Page 2 of The Rum and The Fox

Molly gave a shriek of disgust at the idea as her mistress had known she would, and hurried away as Keziah gave a wicked chuckle.

That the girl had stuck with them, despite the work load and the poor - and often late-in-coming – wages. was nothing short of a miracle. Not to mention Keziah's black-hearted papa terrifying the poor girl half to death. If told that the young woman stuck with her mistress with such devotion out of love for a good and kindly soul, Keziah would likely have laughed in ridicule. That her father was a monster was something that she knew well and accepted; that she was tainted, by both her blood and experience, was simply inescapable.

Outwardly, she thought she must look like any other girl of her age. She considered herself tolerably attractive, with a profuse tumble of golden locks, an elegant, somewhat classical profile, and blue eyes that would have given anyone with a poetic soul the urge to write of cornflowers or summer skies. Those eyes, however, were harder and rather more cynical than any other girl of her age, and her belief in love and happily-ever-afters was scornful at best.

It did not sit easily with her that the likelihood of her ever profiting from her looks and finding herself a supportable husband relied entirely on her father duping some poor woman to have the misfortune to marry him. But there was no money in the coffers to afford such morals. This house, such as it was, had been rented on finances borrowed for the purpose, and their situation was becoming increasingly desperate.

Keziah had given up longing for pretty clothes and ribbons and parties many months ago. She was too inclined to think of her stomach first now, as it was mostly empty and clamouring. In order to outfit her father in a manner to suit his title, and to make people believe that he wasn't as hard up as rumour might have it, they had borrowed heavily. They had used what furnishings and artworks remained of any value from a once grand house as security for the breathtaking loan. Keziah did not want to consider their chances of repaying it if her father’s plan failed.

The last of the furnishings still in their possession would make this hovel look somewhere close to respectable, and Keziah would simply keep out of sight until their fortunes turned. At that point, her father had promised her a proper come-out, where she would emerge like a butterfly from a chrysalis ... and grab the first opportunity to get out from under his roof.

Then, perhaps, there would be an end to this drudgery and boredom, of endless days where there was little to occupy her besides her growling stomach and wistful thoughts of cream cakes or a hearty lamb stew.

Though she would be the first to admit to having lost any girlish ideas about love and romance, Keziah wasn't entirely immune to daydreaming. She had spent many a lonely night dreaming of a big, strong, rugged man who would sweep her off her feet, preferably murdering her hated sire in the process and taking her away from all this. A towering, muscular hero that even her father would cower before and beg for mercy, only to be shown none. That such dark and violent thoughts would shock any of her contemporaries, she had little doubt, but then they were safe in their gilded cages, whilst she was locked behind iron bars with an angry bear.

So who were they to judge?

With trepidation, she raised her hand to her cheek and touched the swollen flesh there, finding it tender and hot. Her father's temper, never docile, was becoming increasingly dangerous. As much as she pitied the woman he chose to tangle in his web, she could not help but wish she was discovered soon. For if her father became desperate ... she dreaded to think what might come next.

***

For the next week, Keziah did her best to stay out of her father's way. That his endeavours had been fruitless of yet was only too obvious. His drinking was becoming heavier, and his temper increasingly fragile. Even his valet, Martin, who had never been much of a friend to Keziah, had given her warning to get clear when his master had returned early last night from another futile outing.

This morning, however, when she looked out to see her father in a furious altercation with a small boy on their very doorstep, she was moved to intervene. Lord Todd in a temper was something she would go a long way to avoid, but the skinny little boy looked terrified and she could not turn away from the sight.

Keziah threw open the front door, increasingly aware of the stares being drawn in their direction as her father raised his hand.

"Father!" she shouted, rage in her heart even though she was quaking already at the idea of his retribution. "Do you really think such behaviour estimable of a gentleman," she demanded, folding her arms and praying he would not hit her in public, "particularly one looking for a wife?" she hissed in an undertone.

"The boy tried to lift my watch," Lord Todd retorted, his dark eyes hard and angry.

At this, the young fellow snorted, glaring up at his captor with disgust, even as his scrawny arm was held in a cruel and uncompromising grip.

"I didn't. Wouldn't bother wiv’ it," he said, angry and indignant as he tried to wriggle away. "Any bleedin' fool can see those sparklers ain't nought but paste, I wanted that big ruby on ‘is finger."

Keziah gave a startled little laugh at this courageous and all too true observation. The viscount’s ruby signet was one of the last genuine pieces they owned. Her father, however, was unamused.

"Why, you little ..."

"Father!" Keziah said, leaping forward and grasping the man’s arm, suddenly frightened for the child. "Isn't that Lady Brandon?"

"Where?" Lord Todd spun on his heel, dropping the boy like a hot coal.

"She went that way," Keziah said, pointing vaguely behind her and watched in relief as her father set off in pursuit of the wealthy widow. She was broader than she was high and had terrible teeth, and it was a measure of her father’s desperation that he actually lowered himself to vie for her. Usually, the young and the beautiful were the only ones to attract his attentions.

He made an impressive figure, that was to be sure. Lord Todd stood over six feet tall with broad shoulders and thick black hair, still without a trace of grey. At forty nine years of age he still had the power to make women swoon. His wicked reputation did nothing to lessen his attraction; indeed, the women seemed to fall over themselves for him. Keziah felt her stomach roil at the idea.

Turning, she looked down to find that the boy hadn't run at the first opportunity as she'd imagined, but was staring up at her with concern.

"That your pa?" he asked, frowning at her with obvious concern in his eyes.

"It is," she said, not bothering to hide her dismay at the fact and feeling rather touched by the worry she sensed from the lad.

"’E's a wrong’un, miss,” he said, turning a rather battered hat in his hands and shaking his head with a mournful expression. “If ye don't mind me remarking it?"

Keziah felt her eyebrows raise in amusement despite the fact she felt quite sorry enough for herself already, and that was before a street urchin had been moved to pity her.

"You're a man of strong opinions, mister?"