Her brother was leaving. She had hoped he would stay this time—at least for a little while. She had hoped he would learn something from his brush with ruin. That he had been rattled into changing. But now she feared that coming to his rescue had only made him more irresponsible. He had suffered no consequences for his actions. She had spared him from that.
And yet what choice did she have? Leaving him to face the consequences would have punished all of them: Mercy and Grace, as well as all the staff relying on them for employment.
“Excuse me,” she murmured to the others in the kitchen.
Mercy left the room and hurried up the stairs to confront her brother, determined to do something, say something to get through to him. There had to be words that could reach him. Words she had never thought to use before that might work on him now.
He had no money. That had not changed. She might have reclaimed their home, but a purse full of banknotes did not come with it. Any money Bede possessed was still gone, frittered away. Until they harvested and sold the upcoming season’s barley, their funds were depleted.
The bit of money Mercy earned from selling vegetables and oranges on fair and market days was safely tucked away in her room. She only went into it for absolute necessities, such as paying the staff their wages if the household funds ran short.
Her brother did not worry over such things. Only Mercy did. Only Mercy saw to it that the staff was paid and this whole place did not fall down around their ears.
She knocked lightly on her brother’s slightly ajar door before pushing it open and stepping inside. To an empty bedchamber. No Bede anywhere. Just his partially packed luggage on the bed.
Well, then. He truly was leaving. No mistake about that. She should not be surprised. Irresponsible behavior was his custom in life. And yet she felt something akin to shock. She probed the sentiment cautiously. Disappointment. Outrage.
He could not go out there into the world again. Every time he did bad things happened. And the bad things never just happened to him. They happened to all of them.
Shaking her head, Mercy exited her brother’s room and walked down the corridor to her bedchamber—where the door was also slightly ajar. She knew she had closed the door earlier. She closed it behind her every day before she headed out.
She gave the door a slight push. It swung open on silent hinges, granting her a view of her room—and her brother rifling through the drawer of her bedside table.
Outrage sizzled through her veins. She could not move. She was frozen. Rooted to the spot, her feet pinned where they stood.
Her mouth opened and closed. Words eluded her. She could only gawk as her brother stepped back from her drawers. He rubbed his chin and looked around the room in speculation, clearly evaluating the space. Clearly on the hunt for something.
Then, as though seized with a thought, he advanced on her bureau. Opening the double doors, he quickly pushed her clothes aside and searched the space, taking care to examine the floor area, too. He lifted out one of her hat boxes. Popping the lid off, he peered inside, rifling through the letters she kept there.
She had seen enough. She swallowed and recovered her voice. “Looking for something, Bede?”
He jerked with a startled grunt, dropping her hat box and scattering her letters everywhere.
“Mercy! You gave me a fright.”
“Looking for something?” she asked again, feigning ignorance even though she knew the answer to her question.
She knew what he was doing in her room. He was looking for money. He was stealing from her. Or trying to at any rate. The beastly man. He was her brother. Her twin. And yet she struggled to feel any filial bond with him in this moment.
His expression was almost comical. He was horrified while trying not to look horrified. His smile was falsely bright whilst his eyes flared wide with alarm. That was a little gratifying, she supposed. That he should feel any level of panic at her displeasure with him. She had assumed he did not care one whit for what she thought of his actions. It would be the natural conclusion based on their past history.
“I don’t keep it in there.” She motioned mildly to her bureau.
He blinked those wide eyes as a deep red flash crept up his cheeks. Astonishing, really. She was not so certain he was capable of feeling any sense of shame. He was not without conscience then. There was that at least. One could hope. Perhaps she could get through to him yet.
“Mercy, sister, I just needed a little bit to tide me over—”
“What little I have is to pay the staff. And for necessities. Without it—” She stopped abruptly.
He should know.
He knew how desperate their situation was. He was the reason. He should understand what she was saying.
He smiled his most cajoling smile, as though that would work on her. As though they had not shared the same womb.
As though she did not thoroughly and wholly know him.
Chapter Seven
Mercy and Bede were born fourteen minutes apart. Bede had pushed his way out into the world first.
Some people were born takers, and Bede was one of them. From the very beginning, he took, outweighing Mercy by at least a pound. The midwife had claimed that he occupied most of the space in their mother’s belly, and took more than his share of sustenance.
They had shared a crib. A large crib that the town blacksmith, Mr. Cully, made for them. Mama and Papa had laughed about the time they woke in the middle of the night to find that Bede had taken over the crib. He had turned, rotating his little body horizontally, his feet kicking up a storm all over Mercy. Their parents had to separate them into different sleeping spaces before any lasting harm came to Mercy.
Bede stayed in the crib of rich walnut with scrolling iron hinges that Mr. Cully had made. Mercy got a wooden milk crate.
As toddlers, they were fed separately because Bede would shriek earsplitting cries each time it was Mercy’s turn for a spoonful of porridge. He had no patience for anyone giving attention to another over him. He wanted everything for himself at all times. It mattered naught if it was food or a doll or a ball. If Mercy had it, he wanted it. What was his was his. And what was Mercy’s was also his.
It seemed like he had been born greedy and self-serving and it had never been purged from him. He was the darling son. The firstborn. Papa had fully expected him to take over the farm after he finished at Eton, to care for his sisters as a proper patriarch ought to do. Certainly the expectation had never been for him to ruin them and yet here they were now, recovering from the near reality of that.
Perhaps if Papa had lived longer, long enough to see Bede finish his schooling, he would have seen Bede’s true nature. Instead he had fallen ill when they were only seventeen, and had been gone a year later, just before Bede ventured out into the world to begin wreaking his ruin.
She inhaled a pained breath. It was as though Mercy was still inside that crib. Still getting kicked by the barrage of Bede’s feet. Some things never changed.
“Come now, Mercy,” Bede coaxed. “The staff is like family. They adore you. They would never leave you.”
She shook her head and chuckled lightly, without mirth. Indeed, there was only discomfort in the sound for her.
“For a man of the world, how is it you know so little of the world?”
He really was a man without sense.
Bede’s cajoling grin turned to a scowl. “You need not be so insulting. I am not a dimwit.”