“It is my brother.” Lucy said and seemed diverted from her original painful train of thought.
As much as Anabelle realised that the Duke was most certainly not there by coincidence, still she was relieved to see him. He had inadvertently put an end to a deep melancholy before it had even begun.
“Yes, what a lovely coincidence.” Anabelle said and smiled at his discomfort. “You have also decided to come out on such a grey morning, Your Grace?”
“Well… I…” He seemed so stuck for words and it seemed uncharacteristic from what little she knew of him already.
Such a tall and strong man with steady hazel eyes and thick hair ought never to be stuck for words. And he seemed so wrongfooted by his own loss of composure that Anabelle realised he must almost always be in complete charge.
“I want to see the roses.” Lucy said suddenly, turning to look at Anabelle as if she could solve the problem immediately.
“There is a rose garden, Your Grace?” She said hurriedly, turning to the Duke.
“Yes, it is a little further along the path, just to the left of that tree. You drop down into… Oh, perhaps I ought to just show you?” He said, awkward again.
“Please.” Anabelle said and turned to Lucy. “I hope there are some roses left, my dear. The Summer is almost at an end.”
“And the sunshine will be gone too.” Lucy said as if the very idea of it gave her comfort. “I do not really like flowers, but there were no roses on that day.”
“No roses?” Anabelle said gently.
“There were no roses.” Lucy repeated and Anabelle realised that she would likely get no further.
Instead, she turned her attention upon the Duke, looking sideways at him as they walked. He just shook his head from side to side as if to silently tell her that he, too, could not make any sense of Lucy’s words.
The moment they dropped down into the beautiful, secluded little rose garden, Lucy gently broke free from Anabelle and set off alone. It was such a small and enclosed garden that Anabelle did not think she could come to any particular harm and so she watched her closely but left her to go her own way for a few minutes.
Lucy hurried over to some deep pink roses, pausing in front of them to stare intently at the petals. She seemed almost mesmerized by them, but for the fact that she looked up every so often towards the sky, as if checking the sunshine had not returned whilst her attention had been otherwise engaged.
“Miss Brock, I must apologize.” The Duke said and seemed to have regained his former confident and strident manner.
“Your Grace?” Anabelle said and chanced to look up into his hazel eyes.
“I believe you correctly perceived that I did not appear out here today by coincidence.”
“It hardly matters, Your Grace. These are your grounds, after all, and you may surely walk wherever you choose.”
“You will likely think that I am something of a mistrustful man, but I am not. I do not follow to check upon you, Miss Brock, but rather to check upon my sister. Even when she is as comfortable with a person as she appears to be with you, still there are moments where she breaks with reason in a most upsetting way. I suppose I wanted to be sure that you were not unduly disturbed by it.”
“I am not unduly disturbed, Your Grace, I am made sad by it.” She said, remembering the awful feeling of watching Lucy strike her own forehead. “Perhaps you are worried, Your Grace, that I have already chosen to leave Westward. But I have not; I am not disturbed and I am not afraid.”
“I daresay that a young woman who willfully runs from her cousin’s house into a most uncertain future is not so easily frightened.” He smiled at her, only briefly, but she easily saw that his intention was to compliment her.
It gave her a most curious feeling in her throat, as if she had swallowed a butterfly and it was flapping and thrashing for escape.
Her life for the last few years had been so filled with cares for her father and then, when he was gone, fears for herself, that ideas of attraction and romance had never once occurred to her. Such things were for other women, ones with carefree and frivolous lives. Certainly, such things were not for Anabelle Brock. For Anabelle Brock, survival was the key to life, not love.
“I wish there was something I could do to help your sister. And if, as you say, she has not always been in this condition, perhaps there is a road out of her misery.” Anabelle spoke quickly as if trying to verbally outrun her little moment of attraction. Such moments of attraction for a Duke would certainly lead nowhere and ultimately do her no good whatsoever.
“I have tried and tried to find out what it is which holds my sister, but it is as if she cannot tell me. Almost as if she does not really know.” He said, staring over to where his sister still stood rooted to the spot staring intently at the roses.
“Yes, I think I understand what you are saying, Your Grace. It is like there are snippets of information, tiny slices of memory perhaps.”
“Perhaps it is past grief coming back to haunt her. And if it is, I fear that she may never get out. There have been a great many tragedies in her life, you see.”
“And yours, I believe.” Anabelle said before she could stop herself.
“Quite.” He said, almost dismissively as Anabelle’s cheeks threatened to flare bright red.
“Would it be possible, Your Grace, if I do not ask too much, for you to tell me a little of the events leading up to your sister’s current illness?” Anabelle said, knowing that she would not have asked such a question if she did not seek to distance herself from her own little bout of overfamiliarity with the Duke.
“Of course.” He said and nodded. “We were at a garden party in early Spring, as I think I have mentioned to you before.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“She was perfectly all right to begin with, the same quiet, shy, but openhearted young woman I have always known her to be. She is not often out in society, and never at evening events at such a young age, but I was introducing her to the world a little more. I thought a garden party the perfect way of doing that.” He said as if he entirely blamed himself and was seeking for a way to explain.
“Yes, that sounds a very sensible way of doing things.” Anabelle said, keen to relieve him of any extra suffering that was, ultimately, self-inflicted.
“Her pallor suddenly changed before my very eyes. She was staring off into the distance and although I did not think too greatly about it in the beginning, I am certain now that she looked afraid.” He shook his head rather vigorously. “Unless I am simply adding that now as a means of explaining all of this.”
“Perhaps you should go with what you remember, or what you think you remember, Your Grace. You really never know what might help.” Anabelle was keen to hear all of it.
“She hardly spoke for the rest of the afternoon although we were, in truth, only there for another hour. I knew that she was not feeling herself and I truly believed that she was either just a little tired or a little cold. If only I had…” He trailed off. “Anyway, when it became clear that she could no longer function in the company we were in, company with whom she had been conversing just a little while earlier, I knew I must take her home. I could not get a word out of her in the carriage and her face was so pale. I handed her into the care of Mrs Arklow the moment we returned home and she, like me, assumed some physical exhaustion and put her to bed.”
“When did the confusion manifest itself?”
“The following day. Although I suppose it is true to say that it manifested itself immediately, that very moment at the garden party. For when I look back at it now, the last real conversation I had with my sister was in the moments before her color and expression changed. If only I had known, then that it was that very moment in which I had lost her.”
“I really am so very sorry, Your Grace. Forgive me, you must not think that you have lost your sister. I know it is an easy thing for me to say, one who has just arrived and is not exhausted by grief, but do not give up just yet.�
�� She said and realised that she was, once again, being far too familiar with a man of such title, not to mention a man she hardly knew.
“No, I suppose not.” He said vaguely. “I have turned it over and over in my mind and wondered what it was that day which set this off. In the end, I could only think that it was the water barrel.” He shrugged. “That maybe she had seen it and remembered…”
“Anabelle!” Lucy shouted at the top of her voice, startling them both.
“What is it?” Anabelle said, as both she and the Duke rushed to Lucy’s side.
“Look at the grass.” Lucy said tremulously. “Sunshine is coming. I can see it there even if I do not look up.”
“Then we shall go inside, my dear.” Anabelle said and took Lucy by the hand. “I promised you that we need not be out here if the sun came out.” She said, peering down at the light-yellow glow on the lawn beneath their feet.
“I shall come with you too, Lucy.” The Duke said, standing at the other side of Lucy so that she was flanked and protected.
And so, the little party made their way back along the path towards the house. Lucy did not speak at all, seeming lost again in the cloud of thought or imagination, whichever one had her in its grip.
“And once we get back inside, my dear, I will send for some tea and we can sit by the fire for a while and I shall read to you.” Anabelle said and looked to her side for any sign that Lucy had heard her at all.
But Lucy was looking down at her toes as they appeared with every step from the cover of the long hem of her gown. She was concentrating on getting back inside, gripping Anabelle’s hand in her fear.
It was so clear to Anabelle then that Lucy was running from somebody, so clear that Anabelle was almost compelled to look over her shoulder as if the very devil who chased Lucy would be there in the flesh.
She wanted to ask Lucy who it was, who she was running from, but she knew in that moment that it would not help. Lucy was afraid, truly afraid, and it would do the girl no good now to be questioned. Much better to get her inside and back to her chamber where she felt safe once more.
They continued in silence for the rest of the way and Anabelle realised, when they were but halfway up the stairs approaching the vast stone archway at the top, that Lucy was now not gripping her hand so tightly. Her breathing was still a little labored, but they had hurried their way back into the building and all three of them were somewhat out of breath.
She wanted some time to discuss it all with the Duke, to part with the information she had gathered and the theories she had concocted in case there was something there he would recognise. Something which might immediately be used to help Lucy.
But she had already clearly overstepped the mark at least twice in his company that morning and knew that it would be foolhardy to continue in that vein.
And it would certainly be too much now to ask him what on earth was so important about a water barrel at a garden party. It was a theory of his own and one which he had clearly been about to tell her. But that was in the curious closeness down in the rose garden and Anabelle knew that she could not rely on that openness returning. She would just have to take it little by little, day by day.
And there was always Mrs Arklow. Perhaps she knew the significance of the water barrel.
Chapter Ten
“Are you quite sure you have the time, Mrs Arklow?” Anabelle said some days later as she fastened her cloak and tied the ribbons of her bonnet.
“I have more time than ever now that you are here, Miss Brock. And I promised you, did I not?” Mrs Arklow smiled and leaned across the table at which she sat with Lucy to pour the tea. “And Lucy and I are going to enjoy a nice cup of tea and some cake and bread-and-butter.” She went on, as if gently instructing Lucy that she must eat something.
“Well, thank you. It is a fine day and I really will only be gone for half an hour.”
Having structured mealtimes with Lucy in her room had not been the only little routine that Anabelle had set in motion. As promised, Mrs Arklow had been determined to give Anabelle a little break at some point every day, either to amuse herself in the library choosing books to read to Lucy or wandering the grounds to get some fresh air. It was certainly no more than an hour a day, but it was very welcome.
Anabelle already cared a great deal for Lucy but the emotions of their constant companionship, day in day out, were somewhat draining.
“You might as well be gone for longer than that for I am sure that it would take us at least an hour to have our afternoon tea.”
“Thank you, Mrs Arklow.” Anabelle said gratefully.
“And I will leave a plate of bread-and-butter and some cake for you and, when you return, I will have some fresh tea sent up.”
“You need not go to such trouble, Mrs Arklow.” Anabelle said, feeling grateful enough for a little break in the day that she did not want to feel guilty and ruin it.
“It will be no trouble.” Mrs Arklow eyed her intently. “I do believe that things are going much better now that you are here. Perhaps it is your youth, or even just a new face, but I have a feeling. It is a good feeling, you see, a bright feeling for the future.”
“It is very nice to hear you say such a thing, Mrs Arklow. I had wondered if my work here was making any difference at all.”
“It is making a difference, and that difference is not only in Lucy.” She lowered her voice but did not elaborate any further.
Realizing that it was entirely indelicate to push for more, Anabelle let the comment rest where it was.
“Right, enjoy your afternoon tea.” She said to Mrs Arklow and Lucy with a smile. “I will be back in a little while, Lucy.”
“Yes, all right.” Lucy said, her eyes straying to the window as she peered doubtfully at the weak sunshine.
Anabelle had to admit that, despite Lucy’s misgivings, she was looking forward to a few moments in the last of the Summer sunshine. She wondered if her hour would give her enough time to walk down to the first of the lakes and back.
She had not been that far yet and thought it would be wonderful to stare out across the water. To see the sunlight reflected there would be peaceful and reviving all at once, she was sure.
And perhaps, when Lucy was a little stronger, the two of them could take some grey, wintry walks that far. This would be a fact-finding mission, she would find out exactly how long it took to walk there and back.
As she walked beneath the great stone arch and began to descend the staircase, Anabelle could hardly believe that she had only been there at Westward Hall for three weeks. She had barely given her cousin Leopold a moment’s thought, except to wonder what he thought might have become of her. With any luck, he simply assumed that she had disappeared to live on the streets, just as he had claimed she would need to do without money.
She thought again of her sixty pounds a year and wondered if he would truly have the gall to continue to lay claim to it. Would the attorney who had dealt with the dissolution of her father’s estate not have any suspicions at all? Since he did not know her, she thought not.
But what did that matter now? She had a life and she was safe. She lived in a beautiful place with such grounds as she would never have enjoyed otherwise. Of course, it was not her house but, in a sense, it was her home.
She was bound to this place now, held there firmly by the young woman who was coming to depend upon her.
And everything was different now; she was safe. She had respectable employment, a fine roof over her head, the most advantageous of circumstances in her own personal comfort, and even new friends if she counted Lucy, Mrs Arklow, and Miriam.
She wondered if these new friendships had gone some way to making her feel physically much healthier. Surely it was not simply the fact that she could sleep in safety now, not listening for every creak and wondering if that would be the night her cousin would brazenly walk into her chamber.
But perhaps the removal of fear really did do much for a person’s well-being. She thou
ght again of Lucy and that look of fear which crossed those pretty hazel eyes so often. Fear of any kind was a dreadful thing, whether it be fear of the unknown, fear of the future, or fear of a living, breathing person. Fear was all-consuming, and it did, she realised, have a great effect upon a person’s physicality.
If only she could put together Lucy’s words and make some sense of them. If only she could find a few minutes alone with Mrs Arklow to quiz her about the water barrel and its significance. For in the end, Anabelle could not help but feel that there was a puzzle of some sort to be solved. Perhaps not something as innocent as a puzzle, more a mystery, but certainly something there for which there was an answer. All she had to do was piece together the little clues that were given to her but rarely by a frail, damaged girl.
As she was reaching the bottom of the staircase, Anabelle was vaguely aware of the sound of carriage wheels on the gravel outside. She thought nothing of it; perhaps it was the Duke returning from some excursion or other.
And so, she made her way to the main door, only to be met there quite suddenly by Mr Standish, the butler. His eyes widened when he saw her approach.
“Forgive me, Mr Standish, I did not mean to come upon you so suddenly.” She said with a smile.
“Do not worry about that at all, Miss Brock. I was in a little world of my own, that’s all.” He said and smiled back.
She had been a little wary of Mr Standish in the beginning, finding him a little stiff and unapproachable. And he was hardly much more than that now, but at least she was starting to see a little warmth in his eyes and the occasional smile. That was progress, as far as Anabelle was concerned, and she would be grateful for it.
“I am just heading out for a little walk, Mr Standish. Mrs Arklow is sitting with Lady Lucy for a while.” Anabelle felt the need to explain herself and Mr Standish looked pleased that his approval was being sought for once.
“Well, you enjoy your walk, Miss Brock.” He smiled again; two smiles in one encounter, a minor miracle. “Here, allow me.” He said and opened the door for her.
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