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Mercy's Embrace: Elizabeth Elliot's Story
The Lady Must Decide
Book 3
by Laura Hile
Chapter 1
Every Rag of Canvas
Elizabeth Elliot shifted in her seat, miserably aware of what was to come. At any moment the library door would open and Admiral McGillvary would come in—the man who stood between her father and debtor’s prison! Their last encounter, on the terrace at Lady Claverling’s masquerade ball, had been a disaster. She had spoken her mind then, and so had he! And then he had laughed at her. No doubt, he would laugh again today.
All at once Elizabeth came out of her seat. She could sit and wait no longer! Her feet began to move, and she found herself pacing back and forth before his desk. The Admiral would, no doubt, read her a lecture on the evils of debt—as if he knew anything about it! And then what would happen? Nothing dishonourable, according to her friend Patrick Gill. How she prayed this would be true! Patrick had also mentioned a new payment contract, which was probably there on the desk.
Elisabeth glanced swiftly at the closed door and, after a moment’s hesitation, came around the corner of the desk. There! On one of the documents, she spied her father’s name written in bold letters. After another look at the door, she reached over and carefully moved that page aside. Her father’s familiar signature greeted her. “Dear God,” Elizabeth breathed. It was the only prayer she could manage.
Again she paused to listen, but she heard no approaching footsteps. Elizabeth grew bolder. She examined another of the documents and then another. She even found a copy of Mr Lonk’s letter, the duplicate of the one in her reticule. She bit her lip, thinking. It was all here, every bit of evidence against her father. What if she tore everything up and threw it in the fire? It would then be her word against Admiral McGillvary’s!
But such exhilaration was short-lived. This, she knew, would be the worst course she could take. With trembling hands, she replaced the copy of Mr Lonk’s letter.
So intent was Elizabeth’s concentration that she did not hear the click of the latch on the library’s private inner door. This door, designed to resemble one of the bookcases behind the desk, took Elizabeth completely by surprise.
She gave an audible gasp and backed away from the desk. In the shadowy passageway linking the library to his private suite of rooms, stood Admiral McGillvary. Her friend, Mr Gill, was nowhere to be seen.
If the Admiral noticed her discomfort, he gave no sign of it. Without hesitation, he stepped forward and turned to secure the door. Light from the windows caused the gold on his uniform to glitter. He then turned to face her fully.
“Miss Elliot, I presume?” he said.
His awful irony was not lost on Elizabeth. She dropped the document and backed away.
To her surprise, Admiral McGillvary said nothing more, nor did he appear to be angry. His face held an expectant expression. Of course, she realized. He had spoken, and it was now her turn to reply.
“Good morning, sir,” she heard herself say. “Thank you for consenting to see me.” She was vaguely pleased that her voice did not shake.
“You are most welcome, Miss Elliot,” he said politely. “Won’t you sit down?” He settled into the large chair behind the desk and put in order the papers she had scattered.
He was taller than she remembered, and his shoulders were broader—or perhaps it was only the splendid uniform lending him countenance. She returned to her chair and stole another look. He was better looking than when she’d last seen him, and his eyes were a brighter blue. But what had become of the moustache?
The Admiral coughed slightly. “Your father’s account with us has been rather—shall we say—irregular? I would like to explain the documents you were examining just now.”
A fresh wave of shame rendered Elizabeth speechless, but Admiral McGillvary did not appear to notice her discomfort. “A loan as large as your father’s,” he said, “unsecured by collateral of any kind, is not a common practice, at least not at Madderly, Kinclaven, and Planque. It was approved by the board of directors, who had assurances from your father’s solicitor as to the solidarity of his income. This error—for indeed, the loan ought never to have been made!—I discovered in the course of an audit.”
He paused, and his voice became thoughtful. “In a way, it was a salutary blow—a reminder that, vulgarity aside, I must supervise my business concerns personally.” He smiled slightly. “Madderly, Kinclaven is only one of several enterprises that I own.”
Elizabeth said, “I see.”
But she did not see, nor did she wish to. Admiral McGillvary’s businesses were no concern of hers! He continued talking, and it was all Elizabeth could do to keep from staring at the door. What could be delaying Patrick Gill? But he did not come in, and so, reluctantly, she began to listen. Apparently, it was common practice to give a gratuity to those who brought in lucrative accounts.
A gratuity? She knew what this was—a tip! She had never known that a lending institution would give money like this! Then she heard John Shepherd’s name.
Elizabeth gave a start. “But, he was my father’s solicitor—our trusted adviser!”
Admiral McGillvary shot her a look. “Yes,” he said. “That is often the way of it. The man was well paid for his efforts.”
Elizabeth did not know where to look, for he was studying her with unbecoming directness. If only Mr Gill would return! If only she did not blush so hotly!
“I beg your pardon,” she said at last. “You were speaking of my father’s loan. I had no call to interrupt.”
He went on with his explanation. As she listened, Elizabeth became occupied with smoothing the wrinkles from her gloves. It was odd how one’s ears could play tricks. There was something about Admiral McGillvary’s voice that was familiar. She had heard him speak before this, of course, but today there was something more. She took a quick look at him. His head was turned slightly away, allowing a clear view of his profile. Elizabeth frowned in sudden surprise. Why, when seen from this angle, his nose and chin were very like Mr Gill’s!
She gave herself a shake. Impossible! The two men were nothing alike! Their colouring might be similar, but that was all. Yet, the idea persisted. Again, Elizabeth studied him. The resemblance was pronounced. But how could this be? And then she recalled Admiral McGillvary’s reputation. Had his father been the same? Elizabeth felt the blood rush to her face as the truth came home.
She stared at him openly—there could be no mistake. The longer Elizabeth looked at him, the angrier she became. She had heard of situations like this among the gentry and nobility. But to have Mr Gill working in this very house—why, it was unthinkable!
“I beg your pardon, sir,” she interrupted, “but I wonder what has become of my friend, Mr Gill? It was my understanding that he would attend this meeting with me. Perhaps your secretary could summon him?”
Admiral McGillvary turned. If Elizabeth did not know better, she would say he looked shocked. And why not? she thought wrathfully. He was not accustomed to people—gently bred people such as herself!—speaking of Mr Gill as a friend!
He rose to his feet and came around the corner of the desk. His hand found a paperweight on the desktop. “I, er—see it is time to tell you the truth about Mr Gill,” he said.
“The truth?” Elizabeth lifted her chin. “I already know the truth, sir! And I think it is infamous of you to treat so fine a person in such a shabby manner!”
He appeared genuinely surprised. “I beg your pardon?”
Elizabeth came out of the chair in a graceful movement. “I know everything about it!” she cried. “You needn’t say a word! Your precious secret is no secret at all! Why, it’s so obvious it would make a cat laugh!
“I’ve always wondered,” she continued hotly, “why Mr Gill was so reluctant to speak of his family or to tell me where he lived. ‘A room in a large house,’ is what he said, but he gave no precise location. Why did he have access to the stables here? And why did he come so often on matters of business?”
The Admiral gave a strained laugh—so familiar to Elizabeth—and then fell silent. That silence stretched taut as a drum. “I daresay the truth is very odd,” he offered at last.
“It certainly is! But I am not a green girl, Admiral,” she flung at him. “And I know my world—our world! These deplorable things do happen! But have you never considered that you ought to give the man a private life?”
“A…private life?”
“But no, you’re too selfish for that!” she went on. “You must make him your servant! Outrageous!”
The paperweight fell from his hands and went rolling, unheeded, on the carpet. “Forgive me,” he said, “but I have no idea whom—”
“Oh haven’t you?” Elizabeth cried. “You ought to send him to America to seek his fortune and make a life for himself! But I daresay the thought never occurred to you! He is intelligent and clever! And no doubt he is useful, so you keep him here under your heel! Living and working in this very house!”
“Elizabeth,” the Admiral said. “Of whom are we speaking?”
“Why, of Mr Gill, of course!” she cried. “Mr Gill, your natural brother!”
Admiral McGillvary drew a ragged breath. “My natural—”
Elizabeth defiantly returned his stare. She would not stand by while he insulted and belittled her friend!
McGillvary’s chin began to quiver, and his lips twitched. Quickly, he put a hand over his mouth.
Elizabeth watched him through narrowed eyes. Obviously, he was holding back vulgar, earthy language! A sound escaped from his lips—a gurgling, strangled sound. Elizabeth’s chin rose higher. Let him curse and thrash—she did not care! She had spoken her mind, as well she ought!
“My natural—” he gasped, and surrendered to mirth. “Oh my word!” he cried, and convulsed in a spasm of laughter. “My dear,” he said at last, wiping his eyes, “I salute you! You surpass them all!”
“It was not my intention to amuse you, sir.”
“No other woman in England—” he said, fighting for control. “No other woman in the world, in fact! Never have I found your equal! Did I not know it from the first?” Another giggle escaped. “My natural brother!” he said, shaking his head. “Wonderful!”
“Kindly recall that you are speaking of a man who is very much my friend! I will not have him abused, though you hate me for it!”
“Hate you?” He sounded thunderstruck. “You are wholly adorable!” The smile that accompanied these words was so warm that Elizabeth’s heart gave a flutter of pleasure. Immediately, she quelled it, cursing her own vulnerability. She had forgotten how charming this man could be. Well, charm wouldn’t work with her. She cudgelled her brain for a cutting reply.
However, Admiral McGillvary did not seem to require an answer. He remained where he was, sitting on the edge of his desk and smiling. His blue eyes were bright, like sunlight on water. With that crooked, boyish smile, he looked more than ever like Patrick Gill! The two must be related, she reasoned, but how closely?
It was then that her conscience smote her; she had no call to be openly churlish. “I am sorry if I spoke out of turn,” she said stiffly. “But you have treated Mr Gill disgracefully and ought to be ashamed of yourself.”
A dimple appeared on the Admiral’s cheek. “Rather, it is he who has treated me disgracefully,” he said. “But, no matter. I applaud your ingenuity. However, I beg leave to inform you that Patrick Gill is not my natural brother.”
“Then how are you related? For you must be related! The resemblance is striking.”
“Oh, we are,” he admitted, “though not in the way you suppose.” His smile slipped a bit. “Did it occur to you that he and I have the same Christian name?”
“Oh, I knew that,” she replied, “but it does not signify! What better way for a mother to disguise her child’s parentage than to name him after a legitimate brother?”
Admiral McGillvary’s lips quivered again, but this time he did not laugh. “I see,” he said. “Yes, that would be a very clever dodge.”
His expression grew more serious. “Elizabeth,” he said. His voice was unmistakably gentle. “Look at me, my dear. Look closely.”
She raised reluctant eyes to his face. His cheeks were flushed, but his gaze did not waver. “You are near to the truth about Mr Gill,” he said softly. “Look again.
“The hair, perhaps, misleads you?” he suggested, and he ruffled his smooth locks.
And then she saw it. Her mind struggled to form words. “You—” she rasped. “You are—”
The truth rolled over her like a wave. Admiral McGillvary was…Patrick Gill? Oh no, it was impossible. It was some sort of rude joke—it had to be!
Desperately, Elizabeth searched his face. But what was this? His eyes were twinkling—something Elizabeth recognized all too well. That twinkle gave everything away! He was only funning!
Elizabeth nearly collapsed in relief. This was Patrick Gill, though how he had managed to dress up in Admiral McGillvary’s uniform she could not say! It was an odd jest to be sure, but typical of his unconventional humour. Why he was doing this she did not know—possibly to cheer her spirits? What other explanation could there be?
Pleasure followed relief, for she had handled herself well. That remark she’d made about the natural brother—why, that was excellent! No wonder he had laughed! Yes indeed, she would show him that she knew how to take a joke. To be sure, he would eventually take her to see the real Admiral McGillvary—but for now she would show him that she was nobody’s fool.
~~~~~~~&~~~~~~~
McGillvary waited anxiously, studying the expressions as they crossed Elizabeth’s lovely countenance. He readied himself for her response. Rage, confusion, tears—he would surely face all! Would she screech? Have hysterics? These, he knew, were the weapons of a woman’s warfare; his late wife had used them often enough! His Elizabeth would probably go one better—quite possibly she would strike him! But to suffer at Elizabeth’s hands would be easily endured. He would gladly undergo any affliction she dealt out.
He saw her eyes widen as the truth came home. At any moment she would realize his true identity. She stood before him, her eyes fastened on his face, her expression uncertain. She swayed a little on her feet. McGillvary readied his arms. If she fainted, he would catch her.
“Look again, dearest,” he said, very low. She was very near to the truth now. He saw her cheeks go pale. Her lips parted. “Forgive me, Elizabeth,” he was about to whisper; but before these words could cross his lips, Elizabeth’s expression underwent a change. Her eyes, which were very bright, suddenly lost their panicked look.
He swallowed…and waited. She was thinking; he could see that. His mind was alive with conjecture, racing to outguess her. If he didn’t know better, he could swear that Elizabeth now looked…sly.
Indeed, her lips curved into a delicious smile. “You are…very rich, are you not, Admiral?” she said. She said his title with a mocking lilt in her voice.
He returned the smile, every sense on alert. What kind of game was she playing? “I am,” he said slowly.
“And my father owes you an enormous amount of money?” She raised an eyebrow coyly. “But then, you have an enormous fortune, haven’t you? Much more than Mr Rushworth, or so I was told.”
McGillvary folded his arms across his chest. She was up to something. “You were not misinformed.”
She bent to retrieve her fallen reticule and settled herself once again on the leather chair. “We should conduct our business,” she said, “for that is the reason for this meeting.” She shot him a look and removed a gray velvet bag from her reticule.
“Very well,” he replied promptly. “And after, you will join me for luncheon in the yellow drawing room.”
“That would be splendid!”
He gave a start. “It would?”
“Indeed, yes.” she said. “Now then, where shall we begin?”
McGillvary came around the desk, smiling in spite of himself. Gad, she was wonderful! She had recovered her wind and was brazening it out. “Before we begin,” he said, “allow me to inform you that your jewellery will not stand against this debt.”
Elizabeth grinned, or so it seemed to him. “Really!” she exclaimed, in mock horror. “Then what is to be done? I haven’t the means to pay such a debt.” She bit her lip, and then threw him a conspirator’s smile. “It is a whopping big sum, isn’t it?”
McGillvary settled back in his chair. “Oh, it is.” He lifted a page to show the total. “Ten thousand pounds, thirteen shillings, to be exact.”
“Ten thousand?” she said, in an altered tone. “That can’t be right! My letter says nine thousand-something!”
“Penalties,” he said shortly. “Your father missed the quarterly payment.”
Her eyes lost their sparkle, but only for a moment. “Yes, I see,” she said. “Well then, there is only one thing to be done.”
He was surprised into a laugh. “Is there? I wish you will tell me what it is.”
“Why, it is quite simple,” she said, smiling adorably. “Write a draft on your bank…for the entire amount!”
McGillvary’s smile froze. “I beg your pardon?”
She rose and came to the desk. “You take your pen, there, and write a draft,” she said helpfully, “for—what was the amount? Oh yes. Ten thousand pounds, thirteen shillings.” She looked deeply into his eyes and smiled. “It is quite simple. A child could do it. You write the numbers, and then you sign your name.”
A wry smile twisted McGillvary’s lips. “That is a very large amount, my dear.”
“It is,” she agreed, “but did you not say you had a whopping fortune?”
He regarded her for a moment and then reached for the pen. “So I did,” he agreed. “Now where did I put those drafts?” He began hunting through one of the drawers in mock consternation. “Starkweather takes it upon himself to handle—aha!” He brought out a blank draft. “Here we are! Now then.”
Elizabeth darted a look at him. “Patrick,” she said.
“How I love to hear you say my name,” McGillvary murmured, dipping the pen into the inkpot. “Madderly, Kinclaven and Planque,” he said, reading the words aloud as he wrote them. “And the amount?”
“Patrick,” she repeated. “What are you doing?”
“Writing the draft, as instructed,” he replied gaily. “Here we are. Ten thousand…” the pen scratched the number, “…and thirteen. And now, the signature.”
“Patrick!” Elizabeth’s voice showed alarm. “I was only funning.”
“But I wasn’t! In point of fact, this is the perfect solution to a curst awkward problem!”
Her face was pale. “Patrick,” she cried, “this is forgery! People go to prison for forgery!”
“Simply for writing my name?” he said blankly. “I rather doubt it.” He signed the draft with a flourish.
Elizabeth gave a sharp intake of breath. “Gracious, you do that well,” she marvelled. “I’ve seen his signature, so I know. Here I’ll show you!” She dumped her reticule on the desk, dug out the folded letter, and opened it. “There,” she pointed. “That’s his name. Yours is—” She stopped. “It’s—exactly the same.”
“Yes,” he said, smiling ruefully. “There is a reason for that.”
“This isn’t funny, Patrick!” she said desperately. “We aren’t jesting anymore! We must burn this, quickly, before Admiral McGillvary sees it.”
He gave a long sigh. “I’ve been trying to tell you, Elizabeth,” he said, “and at every turn I’ve been thwarted. I am McGillvary.”
She looked at him with warmth in her eyes. “Of course you are,” she said. “And I was completely taken in!”
Clearly she did not see. McGillvary reached across the desk and took hold of her hand. “Elizabeth,” he said. “Darling, you must listen to me…”
A scratching at the library door interrupted him. “Who the devil is that?” he grumbled. “I gave orders that I was not to be disturbed.”
But the knocking grew more instant, and then the knob turned. “Papa?” A slender girl came into the room. She was charmingly attired in a gown of blue; her strawberry blonde hair was confined in a long braid.
“Papa,” she said, “the most dreadful thing! Aunt Huntington is here. With all her children! I-I’m so pleased they’ve come, but I don’t know what to do!” She was almost in tears. “And Papa! That’s not all! Uncle Ronan came with her!”
McGillvary’s jaw tensed; he rose from his seat. “You don’t say,” he said softly.
“Wilson put them in the green drawing room, Papa, but you know how Uncle Ronan is! He’s in one of his wild moods! He’s striding about, muttering foreign words! Aunt is cross and the children are, too!”
McGillvary shot a look at Elizabeth. She was standing stock-still, staring at his daughter. God only knew what she was thinking. “You leave Ronan to me,” he told Cleora. “I’ll soon send him packing. Have Lewis bring tea and whatever else she can scare up. Find out how long your aunt is planning to stay, and instruct Lewis to plan accordingly.”
“Oh, thank you, Papa!” She was clearly relieved and even managed to smile. “I can handle serving tea!”
“And Cleora!” McGillvary called her back. She came obediently to stand before the desk. “There is someone I would like you to meet.”
He came around the desk. “Miss Elliot,” he said, “may I present my daughter, Cleora McGillvary.”
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