Love & War (Alex & Eliza #2)(62)
“Um, pink?” Eliza said, wondering if this was a trick question. She looked down at the hem of her gown where it peeked out beneath her overcoat. Though the lobby was dark, the visible fabric was still, clearly, pale pink.
“Well, yes, o’course, pink. But champagne pink, y’think, or p’raps coral? Or, you’ll pardon the impertinence, good old-fashioned sow’s ear? No disrespect meant, o’course. The hue of a sow’s ear is of unparalleled delicacy, if you ask me.” While the attendant was making these bizarre pronouncements, he was leading Eliza down a hall and through an imposing if unlocked wooden door that looked to be at least four inches thick, with a small iron-barred window set in it at eye level. The hallway beyond retreated into darkness.
“Mr. Earl’s been teaching me the names of colors,” the attendant said as he led Eliza up a flight of stairs. “I always thought there was just five or six myself. Y’know, blue and green and red and the like. But there’s hundreds. Thousands even. I think my favorite’s periwinkle. The name, I mean, though the color’s nice, too. Little cool for someone with your complexion, you don’t mind my saying. The sow’s ear warms your skin tone right up.”
“I do think I prefer champagne or coral,” Eliza said now. “No offense to you, or to pigs that matter, but they are not something I often think of wearing.”
“Sure, sure,” the attendant said good-naturedly. “Pig makes a fine leather, actually. Very durable. Good for boots. Also wine sacs, though I s’pose m’lady drinks from crystal, or at least pewter. Well, here we are,” he said unexpectedly, pulling a good-size collection of large iron keys from a pocket and jangling one loose. He fitted it into the iron-framed keyhole, turned it forcefully, and pulled the door open.
“Here you are, m’lady,” he said, flourishing a hand toward the open portal, through which Eliza could see naught but a stone wall.
She hesitated, then took a deep breath. What on earth have I gotten myself into? Before she could cross the threshold, however, the attendant’s arm came down and blocked her way, nearly landing on her chest.
“Now, you wouldn’t be carrying any weapons, would ye? Any knives or pocket-size pistols?”
“What? Of course not?”
“No files or rasps for sawing through bars?”
“I’m not sure I understand the question.”
“No poison secreted in a vial of perfume so that the prisoner can take the easy way out?”
“Oh, for God’s sake, O’Reilly,” a voice called from within. “Let the poor girl in before she poisons you.”
The attendant smiled sheepishly. “Just doing my duty, y’unnerstan’. No one would ever think a manifest lady like yoursel’ would break the law.” He stepped aside. “Regulations require me to lock the outer door. I’ll be back in one hour to let you out.”
“A-an hour?” Eliza said nervously, even as a pat of the attendant’s hand was propelling her into the little room. The only answer she received was the sound of the door slamming behind her.
“Well, I guess it’s just the two of us now.”
Eliza whirled. She expected to see someone right behind her and was surprised to discover that the cell she was in was a room divided by a wall of iron bars. The voice came from a man who was standing on the far side of them, in a tiny nook that held nothing but a narrow cot, a small table with a four-tiered candelabra, and an easel. At the foot of the bed stood a dark vessel that, at first, she took for a chamber pot, but then realized was actually a small brazier, the only source of heat in the windowless room.
Oh, and the man of course.
He was tall and much younger than Eliza had expected—not yet thirty, and handsome, with rather long angular features made all the more rakish by the shadow of a beard that grazed his hollow cheeks. He was clothed in expensive-looking, if somewhat wrinkled and stained, white silk breeches with a matching silk shirt and a rather . . . pronounced chartreuse overcoat adorned with three of the eight gold buttons it should have had. In lieu of shoes, he was wearing socks—from the shapeless appearance of his feet, she guessed several pairs. Yet despite the silliness of his lumpy feet and missing buttons, he still struck a debonair, indeed flirtatious figure. She couldn’t help but notice, despite her being a married woman. Said marriage and beloved husband being the reason she was here in the first place, of course.
Smiling crookedly, the man extended his arm through the bars.
“Ralph Earl, at your service, madam.”
Eliza took a moment to calm herself, then, stepped forward and took his hand. “So nice to meet you, Mr. Earl. My name is—”
“Your name could be none other than Eliza Hamilton,” Earl said in a leading tone.
Eliza smiled nervously. “How did you know?”
“Your husband has been very complimentary about your appearance, although I dare say he did not quite do your beauty enough justice.” He shrugged.
While Eliza was flattered, she was also a little taken aback by his aggressive flirting. Thankfully, the painter soon changed the subject.
“I wonder,” he added in a somewhat keener tone of voice. “Did he happen to send anything with you?”
“Oh yes,” she said then. She reached inside her coat and pulled out a small flask. “He said you would appreciate this.”