by Martha Keyes
The Runner looked at him through narrowed eyes and nodded. "What precisely are ye looking for?"
"I can't say. I suspect that he may be involved in dubious dealings beyond what I know of him already."
The Runner nodded knowingly. "Ye think 'e's an Abram cove? Or a diddler?"
Tobias's lip twitched. "I can't say that I am familiar with those terms, but if they mean what I take them to mean, he may be both of those things. If my suspicions are correct, I anticipate there may be more victims of his charm—women who have fallen prey to his allure."
He handed the man a folded paper with the name Childress written upon it. "Mr. Hackett visited a man by this name at least once in debtor’s prison—King’s Bench. If you can find Childress’s mother, I should like to speak with her. I think she might have helpful information on Hackett as well.”
The Runner folded up the paper and nodded.
“You can find me at The Crown,” Tobias said. “I should like to resolve this as quickly as possible, and I am willing to pay to ensure that I have your full attention to the case."
The Runner's eyes gleamed with excitement at these words, and Tobias left feeling confident, if not in the ethics the man might employ, at least in his dedication to Tobias's cause.
The days of Tobias's absence passed at an agonizingly slow pace for Anne. Hoping to pass the time and perhaps provide some solace to Louisa after her husband's being sent away, Anne had made a trip into town a few days after his departure.
But Mr. Hackett—Anne insisted on correcting herself in both thought and speech whenever she mistakenly referred to him as Anthony—was not gone from the Turner's house. He was outside when she slowed to a stop in the tilbury, holding a cigar to his mouth with his back to her, oblivious to her presence.
Anne's nostrils flared at the sight of him. Was he blatantly ignoring Tobias's instructions?
Beyond that, he had never used cigars during their time together. Seeing him blow a cloud before he noticed her presence was yet another reminder of the farce that was their courting and marriage.
"Anne," he said, dropping the cigar to his side. "I am so pleased to see you."
"I am here to see Louisa," she said, passing him by with her eyes steady on the door.
"Wait," he said in a pleading voice, coming toward her with an outstretched hand.
She stopped, only glancing at him briefly before returning her eyes to the door. Who was this man? So familiar by sight, but never more a stranger than now. And what did he want from her?
She clasped her hands together to avoid his beckoning one. It was the same gesture he had used time and again just a few months ago, pulling her into his arms for an embrace. Nausea washed over her at the thought. That had all been a lie, an act. And she suddenly felt keenly aware that this man whom she knew not at all knew her very well indeed.
His hand stayed suspended in the air for a moment before dropping down to his side. "You look very well," he said, causing her cheeks to warm.
"I am well," she said. She raised her brows expectantly. He could hardly have anything of value to say to her.
He stared at her, his eyes softening, as if remembering as he looked at her.
"What?" she said, suppressing the impulse to shift and squirm under his gaze.
He shook his head with a sad smile. "I never should have left you," he said softly.
Her muscles tightened, and her head began to spin. They were terrible words, and yet somehow she could feel them wearing down the anger she felt toward him. It was dangerous to hear such words. Little though she might love this man, his words targeted the greatest hurt she had experienced from his abandonment: the pain of being unwanted by the person that had supposedly loved her the most.
"I shall step inside now," she said, rapping lightly on the door and praying that it was answered quickly. She could feel her hands trembling and clasped them back together to control them. How did this deceitful man so easily blow her composure to smithereens?
"It wasn't all a lie, you know," he said. "My heart wasn't left untou—"
The door opened, and Anne slipped inside before Mrs. Turner's daughter had time to greet her or invite her in. She pulled off her shawl hurriedly. "Is Louisa here?" she asked as she occupied her shaking hands in folding the shawl.
"Here, my lady," a voice said from the other side of the room.
James lay beside her on the couch, swaddled in a tattered blanket, looking so peaceful that Anne found herself envying him.
Anne sat down on the other side of the baby, putting a hand softly to the cap on his head and then looked up at Louisa. She smiled adoringly down at her baby, her face no longer looking pulled as it had when she had arrived at Hazelhurst a week ago. It was a change which had occurred since her husband's arrival, and Anne felt torn at the sight. She was pleased to see her looking well, and yet, she feared for Louisa—for her heart. What would happen if her husband disappeared yet again?
Anne gave herself a shake. She was seeing too much of herself in Louisa. Mr. Hackett had returned to Louisa; he had returned to his son. He had cared about them enough not to abandon them. They weren't like Anne.
It was as her father said: she couldn't manage to keep any husband. Tobias had fled her presence without so much as a backward glance.
Her father's unwelcome voice sounded in her ears. It behooves you to take greater pains to please him if you don't wish to be further humiliated by reports of the company he does choose to keep in place of yours.
Was that why Tobias had gone to London? Did he have someone there?
"Did my husband come by and speak with you?" Anne forced the words out to dislodge the thoughts in her head.
Louisa shook her head. "We haven't seen him since a few days ago when you both came to visit." James stirred, and she put a hand on him, rocking him gently and shushing him.
Anne frowned. Had something prevented it? He had been adamant that Mr. Hackett was not to remain in the village.
Or had he changed his mind? She wouldn't know until he returned.
If he returned.
The door opened, and Mr. Hackett walked in. It made Anne sick to see the way Louisa looked up at him as if he alone held the key to her happiness.
Anne rose from the couch. "I am very glad to see you going on well. I shan't stay any longer, though," she said, "as I need to pay a visit to Mrs. Newsom at the vicarage before the hour advances too far."
Louisa nodded, picking up James, who seemed to be waking and would likely wish to eat.
"I shall return in two or three days," Anne said, walking to the table where she had set her shawl.
Mr. Hackett held it out, ready to wrap it around Anne's shoulders. Her jaw clenched. The last thing she needed was any physical contact with the man.
"Thank you," she said, more for Louisa's benefit than out of any gratitude, "but I am feeling slightly warm and shan't be needing my shawl." She took it in hand and pulled gently but firmly, dipping into the shallowest curtsy she had ever performed, and then made her way out the door.
There was not a shred of evidence that Louisa knew of Anne's history with her husband, and that thought made Anne cringe. It felt every bit as wrong to keep her in the dark as it had to keep Tobias in the dark. And yet, how could she explain everything to Louisa and watch her react to such a revelation? Would it break her heart?
Anne would have to work up the courage for such an errand.
When she arrived at the vicarage, it was to quite a ruckus. The vicar was out making a visit to a sick parishioner, and the servant who answered the door led Anne into the dining area where Mrs. Newsom sat, her arms folded on the table and her head resting in them, hiding her face from view. Two of the children were fighting over a toy, while the third tugged on his mother's skirts persistently, asking for food with a voice that increased in volume with each demand.
"Do you have a piece of bread or cheese for the boy?" Anne asked the servant in a low voice.
The woman nodded a
nd went off to find it.
Anne rushed over to the fighting children, putting a hand on their shoulders. "That will do," she said, gentle but firm. "Can you see that your mother is not feeling well?"
Their eyes searched the room, landing upon their mother, as if they had hardly been aware of her presence in the room. Mrs. Newsom's head raised from her arms upon hearing Anne's voice, and Anne sent her an understanding smile. The woman had large circles under her eyes, and her hair was coming undone from what had likely been a neat coiffure earlier in the day.
"I think it would be very kind indeed," Anne said to the children, "if one of you were to rub your mother's back and the other of you to hold her hand and sing her a song."
"But that is Mama's job," said the little girl with a frown. "She does that for us before bed."
"And do you like it?" Anne asked.
The little girl and boy nodded.
"Well," Anne said, leaning in and whispering so that the children were obliged to come closer, "sometimes mothers need someone to rub their back and sing them songs, too, you know. And I think that the baby in your mother's belly might like it, too, perhaps."
"I shall sing to baby sister," said the little girl excitedly.
"It is not baby sister! It is baby brother," said the boy, folding his arms and scowling.
"No it isn't! For there are already two boys and only one girl."
Seeing that yet another dispute was about to break out, Anne put a finger to her lips to shush them.
"Perhaps you could sing together?"
They considered the suggestion for a moment, looking at one another with a questioning but wary look, then nodded.
The servant entered with a small plate of cheese, bread, and a few tarts, which the smallest of the three children ran over to immediately. Anne watched as the other two approached their mother and the small girl began singing a song which her brother joined in on, putting a hand to the part of his mother's back which he could reach and making little circling motions. He looked to Anne as if to confirm that he was doing it correctly, and Anne gave him a nod and smile of encouragement. Mrs. Newsom sat with a tired but relieved smile on her face, and Anne wondered if this was the first tranquil moment she'd had all day.
The children sang two songs, after which Anne suggested that they go find a bouquet of orange and yellow leaves to gift their mother—an idea which was very well accepted by the children, all three of whom snatched from the tray of food whatever they could fit in two fists and bounded out of the room toward the front door.
"Bless your kind soul, my lady," said Mrs. Newsom, and the little sniff which followed her words made abundantly clear to Anne how very at her wit's end the vicar's wife must be to feel such gratitude for such a small thing.
Anne sat down beside her, taking Mrs. Newsom's hand in hers. "It was but five minutes. I wish I could give you five hours' rest."
Mrs. Newsom sighed and smiled weakly. "Five minutes can refresh me enough to make it another hour or two." She put a hand to her stomach.
"When do you expect your lying-in to begin?" Anne asked.
"Any day now."
Anne thought of what life would be like with an infant added to the chaos she had just witnessed. Certainly Mrs. Newsom must feel taxed past her abilities being so near to giving birth, but a needy, crying infant would intensify the anarchy five-fold, surely.
"Have you considered a wet-nurse for the baby? Or perhaps someone to care for the children?"
Mrs. Newsom sighed. "None of the village women are able to perform such a task at this time." She rubbed her belly softly. "But we shall make do." She whispered the words, as if she were talking to the baby rather than to Anne.
"And what of you, my lady? How are you and Mr. Cosgrove?"
"We are very well, thank you. He might have joined me today but for the fact that he was obliged to make an unexpected trip to London." Anne tried to smile convincingly, hoping that the vicar's wife couldn't see into her hurting heart the way Anne had so easily perceived Mrs. Newsom's exhaustion.
When Anne left Mrs. Newsom twenty minutes later, the woman seemed to have a bit more energy, a fact which relieved Anne but also left her driving home with a crease in her brow. There were so many burdens that needed lifting in the world and seemingly not enough backs to bear them on.
16
As the carriage pulled into the Hazelhurst courtyard, Tobias bit at a knuckle, feeling no closer to arriving at a decision regarding how to handle the information he had come by while in town than when he had left London two days ago.
It was validating to know he had not been wrong about Mr. Hackett, and yet there was no pleasure in such knowledge, for it meant a number of unpleasant things.
It meant causing his wife pain—how much pain, he couldn't be sure. And that was the thought that made him so devilish nervous to deliver the news. Somehow it seemed that much hinged upon her reaction—that it would tell Tobias how much of her heart still belonged to the man, undeserving beast that he was.
Louisa, too, was likely to be devastated. And what of James? The fellow would grow up either fatherless or with a cur for a father.
None of these were happy thoughts.
But before Tobias delivered such news, there were a few arrangements that needed to be made. He needed to ensure that Mr. Hackett couldn't do any more harm than he already had. And just as importantly, he needed to make arrangements for the house in the village to be set to rights without delay. He only hoped that it wouldn’t be necessary to house more people than it could accommodate comfortably.
He sucked in a deep breath and let it out in a sigh as the carriage came to a stop.
His heart quickened as he thought of seeing Anne again. His time in London had not put a stop to the attachment he felt to her—if anything, it had strengthened it. He had found himself thinking of her almost constantly, and no late nights at Brooks's, no hours-long games of whist had ousted her from his thoughts.
Instead, he found himself wishing she were with him, taking in the sights of the town together, her looking up at him with those deep brown eyes that he never tired of looking into.
Had she missed him as he had missed her? He couldn't allow himself to hope for such a thing, of course, but neither could he stop himself from hoping it. More likely, she would look at him with the frustration and hurt that had been in her eyes when he had left.
But he needed to see her, all the same, just for a moment. Then he could arrange to meet with Wallace and begin making the necessary preparations.
He searched Anne out first thing upon arrival, finding her in the small conservatory where she sat before an easel, a paint-smudged apron tied around her, her brush to the canvas, and her head tilted adorably to the side as she focused intently on a brush stroke. She was stunning, framed by the golden afternoon glow which bathed the entire room. He had never watched her paint before.
His foot made a shuffling sound on the stone floor, and he winced as her head whipped around.
A large smile spread across her face, and she rushed to stand. "Tobias!" she said, and the hope he had been trying to stifle burgeoned in his chest at the sight of her reacting in such a way to his return. Perhaps he had been wrong, after all. Perhaps her heart was not wrapped up in Mr. Hackett.
He strode over to her, unable to prevent his own responsive grin as he took her hand in his.
"I hadn't any notion you were returning today," she said with a little flutter of her eyelids. Was it shyness? She looked at the mess around her easel and wiped a hand down her apron. "If I had known, I would have been there to welcome you home—and certainly not wearing an apron."
He stepped back, still holding her hand in his, and surveyed her. "Well, that would have been a shame, wouldn't it? For I have become quite fond of the sight of you in Hussar-colored paint."
She laughed—a sound he had missed terribly—and he noted with no small sense of endearment that the scene she had been painting—an ocean landscape—was form
ed entirely of white and Hussar blue, in all the shades they could possibly create when mixed together. Deep, pure Hussar blue contrasted with bright hues Tobias recognized from when the sun shone directly upon the Dorset sea, the waves tipped with frothy, light blues. It was a unique and beautiful approach to a familiar vista. How had he never walked the nearby beaches with Anne?
He knew that the task of conveying what he had learned loomed over them, but today, he simply wished to enjoy Anne's company.
"Come," he said, tugging her hand.
She resisted a bit, but she was smiling curiously at him. "Come where?"
He winked at her. "You shall see. We are going outside."
"Shall I get my pelisse?"
Tobias shook his head, grinning. "Come." He was fairly certain that he would like nothing more than to keep Anne warm himself if the need arose.
It was a bright, cloudless afternoon, and despite the cool October air, the sun warmed their backs as they shuffled through the fallen leaves, Tobias pulling Anne along the trail that led from Hazelhurst and wound down a hill toward the pebbled beach below, where the waves tugged and pushed on the rocks.
They stopped to watch the waves when they reached the bottom, and Tobias stooped to pick up a rock, letting go of Anne's hand as he attempted to skip it across the water, but only succeeding in burying it deep in one of the approaching waves.
Anne made a tsk-ing noise, but her eyes teased him. "You must be out of practice.”
Tobias smiled down at her challengingly. "You can do better, I take it?" He picked up another rock, handed it to her, and said, "By all means, instruct me."
She hesitated as she took the rock in hand, and Tobias schooled his expression into one of patient curiosity.
A particularly large wave broke, sending water rushing toward them. Tobias grabbed Anne's hand and pulled her away as she let out something between a laugh and a cry, the rock he had given her dropping into the shallow water below.
They were too late in their escape to avoid the wave altogether, and the water rose to their ankles—nearly reaching the cliffs behind them—before retreating again.
