Woman Who Gave Birth to Rabbits - Donoghue [70]
He stared back with hostility. "About the Somerset case, is it? There's been dozens of you here already this week, plaguing his Lordship. I could report you for trying to pervert the course of justice, so I could. Who's your master?"
"I have none," I said through my teeth.
"Runaway rabbit, are you, then?" he said with a dirty grin. "Who's paying for those fine frills?" He pulled at my polonaise.
I could not bear to explain myself to him. "Kindly let me in. Lord Mansfield will wish to see me at once."
"That's what they all say, sweetheart!" But the porter stood back just enough to let me squeeze past him.
In the warren of chambers, I had to ask my way three times. I was on the verge of tears when I burst into my great-uncle's office at last.
"Dido?" He looked up, appalled.
The younger gentleman beside him looked me up and down in amusement. "I didn't know you'd any yourself, Mansfield."
There was a silence; I waited, sucking on my lip. Finally my great-uncle said, "Miss Bell is a close relation."
"Relation?" repeated his colleague. Then, "Pardon me, I'm sure," and he sauntered out of the room.
When we were alone I saw how angry my great-uncle was; there were red spots high on his wrinkled cheeks. "Why do you disturb me here?"
I wanted to burst into tears. Instead I stepped up to him and pulled Somerset's letter out of my bosom. I waited to be sure he recognised it, and then I said, "Am I your property, sir?"
"No, Dido. What nonsense. You're—"
"Am I your great-niece, just as Elizabeth is?" I cut in.
"Of course," he said, bewildered.
"Do you love me like her?"
"Rather more, if the truth be told," he said through his teeth.
This startled me a little. I sat down in a velvet chair, without being asked. After a minute, I said, "The porter seemed to think I was your slave."
"Well, he was mistaken."
I lifted my chin. "How are people to know I'm free, if my skin says otherwise?"
My great-uncle struggled for words. He opened his hands, at last. "It's an imperfect world. What would you have of me, Dido?"
He meant it rhetorically, I knew, but all of a sudden I felt like the girl in the fairy tale, who demanded three wishes. "The first thing I want," I improvised, "is a piece of paper stating that I am a free person."
He shrugged. "Certainly. But there's no need—"
"No need? What if you're not here, next time? What if the porter decides to presume that I've stolen your chaise, stolen this dress, even?" I plucked at my skirts. "What if I end up in gaol or on a ship in the Thames, seized as lost property?"
"I'll do it, then. I'll write a declaration of your freedom this minute," his Lordship said crossly, reaching for a pen.
"And I want a salary," I added.
His brow creased. "What fit of sulks is this, Dido? You're one of the family."
"Am I, though? Am I not the dairy-maid, and the poultry-keeper?"
He sighed. "Your position at Kenwood—"
"When you have guests," I interrupted him, "I'm not asked in till dinner's over."
My great-uncle squirmed. "Why, you know what guests can be like. The English were famed for their prejudice against foreigners. Why I myself, for instance, as a Scot—"
"I was born in England," I interrupted him.
"Well, Dido," he said miserably, "you must come in to dinner in future. Truly, I never knew you minded."
"I didn't, till today," I said. "Till I knew what it meant. Now I see why you've kept me hidden away at Kenwood."
"The country air is much more wholesome for you, and for all my family," he insisted, putting his hand over mine.
His skin was as soft as chicken feathers, and spotted with age; I pulled away. "Did you take me in as an unpaid companion for Lady Elizabeth, was that it?" I asked, searching his face. "One little motherless girl to amuse the other. A black face in the painting, as a foil for the white!"
"You are most precious to your cousin, to us all," he said, his throat working. "I thought you understood that."
I steeled myself against him. "What about my salary?"
"It's not money I grudge you, my dear," he said