Ghosts by Gaslight - Jack Dann [161]
Recalling that Sir Charles was one of Richmond’s chief detractors, I attempted to mute my reaction. His statement did not require an answer, so I offered none.
“Charity is an irresponsible act,” he said. “So I judge it. No less reprehensible than the act of murder. However profoundly we may regret the pitiable state of the poor, we cannot let their plight distract us from the path of progress, lest we be dragged down to their level.”
“You may rest assured that I am being compensated,” I said firmly. “As to the larger issue you have raised, I believe true progress to be defined by the resolution of poverty, not its continuance in the service of furthering outmoded concepts of class and empire.”
I refused to wilt under his stare.
“The sentiments of an upright young man. An idealist not yet sullied by life’s exigencies. I would expect no less.” He leaned forward and patted my knee. “Your spirits seem restored. You must be feeling better.”
“Immeasurably,” I said.
“Then let’s go in, shall we? The ladies are waiting.”
After several hours passed flirting with Constance under the menace of Sir Charles’s unrelenting scrutiny, I returned to Saint Nichol exhausted by the experience, my mind abuzz with trite observances and banalities. Only a few coals remained glowing in the hearth, but I was too weary to kindle another fire and flung myself beneath the covers. I slid down the precipice of sleep, imagining Constance’s annoying voice going on and on about some inane topic, but soft hands and a kiss prevented me from completing the descent. Muzzy headed, I made a sound of complaint. Within moments, however, I was enthusiastically engaged with her. I must have fallen asleep directly afterward, for I recall nothing more of the event apart from its intensity.
The next morning I happened upon Jane in the corridor outside Richmond’s study, which was situated not far from the kitchen, and made a jocular comment about her early morning visit. Her smile hardened and she pushed past me. I went after her, blocked her path, and asked what I had done to anger her.
“I slept straight through the night!” she said. “Whoever you tupped, it wasn’t me!”
She tried to elude me, but I caught her by the wrist.
“Jane,” I said. “If this is true . . .”
“Of course it’s true! You bastard!”
“I was half asleep and there was no light. I thought it was you.”
She struggled against me. “When have you known me not to want the lights on?”
“It was late—I was tired, I didn’t think.”
“Too right, you didn’t!”
“Why would I mention it otherwise? I thought it was you.”
She made a halfhearted attempt to break my grip, but her anger had, I thought, diminished.
“It’s the God’s honest truth, Jane. On my honor.”
Her lips thinned. “Let me go.”
She seemed calmer—I released her.
“Don’t you understand I want only you?” I said. “Haven’t I made that clear?”
She darted toward the kitchen.
I stood there bewildered, seeking to consolidate my memories of the previous night. My recollection was hazy and full of gaps, but whoever the woman in my bed had been, she had displayed the full range of Jane’s passionate idiosyncrasies. I wondered if she might be a somnambulist.
A shriek, a clangor as of pots and pans falling—I raced for the kitchen and saw Jane swinging a broom at Dorothea, who cowered in a corner beside the stove, crouched down and shielding her head. I managed to interpose my body and ripped the broom from Jane’s grasp. Dorothea seized the opportunity to reach across my shoulder and clutch at Jane’s hair, snagging it with her fingers, and Jane did the same, yanking Dorothea’s hair, provoking a scream of rage and pain. As I separated them, I heard Richmond say behind me, “This is intolerable! Stop it at once!”
Their hair and clothing in disarray, the women fell back. We all looked to Richmond, who came forward into the room and stood with his hands on hips, scowling. “Will someone tell me what is going on? I could hear you in my study.”
“She . . .” Dorothea wiped spittle from her lips. “She accused me of lying with him! I told her I had the curse, but she