The constable put a hand on Edward’s shoulder. Edward stood without a word to anyone in his family and allowed the constable to lead him out to the wagon. Constable Adams tied his hands to the railing on the wagon seat. Edward looked back at his family as the constable drove him toward the town jail. He didn’t know how long it would take for Ashby to get him released, but he knew his father wouldn’t make him sit in jail for long, if only to keep society from gossiping.
He was put in a cell by himself. Edward didn’t speak to the constable; he didn’t eat the food brought to him for the afternoon meal or evening meal. Edward tried to sleep but couldn’t get his mind to stop racing. If Phillip were dead, Edward knew his brother’s spirit would be sitting with him, lending him support and comfort in the cell. He didn’t realize he fell asleep until the keys to the cell hit against the bars.
“Wake up, Lord Edward,” Constable Adams said, walking into the cell with a tray of food. “It’s morning. You must be hungry.”
Edward groggily looked up at him. “I’m not hungry. You may take the plate away.”
“If you desire me to do so, I will,” he said, picking up the tray. “Once you tell me where you put your brother’s body, we can discuss your future.”
Edward glared at the constable. “I didn’t attack my brother. You are accusing the wrong man.”
“Lord Arundel,” Constable Adams said.
Edward looked out the cell in confusion. When he saw they were still alone he asked, “Why are you calling me by my brother’s name?”
“It’s now your title. Your brother is dead, which makes you the Earl of Arundel.”
“My brother is still alive. He is the earl. I am not. Nor will I ever be.” Edward lay back down on the cot and turned his back toward Constable Adams.
“If you say so,” Adams responded.
Edward heard him leave the cell and lock it again. He didn’t turn to see if Adams left the area. He stayed facing the wall and eventually fell asleep again. As the morning turned into night, Edward continued to hope his father would get him released from the cell. He heard Ashby arguing with Adams at one point during the day but wasn’t allowed to see him.
Edward refused to eat throughout his entire time in the cell. On the fourth morning, he was released. His father’s solicitor walked into the jail and handed over paperwork. Within an hour Edward was sitting in a carriage going home to Wentworth Hall.
Seven
Headaches were a common occurrence for Phillip as his body continued to heal. Each time he was administered laudanum, he slept for long periods of time. Sometimes days would pass before the headache would dissolve.
He tried to pull out of a drug-induced sleep when his mind turned to a dream. While riding a horse, he watched from a distance as two girls ran through an apple orchard. The older girl had golden hair, and the younger had auburn. Both were dressed in frocks, indicating they were enjoying free time from daily studies with a governess. The governess followed with a scowl at a much slower pace, as she was not as young and quick as she needed to be for small children.
“Marianne. Charlotte. Don’t climb the tree,” the governess called out to the girls as she tried to catch up to them.
“Marianne,” the older called out to her sister, “you cannot catch me.”
They both ran crisscrossing through the trees farther away from the governess. It wasn’t long before they were out of the governess’s sight and climbing trees.
“I can climb higher than you,” Marianne called over to her sister.
“You cannot reach the top like me,” Charlotte challenged back.
“I can see Phillip and Edward,” Marianne yelled over as she continued to climb. “I am climbing higher than you.”
It was true. Marianne was climbing to the top of the tree where the branches were not as thick as they were below. The branches broke as she continued to climb. She was frightened. She cried and Charlotte called for Phillip to help.
The boys who looked like doubles were suddenly next to the tree, one climbing to the top to help his little sister down. The only difference between them was the slight difference in the color of their hair. Streaks of brown filtered through the hair of the one who stayed below the tree. The other had spent too much time in the sun, and the streaks in his hair had been bleached to be more blond than brown.
“Phillip, hurry!” Charlotte called out from the bottom of the tree. “She’s going to fall.”
It was true. The branches were breaking at the top of the tree. The governess found the children and was yelling at the two on the ground for allowing their sister to climb the apple tree. When the boy named Phillip reached his sister, he began talking her down the tree and guiding her as she slowly made her way to the bottom. When she was almost at the bottom, the governess grabbed her leg, thinking it would be easier to pull her down instead of waiting for her to finish the descent. As Marianne fell the rest of the way out of the tree, the governess missed catching her and she hit the ground. She burst into tears from her injury.
The dream shifted as the children were now all standing in front of a man. Although a towering man, he held his crying child in his arms and comforted her. The governess told the story from her perspective. She blamed the twin boys for encouraging their sister to climb the tree, even though neither had done so. The dream shifted as Phillip was slapped across the face. His father’s ring turned, so the family crest was on the inside of his hand when he slapped the boy, causing blood to form near his left eye.
Phillip woke with a start. He pulled himself up and tried to get out of the bed. He was confused by his surroundings as he was coming out of a drugged-induced sleep, but the dream he’d just woken from had been far too real to be his imagination.
“Calm down,” he heard a woman say. He turned to see Lady Amelia sitting next to him. She gently pushed him back onto the bed and pulled the covers back up. A wet cloth was placed against his forehead. The calming effect this had on him helped his heart rate return to normal, and he was able to go back into another dream-filled sleep.
When he was able to pull out of the haze caused by the laudanum, he remembered every detail of the dream, except the names of the children. He realized it was the early hours of morning, and the vigil the Parkers kept at his bed was vacant. Pulling himself to the end of the bed across from the only mirror in the room, he moved his finger over the scar next to his left eye.
The children in the dream were his siblings. He was certain of the relationship with them. The man who hit him was his father; again, there was no question in his mind to the identity of the man. The most frustrating part of waking up from a dream where a memory had come back was the lack of remembering names. The only name he did remember was Miss Hazel, the governess. Remembering her name wasn’t much use to him in his situation, but it was a start.
He was able to venture out to the garden for a short walk as his headache subsided. He was still a tad murky from the laudanum, but as Nurse Brown left his room to rest, he dressed and made his escape from the confining room. He loved the sunlight and missed being in nature when he was shut in his room.
As he hobbled through the garden on crutches, he anticipated seeing Emma each time he rounded a corner or bend in the walkway, but she was absent. He wandered out to the stable yard, hoping to find her. But she was not to be found.
He didn’t know why her absence bothered him. He was surprised when he woke the few times during this last headache to find she wasn’t sitting near him reading. She had made a concerted effort to bring him joy by reading something from Shakespeare to him each time he had been ill. But this time she stayed away. An emptiness entered his heart without her.
“Do you know where I can find Miss Emma?” he asked when he saw one of the servants. He didn’t know the man’s name.
“I believe she is collecting strawberries in the field with Miss Parker, Master Henr
y, and Master Richard.” The young man pointed toward the south end of the property.
He debated with himself on the wisdom of following them out to the strawberry patch for only a short minute. He loved strawberries. The cook at Springhill Abby made the best strawberry preserves he had ever tasted, which, as he thought about it, didn’t mean much, since he couldn’t remember if he had ever eaten strawberries before.
He decided to venture out to help with the collection. He found he was winded after a short time, due to having to use crutches on the dirt, grass, and weeds covering the small hill he had to climb to get to the group. He could see Emma and her siblings off in the distance and attempted to increase his speed so he could help collect and sneak a taste of the strawberries. He admired her dark brown hair, almond-shaped green eyes, and slender figure.
“What are you doing out here?” Henry asked, handing his crutches to Richard and helping him down to the ground.
“I wanted to help collect strawberries,” he said, hoping Emma would come closer to him. Again, he marveled at the desire he had to be near her.
Richard grabbed a bucket and passed it to him. “You can fill this, but stay down so you don’t injure yourself.”
“Not a problem,” he said with a laugh. “I have to admit I couldn’t go much further. I’m a bit tired from the hike.”
As he collected the strawberries around him, he thought again about the dream he had the previous night. He didn’t mention the dream to anyone, because he didn’t know how to reconcile the feelings he had toward his father and he didn’t want to discuss them. His dream had been vivid, almost as if he could feel the slap across his face and the skin ripping from beside his eye.
“What are you doing out here?” Emma asked as she sat next to him. Her eyes sparkled as the sun hit them.
“I decided fresh strawberries are better than preserves,” he said, popping a small strawberry in his mouth.
“How many of those strawberries have you eaten?”
He looked at his bucket; it had about two layers in it—nowhere near the amount she had in hers. He reached over and picked a few out of her bucket and bit into each one, in turn throwing the leaves and stem to the side. “I’ve eaten far too many of my own. I hardly have any in my bucket for the kitchen staff,” he said with a mischievous smile.
She grabbed her bucket as he reached for more strawberries, trying to keep them safe from him. “You act as though you’ve never eaten a strawberry in your life,” she chided.
“I don’t remember ever eating strawberries,” he responded with a smile.
She laughed out loud, which drew the attention of her brothers. He picked another strawberry out of the ground and put it in his mouth.
“What are you laughing about?” Richard asked as all of her siblings approached.
Anne sat next to Phillip, and he reached over to take a few of her strawberries from her bucket.
Pointing to Phillip, Emma said, “He can’t remember if he has ever eaten a strawberry before coming here. And so he is eating as many as he can.”
Henry looked over at him. “Well, at least we know you will eat strawberries. Mother has been trying to figure out what to give you to make you gain some weight.”
“Give me anything with strawberries, and I will eat it,” he said, stealing a few more from Anne’s bucket.
Richard pulled him off the ground, and Henry handed him his crutches. He wobbled a little, feeling as though he’d stood up too quickly. He was thankful no one noticed the sway. He watched as Emma grabbed his bucket, and they slowly made their way back to Springhill Abby.
As they walked, he listened to the Parkers joking with each other and enjoying their time together as family. He hoped he and his siblings were similar to them and enjoyed each other’s company.
As they neared the house, another headache pierced his head and neck. He wasn’t sure how it happened, but he found himself on the ground, vomiting and shaking. All of the precious strawberries he’d picked and eaten were coming out of him through his mouth and nose.
“Get Nurse Brown,” he heard Henry call out as he fell to the side.
This headache had come faster than any of the other headaches he’d experienced while at Springhill Abby. He tried to pull himself off the ground and tried to speak but could not form the words he wanted to say.
“What happened?” Lord Anthony asked as he rushed upon the scene.
His body shook from cold chills. He could feel the sweat accumulating on his head. He opened his eyes and tried to focus, but the sun was far too bright and he regretted the attempt.
“Richard, send Andy for Doctor Price,” Lady Amelia said as Henry and Lord Anthony picked him up from the ground.
He knew he was mumbling. He couldn’t form a coherent sentence. He wanted to ask what was happening to him. He worried the injuries to his head were so extensive he would suffer with headaches for the rest of his life. He worried he was going to be a burden on the Parkers and his family once they found him.
“What was he doing outside?” Lady Amelia asked as she pulled his one boot from his foot.
“He wanted to help pick strawberries,” Emma replied. “He said he loves strawberries.”
He could tell his jacket was being removed, the jacket he’d been given from Henry because his was in tatters from his accident.
“Emma, go out. You too Anne,” Lady Amelia said to her daughters.
His head was ready to explode. He couldn’t tell them to let him suffer without the laudanum. He hated the laudanum and knew the minute they tipped the bottle in his mouth he’d have strange dreams and groggy, muddled thoughts.
Eight
“He never should’ve been out of this bed,” Doctor Price said to the nurse in frustration.
“I apologize,” Nurse Brown stammered. “I left for an hour to get rest, and when I returned he was gone.”
“Doctor Price,” Lady Amelia said in a calming tone, “I should have been in here so Nurse Brown could get some rest. Or I should have asked a maid to stay in here. This is as much my fault as hers.”
Doctor Price changed his tune as Emma’s mother took partial responsibility for the careless watch. He stammered and sputtered for a moment. “Lady Amelia, can you tell me what occurred during the dream he experienced last night?”
“Do you think it would be useful to mention the dream to him, Doctor?” her father asked.
“It could help bring back some memories. I do think we should ask him about this girl, Marianne,” the doctor replied, “although I think we should have the laudanum ready in case the memory causes him stress. He is still too weak to be under a severe amount of stress. The head injuries he incurred have been far worse than I originally anticipated.”
Henry interjected into the conversation, “He was joking around when he came out to the strawberry field. He was fine until we neared the house.”
“I agree,” Richard said, supporting his brother. “What could’ve caused such a vigorous headache?”
Doctor Price shook his head. “It is hard to say. I don’t know what is causing the headaches.”
“Could there be an internal injury we don’t know about?” her father asked.
Emma closed her eyes as the doctor responded, “If there is, I can’t do anything to fix the issue. He will continue to fall ill.”
“Can he live like this?” her mother asked, concern etched in her face and voice.
“No, I don’t believe anyone with an internal brain injury can live. He will continue to deteriorate before our eyes.” Doctor Price looked back in the room as they were standing in the hall. “We need to find his family before he passes.”
The thought of their guest passing away from an internal brain injury left Emma sick in her heart. She had feelings for him, and she wanted to keep him in their home forever. He was a kind and generous person. He love
d to tease her, and she was fond of him. To think he was terminally ill made her want to scream.
Before the doctor left, he gave instructions to Emma’s parents and Nurse Brown. Phillip was not to leave the bedchamber when he woke, and he was to eat as much as they could get down him. As Doctor Price was walking out the door he said, “It sounds as though he enjoys strawberries. Perhaps you can get your cook to put them on each plate so he will eat something.”
“We will, Doctor,” her mother responded.
Emma sat next to their guest, reading to him as he went in and out of the drug-induced sleep. He was incoherent for days, and this time the pain lasted longer than it should’ve. She held his arm as the nurse and doctor administered laudanum, because as he came out of sleep he would fight them and beg them not to give him the medication. For a week he couldn’t function, and she wondered if the doctor was correct—if the injuries were inside his brain and if he would survive.
On the eighth day, Emma sat at the table, listening to her parents speaking with Doctor Price. He had come to check on the patient, and her mother had invited him to stay for dinner. As the dessert was being cleared, a maid entered the room.
“Doctor—”
Everyone turned to the maid standing in the doorway.
“He is awake. I have helped him with some porridge, although he told me he could feed himself.”
“How much did he take?” Nurse Brown asked.
“He only ate a fourth of the bowl, and he drank half a glass of milk.”
Everyone exchanged knowing looks. Along with the injuries that his body was attempting to heal, his appetite suffered. He ate very little, and the small amount he did eat was not enough to sustain a grown male. The doctor estimated that Phillip had lost nine kilograms since he’d arrived.
The Earl of Arundel (Earls of England Book 1) Page 5
