Free A Divided Inheritance by Deborah Swift Page B

had been far quicker than her to the hall, and he was still in his nightgown, his face gaunt as Death himself. The manservant and her father
struggled to haul Zachary to his feet, but he resisted them.
    She ran down the stairs, but Father waved her away.
    ‘Go back to bed, Elspet. We can manage.’
    ‘Shall I—’
    He hunched his body over Zachary and shouted urgently over his shoulder, ‘Back to bed, I say!’ He was trying to shield her from the sight of her cousin. It struck her that he was
ashamed. He did not want her to see Zachary like this. ‘Back to bed!’
    It was an order, and she obeyed. She watched from behind her chamber door on the upper gallery as they hauled Zachary by the armpits, half stumbling, his boots dragging on the floor, round the
steps to the lower nursery. She was horrified. Father was a penny fool if he intended to put his business in the hands of such a gin-soak. And what if the servants were right? She hardly dared
contemplate what that would mean.
    The soles of Zachary’s boots disappeared round the corner and there was a whump as they threw him on to the bed. A shout of protestation, and Father’s voice urging, ‘Lie
down.’
    ‘The bastards jumped me,’ came Zachary’s voice, slurred and hoarse. ‘It wasn’t a fair fight.’
    A few minutes later Father stepped back into the hall, grey-faced and grim, and ascended the stairs to his chamber. He would not catch her eye. Instead he grasped her door handle, and banged the
door closed so hard it was enough to make the lock rattle. She was shut out again. Father clearly thought this was no business of hers.

Chapter 6

    Elspet could not fathom it. Even after the drama of the night before, Zachary and Father continued with their usual routine of early repast, Mass at Mr Bainbridge’s
house, and then a day at Father’s warehouses and office. Of course she was obliged to wait at home. Apparently Bainbridge thought women in their midst would draw attention to their illegal
comings and goings. But privately she thought it was probably because they did business together afterwards. She pushed away the resentment as she watched them return together at night from her
upstairs window.
    Her father was talking animatedly, looking more vibrant than she had seen him in many months, hanging on Zachary’s words. And when Father replied, Zachary cocked his head to one side,
listening, his face all bruised like a prize-fighter. To her chagrin, any disagreement between Zachary and her father had obviously been mended.
    The servants whispered to each other as Zachary went by, and cast sidelong looks at each other. She frowned at them, of course, but said nothing. It was hurtful that Father had not taken her
into his confidence about her cousin’s injuries.
    Their routine persisted all that week, but Father no longer brought her the books from the business, or asked her advice. She missed going up into town. Things were happening behind closed doors
that she was no longer privy to, and she became consumed with curiosity to know what passed between her father and her cousin.
    In the long evenings, whilst the men hid out in her Father’s chamber, she sat before the spitting fire in the kitchen, with Goody Turner and the dogs for company, needle in hand. She was
attempting to adapt one of Mother’s rose-coloured silk suits into a tolerably fashionable style. It was difficult enough to persuade Father to pay attention to the household expenses, let
alone pay any mind to how she was dressed. For a lace importer he had scant idea of how lace should look ruffled around a sleeve, or as a trim on a boned bodice. To him it was just so many yards of
profit.
    Earlier in the week she had asked him, ‘Might I have a few pounds to buy stuff for a new gown, Father? Summer is coming and I’m still in last year’s winter wool.’
    ‘Your apparel seems fine to me, Elspet. But are you going someplace where you will have need of it?’
    ‘No, Father.