After Demery left for London, Cate found herself becoming more confident in her position as lady of the house. She explored the manor, in the process discovering which rooms had been renovated and which remained in a state of shabby disrepair. She even stole into Demery's study and looked curiously around. Nothing was renovated here. The walls were covered in peeling, faded paper and the furniture needed reupholstery and revarnishing. Dark squares on the wallpaper suggested the removal of dozens of small paintings. By their size and number, Cate thought they might have been landscapes. She did not think it right to open any of the desk drawers, but she did peer through the dim glass of the bookcase. It contained nothing more interesting than ledgers and rolls of parchment, though Demery always seemed to be reading a book. Cate wondered where his library was.

Later, Cate found both the missing paintings and the books.

The books were in a music room at the back of the house, haphazardly laid out on top of a locked piano, spilling from dusty trunks, and stacked in crooked piles on chairs. They were mostly old diaries, histories, or plays, some of which were in Italian or German. There was, however, a three-volume copy of The Expedition of Humphrey Clinker and, even more excitingly, a two-volume set of Sophia, which Cate's mother had never let her read because it was full of silly ideas. Cate took it to her room, brushed the dust off it, and enjoyed those silly ideas very much. When she went back down to the music room to return it two days later, she discovered a new case just arrived from a London bookbinder. She did not dare open it, but she wondered if she could write to Demery and suggest, if he was buying books, to not forget that novels made excellent additions to libraries.

In the end, she did not dare. Instead, she read Humphrey Clinker and deciphered the Italian plays and, when that joy passed, took to exploring the house again. She knew she was being unforgivably nosy, but she argued to herself that most of the house was not really private — Demery's room she did not go into, nor his study after the first time — and the rest of the place was mostly reception rooms or half-empty, long abandoned bedrooms. In one of them, Cate discovered chests full of old-fashioned men's clothes which must have belonged to Demery's Uncle Lewis. There was something rather fun about trying on frock coats thirty years out of date and wondering about the man who had once worn them. By their size and the lingering scent of snuff about them, Cate decided that Lewis must have been a sort of nice, fat, cheerful uncle, rather like her own Uncle Percival, who always seemed to have a linty biscuit or sticky coin in his pocket for Cate when he visited. She was perhaps more convinced in this idea of Uncle Lewis by the fact that Laurie had once described him as a vulgar old miser. Cate did not trust Laurie's opinion about anyone.

She was up in the attics when she discovered the missing paintings, which proved her wrong. They were piled in a stack by the wall, covered in a dust cloth. Cate uncovered them curiously. They were not landscapes after all, but prints of cartoons. The first in the stack was a crude ink drawing of a crying woman with her clothes being torn off by a grinning fox. There was something rather vile in the contrast between the fox's grin and the woman's scared eyes, but Cate supposed men sometimes liked to look at pictures of naked women. The second was a printed illustration of Captain Kimber's murder of the slave girl, with lascivious detail paid to the slave girl's naked body. Cate put that hastily aside. The third print involved two women together in bed, who at first Cate took to be sisters. When the truth of the situation dawned upon her, she found she needed to sit still for quite a long time to think about it. She had known that two men might end up together in bed — that, she suspected, was why her parents never talked much about Uncle Percival — but it had never occurred to her that two women might do the same, nor that a man might want a picture of it. It did not seem right to her that Uncle Lewis had had such a picture, and seemingly had had it displayed in his study, in full sight of everyone who entered. It seemed even more wrong to think of it in the company of the picture of the woman being attacked by the fox or the slave being lashed.

Cate should have stopped looking at the paintings then, but some perverse compulsion kept her going. Each one seemed worse than the last, though they did not all involve naked women. Some involved ugly women, or old women, or poxed women, in varying states of degradation. Quite a few depicted stupid or cuckolding wives. When Cate finally reached the end of the stacks, she felt sick with the spite and lechery she had exposed herself to. She could well understand why Demery had removed these prints from the walls. She could not understand why he had not immediately burned them.

Feeling ill, she went back downstairs to her apartments where Miss Skinner sat in an armchair by the fire watching Luke push a ball about the hearthrug.

"There is a letter for you on the table," Miss Skinner said without looking up. "It is from Captain Demery."

Cate went to the table and slit the letter open with her finger. It was not long.

Dear Catherine, it read,

Business and bad weather keep me in London. I will not be able to visit Plas Bryn for Christmas as I intended; I will likely not return at all until summer. I trust that this will not greatly disturb any arrangements you have made for Christmas.

If there are any commissions you would like me to undertake while I am in Town, please respond to this letter naming them. I had wished to send you a Christmas present but could not be sure what you would like.

I hope you and Luke are well.

Yours,

David

Hot air on Cate's cheek told her that Miss Skinner was reading over her shoulder and she jumped.

"He is not your David," Miss Skinner sneered. "You never refer to him as such. And if he were yours, he would have taken us to London with him. Cheek, I call it."

As the weather had got worse over winter, Miss Skinner had become more bitter about living in Wales. Cate was tired of arguing with her about it and only shrugged.

"Is there something you want from London?" she asked.

"Everything anyone could ever want is in London. But I cannot spend your husband's money."

"He offered," Cate said.

"To you," Miss Skinner countered. "He did not even enquire after my health."

"He probably did not know you were going to be reading over my shoulder."

"Now don't get sharp," Miss Skinner said. "There was nothing secret in it."

"You did not know that before you read it."

"If I can't be excused a little concern with your affairs!" Miss Skinner looked offended. "I could very well have remained your sisters' governess rather than become your companion, Catherine. I took this position because I worry about you. You always were my favourite child. You always were everyone's favourite child, until..." She cast a meaningful glance at Luke who was still happily playing with the ball on the rug. "But who stood by you through all that? Think, Catherine. It was not your parents. They sent you away. It was I, who went with you."

Cate shifted uncomfortably on the balls of her feet. It was true that she had been her father's favourite child. Unlike her brothers and sisters, she never argued back or made trouble. She had always been quick to register the first signs of anger in her father's eyes and avoid provoking him. She had always known, without having to be told, exactly what he expected of her and done it with a smile, even if smiling hurt.

Until baby Luke.

"Oh, don't cry," Miss Skinner said. "You're far too sensitive, Catherine! I was merely trying to explain that I am concerned for you."

"I'm not crying." Cate blinked back the tears that pricked at her eyes, went over to Luke, picked him up and hugged him. "I am very grateful for your company." That was true, even if she did not — could not — like Miss Skinner. "But it was my letter. From my husband."

"It might as well have been a circular," Miss Skinner retorted.

She went back to the armchair closest to the fire and settled herself into it. She picked up her bible from the side table, opened to her bookmarked page, looked at it a moment, then closed it and put it virtuously in her lap. From the slowing pace of her reading, Cate gathered she was up to Leviticus. Cate sat down on the hearth rug with Luke and rolled the ball towards him. He stared at it intently for long after it came to a stop then patted it inquisitively with a hand.

"Good job," Cate said. "Clever boy!"

"Bah!" said Luke.

Miss Skinner watched them unsmilingly. "Aren't you going to respond to the letter?" she asked after a while.

"Tomorrow," Cate said. "I'm too tired to write tonight."

She wanted to do it when Miss Skinner was not around to look over her shoulder.

Miss Skinner looked at the clock. "It is not yet six. I will fetch the writing box."

"I said tomorrow!" Cate spoke so sharply that Luke let out a frightened squawk. She pulled him into her lap and shushed him. "Sorry, darling. Sorry. Mama's tired, that's all. Mama's not angry with you. Poor baby." She kissed him and rocked him. "Poor darling."

Miss Skinner's thin lips pressed tightly together until they all but disappeared. "I only meant to do you a kindness."

"The best kindness you can do is accept what I say." Cate made sure to speak softly so that Luke would not worry. "I told you, I will not answer it tonight. Tomorrow will be soon enough."

Miss Skinner clicked her tongue. "Very well. Put it off to tomorrow. You always did prefer laying nine stitches to one."

And she turned her eyes virtuously to her bible for the rest of the evening.

The next day, Cate woke up with a pounding headache and a raw throat. Miss Skinner, who could usually be expected to bear a grudge for days after an argument, was surprisingly sympathetic and helpful. She marshalled the servants to produce hot ginger tea and high fires, and looked after Luke so that Cate could rest. There was, of course, an element of officiousness in her sympathy. She insisted that Cate did not read or try to occupy herself with mending and, when the maid brought in the writing box in the late afternoon at Cate's request, shooed her away.

"You will damage your eyes by writing when you are ill," Miss Skinner declared. "There is no urgency about answering the letter."

Cate was tired enough not to wonder too long at Miss Skinner's change of mind. Nor could she muster up the energy to protest about the letter the next day when she was sneezing every two minutes. Or the next day, when she began to cough.

Christmas Day came and went without Cate really getting out of bed. At times, she sat by the fire sniffling and drinking herbal tisanes. And, of course, she still had to nurse Luke four or five times a day. Sometimes, she had the urge to walk the gallery outside her rooms to stretch her legs, but Miss Skinner insisted she rest. Word of her cold must have spread about the village, because once Mrs Demery came to call. When the maid told them that Mrs Demery was waiting below, Miss Skinner bustled Cate up off the armchair and back into bed.

"Now you lie there," she instructed. "I'll get rid of That Woman for you."

Cate was certainly not going to protest that, but Mrs Demery was evidently not so easily gotten rid of, for a few minutes later her clumping footsteps sounded outside and she opened the door with a bang to glare down at Cate.

Cate looked meekly back. A moment later, Miss Skinner arrived, slightly out of breath.

"Now, Mrs Demery, she's not—"

"She is ill," Mrs Demery said.

"And as I told you—"

"She looks sickly." There was no concern in Mrs Demery's tone. "Her face is puffy."

"It is just a cold," Cate said. "I feel much better than I was."

"She was very bad indeed," Miss Skinner said. "She does not like to complain."

"Humph." Mrs Demery looked suspiciously around the room. "She has nothing to complain of. Look at how David keeps her."

"He is all kindness." Cate was surprised to find she really meant it. There was no platitude here. She remembered his unanswered letter guiltily. It was probably too late to send a reply now.

"But the air in Wales is poisonous to the lungs," Miss Skinner said. "And this room does get damp."

"You speak nonsense, woman," Mrs Demery said. "The air in these parts is perfectly fresh. If she finds it bad, then her lungs are to fault."

"It is possible," Miss Skinner conceded. "She was a weak child."

That was not true. Cate had been a stout, active young girl. Only after Luke's birth had she really understood what frailty felt like.

"I was not weak," she said with a cough. "I never was."

"I have often found that those with weak minds often have weak constitutions as well," Mrs Demery said sneeringly. "Never mind. I know now that it is only a cold."

She left without saying goodbye. Cate sighed, which turned into another cough.

"See," Miss Skinner said. "She has tired you, but she would not listen, silly woman."

"Oh, really, Miss Skinner. It's just a cold." Cate kicked the sheets away and crawled out of bed. "I am almost better."

A strange, sly look came to Miss Skinner's eyes. "Well, she doesn't need to know that, does she?"

"What do you mean?"

"A little sickness might inspire some sympathy." Miss Skinner raised her eyebrows meaningfully. "If you understand me."

"Mrs Demery is never going to be sympathetic towards me."

"But Captain Demery might. If he believes you to be really ill, he might send you away for a health cure. Bath or Epsom may not be London, but I will take either over this salty little village."

Cate stared at Miss Skinner. "What?"

"Surely you do not wish to stay here, in this sea-brined pile, while your husband gads off to London? Leaving you and your baby behind?"

"There is good reason for Luke and me to remain here. I have no place in society anymore."

"Pah! You are married. The daughter of a baron. The wife of a captain of the army. Society will not remain closed to you forever."

"But for now, it is. And even if it weren't, I won't pretend to be ill so my husband sends me away! As long as he wants me here, here I will remain."

Miss Skinner scoffed. "You always let men put you in your place, don't you, Catherine? First, it was your father. And then your lover. I cannot imagine you put up much of a fight when he told you he would have nothing to do with a baby."

"I begged him on my hands and knees."

"Exactly. You begged. Pathetic."

The word felt like a punch to the stomach. Cate could not even speak to defend herself.

"I don't beg," Miss Skinner said crisply. "And I won't let you beg Captain Demery either. Begging doesn't work. We will get what we want by taking it."

"I won't do it," Cate said. "I won't lie to him."

"But you are, every day. He has no idea of the truth about your seduction."

"I told him. I told him everything."

Miss Skinner stopped short. "You did?"

"Yes. I wanted him to know."

Miss Skinner fell silent, chewing at her top lip. Then, slowly, the sly smile returned to her face. "And what about your father?"

Cate stared at Miss Skinner in cold dread. "Don't. You know what he's like."

"I know you were afraid to tell him the truth about your seduction, about Luke's father. Afraid to tell Captain Demery once too. But if you have told the one, I am sure you will survive telling the other."

"He'll kill me."

"Come now. He has never so much as laid a finger on you. Your fear of him is entirely misplaced. I will prove it. I will write and tell him—"

"Don't! Miss Skinner, you can't. Please." Cate glanced at the door to Luke's bedroom, hoping she had not woken him with her raised voice. "Please, Miss Skinner, don't tell my father."

Miss Skinner watched Cate, a sickening smile on her face. "It is for your own good, Catherine. If you are determined to be honest with men, you should begin with the man who has loved you most."

"No. Please, no. I told you in confidence what happened. I don't want anyone else to know. Least of all my father."

"Then let us discard honesty. Go back to bed. Become an invalid. I think after a few weeks we should be able to suggest to your husband a change of air."

Cate remembered how Demery had gone through the snow in his banyan and greatcoat to fetch the doctor for Luke. There was no doubt Miss Skinner's plan would work. Demery had that sort of kindness. It was cruelty to take advantage of it. But the cold, superior look in Miss Skinner's eye told Cate that if she refused, the first thing Miss Skinner would do would be to write to Sir William.

"Promise me you won't tell my father."

"I will keep all your secrets if you do as I say."

Cate eyed Miss Skinner desperately. It was blackmail, pure and simple.

But what choice did she have but to obey?

__

2023-01-12: I'm not sure I love the ending of this chapter. I think it's a bit weak. Hm. But Miss Skinner needs to do this because Plot. Happy New Year all :)