Justine Elyot - Secrets and Lords

She couldn’t deny it, and neither could she prevent the way her heart hammered and her blood rushed.

But she could save herself. She could at least do that.

‘You can’t have your cake and eat it too,’ she said, wrenching herself away from his touch and standing. ‘Leave Lady Deverell alone and I’m at your disposal. But until then, goodnight.’

She whirled around and ran for the door, suspecting he would give chase.

She was right, but she made it to the corridor while his enraged cry of ‘Edie!’ still rang in the air. She didn’t dare look back but, by the time she had reached the servants’ back staircase, nobody was at her heels and she was able to lean back against the wall for a moment and let the giddy swaying of her head settle.

What on earth had she just done? And what would happen now?

He wouldn’t say anything, she decided. It wasn’t in his interests to have her sacked and besides, as a housemaid she should be beneath his notice.

Slipping back into bed, she could not help but think of how differently things could have been. She could have been in Sir Charles’s bed, in his arms … what would that be like? When kisses went further … Oh, she could not think of it.

She had offered a man her body.

What was a body after all but flesh and blood and bone? It was nothing. To offer it to somebody was nothing. Wrongdoing came from the heart and the mind, the intention to do harm. To experience physical pleasure with another – this was surely not wrong, for who suffered from it?

She should not be feeling guilt or shame about this – she had sworn that she would not be held down by those old foes of her sex. But she couldn’t help it. It was so much easier to argue a position than to embody it. How could she have known that these interloping emotions would ruin the purity of her mission? Before she drifted into sleep her pillow was wet with tears.

When she woke up, a sensuality lingered upon her, the remnants of her dreams, which were in turn the remnants of her unsatisfied desires.

She bade her roommates good morning, but none of them replied. She was left to pin her own hair and tie her own apron, and was late for breakfast yet again.

If they’re so sure I’m going to sleep with Sir Charles, then perhaps I should, she thought fiercely, splashing her face with cold water before running downstairs. At least then I wouldn’t be in Coventry for nothing.

‘Are you cleaning the morning room?’ she asked Jenny dully as they collected their dusters and mops from the cupboard.

‘That’s yours,’ said Jenny smartly. ‘I don’t expect I’ll be wanted in there.’

‘Look, there’s nothing going on …’

But she couldn’t finish the sentence. There was something going on.

‘Hope not, for poor Ted’s sake,’ said Jenny, and she bustled off in the opposite direction to Edie.

‘If you’re on your own today,’ said Mrs Munn, emerging unexpectedly and making Edie jump, ‘I’ll be along at various times to keep my eye on you. You’re much slower than you should be and I’m concerned that the cleanliness of the house will suffer. Jenny says you tend to daydream. Check that, please.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ said Edie, only half-listening.

‘Still on for the pictures tomorrow?’ asked Ted, passing her on the way to the morning room.

‘Oh, yes, of course,’ she said.

She’d have said yes to anything. Only one thing occupied her mind – would Sir Charles be in the morning room again?

He wasn’t, and she could hear the clatter of knives and forks on china from the breakfast room a little further along. Presumably he was in there. If she did this room very, very quickly …

She tried her hardest to sweep the grate and clean the surrounds with all haste, but she got ashes on her face and black lead under her fingernails, while all the metal was smeared and needed an extra rub down.

Muttering curses under her breath, she tried to improve her haphazard job, wondering if she could get away with just a lightning-quick brush of the feather duster across everything else.

But it was too late.

Sir Charles entered the room while she still kneeling on the hearth rug, clouds of soot around her.

‘Oh dear,’ he said, and, to her horror, he came to stand directly behind her, looming over her. ‘You seem to be making things worse rather than better.’

She sat back on her heels.

‘Perhaps you could do a better job,’ she said.

‘Perhaps I could,’ he said.

He crouched beside her and her heart seemed to stop beating.

‘Look at those hands,’ he said. ‘They weren’t made for this.’

He reached to take one, but sharp footsteps from the next room sent him into retreat before he could do it.

‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ said Mrs Munn. ‘Good Lord, Edie, what are you about?’

Sir Charles hid behind his newspaper while the housekeeper endeavoured to put Edie back on the correct path to cleaning the fireplace.

‘I can’t do this for you every day,’ she tutted. ‘Really, were you this inept at your last place? I begin to wonder if they wrote that reference to get rid of you.’

The harsh words brought tears to Edie’s eyes.

‘Steady on,’ said Charles.

‘Sir?’ Mrs Munn stood and turned to him while Edie did not dare look.

‘Bit uncalled for,’ he said. ‘It’s only a fireplace.’

‘I daresay it is,’ she said coldly. ‘But it’s my ultimate responsibility, so you’ll excuse me if I take it seriously.’

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