“Not so much as they hope,” Mr. McElroy declared. “Them as was already pretty maybe get a little bit prettier. But them as is squinty-eyed or hatchet-faced, ain’t no amount o’ paint or powder will change it.”
“Do you not think, then, Mr. McElroy, that beautiful actions will not improve even the most ‘hatchet-faced’ from within?” said Evelyn, hoping to stem the tide of confidences that were pouring out of Mr. McElroy’s mouth.
“Now as to that, to be sure they can. I’ve seen many a homely woman, or man for that matter, transformed by a genuine smile. So those actions do not even have to be large or extensive.”
“I am glad that we are of like minds on this topic,” Evelyn said. “Else how should any of us retain any beauty in age?”
“True enough. And I will give you credit, Mrs. Swinton, for looking upon this miserable countenance,” he gestured toward his face, “without flinching.”
“Why should I not?” Evelyn asked. “Your suffering was in service to England. Does it pain you?”
“Now and again, but mostly only my jaw when the weather is wet.”
“How did it happen?” Jemmy asked with some interest.
“Some kind of clinging stuff that burned like fury. They rolled me in sand, but I lost the eye. Sawbones said I was lucky not to lose the other.”
“What happened to your leg?” Jemmy asked, wide-eyed, with a boy’s rampant curiosity.
“Musket ball. Got hit whilst they were dragging me away, can you imagine? They were firing on the wounded.”
“Not an uncommon practice,” Mayson said calmly. “Vile, but understandable. A man who leaves the battlefield and gets patched up can perhaps fight another day. If you are defending your homeland and want the, uh,” he glanced at Evelyn, “opposition to go away and stay gone, they don’t usually rise up out of the grave.”
“Dear me,” Evelyn said. “It is a wonder you survived at all, Mr. McElroy. Did you have any opportunity to see any part of Africa other than the battlefield?” She did not miss the grateful glance from Mayson as she turned the conversation to topics other than the household.
“I did,” Mr. McElroy replied with a smile that gave the unscarred side of his face a cherubic sweetness while pulling the scars on the other side into a demonic mask. “We were camped near a great plain. There was an amazing lot of wildlife there, and we did not go hungry at that camp, let me tell you! There were herds of grazing animals of all sorts. If you went a short distance, there was a pride of lions that had their territory.”
“Oh, my! Were you not afraid that they might raid your camp?”
“With so many tasty wild creatures about? Not likely as long as we left them alone. Me an’ some other men crept up to the top of a little rise an’ watched them one day. The babies play together like a litter of barn kittens. It woulda been cute if we had not known that the parents could bite through a wildebeest’s bones.”
“You must come up and tell stories to the Duchess one evening,” Evelyn said. “She does not go out much, so stories of faraway places are her favorite amusement.”
“I would be honored,” Mr. McElroy said, going a little misty-eyed. “If you do not think she would be bored hearing stories from such a rough fellow as I.”
“The Duchess is a law unto herself. I will ask her, and see what she says. I can assure you that I am finding your accounts of the animals most fascinating.”
Thus encouraged, Mr. McElroy kept them well entertained with his descriptions of the various wildlife he had seen. He made no further mention of battles or action, nor did he recount the conditions in the healing tents. Evelyn watched Mayson’s face, sensing that he was profoundly relieved that Mr. McElroy was focusing on wildlife, flowers, and plants.
“There’s these gigantic trees,” the scarred man was saying, “that look like they was turned upside down and stuck in the ground with their roots all up in the air. The parson, who used to be a missionary in those parts, said they had a story something about lightning, thunder, and the gods being so angry they turned the trees upside down.”
“That is simply amazing,” Evelyn said. “I must leave you, gentlemen, for the Duchess likes to have everything in order when she rises in the mornings. Good night, and a pleasure meeting you, Mr. McElroy.”
As Evelyn made her way up the stairs, she wondered just how this would all turn out. Certainly, Jemmy was excited to be promoted to under cook, and just as certainly he deserved it. She hoped that Mr. McElroy was as good at washing dishes as he was at telling stories. Even though she was disappointed not to have her usual quiet meal with Mayson, she had to admit that despite his horrific scarring, Mr. McElroy seemed to be a perfectly amiable gentleman, if a little rough around the edges.
Then, there was that other thing, Mayson’s revelation. She had known from the beginning that he seemed too well-bred, too personable to be a commoner. Not that cooks could not be refined of voice and countenance, but Mayson...
Mayson is exceptional. He is well-formed and athletic in ways that a working man would not be. His speech, while not pretentious, is meticulously phrased. And his face...
She let herself dream for just a moment.
His face was perfectly formed. His blue eyes, framed with thick, dark eyelashes, were like clear pools, deceptively simple yet amazingly deep. She longed to touch his thick, dark brown hair. Even at the end of the day, when it was damp from his work near the hot kitchen fires, and flattened from being confined under a cap, it tried to curl. When it was clean and dry, on their half-day picnics, it had an adorable cowlick at the crown just like that of a little boy.
If we had only the two of us to consider, running away to the colonies would be the best choice. He could continue to pretend to be dead, and leave the estate to his uncle. A shopkeeper’s daughter can easily marry a cook, but she is unlikely to marry an Earl.
Evelyn sighed, and punched her pillow, trying to pummel it into some sort of comfortable shape, one that would comfortably support her head.
But it is not just the two of us. It is the Duchess, the Duke, Miss Notley, and all the people who live at Hillsworth who are being affected by its mismanagement. Why can life not ever be simple?