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Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to rearrange my features, and some of what I was feeling must have shown on my face. Eagle-eyed Jasper missed nothing.
‘Everything all right, Mercy? I was beginning to get a bit worried—worried we might not get our next course, that is.’
Arabella smirked and smoothed her golden hair. I felt like tearing it out by the roots. Instead, I gritted my teeth and took the platter to the sideboard. I served the quail onto plates and brought them to the table. Arabella glanced at it.
‘I can’t eat this,’ she said sharply.
Jasper looked pained. ‘Why ever not, darling? It’s fresh from your uncle’s grounds this morning.’
‘I’m sure it is. But have you forgotten I’m afraid of chickens?’
I couldn’t help interjecting, ‘It is dead, miss, I assure you.’
She swivelled around in her chair to fix me with her cold blue eyes. ‘Did I ask for your opinion, maid? Hold your tongue!’
I swear my mouth moved on its own accord, or perhaps what I had read in the letter made me bold.
‘But how can you be afraid if it’s the size of a mouse and not moving?’ I asked. ‘Besides, it’s not chicken. It’s quail. Even I know that.’
Arabella’s mouth dropped open at my insolence. Jasper looked at me, and I stared back unflinchingly. He saw that I was unafraid of him but didn’t know why.
‘Are you going to sit there and let her talk to me like that?’ complained Arabella. There was a terse silence from Jasper. ‘Well?’
‘If you don’t want your quail, I’ll have it,’ Jasper said slowly. ‘Perhaps Maggie will rustle you up an omelette. I think I heard her come in just now. Unless you’re afraid of eggs as well?’
He looked at me, expressionless. ‘That’ll be all for tonight, Mercy. Maggie can serve us the rest of our supper.’
And with those words, a warm glow settled somewhere in the region of my chest. I was off the hook, and even better, he’d stood up for me. I floated off upstairs, leaving Maggie to deal with Arabella’s dietary complaints. I had gained some power through what I had read in the letter, and I held that knowledge close to me like a protective cloak. He must never know that I knew.
In my room, I disrobed and put on my nightdress. I felt unbearably tired, not to mention hungry. I shut my eyes and prepared to go to sleep. A few minutes later, noises in the hallway downstairs disturbed me—footsteps, a giggle being shushed. Then all was quiet, and I shut my eyes again.
But shortly afterwards, a soft thump reverberated up the wall; and I sat up, startled. Then there was another thump and another. And then a woman moaned softly, the sound floating up through the floorboards. A cold hand gripped my heart and slowly squeezed it until I couldn’t breathe. Jasper’s room was directly below mine, but surely, he wouldn’t do that? He’d stood up for me against her; he’d shown he respected me. Arabella was now making high-pitched cries of pleasure as Jasper thumped her up against the wall. This couldn’t be happening. Surely, he must know the pain this would cause me?
Arabella’s groans reached a crescendo; obviously, she didn’t care who heard her. A black cloud of depression overwhelmed me, and I curled up into a tight ball with my hands over my ears to try to block out the noise. My only comfort was the knowledge that I now had. I knew why Jasper’s hand had shaken so badly upon first seeing me. The pox was his nemesis.
3rd May 1760
Brockenhill Manor
Oxfordshire
Dear Jasper,
This letter will come as a shock to you no doubt. And I pity myself for being the one to tell you, but tell you I must. Your poor dear mother, father, sister and brother perished from the pox two weeks past.
I did not send a message to your school before now because I have just received the terrible news myself. The family friend who wrote to me said they did not suffer, as those from the illness have been known to do. The passing was quick, as was their burial. Your father’s will has specified that I am to be your guardian and you are, of course, most welcome here after your term ends.
Your loving and grieving uncle,
Jonathan Donne
Chapter 13
Thomas stayed for dinner. The descriptions of Jasper and Arabella’s supper had made both of us hungry. I couldn’t offer him roast quail but rustled up tomato soup and grilled cheese on toast instead.
‘The letter still doesn’t explain Jasper’s behaviour,’ said Thomas, dunking a piece of cheesy toast into his soup. We were sitting at the kitchen table, having a discussion about the memoir. ‘OK, he hates the pox because of what it did to his family. But why is he playing a game of cat and mouse with Mercy? Why bother?’
I slurped a spoonful of soup. ‘Because he’s an alpha male who likes to feel powerful and gets off on seeing her squirm. Back then, men ruled the roost. You know that. Women were seen as breeding machines or tossed aside once they’d been sullied.’
