A Lily Among Thorns(74)

“I say it to you,” Solomon said, speaking very slowly, as if to a small child who was just learning English. “I don’t say it to her. She’s doing her best. Besides, if we don’t calm her down and she breaks down at home, it’s all our necks. Figuratively speaking.”

And so it was Serena who carried in the tea tray, a small phial of rosewater perched on the edge. Lady Brendan was sitting where Serena had left her, staring out the window with swollen eyes. She started when Serena, both hands full of tray, let the door bang shut. “I brought your tea,” Serena said, awkwardly.

“Thank you,” Lady Brendan mumbled, and sniffled.

“You’re welcome. I brought some rosewater too. Dab it around your eyes. It’ll make them less red.”

“Thank you.” Lady Brendan essayed a weak smile. “I’m surprised you even know that. You don’t seem as if you would ever cry.”

Serena didn’t know whether to be gratified or annoyed. “Concealing tears is only one of the many useful skills one learns in a brothel.”

“Oh.” Lady Brendan looked mortified.

Serena sat beside her on the sofa. “Did you marry him for love?”

“No. But after twelve years—I am fond of him.”

Serena nodded. “It’s hard. I’m rather fond of that fraud of a marquis, myself.”

Lady Brendan’s gray eyes darkened with sympathy. “Oh, were you two—”

“No!” Serena took a deep breath, and continued, “We were friends. Are friends. But he was using me for his own ends.” She thought of the parish register, forged years ago against the day when it would be needed. “Always. And your husband used you. Remember that. Who do you think he intended to take the blame for his crimes? Why do you think he sent his foreign wife to pass along coded messages without her knowledge?”

For a moment Serena thought that that insight might be more than Lady Brendan could handle. Her hand flew to her mouth and her eyes widened. But then she straightened, and a martial light came into her face. “He was using me, wasn’t he?”

“I’m afraid so.” Serena sighed. “Here, have a ratafia cake. They were delivered this morning still hot.” Both women looked at the airy, golden biscuits without appetite.

Lady Brendan gave her a forced smile. “No, thank you. I should be going.”

“If you’re sure you won’t break down again.”

“I’m sure.” Standing reluctantly, Lady Brendan took up the rosewater and went to a small mirror that hung from the wall. She began dabbing it around her eyes with a perfectly clean handkerchief she pulled from her own reticule. She hadn’t needed Solomon’s at all.

“Just remember, lives could depend on how well you hold up when you go home.”

Lady Brendan examined her eyes in the mirror. “I will.”

“And let me give you a word of advice. If someone offers you charity, take it. Because ‘anything’ can be pretty dreadful.”

Lady Brendan glanced at her and shuddered. Sometimes Serena felt like a walking morality play.

Lady M., for whose heirs Solomon had prepared two batches of black dye, had died the night before. Solomon was summoned to Hathaway’s Fine Tailoring to help fill the massive order. The inevitable could be put off no longer, and that afternoon Elijah reluctantly followed Solomon to Savile Row to explain to his uncle why everyone had thought he was dead.

“And what you put your brother through—the poor lad was wasting away—” Uncle Hathaway was still saying twenty minutes later. Elijah and Solomon were flushing uncomfortably, Uncle Hathaway was gesticulating wildly, and a large group of interested seamsters had gathered.

“Uncle,” Solomon interrupted firmly, “we don’t need to go into all that.”

Uncle Hathaway looked at Solomon, and his face softened. “Well, I suppose you look all right now. No thanks to this young scapegrace. Do you need a place to stay, Elijah? Arthur can sleep on the sofa.”

“Thank you, but I think I’ll be staying at the Ravenshaw Arms with Sol.”

Mr. Hathaway frowned. “Thank God you’re back, Elijah. Talk some sense into your brother, will you? That girl is bad news.”

“Stop it, Uncle,” Solomon said sharply. Elijah didn’t appear to think Serena was such bad news, anyway.

At that point one of the younger seamsters, whom Arthur claimed wanted to be Solomon when he grew up, said, “That’s enough, everyone,” and began shepherding people out of the room.