Page 10 of Mistress of Misfortune

Chapter 3

“Would you care for some tea, Miss Branwen?”

Lucetta looked up from her embroidery to see her sister-in-law Deidre hovering anxiously on the threshold of the parsonage’s sitting room. “Thank you, no, Mrs. Branwen.”

“Why do you speak so formally?” Jeffrey Branwen, the vicar of Renwick came in through the opposite door from his study to regard them both as if they’d sworn out loud. “You share the same surname, ladies. You need not use it in addressing each other.”

“That is the practice of blood kin, or close friends. With all due respect, your wife is neither to me.” Lucetta stabbed her needle into an unworked section within her hoop and rose to her feet. “I will go to my room.”

“You'll do nothing of the sort. Since you arrived we've had barely ten minutes together to talk.” Indignant now, her brother turned to his wife. “We will all have tea, my dear, and perhaps some of those lovely raspberry scones you made for breakfast.”

Deidre Branwen nodded and hurried away toward the kitchen, reminding Lucetta of a chicken escaping the coop.

“I loathe fruit scones and weak tea, Jeffrey.” She wandered over to the window to look at the puddles forming in his deplorable rose garden. “Go and finish writing your sermon. You may attempt again to browbeat me over the boiled beef and potatoes your bride is presently overcooking for dinner.”

“I expect you are still tired after your journey,” he said as he dropped into the shabby armchair by the fire. “Nevertheless, you might try to overcome your weariness to befriend my wife. You must know Deidre wishes only to make you comfortable.”

“I know that I terrify your wife, Brother, and she deeply annoys me,” she informed him sharply. “Mrs. Branwen quivers whenever she addresses me. I have eaten braver quails.”

The tip of her brother's nose turned pink; a sure sign he was in a temper. “Nonsense; she loves you already. She is your sister, as I am your brother, Lucy–”

“Do not call me that.” The affectionate nickname made her hands curl into fists. “We are no longer children, sir. To you I am Lucetta, or Sister, or nothing at all.”

“God in Heaven.” He shot to his feet and took a step toward her. “What did that wretched man do to you?”

She considered answering his question truthfully, but thankfully, only for a moment.

“My former employer, Lord Carlton, accused me of stealing from him, and had me arrested.” Even saying that man’s name made her stomach curdle. “His attorney persuaded him to drop the charges against me due to lack of evidence, but his lordship dismissed me without a reference. I had no recourse but to come here and impose myself on you. Have you forgotten everything I wrote to you in my letter?”

“But why did this happen?” her brother pleaded.

“I had to come here, Jeffrey, or starve in the hedgerows.” She tapped a finger against her cheek. “Although I might have done quite well as a pilfering vagabond.”

“You are no more a criminal than I, Lucetta,” he said, looking somewhat wounded now. “Whatever the circumstances, I know this is but a terrible misunderstanding that we will sort out in time.”

Lucetta almost took pity on him, but the stone that had replaced her heart some months back refused to be moved. “As it happens, Jeffrey, I am a thief, and rather a good one. His Lordship was quite correct to toss me out into the gutter.”

“I do not believe it,” he said firmly. “Do you forget that I have known you all of your life? That I have seen into your good, kind heart since we were children?”

“You see only what you wish to, Brother. I envy you that, but it does not change who I am, or what I have done. I stole very valuable property from my employer, and I do not regret it.” She offered him a prim smile. “Content yourself with praying for my soul. Blackened as it is, I am sure it will benefit.”

She swept past him and headed for her room at the back of the house, encountering Deidre coming out of the kitchen. “Do be aware, Mrs. Branwen, I have just freely confessed to your husband that I am a thief.”

“You are?” Deidre pressed her hand to the base of her throat. “Heavens. My poor Jeffrey.”

“I daresay he will survive the revelation. As this news was neither anticipated nor welcomed, however, you may wish to serve him something a little stronger than your insipid, thrice-brewed pekoe.” Lucetta continued on down the hall.

Once inside the tiny servant's quarters her brother had allotted as her bedchamber, Lucetta closed the door and leaned back against it. By coming here, she had demonstrated utter, complete lunacy. Before leaving London she had given away all of her savings, and spent her last shilling to manage the journey. She now had no means with which to extricate herself.

Where should I go?

Bitterly she thought of how only months ago her situation in life had been far more fortunate. She might have found employment instantly; she had served as governess to five of the finest families in England, and had been held in high esteem by all. She had been proud of her work with her young, privileged charges. She would still be imprinting such eager minds with all the knowledge they could hold, had it not been for her sixth and final post.

Some weeks before Lucetta had left London in disgrace, his lordship had come to her jail cell. The prosecutor had informed him that without the exact details of her crime he could not continue to keep her imprisoned, but reluctantly granted him one last interview in order to settle the matter between them.

In the end the attorney had been forced to hold his client back to prevent him from beating her with his fists. The very noble Lord Carlton had screamed his final words to her: Tell me where, you rat-faced bitch, or I will see you ruined.

Lucetta had held her tongue, and the charges against her had been withdrawn. Yet upon her release she learned that his lordship had kept his final promise. Carlton had seen to it that no one in London would ever again offer her employment.