Chapter 21: Speak Only Your Perfect Lies
In the later hours of the day, a tension was about the town of Lanfore, the likes of which all could feel. Everyone was on edge, but most had no idea why. During this time, Magistrate Sherman Donaldson called his daughter, Elizabeth, to his study a handful of hours before dinner. He knew exactly what he meant to say, and it was of the utmost necessity that it be done.
He knew that blackmailing James Boatwright was a risk beyond any he had ever taken before. But that was a cross he was willing to bear. There was no reason that his family could not be elevated to the level of the former Magistrate's, especially seeing as his was an honorable regime, and the late Magistrate John Quincy's regime had been built on secrets, adultery, and lies. Lanfore deserved to know those secrets, but Magistrate Donaldson did not want to be the one to tell them, especially if he could get something greater out of keeping silent, such as a proper and smart match for his daughter, and a man like James Boatwright under his thumb for good. After all, despite his many faults and immaturities, James Boatwright was very wealthy. His family owned a good portion of Hertfordshire, and he was among the elites. Magistrate Donaldson knew he could not hold a candle to James Boatwright's influence, but he could bring the great man down off his high horse long enough to marry his daughter by manipulating his weaknesses. James loved Lucy Quincy, and would loathe seeing any defamation fall on her family name.
Such an odd man, to have a taste for the daughters of Magistrates.
"Father?" Elizabeth knocked on the door, and then gently pushed it open. "Father, are you in here?"
Magistrate Donaldson stood and beckoned his daughter in. "Yes, my dear, come. Sit," he gestured to the chair across from his desk. "We have something of great importance to discuss."
He watched his child gracefully take her seat, her movements a picture of how her mother had taught her. She would easily make a good wife to any man, James Boatwright especially.
"What is it, father?" Elizabeth asked, folding her hands on her lap.
Magistrate Donaldson smiled, though he felt his innards churn at the thought of what he was going to say. "I've recently spoken with James Boatwright regarding a possible proposal of marriage."
The light that shone in his daughter's eyes elated his soul. "Oh, father! Could you possibly mean a proposal of marriage to me?"
"But of course, my child!" He laughed. "Whom else should I concern myself with? James and I discussed it and, once he has settled some... Affairs, he will make a proposal."
Elizabeth's giggled and placed a hand over her mouth. "You are certain, father? I thought he and Lucy Quincy—"
"Ms. Quincy has left Lanfore, possibly for good," the Magistrate assured his daughter. "You need not worry about her, my child. James Boatwright will be your husband, sooner rather than later."
"Oh, father, this is wonderful news!" She clapped her hands excitedly. "I must tell mother!" She stood.
"No!" The Magistrate stood as well. "No, no my dear. Let us leave this between the two of us for a while, shall we? Surprise her when the time comes."
"But mother hates surprises!"
"She will love this one," Magistrate Donaldson assured her. "Trust me, my child, this is all for the best. Now," he walked Elizabeth to the door, "go downstairs, and do not tell a soul, do you understand? Not a soul. Do you remember what I have always told you?"
"Nothing is ever entirely for certain," Elizabeth recited, "so what you think you know must always be guarded well."
"That's it," he kissed her forehead. "Now, off you go."
Elizabeth offered her father one more smile before she did as she was told. She stepped out, a bright and happy jaunt to her step, while the Magistrate remained behind for a moment, pondering his words.
He later paced the study, wondering if he had made a bad mistake. Had he just gone against his own philosophies, telling his daughter about an uncertain outcome? Perhaps, in his own mad way, he had hoped that in telling her, the outcome would become that much more certain. It was a foolish mentality young men used to comfort their own egos. As it was, the Magistrate was no young man with a withering ego. He knew himself well enough, so why did he do this?
A movement to his left caused Magistrate Donaldson to jump, and he turned just in time to see Bertha Denning, the maid, slip into his study with a duster. The expression of surprise on her face showed that she had not expected him to be there.
"Oh!" She paused. "Magistrate, sir, you're still here."
He frowned at her. "Why wouldn't I be? This is my study, is it not?"
"Of course, sir," she bowed her head. "Shall I come later?"
"No," he shook his head. "No that will not be necessary, I will go," he made for the door.
Before he stepped out, however, Bertha's voice called him back.
"I'll not tell a soul either, sir," she said. "And I offer my congratulations to your daughter."
The Magistrate stiffened, and turned back to her. "You are a smart woman, Bertha. You should know to never speak of it again, or I will have you shackled and bound in prison before you can think twice."
With that, he stepped out of his study and marched down the hall, his hands clenched into fists.
That woman always seems to be in the best place at the best time. I'd better keep an eye on her.
How many eyes, though, were needed to watch the demons conspiring behind his back?
XXX
Belmoran Island
Lucy felt her hands shaking when the carriage carrying herself and Eliza headed up the paved pathway towards Shorewind Hall. She didn't dare look out the window, but temptation was pushing her to. She wanted to see the home that Ross had grown up in and now ran. So, when she finally relented and looked out the window, it was all she could do to keep her jaw from dropping.
Shorewind Hall was a clear rival for Dawn-Bridge, both in beauty and in size. She wasn't sure if she was in Belmoran or in the south of France, with the home's château style and renaissance themes. Lucy wondered for a minute if she had truly been thrown into a fairy tale. She had once seen a drawing of the Château de Valençay of the Loire Valley, and Shorewind Hall bore a great resemblance to it in the form of the north façade, which was designed in the most eclectic fashion Lucy had ever seen. She had noticed the gothic architecture from the Renaissance in some areas of London before, but Shorewind Hall's mix of French, gothic, and English architecture made it seem like it was on a level of its own.
On top of the stunning facades and the castle-like themes of the varying heights of the towers, the path leading up to the double stairs of the entrance circled around a sizeable fountain with an effigy of Poseidon wielding his trident as he burst from the tip of where the water of the fountain fell. Lucy almost twisted her neck while trying get a better look at it as they passed by.
"Lovely, isn't it?" Eliza was watching Lucy with a knowing smile. "I have been here so many times, but the house still never stops stealing my breath."
"This is the loveliest home I had ever seen!" Lucy shook her head, still dazed. "I had no idea Ross's family was so wealthy!"
"The Beauchamps were one of the first families to come to Belmoran over a hundred years ago," Eliza told her. "Ross's great-grandfather came from old money back in Portsmouth, and he brought the wealth with him here. Later, Ross's father, Henry Beauchamp, built on that, in what way I am not sure, but I do know that he had a thriving mercantile business. From what Sam told me, he had a theory that there could be a way to trade whale oil overseas with the oil that his whalers found in the seas nearby. Whale oil runs for a good price in America, especially Nantucket. Belmoran is actually known for scouring the caught whales for oil, packing it, and sending it overseas. Nowadays, though, the whalers take care of that rotten mess aboard their own ships! In any case, Henry Beauchamp ran that business from here and made good money off of it before he died."
"So what happened to all of that after he passed?" Lucy asked.
"Well, since Ross was his only son, it was natural to pass the business down to him," Eliza explained. "Only, Ross always said that he had not the mind for business. His father saved up a good deal of money, so instead Ross handed the reins of the business over to one of his father's partners while still having a share in the profits. Now, he uses his father's savings and the profit from the business to invest in housing and labor for the tenants, and he has a steady income, thanks to the Beauchamp name."
Lucy was impressed. "For a man who says that he doesn't have a mind for business, he certainly found a smart way to keep his family estate provided for."
"Ross is far more intelligent than he realizes," Eliza giggled as the carriage drew to a halt. "And he is the apple of his mother's eye as well."
Lucy felt the nerves return when she heard that. "I do not doubt it."
"Don't be scared," Eliza assured her quickly as they were both assisted out of the carriage. "Mrs. Ruth is a kind woman, really. She will be very receptive of you."
"I just hope that she does not think the worst of me," Lucy muttered more to herself than to Eliza.
The two women walked up the right wing of the double stairs, and every step made Lucy wonder if she should turn and run, but she had already done that. She had already run from everyone at least once. Ross was her second chance, and she refused to run from him, even if the prospect of meeting his mother made her want to vomit.
The door opened and a tall footman let the two of them inside. Before stepping in, Lucy took a moment to run a hand over her head in the hopes of smoothing out any loose hairs sticking up. It was a small gesture but it was odd for her to do, seeing as she had never cared about such things enough to take time out to fix them. Her appearance was as it was, usually, however proper. But now it was more than that. She was presenting herself to Ruth Beauchamp, and she could not afford to mess up.
Lucy stepped in after a few moments, and joined up with Eliza who was being helped out of her wrap by the footman that had led them in. He helped Lucy next and, as he did, she glanced around the foyer, admiring how it was relatively simple the decorations were in comparison to the exterior. The ceiling of the foyer was a dome, and the circular bands leading up to the glass center were decorated with intricate yet simple patters of a geometric form.
She lowered her eyes to admire the tapestry, the flower selection, the paintings, and the continued arch work and simple design of the room. Simplicity was the beauty of the home, that was something she was beginning to learn.
"I've never seen a home like this in my life," she whispered.
Eliza chuckled lightly. "Those same words cross the mind of anyone who sees Shorewind for the first time."
Lucy wanted to speak of it more, but she could not find the words. And even if she could have, the footman was already leading them to the sitting room, where Ruth Beauchamp awaited them.
The first thought that crossed Lucy's mind when she saw Ruth Beauchamp sitting gracefully at the center of the beautiful room was that the woman was rather plain, but extremely regal. She looked like a queen confronting her peasants and servants. It was a persona she executed effortlessly, as if she didn't need to try to put forth the facade, if it was that at all, it just was as it was.
Ruth Beauchamp was clad in her dress of warm red and simple pearl earrings, and she sat with her hands folded delicately yet firmly in her lap. Her eyes were guarded carefully, and did not match the smile forming on her lips at all. Lucy noticed these little things with the skills of observation that London society had taught her, and her nerves were not calming at all.
"Eliza, my darling," Mrs. Beauchamp stood, and even that simple movement was executed with the grace and finery of a queen, "how refreshing it is to see you. It has been far too long. How is your brother?"
"In good health, thank you," Eliza curtsied. "Sam regrets not being able to join us, ma'am. Business keeps him well occupied."
"As it should," Mrs. Beauchamp assured her. "After all, what are men if not the sole providers for us delicate females?" She chuckled, then turned her eyes to Lucy, who felt her guts sink right to her shoes. "And you must be Lucy Quincy. Goodness, how much I have heard about you from my son these past few days."
Lucy forgot for a moment how to execute a proper curtsy but, with God on her side, she managed. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."
"Hmm," Mrs. Beauchamp's smile was gone the moment Lucy looked up to meet her eyes. "Curious, is it not? One day, I've no idea who you are. Then, days later, you show up, with my son, and now all I seem to know are seemingly useless facts about you, facts that, if I may be so bold, I'd rather not know nor care to know about at all."
Lucy stiffened as she straightened up to her full height. "Apologies, ma'am. I never meant for my coming to be a burden upon you."
"Burden? No," Mrs. Beauchamp shook her head and gestured for the two women to sit, which they did as she continued to speak. "I find it curious, is all. A London girl, I hear you are. Taught and schooled in the finest of society's arts, and from a rather respected stock from Hertfordshire. I know all these little facts about you, how you have one other sister, how your father, rest his soul, was a Magistrate in a town called Lanfore, and how your mother has taken ill after his passing. The one thing, however, I do not know about you seems to be the most important: why are you here?"
Lucy froze, unsure of how to answer that. Of course she told Eliza and Samuel the partial truth of it, because she owed them something since they had housed her. But she owed nothing to Mrs. Beauchamp, not even the half-truth. If Eliza weren't in the room with her, Lucy would have found no issue in lying to the woman about it...
Or, would she have relented and told the truth either way?
This was a woman that, for reasons beyond her understanding, Lucy wanted to impress. She wanted to be on her good side, because she was Ross's mother. Ross, who was Lucy's friend, who had already done so much for her and had been so kind and understanding. She wanted to be worthy of his friendship, and she wanted to be worthy of Mrs. Beauchamp's time. Never in her life had Lucy tried so hard to win the favor of complete strangers, she had always felt that people had to work to win her favor instead. In London, that was how it had been. She had been ahead; she never had anything to prove to anyone. She had been at the lead of every social circle. When she would walk into a room, people would make way for her.
Now, she had no choice but to do that for someone else.
Half the truth is all you need to tell, but the stories have to match.
"I am sure that your son may have told you of a man named James Boatwright?"
Mrs. Beauchamp nodded. "He did, though he spoke little of him."
"Mr. Boatwright and I were childhood friends," Lucy explained to her. "And he is the common thread between your son and I, the only one that exists I am afraid. Mr. Boatwright and I grew up together in Lanfore. It's a small town near the eastern border of Hertfordshire. It's very quaint, quite unnoticeable unless you know where you are. While your son was visiting Lanfore, I was there as well, attending to my father's affairs before my uncle took control of the estate. Your son and I met during a ball that Mr. Boatwright held at his estate of Dawn-Bridge, during which time he proposed to me."
"My son proposed to you, a girl he had just met?!" Mrs. Beauchamp looked horrified.
"No!" Lucy quickly shook her head, realizing her error. "No, Mrs. Beauchamp, my apologies, that is not what I meant. Mr. Boatwright proposed, your son and I merely shared conversation and a few dances. I assure you, Ross was a perfect gentleman."
"Of course he was. Ross is the best of all men," Mrs. Beauchamp said, regaining her regal disposition. "And if an illustrious man such as James Boatwright proposed to you, why did you leave you home?"
"Because I rejected him," Lucy answered truthfully. "I rejected him and he did not take it well. He caused a scene and well near hurt me physically because of it. I did not want to anger him further by remaining, so I decided to go away for a while and allow matters to simmer down before returning. My hope is that by the time I do so, James will have settled down with someone else, allowing me to move on from the event. Your son was kind enough to offer me a haven here, in Belmoran, and for that I am grateful. He was being a good friend in a time I had none, nothing more."
After that story, Lucy sat back and waited for Mrs. Beauchamp to reply. The woman sat there and stared at her with those cold, calculating eyes. While she did that, Lucy took that moment to look at Eliza, who smiled at her encouragingly.
"That is quite the tale," Mrs. Beauchamp finally said. "Eliza, my dear, I hate to trouble you, but can you leave us for a few minutes? There are a few things I wish to ask Lucy that she may have already told you, and I am sure you would rather not be bored with repetitiveness."
"I would not be, ma'am," Eliza assured the woman.
"All the same, dear, I would like some privacy to speak with Ms. Quincy."
Eliza frowned at that, but nodded, not wanting to be disrespectful. "Of course. Excuse me..."
She stood and swiftly turned to leave, stopping only once to glance at Lucy before walking out.
When the door shut behind her, Lucy turned back to face Mrs. Beauchamp, who now looked like a lioness coiled for a deadly strike.
"Now, as I said," the woman leaned forward ever so slightly, "that is quite the story, Ms. Quincy, for someone who rehearsed it before speaking it. I do not care nor wish to listen to script. I find you an admirable woman, I really do. I think you have a spine, something that I cannot say for everyone on this island," she eyed the door Eliza had gone through knowingly. "Clearly you are quite intelligent, and you have the beauty to match. You are more than capable of starting and holding a proper conversation, another aspect I admire. I know we can be friends, and good ones too, as I quite enjoy surrounding myself with intelligent women. However, I refuse to befriend someone who will not speak the truth."
"Mrs. Beauchamp," Lucy shook her head, "I assure you that I told you the truth."
"That you did, yes," the woman replied, "but not all of it. And if you want to find yourself in the company of the Beauchamps again, you will tell me all of it. And you will spare no details."
Silence fell then, during which time Lucy strongly considered using one of the expensive tapestries to strangle herself with.
How far are you willing to go to be in this woman's good graces? How far?
__________________
Author's note: It's always something where this poor girl is concerned.
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