David Liss - The Twelfth Enchantment - A Novel

Meanwhile it seemed as though the world was changing all around them. Throughout Nottinghamshire, the machine breakers continued to strike, destroying stocking frames, burning houses down, and in one case firing upon a mill owner while he sat at the supper table with his wife and children. In each case, they left notes proclaiming themselves to be followers of Ned Ludd, their general and king. It was violence and chaos and upheaval, but many feared it was more than that. The revolution in France had begun, after all, with violent outbursts among the lower classes, and some sensed a similar uprising could be brewing in England. Only recently had England’s mad king been pronounced too deluded to remain on the throne, and now the profligate Prince Regent ruled the land.

The war with France had taxed the nation for too long and showed no signs of abating. Because many markets in Europe, the colonies, and the former colonies in America were now closed off, the home trade suffered horribly. The country endured its second disastrous harvest in as many years. Everywhere there was suffering and deprivation as even the oldest could not recall having seen in their lifetimes. In contrast to this misery was the extravagance of George, Prince of Wales, the so-called prince of pleasure, known for his gambling, his immoderate drinking, his excessive eating, and his association with scandalous women and outrageous men. He ruled with an oblivious indifference to the suffering of ordinary men. Though she did not wish to think of such things, Lucy understood that conditions were ripe for upheaval and revolt.

Jonas Morrison had said he had business in Nottingham, and that business had something to do with Mr. Olson, so Lucy feared she must encounter him again, but after so many days, she began to feel more at ease. He’d made an impression upon others at the dance, and so she’d heard rumors among her friends about which inn he’d chosen for his lodgings, and Lucy was careful to avoid passing too close to any suspect establishment. Not seeing him, she soon discovered, made it much easier to pretend she had never seen him at all.

Lucy spent as many hours as she could manage with the books Mary had lent her. Sometimes she studied until her eyes stung, but she read, and she reread, and she took notes, and she paced and reread again until passages once as dense as oat porridge began to make sense to her. Never had she worked so hard to understand what at first appeared impenetrable, but never before had she possessed such motivation. Power and independence, and all she needed to achieve these things, resided in the knowledge the books contained. She could endure, she discovered, because she had reason to endure.

One night during this period there was a gathering at Norah Gilley’s home on Castle Gate. It was a large affair with several dozen people in attendance, all meant to display before the neighborhood Mr. Gilley’s glorified status before he decamped for London. There would be food and punch, some dancing, and, no doubt, much preening of the Gilley clan. Lucy had no desire to attend, but Mrs. Quince insisted she go. “You cannot hide in the house forever,” she said. “It will make you look pitiable. And we do not know for certain if Mr. Olson has thrown you over. Best to be out and show no shame, no matter how shamefully you’ve behaved.”

The Gilleys lived but a ten-minute walk from Uncle Lowell’s house, so no coach would be called, despite the inevitable late return. She had Mrs. Quince to look after her, and that would have to be enough.

The gathering was the usual assortment of Nottingham men and young ladies of marriageable age, and a few married couples for variety. A card room was set up for the older ladies, and after inspecting the room to make certain that there was no one of concern about, and warning Lucy not to turn slut once again, Mrs. Quince withdrew to play at cards with her friends.

Norah, in an elegant blue and yellow silk tunic, greeted Lucy with a brittle hug and expressed how much she must miss the pleasure of her company once she was removed to London, how all the balls and fashionable friends and marvelous diversions could not make up for what she must leave behind. It was horrible, unthinkable really, that she should go off to such delights while Lucy was left in dreary Nottingham, but what was to be done? Norah then let Lucy go so she could embrace another newly arrived girl, and deliver much the same speech. Lucy chose to put her freedom to good use and fixed herself a plate of food from the table, ladled herself some punch, and quickly sat with her friends that she might better engage in the ritual of looking at the men, pretending not to look at the men, and giggling.

Lucy’s heart was not in it, distracted as she was by her recent conversation with Mary, but she kept up her end for form’s sake, and when a game of lotteries was announced, she rose to join in so she would have an excuse not to dance should someone ask her. As she walked to the table, however, she observed a young man amusing a crowd of young ladies with a series of tricks involving brightly colored balls, which he was in the process of making vanish and reappear in a variety of unlikely places—in inverted teacups, under hats, bundled into scarves. It was Jonas Morrison.

Mr. Morrison appeared to notice Lucy out of the corner of his eyes, and he hurriedly announced the end of his performance, to the complaints of the young ladies, whom he tried to comfort with promises to show them more anon.

It all struck her anew. The anger she felt toward him, the blame she set upon him, and the helpless embarrassment she had felt upon their last meeting. She had loved this man once, or believed she had, and he had destroyed her life for his own amusement. She could condemn Byron for so much, but not duplicity. He said what he believed and lived by his own law, selfish and wicked though it might be. Jonas Morrison, however, was a thousand times worse for pretending to feelings that were not his so that he might prey upon an innocent young girl.

“Miss Derrick. Keeping clear of danger, I hope?”

“I am doing so this minute,” she responded, attempting to walk around him.

Shockingly, he reached out and took her by the wrist. It was not a rough grip, but it was firm and undeniable. “No need for that. There are few enough places where we may talk without arousing suspicion. Look, I have brought you a peace offering.”

He unfolded her hand, and she discovered a single red rosebud pressed against her palm. Another one of his silly tricks.

“I have not interest in your games,” she said in a harsh whisper, pulling away from him. She continued to clutch the flower, for though she did not want it, she did not know what else to do with it. “You’ve brought me nothing but misery, and the world knows of it. If these people knew your name, my reputation would never recover. How is it you are even here? No one knows you.”

“As for that, people can be made to forget whom they know and whom they don’t. You should know of such things by now, I think. And you must believe that I regret that what happened caused you so much pain,” he said, “but those days are past, and I must speak to you about what is happening now.”

“And that is why you come here?”

“That and the food, yes.”

Lucy did not want to hear any of his flippant remarks. “You told me I must not involve myself in what did not concern me, and now you tell me it does concern me.”

“I have learned things since then. Please, Miss Derrick. Dance with me. People are beginning to stare at us.”

It was true. Their conversation was evidently heated, and eyes were upon them. With the rosebud now pressed between her fingers, for she had nowhere else to put it, they stepped out onto the area reserved for dancing. Soon they settled into the rhythm of the dance.