Nicola Cornick - The Undoing Of A Lady

“I have to find her,” Lizzie said suddenly. Her heart was pounding. She felt dizzy. “I need to know what happened.”

“No! Wait!” Nat grabbed her tightly. She could feel the tension in his hands as he held her. “Don’t go,” he said. “It could be dangerous.”

“But this is Mary,” Lizzie argued. She did not want to believe it. “Mary couldn’t hurt a fly, least of all Monty! This must be some terrible mistake, or else it was an accident. I need to find her, help her-”

“No,” Nat said again. “Lizzie-”

Lizzie slid out from beneath Nat’s hands and sped off down the street.

“Lizzie!” Nat bellowed. She could hear his running footsteps behind her, but she did not check. She had to find Mary. Could it have been her friend who had taken Monty from her, the brother who was so vain, so selfish and so monumentally dislikable, and yet whom against the odds, Lizzie had loved? Could Mary really be the culprit? Of course, she thought wildly, Mary had not known, had not understood, how important Lizzie’s small family had become to her when she had lost so much. She had hidden her affection for Monty and Tom well beneath a laughing veneer that made light of their faults when really she had had such a tenacious fondness for them because they were all she had had…She ran, driven by anger, driven by loss, her grief suddenly as wild as an animal tearing at her chest.

The rain was harder than she had thought, stinging her cheeks, whipping the hair into her eyes, blinding her. The night was thick with cloud and hot, as though they were being smothered under a blanket. Where had Mary gone? Lizzie dived down an alleyway toward the river, hearing Nat crash into something behind her and swear ferociously. And then suddenly she saw the slight, hurrying figure before her in the fitful light of the street lanterns.

“Mary!” she shouted, and the figure turned and Lizzie saw the pale blur of her face and the wide staring eyes, before Mary ran to the edge of the bridge and disappeared into the chasm of water below.

“MARY! No!” Lizzie ran down to the river, stumbling in the darkness, her feet slipping on the wet stones. She could see a shape in the water, tossed on the current like a piece of wood, a face, an outstretched hand…She plunged into the river, gasping as the shock of the cold water hit her, buffeted by the current, the mossy stones slipping beneath her feet as she stretched desperately to reach Mary. She grabbed at her, caught her arm and pulled with all the strength she had. The sodden material of Mary’s gown ripped beneath the clutch of her fingers but then they were out of the grip of the current and they landed in a panting heap on the wet stone at the side of the river. Mary was as slack as a doll, as though all the strength had suddenly left her. And with it went all Lizzie’s furious anger and misery, leaving nothing but numb despair.

“Why?” she said. “Why did you do it, Mary?”

Mary looked up. Her face was dull, wet and pale. “It was his fault,” she said.

“Whose fault?” Lizzie wanted to shake her. “Monty’s?” she demanded.

“Stephen left me because of him,” Mary said. “It was all his fault. He brought that trollop back from London and Stephen left…” Her head was bent, the water dripping from her dark hair in rats’ tails.

Lizzie frowned, shaking her head in disbelief. “You blame Monty for Stephen Armitage jilting you? What madness is this? Lord Armitage ran off with a courtesan-”

Mary’s face crumpled into excruciating pain and misery. “It was his fault,” she repeated. “He brought her here.”

There was, Lizzie supposed numbly, a desperate sort of logic to Mary’s thinking. It was true that Sir Montague had brought Louisa Caton, Miles Vickery’s former mistress, from London in an attempt to sabotage Miles’s betrothal to Alice. Instead of forcing Miles and Alice apart, Monty’s actions had ruined Mary’s future for it was her fiancé who had run off with the lightskirt. But to hold Monty to blame…

“He ruined my life,” Mary said now. “I loved Stephen with all my heart.” She looked up, her eyes suddenly bright with anger. “And then he had the audacity to propose to me himself!”

“Monty did?” Lizzie was dumbfounded.

“We quarreled about it,” Mary said. “I went to Fortune Hall to beg him not to make me a formal offer because I knew that my parents would insist that I take it. But Sir Montague only laughed at me and on the night of our dinner he renewed his attentions. So I knew I had to do something to prevent him from asking my father’s permission…”

“So you killed him,” Lizzie said dully. She rubbed her forehead hard. A headache was building behind her eyes. “And Spencer?” she said. “What had he done to hurt you?”

“I thought he was Tom,” Mary said, emotionlessly. “I made a mistake.”

“And Tom had done…what?” Lizzie pressed. Mary’s reasoning seemed both mad and ruthless at the same time. She had lost her judgment, almost lost her mind, and yet she sounded so sane. It was terrifying.

“He wanted to marry me, as well,” Mary said simply. “He tried to force himself on me. He disgusts me.” She shuddered. “And I know that Stephen will come back for me in the end, you see. I love him and I know he will give up that lightskirt and come back…” Mary stumbled to her feet. Her eyes were closed, her expression glazed and she seemed totally unaware of her surroundings. She took a step backward, missed her footing, and even as Lizzie reached out to grab her the water claimed her for a second time. Lizzie’s hand met empty air and by the time she had scrambled to the edge of the river, Mary had already gone. Lizzie ran out into the stream, careless for herself, careless of the danger, but there was no sign. And suddenly she found herself in danger of losing her footing, too. The river ran fast and deep beneath the bridge and the roar of it was in her ears and she could see nothing but the black shifting mass as it tumbled past her. For one brief, terrifying moment she teetered on the edge, feeling the current trying to snatch her away, and then Nat caught her arm in an unbreakable grip and half carried, half dragged her into the shallow water and out onto the bank. She was breathing in sobbing gasps and clung to him, her arms about his neck, and although she could not see his face she could feel the seething anger in him but something else in his touch, as well.

“I’m sorry,” she said. Her breath was coming in sobbing gasps. “I could not save her. I was not quick enough.” She turned her face into Nat’s neck and breathed in the scent of him and the deep reassurance and strength that went with it, and felt safe at last.

She felt the anger in Nat melt away as his arms tightened about her and he buried his face against her wet hair.

“Oh, Lizzie.” His voice was muffled. “You will never stop, will you? You will never stop doing these mad and willful and dangerous things.” But though he shook her, he was gentle, and she knew he was exasperated but there was anguish and relief in his voice and in the way he held her.

“I had to try,” she repeated, teeth chattering, her whole body convulsed with shivers as Nat carried her up the bank and onto the street. “Even though she killed Monty and Spencer. She told me, Nat…” She shuddered again. “They both wanted to marry her, Monty and Tom, but she was so desperately in love with Stephen Armitage that she could not bear it. She thought Armitage would come back for her.” She turned to look over Nat’s shoulder and for the first time saw the lanterns and heard the voices of people down by the river. Miles came up and Nat said: “Any sign?” But Miles shook his head and his face was grim.

“I’m taking you home now,” Nat said.

Alice came with them. By the time they put Lizzie to bed she was shaking and shaking with what felt like a fever. The lights were too bright and swung about her head like fireworks. She felt as though she was burning up.

“She’s taken an ague, my lord,” she heard Mrs. Alibone saying to Nat, in tones of the deepest disapproval, “and what can one expect, jumping in the river like a hoyden? Fine behavior for a countess! First that disgraceful incident with the horse and now this…I was never so shocked in my life! I am not sure that I can work in a household where such things go on!”

“Then I suggest that you find employment elsewhere, Mrs. Alibone,” Lizzie heard Nat say in clipped tones. “No one speaks of my wife like that.”

“I think it is shock and reaction,” Lizzie heard Alice say, after Mrs. Alibone had bustled off to pack her bags, buoyed up on a wave of righteous indignation. “Lizzie is as strong as an ox.”

“I’ll stay with her,” Nat said. Lizzie thought he sounded anxious and she wanted to reassure him, but her limbs felt weighted in lead and her head so heavy she could not lift it, could not speak.

She knew that Nat was true to his word. She knew that he was there through all the fever and the nightmares that followed when she dreamed of her mother running away down the corridors of Scarlet Park, and of Monty striding across the gardens of Fortune Hall that had once been his pride and joy, when she saw Tom’s mocking face before her eyes and she thought she heard a baby crying, and she cried out herself in her anguish of all she had lost. She sensed Nat beside her and knew that she spoke to him and heard him reply, though afterward she could never recall what they had said. But his presence comforted and calmed her and eventually she fell into a deep sleep.

On the third day she woke feeling better, clearheaded and hungry, and found Alice sitting in the chair beside her bed.

“Nat will be so sorry not to have been here,” Alice said, closing the book she had been reading and putting it aside on the table. “He has stayed with you the whole time, Lizzie. I do not believe he has slept at all. He only left you today because he needed to talk to Dexter and Miles to tie up the loose ends of the case.”