Page 34 of The Book of Lost Stories

She popped her head out of the door, and asked Nell’s maid if she knew anything of it.

‘No, but I will enquire, miss.’

She came back to say that it had been found on the tray in the hall and no one seemed to know when it came. ‘Perhaps the second footman took it in, but he’s off duty and can’t be found, Miss Alys.’

‘It does not matter, thank you.’

Alys opened the box and regarded the pretty-looking fruits nestling in their paper cases, but she was not tempted in the least, for they reminded her too much of Lady Basset.

The familiar rustling and sweet scent also seemed to stir up Pug’s recollections for, sitting up, he begged with bulging eyes and drooling jaws for one of the sweetmeats.

‘Oh, I suppose one cannot hurt,’ she said, giving in, ‘but no more, mind! The cook is already spoiling your figure. And, sir, your snoring at night is becoming almost unbearable.’

The sugarplum vanished in one gulp … only for Pug to vomit it back up on the rug almost instantly.

‘There, it is too rich for your digestion, so let that be a lesson to you, Mr Greedy, and to me, not to indulge you with unsuitable food.’

A maid brought hot water and Alys directed her to clear up after Pug while she began to change her dress, for they were to go out to Lady Mersham’s to dine and then on to the theatre, and she knew Lord Rayven had been invited to be one of the party.

She was almost ready, with Jane having come in to put the finishing touches to her hair and dress, when Pug began to be quite ill.

‘I believe it must be the sugarplum I gave him earlier. Perhaps it was not good. Poor little Pug! Pray, Jane, will you have water fetched, and perhaps a hot brick might comfort him?’

Nell came in to see what the fuss was about, to find Pug clutched in Alys’s arms like a baby, making little moaning noises and looking very unwell.

‘He ate a bad sweetmeat, and although he brought it straight back up again, I worry that a little of the poison has got into his system. But he has been sick repeatedly and cannot have anything left in his stomach. He was very thirsty, but now is merely sleepy, so hopefully he will be right as rain in the morning.’

‘Oh, poor little thing!’ cried Nell, gently stroking his domed head.

‘I cannot leave him. I am afraid I must stay here, for I am much attached to him.’

‘Of course you must stay, but Lady Mersham is George’s godmother, and a wealthy widow with no children of her own, so I am sure he will not allow me to cry off from the party. I will make your excuses, Alys.’

‘Pray do. And if Lord Rayven should be there, Nell, tell him …’

‘Yes?’

‘Nothing … that I was detained. But I do not suppose he will notice I am not there. My grandfather asked him to discover the source of my income, you know, so now he has ascertained that, I suppose he will have no more interest in me.’

She had noticed, however, that the old soldier, Jarvis, was still lurking about outside the house, especially in the mornings when she walked Pug.

But when Nell popped her head in on her return late that night to see how Pug did, she brought a message from his lordship.

‘Lord Rayven was sorry to hear about poor Pug, and he said he would call for you early tomorrow, in order to take the invalid out for an airing, if he should be recovered enough.

‘He did?’

‘Yes, and he was most urgent that you not eat any of the sweetmeats yourself, in case they were the cause of the illness.’

‘No, of course not. I have already disposed of them.’

‘I am so glad Pug is better, Alys, just sleepy.’

‘I knew he was on the mend the moment he sat up and looked hopeful when my supper was brought to me on a tray,’ Alys said drily.

*

Alys ran up the steps of the Rivers’ house the next day with Pug in her arms. He seemed to have enjoyed the excursion to the park in Lord Rayven’s carriage, especially looking down on other, lesser dogs who had to walk instead of being driven in style.

She was a little doubtful when he made it plain that he wished to be put down and then headed purposefully in the direction of the kitchen quarters, but he did seem quite himself again.

Upstairs she was met by Jane, who, with an anxious face, asked her to go up to her mistress. ‘The master has just gone out, Miss Alys, and Mrs Rivers is in great distress.’

‘Straight away!’ she said, untying her bonnet as she went in. ‘Nell, what on earth is the matter?’ She sank down on the bed next to her weeping friend and patted her shoulder. ‘Is it George again? Do not cry.’

‘Oh, Alys, I do not deserve that you should be kind to me, for I have betrayed you!’ cried Nell, lifting up a tearstained face.

‘Betrayed me? How could you betray me?’

‘I-I found George looking in your little desk just now, and when I asked him what he was doing, he turned on me! He’d found the manuscript and h-he made me tell him what you were writing – everything: Orlando Browne, the novels—’

‘How did he make you?’

‘He twisted my arm behind my back, and I thought it would break,’ she sobbed, ‘and I am very sorry not to be braver, but I am such a coward and … I was so afraid, for he was quite wild. It must be due to laudanum and drink, for he is turned into a positive monster !’

Alys sat back. ‘So he knows. But why should he have been so curious?’ She patted her friend’s heaving shoulders and added, ‘Never mind, Nell, it’s no use crying over spilled milk and I certainly would not have wanted you to withhold the information at the expense of getting hurt.

Perhaps George’s curiosity is now satisfied, and he will say nothing about his discovery, for how can it be of any real interest to him when he is in his right mind? But I will speak to him on his return.’

‘Oh, do not say anything that would set his back up!’ Nell begged, clutching her arm. ‘For if you left the house, I do not know how I would go on without you.’

‘Very well, but I should like to give him a piece of my mind!’

However, when she bumped into George rather furtively crossing the hall later that day, she managed to keep her tongue within her teeth, but with a great effort.

‘One moment, sir: I believe you have taken an interest in my private affairs?’

He looked hangdog and defensive. ‘Yes. I-I believe I should know such a thing as that, about a guest under my roof.’

‘Even though it would seem to outrage common civility to violate the privacy of my desk in order to do so? Well, sir, it is of no great moment, but I prefer to keep my authorship a secret, so must ask you to give me your word that you will not tell anyone.’

‘No, I swear on my life I will not! I do not read novels myself, you know, but I have heard of Orlando Browne’s works.’

There was something unsettling in the way he looked at her that made her wonder precisely what he had heard. Her novels seemed to have gained notoriety on a level with those of Monk Lewis, yet she thought she had done little to deserve such a comparison.

‘It was not the act of a gentleman and the offence would be compounded should you mention it to anyone.’

‘No, really I will not. I was not myself and I am very sorry for it.’

‘I accept your apologies, but I believe they would be better directed at your wife, whom you forced into betraying a secret.’

‘There should be no secrets between husband and wife,’ he said defensively, and she said no more, fearful of falling out with him to the extent that she must leave the house.

She wished she could extricate her friend from the unhappiness of her situation, but she had not yet even managed to think of a way of extricating her heroine from hers with honour, despite Drusilla’s growing suspicion that her husband was responsible for his first wife’s death.

While she could – and probably would – kill off Sir Lemuel Grosby, in real life things were unfortunately not so easily arranged.