her in gentle waves. She cautiously moved the journals from their simple crate to her top bureau drawer, careful to keep her dripping tears away from the precious pages. She dabbed her eyes and blew her nose, and drew in several deep breathes, but she continued her task. She would look at those special books later. There was work to be done.
The majority of the first trunk’s books were on fossils, minerals, and mining, topics that held no interest to Elizabeth. She decided to keep the large encyclopedia, On the Magical Properties of Stones, Rocks, Minerals, and Precious Gems: A Thorough Investigation by the Country’s Foremost Occultists, published in 1798. The drawings were intricate, every detail painstakingly rendered in ink for the reader. She would keep that for her own enjoyment. The remainder of the books went into the wooden crate formerly occupied by the journals. When the trunk was full, she enlisted Sally’s help. The crate was carried into the hallway outside of Elizabeth’s room.
Elizabeth accepted the offer of another pot of tea. At first, she declined the offer of a small tray of delights, but Sally said Cook was worried. She accepted, to ease the good woman’s concerns. She had little appetite but did manage to nibble at some pound cake. She continued her work, sorting through another trunk.
A box wrapped in a pale blue silk ribbon sat at the bottom of a trunk. She picked it up and discovered that, underneath it, was another with a yellow ribbon. She carefully opened the box and discovered letters in her mother’s own hand.
She stared at them, unable to open any of the precious gifts. Uncle Edward had always been her link to her long-dead mother. Her father, for all his good qualities, had not been sensitive about his eldest daughter’s pain at losing her mother.
Then her stepmother, Augusta, died in childbirth, just like her own mother, and now she had yet another stepmother. Isabella was good enough as a companion, but she was younger than Elizabeth, something that Aunt Cass bristled at when she thought Elizabeth was out of ear shot. Maria, too. Even the servants whispered about it when they supposed themselves alone: How awful it must be for Miss Knight, having a young thing like Mrs. Isabella Knight be mistress of the house.
Elizabeth bore it all with a quiet solemnity, knowing and accepting that it was her lot in life. Men married women, and they married women who could bear them sons. Isabella was still a young, healthy woman. If she could give him a few more sons, all the better. That was her lot in life, and Elizabeth’s to accept it.
But through it all, her mother’s brother and sister had been her anchor. Now, one of those supportive ropes had been cut and the boat was rockier than ever.
Except that now, she stared at letters. Old letters that threatened to stab a sword through the scars her soul carried. Her grief was already raw, and she knew there was much work ahead of her. However, she opened the first packet of letters, and read the first one.
August 30, 1782
Bryden Rectory
My dearest brother,
It has been raining for eight days straight now in Bryden and I fear I am going mad waiting for my confinement to begin. Mr. Knight left three days ago to attend a parishioner, who was first said to only be suffering from a sore throat but was discovered to have a putrid fever. For my sake, the midwife had instructed that he not return to the house. Therefore, he stays at Mr. Frank Black’s house, who is a bachelor.
I have not received word from him in two days, and with this rain, and the midwife now gone to attend to another confinement—our dairy maid’s sister—I find myself alone with the servants and the midwife’s apprentice.
And no news, Edward! None whatsoever. How I wish our dear mother was alive, for I could, at least, depend upon her assistance. I had already written to Cassy, begging her to make the journey to our poor, retired part of the country, but I fear these storms will keep her snug in London. The post did not even arrive yesterday because the roads on this side of the fields were flooded.
Please write to me with any news, no matter how mundane. I will happily accept a letter from your housekeeper, if she has any news of her niece and her upcoming confinement. If the news is bad, pray ask her to lie to me until mine is over. I am daily more fearful of what the Lord has planned for me. I do not wish to leave this gentle creature alone in the world, as so many mothers have been called to Heaven already. However, I must trust in the Lord and my midwife, and hope all will be well.
I shall send news as soon as I can. In the meantime, please write and end this tedious boredom.
Your loving sister, etc etc
Elizabeth’s broken sobs were so loud that Maria and Aunt Cass came thundering up the staircase. Both women dropped to the floor and wrapped their arms around her before even knowing the source of her grief. Aunt Cass pressed Elizabeth against her chest, as Maria rubbed her hands and arms. Finally, Maria took up the letter in Elizabeth’s hand and glanced over it.
“Oh, Eliza.” To Aunt Cass, Maria said, “It’s from her mother.”
“Oh, dearest,” Aunt Cass whispered. “This is not the time to read those.”
“I thought I was strong enough to read one,” Elizabeth whispered through her pained sobs.
“It is not about strength, my child,” Aunt Cass said, her voice now cracking. “You must not tax yourself.”
The three women stayed on the floor, with Elizabeth in the middle of the embraces, warm and safe in the arms of those who truly loved her. A moment later, Sally draped a heavy blanket over Elizabeth’s weary shoulders.
And, for those fleeting moments, she could almost feel her own mother’s arms about her, too. A woman who feared dying in childbirth, but who did her duty with dignity and strength. Elizabeth wanted to be that woman, to be a woman her mother would have been proud to have known.
But, perhaps most of all, right now, Elizabeth felt like a little girl, seeing her mother in her bed, cold and unmoving, and not understanding why God would take away a little girl’s mama.
******
AUNT CASS DECIDED THAT London dining rules and conventions be damned; her niece required nourishment. It appeared that Mrs. Cook had the same notion, for when Aunt Cass went to speak to Cook, she informed her mistress that the barley turnip soup was done, and that the mutton had nearly finished boiling. Elizabeth overheard Aunt Cass ask Maria if she would be terribly offended by an informal dinner, with no place settings or any of the usual proprieties. Aunt Cass declared herself fatigued, and she worried for her niece’s strength.
Maria readily agreed that a casual family dinner, set in the dining room, with no servants to attend them, was the best approach at such a time, and that she would not be offended in the slightest. And so, Cook was informed that she did not need to worry about formality tonight; Sally could bring out the food as it was ready.
They started with the barley soup, which was excellent. More importantly, it awakened Elizabeth’s sluggish appetite and she had a few forkfuls of the boiled mutton and peas. There was still room for Cook’s jam tarts, and the three ladies happily cleared the tray.
“We wouldn’t want Cook to think they weren’t enjoyed,” Aunt Cass has said, encouraging Elizabeth to have a fourth tart.
The ladies lingered over dinner until Elizabeth finally announced she was strong enough to return to her task, while there was still daylight left. Maria and Aunt Cass offered to accompany her, but she insisted upon her solitude. The grief would not overwhelm her this time, she promised. It had only been the shock of seeing her mother’s letter. Now that she knew they existed, she could place them out of her mind, knowing they would be there for when she was ready. She pushed off their concerns of fatigue; she wanted something to keep her mind busy.
And, in all honestly, she reveled in the solitude. She had so little of it at the rectory. Any relief from the noise was welcomed.
Aunt Cass had argued against it, asking Elizabeth to sit a little longer in the dining room. Elizabeth dutifully stayed, sipping sherry, while Maria and Aunt Cass explained their sorting system. In the time Elizabeth had been upstairs earlier in the day, Maria and Aunt Cass had managed to sort four entire crates of books by themes: agriculture and mining, child rearing and young ladies’ decorum, theological and philosophical, and a final crate of hodgepodge. Anything that appeared remotely interesting was placed on the sideboard table for Elizabeth’s final decision.
“At least, please, look through what we’ve set aside for you thus far, Elizabeth,” Aunt Cass said, still clearly uncomfortable with her young niece’s unwillingness for company.
Elizabeth thumbed through the crates. She agreed with the choices made; none of those books appealed to her in the slightest. From the sideboard, she determined to only keep three occult history books; everything else was deemed sellable.
“Only three?” Aunt Cass asked. She was still seated and nursing a cup of tea. “Why so few?”
“I must be practical,” Elizabeth said. “It could be many years before I successfully read through everything I choose. Even if some of the books only gain me half a shilling, that is half a shilling I do not need to worry about. I must consider my father’s age and my circumstances. I cannot expect anyone to accept me and my estate-sized library, now can I?”
“When your father dies, I shall happily take you in,” Aunt Cass said sternly. “There was never any worry on that score, surely.”
“Charles seems to have other plans for me,” Elizabeth said of her brother.
“Pish,” was all Aunt Cass said in reply. “That man would need to keep a thought in his mind for more than a week to have a plan.”
Elizabeth did not admit aloud that she did often worry about where she would end up when her father died. Her brother would be tasked with her upkeep. Elizabeth could see Charles insisting Elizabeth move to his small establishment to act as housekeeper until he could convince some poor, foolish woman to marry him. If she refused, could he withhold her income? Where would the interest on her inheritance be sent? She did not know the answers to those questions, only that her father took care of such things. She knew her husband would, also, if she could find someone to take her on.
Unfortunately, with so little money to her name and no dowry beyond her new inheritance, she had nothing tangible to tempt a man of good sense and a decent income to overlook her age. No one would marry her now without a considerable fortune landing at her feet.
And what would become of poor Isabella? And her unmarried sisters? What an unhappy household if G and Thea ended up living with Isabella!
“Don’t worry, my dear. Your father is still very healthy. Besides, if Charles tried to steal as much as a farthing of your money, I would send my solicitors to scare him into submission,” Aunt Cass said.
“I would send Henry,” Maria said. “Charles had hinted he wants the parsonage in the village when old Mr. Crawford finally dies. I believe his ambition would be greater than his need for controlling his sister.” Maria paused. “Of course, Charles would have to return to Oxford.”
“Surely Mr. Knight has convinced the boy to go back. I understood he’d fully recovered,” Aunt Cass said.
Maria shrugged and said, “If necessary, I suppose we could bring Mr. Leigh into the mix.”
“I appreciate that you are trying to solve a problem that does not yet exist, but I believe that Charles would need to be extraordinarily cruel for me to turn to David Leigh’s assistance. He is unmarried still, let us not forget, and I believe society would have some interesting things to say about an unmarried cousin helping his unmarried cousin. Let us not even ponder bringing that upon my head.”
“Then let me find you a husband before your father leaves this earth!” Maria said, with a laugh. “There must be one useful man in England!”
“I believe that is my cue to speak up for my sex.”
Elizabeth spun around to see Henry Thorne standing in the foyer. James gave Aunt Cass an apologetic look and said, “Mr. Thorne to see you, ma’am.”
“Mr. Thorne!” Aunt Cass said cheerfully. She curtsied and said, “We are attempting to find a useful man in England. Surely you know of one.”
“My wife might argue otherwise, but I am occasionally known to be helpful to ladies,” Henry said with a smile. His face sobered when he said, “I wished to offer my condolences in person. It is not that I did not trust my dear wife to do it, of course. I merely felt I should not leave the entire task to her.”
“Henry, my dear, none of that. We are in need of a man,” Maria said.
“What is needed?”
“A great many things. However, first, let us find a husband for my dear friend here.”
Henry Thorne shook his head, a sad expression across his face. “Alas, Maria, I do not believe there is a man in England worthy enough in our dear Miss Knight’s eyes. Ah! And there she glares at me with those eyes. Ah, yes! I am correct.”
He laughed and accepted a cup of tea from Aunt Cass. He sat down in the chair provided by James. “Now, is there something else I can assist with? Good God. Where did all these books come from?”
Elizabeth was about to ask what his plans were to assist in the selling of her books, and beg his help, but Maria interrupted her.
“May we store some of Elizabeth’s books in our house?”
“Of course!” Henry looked about the dining room. “I may have to knock down a wall to accommodate all of them, but I am certain we can find room.”
“This is one room of three, currently,” Elizabeth said with a wince. “My hope was that I could prevail upon someone’s good will to help either send them to auction or to sell them individually to the booksellers.”
“We discussed this already, Miss Knight. But...” He looked about the room. “Where did all of these books comes from?”
They explained the David Leigh situation to Henry Thorne. He laughed merrily at the social conventions they were attempting to skirt about with gifting them to the aunt and not the niece. He did so with a gentleness that seemed to only mildly irritate his wife.
Finally, he said, “With your permission, Mrs. Spencer, and yours, Miss Knight, I would like to take one of the volumes to Osborne, to get his opinion.”
“We also have an inventory list that we’ve started today,” Aunt Cass said. She passed him the sheets of paper. “This is only for what is sorted, of course.”
“Please, Henry, do not lose the list,” Maria said, wincing as her husband folded the sheets in half. “It is the only copy! Pray, take care!”
“I am certain, my darling, that I am capable of walking several sheets of paper through London and back unharmed.”
Maria’s expression clearly expressed her doubt. “Hmm.”
Henry pulled out his pocket watch. “I believe Osborne’s will be open for a few more hours. Goodness, ladies. You had dinner early today. You do realize you are in London, and not the country during the time of our grandparents, yes?”
Maria gave Henry a withering glance. “Mrs. Spencer is in mourning and should be allowed to eat whenever she sees fit without commentary from guests.”
“I was only teasing, Maria,” Henry said in a much softer tone. “Mrs. Spencer, forgive me. I did not mean any offensive.”
“Oh, Mr. Thorne! There is nothing to forgive,” Aunt Cass insisted.
“It was my fault,” Elizabeth said. She bashfully looked down at her hands. “My uncle had saved letters from my mother. I did not know that, so you can imagine the pain of their discovery.”
“Oh, Miss Knight. How dreadful for you.” Henry Thorne took a long drink from his cup. “Ladies, with your permission, I shall be off. Hmm, may I also take one of the books? I believe Sir William Donsdale was looking for volumes on occult history, so if you have something of that nature....”
Elizabeth nodded her agreement. As she said before, a half shilling was still a half shilling. She thumbed through the appropriate crate and pulled out The Occult in Wales: 1688 to Present.
“Would this be acceptable? I have no interest in keeping it.”
Henry nodded and placed the inventory list inside the book’s cover. “I’ll be off. Hopefully, I can make it there in time.”
More tea was ordered, and Maria happily began sorting through the books on the dining room table. Her rational was solid: it gave them a space to place other books later. Plus, having a place to eat was never a bad thing. David Leigh’s servants arrived with the promised one hundred and eleven books. There was no room for them in the dining room.
“Just put them in the drawing room. No, not the one upstairs. The one just over there. Yes, that one,” Aunt Cass instructed.
After those boxes and crates were arranged to Aunt Cass’ preference, they left and Aunt Cass returned to the foyer where the ladies watched the delivery unfold.
“Is that the end of the books?” Elizabeth asked.
Aunt Cass scowled. “They said there were at least four more crates to deliver tomorrow. I wish they would just get this agony over with.”
They made their way back to the dining room, determined to make some headway in the work there. They had only just sat down and poured themselves tea when James walked in.
“Mr. Joseph Baxter and Sir Matthew Beaumont to see Miss Knight,” the butler announced.
Aunt Cass threw her napkin upon the table and rose. “Oh for the love of the Saviour!”
Elizabeth put down her tea cup and said to her aunt, “Do you know these gentlemen?”
“Only two of the most odious men I’ve ever met who pretend to be gentlemen,” Aunt Cass said. “Come ladies. I do not want them to see this room. Be on your guard. Sally! Close the doors behind us.”
“Why?” Elizabeth asked, following her aunt.
“I suspect they are here to rob us.”