Читать книгу The Electrifying Exploits of the English Three - Elysabeth Williams - Страница 10
ОглавлениеChapter 6
Miriam stood in her dining room and wondered if it were possible to poison someone and get away with it. Indexing her saffron measurements in her head, she took the soup dish from her cook and placed it on the table before her husband. She remained at his side silently until dismissed like a servant. One day, she thought to herself, it would be different. She would be out from under his thumb, and would run away to another country and change her name. It was a daydream, of course, but she had to rely on something to get her through the rough times. Her husband was a fickle, mean bastard with no heart. She recalled the horror of feeling auctioned off to a count with barely a square foot to his name.
Though he did have money at one point, when they’d wed–for it took care of her dowry, letting her parents finally be rid of her. Since then Edmund had gambled and drank away all their income, even the title, leaving them with only her odd jobs keeping them afloat. He’d eventually turned his bad moods on her, striking her when no one was around, though he’d never remember it in the morning. Thankful he only hit below the chin. She was able to hide her bruises by wearing high-collared dresses. She endured not only the bluntness of his fist, but of his tongue and attitude. Edmund practically sprouted Satan’s horns when he drank–which was always–and cast nasty names and insults her way. She never took it lying down. Miriam gave as good as she got.
She kept the worst part of her treatment to herself.
Instead, Miriam waited patiently for the day she would be free of him. Glancing around the room with barely a candle lit to light the meal, Miriam felt the dark paneled walls close in as she stared down at his soured, haggard face.
There were no flowery words to describe her hatred for the man. She had made attempts on his life before. She just hadn’t completed the job–yet. There would be no hell spared for him in the afterlife, she was quite sure. If she’d felt she could ask for help from her friends or even from Colonel Cuthbert, she would have. She mentally took inventory of her failed attempts on his life. Hanging, choking, stairs–you name it, she’d tried it, with the exception of poison and weaponry. She put it away in her mental To Be Determined file and focused on her husband’s slurping.
“Sit, woman.”
She managed to restrain herself from literally leaning down and chewing off his ear, and sat to his right at the table. The serving maid brought her soup and placed it on the table. Miriam smiled, thanked her and began to eat.
“You treat the servants with too much courtesy. They’re servants.”
“They are human and deserve some sort of modicum of respect,” she responded. Her husband grunted and continued to slurp.
“If you’re determined to treat them as our equals, perhaps you should sleep with them instead of here with me.”
“Oh dear, don’t tease me. I don’t know if I could handle the excitement,” Miriam replied sweetly.
Mr. Rothschild stood and yanked her up by her arm. “You will not mock me in my own home, woman,” he growled.
“Keep up with your idle threats, dear, for your days are already numbered.” She had no reason to fear him. He’d never hit her in front of the servants before, and she doubted he had the intestinal fortitude to start now. There would be witnesses, which simply couldn’t be. They would talk, and then other people would talk. The only reason she stayed was for a roof over her head, and the opportunity to make his life as miserable as hers had been over the last decade. She promised every night he would die a slow and painful death, and she meant every word.
“Dare you threaten me, woman?” His breath was as horrid as his attitude, yet Miriam smiled as sweetly as possible.
“It’s not a threat, Edmund. It’s a fact of your life. You’ll never know when it will happen but it will–mark my words. Scotland Yard will not investigate the death of a habitually violent, drunken sot who’s in jail as much as he is out. They might even shake my hand for service to the community.”
Edmund dropped her arm. He sat down in his chair and stared at her while he finished his soup.
Miriam stood still, returning the stare with a smile. “You will get your due, Edmund Rothschild.”
She turned and left him alone in the dining room.