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A year had passed since her father’s murder. Snow was thick on the ground, dusting the fir trees with a fine coating, and the local peasants were gathering what fuel they could find as Jemima stepped out of the coach Deveril had arranged for her. The town was a mile’s walk from Griffith House, and she would be staying
at The Green Man, a reasonably appointed inn on the straggling outskirts.
She pulled the hood of her cloak well over her head, and looked at the ground as she made her way past the smoky taproom and up the stairs. Though Deveril had made the arrangements for her accommodation at Griffith House, this was her first stop.
As she was a mere menial, no names had been mentioned, but her status was ambiguous, and Lady Griffith had initially been firm that the servant Deveril had brought to attend to his valuables would share a bed with one of her housemaids.
Fortunately, that matter had been sorted out.
Jemima didn’t mind the subterfuge that gained her entrance to Griffith House where her only interest was in reclaiming the clay tablet. What she hated was the fact that poor young Lady Deveril was in total ignorance. If all went to plan—and Deveril was equally invested in a good outcome—she never would. But Jemima hated the fact that Deveril’s subterfuge made Jemima a liar and a cheat.
Her room was the inn’s most comfortable. Deveril had secured it before Daniel, who was bringing his mistress Miss Galloway, a young lady who greeted Jemima with voluble ill-bred enthusiasm in the passage before declaiming the inferior appointments of her own abode after she’d followed Jemima into her chamber.
“Lordy, but ain’t this a lark. My Lord Daniel’s made ever so many cunning plans on ‘ow we’re going to do it. You know what the deal is, eh?”
Jemima stood awkwardly by the large four-poster in the center of the room, and wondered how she was going to get this awful creature out of it. Miss Galloway was an actress. She trod the boards in between catering to the very young, and parsimonious, Lord Daniel’s desires and so an adventure like this one was high jinks. Jemima gathered she was accommodated in hardly commodious lodgings in Soho, and wasn’t going to tell the poor young thing that she wasn’t Lord Daniel’s only barque of frailty, though Jemima thought it highly likely she already knew. And probably didn’t care since word was that the girl had been leading a hand-to-mouth existence and taking random lovers to pay the bills.
Didn’t Jemima know only too well that a woman without a man to pay the bills, was unable to find food and lodgings sufficient for her needs on the low wages poor—or ruined—women earned.
“Not really.” Jemima sat down on a chair by the window. She felt distracted. With any luck, this would all be over by tomorrow night. The house party, now, was to last from tonight, Christmas Eve, until the twelfth day of Christmas.
She’d arrived here this very night a year ago. It was the night she’d discovered Lord Griffith’s involvement in her father’s murder and her vision blackened at the memory.
She’d had no power to see justice done in the short term, but she’d bided her time, waiting for the opportunity to return and claim what was rightfully hers.
In the next few hours she would do just that.
And when she was wealthy in her own right, she’d see that her father was avenged, and Lord Griffith brought to justice.
The thought he might recognize her was terrifying, but she intended being among many others, her bright hair hidden; her features masked. He’d not know her, even if he saw her.
And if she were among the wassailers, he’d be looking out for someone who appeared out of place. He’d remember last year, but he’d not think she’d return. Why would she? He had no idea the tablet was hidden in Griffith House.
Now she looked at Miss Galloway trying out the feather mattress, and tried to rein in her frustration. Would the creature never go?
“So yer don’t know nothin’ ‘bout what the gennelmun have in store?” Miss Galloway asked.
Jemima shook her head and feigned interest though she had no intention of still being at Griffith House when the bet was called in.
Miss Galloway simpered. “There are two rooms, one called the Blue Room and the other the Red Room. Or maybe it was the Gold Room. Anyways, our lordships will be assigned another room with their wives, but each will secretly be assigned one o’ these rooms I mentioned, and must spend from midnight to six o’clock in the morning with their mistress. A servant will be on lookout to see that no one cheats. Only then will they ‘ave satisfied the terms of the wager.” She hugged herself then rose and walked to the window, squealing, “I can see Griffith House from here. It’s on the hill, and lordy ain’t it grand. Do you s’pose there’ll be silk sheets?”
Jemima could barely focus on the girl’s words for a blue haze had seemingly enveloped her in panic. One of the three men would be assigned the Blue Room. It was too fortuitous. If it were Deveril, there would be no difficulty or danger involved in achieving her aim. He’d find a way to smuggle her in, though she would have to ensure Lord Griffith didn’t see her. When Deveril was sleeping soundly, she’d simply retrieve the tablet and disappear through the secret bookshelf.
Jemima liked having alternative plans. If she got the chance, beforehand, she’d hide her hold-all in the woodshed so that it would be waiting for her at an outdoors location with all she needed for her journey to freedom. This afternoon, when Deveril and his wife were being received by Lord and Lady Griffith, Jemima would arrange transport from the nearest pick-up point on the road to Southhampton. She’d already sold some of her jewelry for ready cash.
“Oh, I do hope he’s assigned the Blue Room,” she murmured.
“Red is far more daring, far more my color,” said Miss Galloway obligingly.
“Then you must persuade Lord Daniel of your wish, as I will Lord Deveril. And if Lord Daniel is assigned the Blue Room, you must request that he change. It shouldn’t be so difficult. Have I mentioned how artful you’ve been in trimming your bonnet? I do hope you might show me how to do it.”
Miss Galloway looked uncommonly pleased as she sat on the bed once more, removed her bonnet and began to explain. And Jemima, who’d been desperate to see the back of her a few minutes ago, now realized the need to keep her onside, and so proved a most flattering and attentive student.
She got a message from Lord Deveril in the middle of the afternoon. He’d liked her idea of arriving with the wassailers, and earlier he and Daniel had instructed their light ‘o loves to purchase the necessary dark cloaks to blend in. They would be ushered secretly into the house when they arrived with the rest of the villagers. Lady Griffith must know nothing, of course. She’d continued to insist any additional serving staff be accommodated in the attics with the Griffith House servants.
With this new plan, Jemima and Miss Galloway would secretly gain entry to the house before being taken to the bed chamber they would share with their respective protector who would visit them there to explain how matters were to proceed in order for them to win their wager.
Later that evening in Jemima’s bedchamber at the inn, Miss Galloway waited with Jemima, apparently quite happy to surrender herself to Lord Daniel’s whim. Meanwhile, Jemima paced the bare floor boards in her peasant’s cloak, feeling increasingly ill. What if it were Lord Griffith himself who appeared to lead them indoors? Surely he wouldn’t. He’d be entertaining his guests. It would be a lackey. She tried to comfort herself with this when they heard the sound of singing outside, and Miss Galloway took her arm and hurried her outside to join the group of singers trudging to Griffith House.
