Widow in White

Chapter Eleven: Sharp Edges

Richard's brother, Neil, arrived five days later, just as the bruises on Richard's back were turning yellow. Richard was almost relieved it hadn't been earlier. The first few days after what he now termed 'The Accident' he was barely able even to feed himself. Merely spooning soup from a tray on his lap had exhausted him. He had had to rely upon his servants to dress him, bathe him, shave him, sit him up, lie him down, as though he was an infant. It was a humiliating state, and Richard was faintly grateful that Neil hadn't arrived in time to witness it.

Instead, when Neil came, Richard was in his dressing gown, lying on the sofa in his bedroom and reading a novel. He was so immersed in the tale that he only looked up when Neil dropped a stack of folded newspapers to the floor with a bang.

"Oh," Richard said, "you're here."

"And what a welcome I receive!" In his mock offense, Neil did not quite cover his smile. "You don't look bad at all! And to think I worried all the way down here. And there you are, reading..." He came closer and peered at it. "Oh goodness! The Lustful Turk!? You must be well!"

Hastily, Richard dropped the book to the floor. "Yes, well, people have been sending me all types of books to read and I don't know who sent this one but they were very wrong to do so. It's not to my taste at all."

"Of course not. Not at all." Neil pulled a chair closer and sunk into it. He relaxed and smiled. "But I'm really very glad to see you well. When I got your letter, I feared the worst."

Richard gave him a thin smile. He didn't want to tell his brother that he had been practically carried to the couch this morning, and that already his muscles were beginning to ache. That beneath his dressing gown and cravat were vile yellow purple bruises. That it was not yet noon and already he was thinking of retiring to bed.

Neil, however, did not see his hesitation. With a burst of nervous energy, he dived to the floor to gather up the newspapers he had dropped there.

"The past few days, I had nothing else to read in the carriage," he explained, getting back in the chair and thrusting a newspaper at Richard. "Have you seen them? They're awful. Hardly better than your Turk I fear."

Richard had been reading only his usual Times and skimming the bits of it that mentioned himself or Laura. He turned the paper over cautiously and started at the back, where all the dirty gossip was usually kept. A paragraph leapt out at him almost immediately, insinuating cheerfully:

No one admits to having seen Lady Laura Maidstone since she quit her father's house in an unusual fashion on Friday evening last week. A report from a source close to her suggests that she is increasingly likely to remain invisible for nine months or more. Lady Laura was widowed more than one year ago and has not yet remarried.

The next paragraph down, allegedly of no relation, began:

It is widely discussed that last week a certain Gentleman in a London street thrashed a certain Lord A—— who had made a guy of him over a Lady. We have now received disturbing reports that this certain Gentleman is continuing his path of sin in the insalubrious confines of a Parisian house of ill-repute...

Richard put the paper down with a sigh. The next one Neil handed him played even looser with the facts:

The (dis)Hon. Mr F—— has fled to the Continent after the Murder of a Member of our Valued Peerage. He is known to have Ruined more than one Woman, including the grand-daughter of a Marquess, who attempted for her Honour to do as Lucrezia Did but for her Salvation was prevented by Divine Providence, as proved by the Testimony of a Witness. The Scandal would be Hushed but the Press has a Duty to keep the Public In The Know about the Sins of our So Called Betters.