Page 4 of The Scandalous Deal of the Scarred Lady
She knew this as she knew every room of this house. She had been confined here for so long it seemed. The country estate existed only in her memory, since her aunt had arrived and had revealed to Helena the truth of her own existence. The villagers outside of Rose Park feared her, thinking her to be cursed.
They had gone so far as to ask her father to remove her, blaming the child with the strange and mottled skin for everything from crop failure to a well running dry. It was utter nonsense, as Aunt Phoebe had told her when she’d shared the salacious gossip with her niece but had recommended the house in town all the same. In a more populous place, people would be less aware of the afflicted child, so long as she stayed within these four walls.
’Tis a kindness, Helena reminded herself, not for the first time. But truly it was her aunt that seemed to thrive in town, not herself. With only the patch of sky that she saw out the windows or from the courtyard, her life felt very closed in and dull indeed.
Not that there is anyone to blame but myself. I am old enough to amuse myself, and not feel so terribly…well, disquieted, I suppose. Father does his best and is fair enough to manage his business here, and Aunt Phoebe is kindness itself in attending to social duties for the family, managing the small things. I am the one who needs to strive to find contentment.
Which would be much easier to find if there was more to occupy her mind. So was it not best for her in many ways then to do as she did next, in donning her long cloak, and carefully pulling the hood up so that it concealed her face as she slipped into the room next door as soon as Bridget had safely retired.
The woman seemed careworn and weary. She reclined in an armchair near the fire, her feet upon the ottoman and nestled deep within the blankets. Her face was pale, mouth slack with fatigue, her eyes shut as she dozed. For a moment Helena quailed at the thought of waking her, for it seemed too dreadfully selfish to do so.
But the woman answered that concern for her, her eyes opening wide revealing a most startling blue that reminded her dimly of something, though such thoughts were lost to her now. “Who is there?”
The panic in her visitor’s voice was not lost on the girl. Helena stepped back, where the shadows were deepest, near the shelves of books that were her only true companions. Near to hand was her beloved Shakespeare, beyond that Homer and Euripides. “I am no one. No one at all,” she said, her voice breathless and unsure.
“Hardly no one, in a house such as this,” the woman said, gesturing with a frail hand to the opulent room around her. “Even a servant in this house would be very fine indeed, I should think.”
Helena looked around as though seeing the room for the first time. The carpet upon the floor was indeed rather lush from very far away. Small ornaments lay out on shelves, on tables. Tidbits and mementoes from the days when her father had traveled upon the very ships he sent around the world now in various ventures.
Funny how she had never before considered the room all that strange with its various idols from India and pillows from Persia. But then her father had spent his youth in rebellion, not content to play the part of the Duke’s younger son, but eager to take advantage of the many ships his father had set upon the seas to revel in his thirst for adventure.
He had never expected his only brother to die, leaving him the heir to a Dukedom he’d never wanted in the first place.
Helena picked up a small jade box and smiled a little for it had always been a favorite of hers. She wondered, not for the first time, if the walls of this house felt as confining to her father, who had sailed the seven seas. It was a new and rather strange thought.
“You enable me to see my home in a way I have not otherwise. I thank you for that,” she said, replacing the box upon the table, and moving deeper into the shadows. “Tell me where you were going in such a storm if not to see someone here?”
“Who said I was not seeing someone in this house?” the woman challenged her, a spot of color returning to her cheeks as she sat up a little, the blanket falling from her thin shoulders.
“Well,Isurely do not know you,” Helena responded, somewhat put out by the reply.
The woman looked rather pointedly at Helena’s cloak. “And you know every visitor to this house?” the woman asked.
Helena put out a hand, trailing it along the bindings of the books, needing their comfort. “You talk rather confidently for someone who has not even been properly introduced,” she said, with a certain ferociousness, not liking the feeling of being cornered. It mattered little that the woman was right; Helena very rarely saw any of the visitors at all.
In fact, she wasn’t even altogether sure that the people of this town knew she existed. But then, she had hidden away from people for so long. She had never dared a conversation like this.
It was exhilarating. And maddening.
Helena little knew how to speak to strangers, though she suspected it required more courtesy than she gave now. She took a shaky breath and tried again. “What is your name, good lady? And where do you come from?”
The woman regarded her somberly. “Could I not ask you the same, my Lady?”
Helena answered slowly, as she thought each word through, looking for the trap in the conversation, for she was sure there was one. “I hardly think so,” she said finally. “This is my own home after all and I have a right to know who has invaded it, do I not? My own identity should be my own prerogative.”
The stranger bowed her head. “In that case you have a right to know that I am Lucille Davenport…Lucy. I am in the employ of the Duke of Durham.”
“Of Durham?” Helena asked, head tilted to one side as she regarded the woman with new interest. “Then how have you come to be here?”
“I had…business to attend to.” The woman placed a hand over her eyes and sank back against the pillows again. “I owe you an apology. I am being rude when I am a guest in your house. I thank you for sheltering me from the storm. If I could but rest a moment, I will leave and trouble you no longer.”
“You will do no such thing!” Helena exclaimed, drawing in closer though she had not intended to do so. “I saw you from the very window there,” she said pointing, “and I feel responsible for your well-being now. Indeed, you will rest with us for the night, and come morning, when the storm is past, you will be set upon your way.”
Lucy sat up a little, looking toward the window with some interest. “Then that is your harp there, my Lady?” she asked. “It is a beautiful instrument.”
Helena inclined her head a small bit, feeling her attitude softening somewhat. Perhaps they had not gotten off to the best start, but could the woman not be forgiven for being weary and cold? “Thank you. Though I suspect I am wearying you further. Allow me to see that a room is being prepared for your use.”
Lucy rose to her feet, sending the blanket tumbling to the floor. “I am too much trouble already. My Lord will worry…”
