To Heal a Heart

by Anthea Lawson

  ~*~

  “Caroline? Are you awake?” Maggie’s voice was low, her footsteps soft as she moved about the room.

  “Good morning.” Caroline levered herself up with her good arm, blinking away the last wisps of dreaming. Her head still hurt, despite the full night’s sleep. She had almost forgotten what it was like not to ache. Heavens, her body was taking its own sweet time. She hated to think Mr. Trentham had been right. Not that she had the luxury to remain an invalid, even had she felt the inclination. The boat for Malta departed tomorrow and, sick or well, she would accompany Maggie aboard. She could do nothing less for her friend.

  “Have you begun to pack?”

  “Not yet,” Maggie said. “Dr. Trentham was by earlier and said he would come back when you were awake. After yesterday he is quite set against you exerting yourself. If he saw our trunks out, well…No need to let him know our plans.”

  She went to open the shutters and Caroline blinked against the sudden brightness. White and blue. A perfect Mediterranean day, full of clear dry light and the scent of curing olives. On the small balcony bright geraniums stared boldly back at the sun and a light breeze riffled the surface of the bay beyond. She scooted herself up a bit more, closing her eyes as the room tilted then steadied.

  Maggie sent her a worried glance. “Are you truly feeling well enough to travel? I’d hate to jeopardize your health for the sake of my mission.”

  “A temporary light-headedness, that’s all.” She hoped the smile she gave Maggie was reassuring.

  Her friend pushed her spectacles up her nose, seeming less convinced than Caroline would like. “At any rate, the doctor said you should try to eat.” She took up a tray and brought it to the bedside. “It’s some of the local delicacies. Figs and honey-sweetened yogurt, and this lovely bread, spinach pie, olives, and black tea.” Maggie frowned down at the tray. “It’s hardly the type of food an invalid needs, but there was no porridge to be found.”

  “It smells delicious—much better than porridge. If I can’t explore Crete, at least I can taste it.” Caroline took up a piece of bread.

  Maggie watched her, a frown creased between her brows. “You do seem pale. Perhaps I can change the meeting—”

  “You are starting to sound like him.” She could not help the touch of exasperation in her voice. “And you can’t change the meeting—you know better than I how difficult it was to arrange. The Governor of Valletta will not think better of your project if we do not appear on time.” She took a bit more bread and softened her voice. “I am a trifle worse for the wear and limited to one hand, perhaps, but I will manage—there is simply no other option.”

  Her friend’s expression remained serious. “Doctor Trentham is concerned for you—as much as I have been. And he is a doctor of some skill. Perhaps we should listen to him.”

  “Maggie…” She paused at the sound of voices outside the window. Mr. Trentham’s low, strong tone was unmistakable. “Oh! He’s here.” She pinched her cheeks to raise a healthy color. “Put another pillow behind me, if you will.”

  A minute later he knocked and Maggie opened the door.

  “Good morning.” Mr. Trentham strode into the room, bringing the sage-laden scent of the hills with him. He went to Caroline and fixed her with the intent look that was becoming so familiar.

  “Miss Huntington, I’m glad to see you appear somewhat rested despite the knocking about you took yesterday. Travel can be hazardous—especially to someone still recovering.” He bent and gazed into her eyes, his fingers gently exploring the side of her head.

  Caroline fixed her thoughts on feeling well, trying to ignore the fluttering in her stomach. He placed a hand on her forehead, his palm warm and slightly rough.

  “Hmm. You do not seem feverish, nor chilled.” He turned to her friend. “Has she eaten?”

  “Yes, doctor, with some appetite.”

  Caroline blushed. Maggie made it sound as though she had licked the plate clean.

  “Good.” He returned his attention to her. “I know you think you cannot miss the boat to Malta, but after yesterday you should see how little able you are to make that journey.”

  “Mr. Trentham—”

  He held up one hand. “There is another solution. I’m surprised you and Mrs. Farnsworth haven’t thought of it.”

  “Oh?” She lifted her brows. “What is that?”

  “Mrs. Farnsworth can continue on while you stay here and recuperate. When she is finished pleading for the orphans of Valletta, she can return and collect you.”

  Caroline blinked. “But I…She needs me. Don’t you, Maggie?” She sent her friend a glance. Left here, under Mr. Trentham’s care? It was a disturbing thought.

  “She doesn’t need you as much as you need to heal.” His voice was inflexible.

  Maggie stepped forward, a considering look in her eyes. “The idea certainly has merit.”

  It certainly did not. Caroline swallowed. In any case, the argument was moot. They would both be on the ship tomorrow and be done with Crete and Mr. Trentham forever. The thought sent a twinge through her, a fleeting sense of something lost. Still, she would not let Maggie leave without her. Although the safety of their plan lay in convincing him otherwise. They would only need to pretend to agree with his idea.

  Caroline widened her eyes at Maggie. “Mr. Trentham is right.” She silently urged her friend to play along. “It is your project after all, and while I came along to assist, you will do a splendid job without me.”

  Which was, in fact, nothing but the truth. Maggie was a considerable force—articulate and formidable when it came to championing her charitable missions. She had helped Caroline a great deal with her boarding-school project in London. All the more reason why, aching head notwithstanding, it was only right that Caroline return the favor. No matter what she told the erstwhile doctor.

  Maggie pressed her lips together. “Very well.”

  Mr. Trentham looked taken aback. Clearly he had not expected them to agree so readily. Caroline hoped he had not noticed how unconvinced her friend had sounded. She smiled sweetly at him. “If we have no choice, then we can only make the best of it.”

  “Well,” he said, recovering with surprising grace, “I’m glad you’re seeing sense at last.” His deep blue gaze rested on her. “Now that that’s settled, it’s time to meet your new companion.”

  The room went utterly silent.

  Caroline felt her eyes widen in shock. “My new what?”

  “Miss Huntington, credit me with a shred of sense. You cannot stay here unchaperoned. With Mrs. Farnsworth leaving, you’ll need someone to care for you, provide company, and assist you. You don’t expect me to sit at your bedside and take dictation, do you?”

  Caroline bit her lip. “You’ve considered all the details, haven’t you?” How very vexing of him. It would be that much more difficult to slip away tomorrow if she had to contend with a chaperone.

  He turned and strode to the door. “Pen,” he called, “you may come in now.”

  A young woman stepped into the room. Her face was downcast and partially hidden by an old bonnet that had been exposed to too much weather. A lock of blond hair had escaped its confines. She wore scuffed high-laced boots and her dress was patched and seasons out of fashion, not to mention too short at both the hemline and sleeves.

  “Miss Briggs,” Mr. Trentham said, “allow me to introduce Mrs. Farnsworth, and her friend, Miss Huntington. No doubt Madame Legault has told you something of her.”

  “Hello,” Caroline said. This little sparrow of a girl seemed half inclined to take flight at any moment.

  Miss Briggs looked up, and Caroline revised her estimation of the girl’s age upward. Though she looked thin and fragile, Miss Briggs was not a child, but a young lady.

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Miss Briggs said. Her deep brown eyes were a curious contrast to her pale hair and complexion. She hesitated, then plunged ahead. “I hope…that is, it is very kind of you to allow me to as
sist you. I will do my best for you, I promise.” The words came out in a rush.

  “Of course you will.” Caroline felt a pang. It would be difficult for Miss Briggs to do her best when she would not be there.

  “I hope so.” The girl twisted her fingers together. “I want to do a good job for you. I can take dictation, and, um, have a splendid hand, as my father…” She halted, her gaze focused downward once again.

  Caroline shot a glance at Mr. Trentham, unsure if she should ask further. He shook his head infinitesimally and stepped forward to take Miss Briggs’s arm.

  “I’m sure the two of you will be a comfort to each other. Thank you for coming to meet Miss Huntington, Pen. You can take up your duties tomorrow.”

  “Yes,” Caroline said. “Tomorrow afternoon.” Guilt twisted inside her as the girl’s brown eyes sought hers for reassurance. How would this fragile miss feel when she came to the room only to find it empty? She seemed so trusting, it felt wrong to make promises Caroline did not intend to keep. Miss Briggs dropped a curtsey before allowing Mr. Trentham to show her out.

  Caroline looked to Maggie, but before they could speak the doctor returned. His dark hair was ruffled as though he had just run his hands through it.

  “Explain, if you please,” Caroline said. “What was that about her father? Miss Briggs seemed on the verge of tears when she spoke of him.”

  He let out a slow breath and shook his head. “Tragic. He’s a talented scholar of ancient languages, Greek especially. Came out to do translations for Legault, and brought Pen with him. Unfortunately, the fellow is also a drunk and a cad. He left Crete—abandoned her with the Legaults in order to pursue a Sicilian woman of extremely poor reputation.”

  “The poor dear,” Maggie said. “How long ago?”

  “Four months.”

  “Four months!” Caroline said. “And he has not returned in that time?”

  “No.” His mouth was tight. “Nor sent word. The Legaults have done what they can, but they are busy with the excavation.”

  Sympathy squeezed Caroline’s chest. “Was there no one to come help? To take her home?”

  “Apparently not. We offered to pay her passage back to England, but Pen said she did not know where she would go. Madame and her husband are planning to take her with them to Paris once the excavating season here ends, but that will not be for some months yet.”

  Nowhere to go. Caroline could only imagine how difficult it must be for Miss Briggs, stranded on Crete, abandoned by her father. A place must be found for the girl in England. She frowned.

  The thought that she, too, would be abandoning Miss Briggs on the morrow cast a shadow across her heart.

  ~*~

  In the early dawn light Caroline sat up and carefully swung her legs over the edge of her bed. Only a touch of dizziness marred her balance. Her elbow ached, but it was well splinted. She rose to her feet and smiled in triumph. Mr. Trentham had underestimated her. Unfit for travel, indeed. And Miss Briggs…well, Caroline had asked Maggie to pen a letter promising to send for her. It was all they could do for the girl at present.

  She had begun piling dresses on the divan, one-handed, when Maggie came in.

  “Caroline! You ought to have waited for me.”

  “Don’t fret, Maggie. Can you reach that hatbox? It keeps eluding me.”

  Her friend gave her a worried look. “Do reconsider. I think Mr. Trentham’s plan is a good one.”

  “I can hardly let you go off without me. I feel perfectly well, and if I stay here I’ll go out of my head with boredom.”

  Lips closed tight, clearly refraining from further argument, Maggie fetched the box and helped stow the few hats from the wardrobe.

  “There, those are the last of my things,” Caroline said. “Are you ready?” The question was rhetorical; no doubt Maggie had been up since well before dawn, each item of clothing neatly folded and stacked within her valise.

  “Of course. Why don’t you rest a moment while I go see about our conveyance down the coast.” Lamplight flashed off her spectacles. “Are you certain you feel well enough to travel? I still think—”

  “I feel quite able.” Her voice did not falter on the lie. If Maggie knew, well, Caroline would not make her friend choose. She had the uncomfortable thought that Maggie might indeed abandon her here if forced to make a decision. The woman’s projects came first, as indeed they should. Still, it was imperative that they leave as quickly as possible. She did not think that Mr. Trentham or Miss Briggs would come calling until the afternoon, but it was best not to take chances.

  As soon as her friend departed, Caroline unlocked her knees and sank back onto the bed. It had taken increasing effort not to show how soon she had tired. She closed her eyes, but that only increased the slow spinning darkness in her head. Drat it. Maggie did not need to know that once the first surge of determination had worn off she had begun to feel unsteady.

  It was some time before she heard her friend’s crisp footsteps returning, and Caroline was grateful for the extra chance to rest. She sat back up and assumed an expression of cheery determination. The look on Maggie’s face as she entered the room, however, did not bode well. The crease between her brows had deepened and she was frowning.

  “What is it?” Caroline asked, uneasiness running through her.

  “It’s quite vexing. I have been informed there are no vehicles for hire anywhere in the village! The arrangements I made yesterday afternoon seem to have unraveled.”

  “Dear heavens, how could that be? What about horses?” She tried not to think what a few hours on horseback would do to her already throbbing headache.

  Maggie shook her head.

  “Mules? Wheelbarrows?” Caroline heard her voice rising. “Manolis and his cart?”

  Her friend pressed her lips together. “I tried everyone, Caroline. They all refused. And the old cart driver was nowhere to be found.”

  “How utterly troublesome!” She rose to her feet, irritation lending her energy. “We must make the boat, and we cannot walk all the way down the coast. Surely someone—”

  “No one will.” The deep masculine voice sounded more than a little annoyed.

  Caroline whirled, hand at her breast, then swayed as her senses teetered. “Mr. Trentham! I beg your pardon, don’t you ever knock?”

  He strode into the room and halted. Arms crossed, he surveyed the stack of luggage with a look on his face that made her shiver.

  “Mr. Trentham, I—”

  “No need to explain. What you are doing is beyond obvious. I suspected as much with you two twittering conspiratorially.” He paced forward to stand directly before her, his displeasure a palpable heaviness in the air. “Sit down, Miss Huntington, before you fall down. Much as I might like the thought of having your troublesome self gone from here, my conscience cannot allow it.”

  Caroline lowered herself back onto the bed and willed her legs to stop trembling. Part of her knew he was right—her head was spinning terribly again—but it burned to admit defeat. It was too humiliating, to be caught trying to escape, to be the focus of those storm-darkened blue eyes. She took a wavering breath.

  “Mrs. Farnsworth.” He nodded to where Maggie stood, holding the hatbox in front of her like a shield. “Assist Miss Huntington back under the covers. I will be driving you—without your companion—to catch the boat to Malta. See that you have everything you need.” He turned on his heel and left, the uneven reproach of his footsteps echoing down the hall.

  “Well.” The air in the room was growing more breathable. Caroline gave her friend a tremulous smile. “You don’t suppose I could stow away in your trunk and put pillows in the bed instead? No, Mr. Trentham would notice it was bolsters under the covers, and not me.”

  “Oh, Caroline.” Maggie helped her lie back. “You have not been forthright about your condition. Truly this is for the best. I would never be able to forgive myself if I had spirited you away to your harm.” She took Caroline’s hand and held it between her own h
ands. “Your support means a great deal to me. I will be able to feel it when I speak for the children and the orphanage. But you must promise to follow the doctor’s orders, or I shall be forced to stay here to see that his instructions are carried out myself.”

  Caroline blinked, then could not help smiling at the determined look on Maggie’s face. “If you are as convincing with the Governor of Malta, I’ve no doubt you will have a school approved and built within a fortnight.”

  Her friend squeezed her hand. “Everything will turn out for the best. I will be back before you know it. And you will do well for Miss Briggs, if I know you. I believe a divine hand guides us, Caroline. Consider that you may be here for a purpose.”

  Caroline felt a wry bubble of humor rise. “Perhaps my purpose here is to torment Mr. Trentham.”

  Maggie gave her a smile bright with relief. “If so, you seem to be succeeding marvelously.”

  “You do indeed,” Mr. Trentham said, entering the room with Miss Briggs in tow. He nodded at the girl. “I’ll leave you two to get acquainted. I trust Mrs. Farnsworth is ready to leave?”

  “Yes,” Maggie said. “Take care of yourself, Caroline. I will see you soon.”

  Caroline met her friend’s eyes. “Do write, please.”

  “Of course.” Maggie marched to the door, then paused. “And you—concentrate on getting well.”

  “I will. Safe travels.” Caroline tried to keep her tone cheerful, despite the emptiness opening up inside her. Being left behind was always the most difficult thing.

  She listened to the tap of her friend’s heels down the stairs, the sound of voices, the jangle of bridle and creak of wood. She hoped Mr. Trentham had come up with some better form of transport than Manolis’s old cart. The port of Agia Galini was three hour’s travel down the coast. Three hours, and then Maggie’s feet would leave Crete’s shores, while she was forced to stay. Though she had to admit, it was her own foolish fault.

  Miss Briggs had gone to the window. She waved once, then turned back to Caroline. “They’re off. Mr. Trentham is sending Pavlos and Eleni with her to Malta.”