The Devil's Mistress by David Barclay (summer reads txt) 📗

You’re going to marry that boy like your daddy says, you understand?”

“I understand, Delia.”

Isabella put the ring on and went in search of her father. She found him in the study a small, stuffy room filled with old books. Upon the walls hung a great many portraits, and John stood at the fireplace contemplating his most recent acquisition. It was a portrait of John himself on a chair.

“Look at this drivel,” he said when she walked in. “I paid good coin for this.”

Isabella shut the door behind her. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Marianne was by earlier today. She claims to have seen this exact pose at a house in Williamsburg. Can you imagine? That artist has been using the same template across the whole damned state. Probably using the same furniture. Look at that chair. We own nothing of the sort.”

“You shouldn’t curse, Papa.”

“Mm,” he grunted, poking at the canvas with his walking cane. He had been using the cane more and more these past few weeks. “Back in London, I would have tracked him down and strung him up by the toes.”

“But we’re not.”

“Indeed, we are not.” He sat down at the table and began to rub his temples. “What the bloody hell were you doing on your own this evening? You know you’re not supposed to take the carriage.”

Isabella shifted. She never liked lying to her father. “I’ve been cooped up here with the weather. I only wanted to see the countryside.”

“Bah! Thick forests, dangerous animals, and natives who would just as like to slit your throat as not. You know what happened to the Collins boy? And the man who sits captive in the town circle?”

She nodded.

Anthony Collins was a boy of three who had wandered into the forest some weeks before, and was never seen again. A young Indian man was arrested in connection with the crime and now sat awaiting sentence. Blackfriar had never been large enough to require a watch before, but after the disappearance, her father had organized volunteer patrols along the perimeter. The one who made the arrest was none other than her very own Thomas, who found several articles of the boy’s clothing on the wandering native.

She bit her lip. “I shan’t do it again. I’ve seen all I care to see of the forest, anyhow.”

“Shan’t do what again?” For a moment, her father looked genuinely confused. Then he shook his head and continued rubbing his temples. “Oh, the forest. You know how dangerous it is.”

It pained Isabella to watch. She could feel the weight of the Lady’s vial concealed against her breast. “Have you eaten, Father? Would you like me to make you some supper?”

“No, no. That won’t be necessary.”

“You must eat.”

“I haven’t been able to keep much food down today. Too dizzy.” He flashed a hard smile. “Surely I will feel better in the morning.”

“Aye.” Her fingers trailed away from the vial. She hadn’t asked the woman what to do if her father refused to eat. Then something occurred to her. “What did Madam Huxley want? Were you discussing the trial?” She was afraid of pushing him too hard, but her curiosity got the better of her.

“No, no. That won’t begin until the magistrate arrives. We were discussing, er…business matters.”

“Father?” Isabella raised an eyebrow. Though she disliked lying to her father, she disliked the truth being kept from her even more.

“Oh, bother. There was another accident at the mill. A young man lost his hand.”

Isabella gasped. “Will he live?”

“He will, thank God. Well, he will if fever does not set in. Doctor Moberrey was able to bind the wrist and stem the blood loss. We’ve had too many accidents with the new machinery. We were slower a decade ago, but my conscience troubled me less. This water wheel contraption is a strange thing. Marianne wants only the best, of course.”

Only the most profitable, mayhap. “What will you do?”

“I’d like to bring another millwright to oversee operations. Marianne is opposed. She believes it will be too expensive. And why am I telling you this? You care not for the trifles of business.”

Isabella crossed the room and took his hand. “I like to hear you speak. It is good to keep the mind active.”

“Bah.” He pulled away. “This is why we must have the ceremony sooner rather than later. Thomas will run this town one day, and you must run him.”

“Because you say?”

“Because you don’t understand the law, Elly. When I’m gone—”

“You’re not going anywhere for a good, long while. Here, I’m going to bring you something.”

She departed at once to the cellar, a low-ceiling room lined with shelves of English goods. Amongst them, several boxes of her father’s favorite tea, straight from across the Atlantic. She took a tin upstairs and prepared a cup, using water from the kettle over the kitchen fireplace. Once it had steeped, she withdrew the vial from her robes and tipped two drops into the top.

“There.” If her father would not eat, he would at least get the medicine this way. She was certain it would work so long as it was imbibed.

When she returned to the study, he was in much the same position, and in much the same mood.

“Drink this,” Isabella said.

“Brandy?” he said hopefully.

“Tea. Drink it.”

He did, scowling as it went down, and muttering something about Delia’s faltering skill at the stove. Isabella was pleased nonetheless.

“Enough of business. Thomas expects you for the New Year’s dinner tomorrow, and I expect you to go.”

“Father, I—”

“You will go as I command,” he said, tipping his chin down. “Marianne dropped off your invitation while she was here.” He produced a letter bound with the seal of the Huxley house. Why they still insisted on such formalities, Isabella didn’t know. “I’m sure he will be most glad of your company.”

“As you say, Father.”

He stared at her as if daring her to defy him. When he was satisfied, he took his cane in hand and began the process of climbing back to his feet. “Good girl. Now come