by Liz Tyner
He lowered his chin and looked at her as if looking down the sights of a gun. ‘You’ll marry well. You’ll be happy. Just like your mother and I. And your children will thank you.’
She bit the inside of her cheek, waiting.
‘This is enough of this talk,’ he said. ‘You’ll be going to the upstairs room and you will be staying there until you come to your senses.’ He bent his head down. ‘I did not appreciate how you stayed off to yourself at Lady Cruise’s birthday celebration. You hardly spoke one word during your dance with Lord Richard. His father is a duke, and even if the lad is only the fourth son that’s still a duke’s son.’ He raised his hand in tandem with his face. ‘You hardly looked at him during the whole dance.’
‘Father. Have you ever listened to him? Yes, he’s a duke’s son and he can say that in five languages.’
His jaw shuddered when he shook his head. ‘Enough. I will not allow you to throw away such opportunities like your sisters did. We will do right by you.’
‘By sending me to the attic? Where the maid sleeps?’ When a viscount’s son visited? That was so unlike her father. She would have expected him to have pulled her by both arms into the room with the man.
‘In this case, yes.’
‘What’s wrong with him?’
‘Nothing,’ her father said. ‘But he’s spent his life...not like the Duke’s son. Lord Richard is admirable. Respectable. And I know he thinks highly of you.’
Before she could stop herself, her eyes flicked to the ceiling.
‘You will stay out of the way for the next few days.’ Her father’s brows met in the centre.
She tucked a finger into the book. ‘I have no wish to interfere. I just don’t wish to move to the upper floor. Although perhaps it will seem more lively with Myrtle about. I never know what she might say when I ask her for something. She once returned three times to ask me what I sent her for. It was easier to get it myself.’
‘She’s a good servant.’ Her father moved his head so that he looked into her eyes. ‘Myrtle has served my family her whole life. Loyal to the last heartbeat.’
‘But both my sisters’ rooms are empty now. The guest will have a place to stay there.’
He shook his head. ‘No. He is here to discuss business. We cannot risk you disrupting it. And it would not be proper for you to be near. Besides, he is not interested in a marriage. Lord Richard is. End of subject.’
She closed the book and watched her hand as she ran her fingers over the spine. ‘Do you not think I am wise enough to make my own decisions?’
‘Of course you are.’
‘I would sometimes like to... Perhaps I should go stay with my cousin while the visitor is here? I would like that. You always insist she visit me and never allow me to take the coach to their home. I hardly ever leave the house and, if I do, it is always with you and Mother.’
‘I do not want you, my only sensible daughter, to risk becoming ill like your mother. Your mother has never been the same since your birth.’ His bottom lip quivered. ‘But, of course, we are ever thankful for you and we would not change a thing.’
She could not answer. She hated her mother’s frailty as well, but she would risk her own health to step outside the doors.
‘It is only because I care for you.’ His chest heaved. ‘If you do not wish to wed, I can accept that. But if you do wed, then you will marry a man of standing. It is for your benefit to marry well.’
‘I know.’
‘Promise me you’ll keep out of sight while my guest is here. And not forget like you did last time. I heard you in the hallway.’
‘I won’t forget.’
It would be no use arguing with him. He only cared for her safety and happiness. She smiled at him. He nodded, glanced at the book in her hands and left.
She turned back to the novel although she wasn’t fond of Swift. She didn’t feel like reading.
Twisting the bracelet on her arm, she stared at it. The circle of sapphire stones in the silver setting swallowed her arm. But what good did it do to have jewellery if no one ever saw it?
If she had mentioned a wish for a dozen horses, her parents would have put them at her fingertips, but not at her disposal.
She knew the man had been in the sitting room the day before. Had heard the deep rumble of his voice and had followed it. Then the physician had almost caught her eavesdropping, but she’d managed a laugh and told him he had a smudge of jam on his face. That smudge of jam had diverted his attention.
The only person besides relatives and servants to visit was the physician. She didn’t particularly like him, but he did have a rather pleasant voice when he talked to her mother. A strong voice. Almost the same as the man she’d heard speaking with her father.
Only the Viscount’s son’s voice rumbled a bit more. Didn’t sound so friendly. Almost a growl.
She wondered what he looked like.
She stood, went to the drawn shades, and moved one aside enough to see out. She couldn’t even see the street. Just another house across the way. Now she would be one storey higher above the road. One level further from the rest of the world. And fewer windows.
She wanted be with her sister. Knew in her heart that her sister, Honour, needed her. It would hurt her mother if Annie left, but Annie couldn’t help worrying about Honour. Laura was fine, she was certain. She’d run off to be with the man she loved.
Without them, life was one day after another. Everything the same. She knew she could find a way to bring Honour home and to reconcile her parents to it. Yes, there would be tears. Disgrace, perhaps. But the family could rebuild itself, or just accept things as they would be.
Chapter Two
Barrett nodded at Carson’s recounting of stitching used in the air balloons as he and Carson returned to the house. The man’s notion of a rousing evening left a little to be desired. It didn’t improve with the tenth telling. Barrett had had to insist they return home early as he couldn’t bear another moment of the camaraderie.
Barrett gave the servant his hat, letting Carson ramble on. Three days. He could not take another balloon story and he had yet to see the daughter. Several times he’d caught a whiff of perfume in the air or heard skittering noises above his head, and just a hint of a voice that he’d heard only once before. He remained in the house, surprised that he was willing to stay, but aware he’d always had a persistence inside him that he couldn’t quite understand.
Carson remained at the doorway, giving the butler instructions to pass along to the housekeeper to pass along to the cook. Barrett continued up the stairs.
As he ascended the stairs, he realised she stood at the top, watching him.
A slender woman, with little of her face left over if you subtracted her eyes and lips and hair. She was seemingly frozen at the sight of him.
It would not have been out of place for her to be bathed in sunbeams and yet she hardly seemed the incomparable that his brother had spoken of. More like a whisper of a woman than the temptress his brother described.
He walked into her presence, unable to look away in those moments, trying to discern what was different and yet not staring. ‘You must be Miss Carson.’
She nodded, dipping her head to him.
‘Annabelle,’ her father called out behind Barrett, ‘you are supposed to be in your room.’ His voice intensified so much that Barrett turned to him.
‘I thought you were to be out all evening,’ she responded.
The man moved up the stairs with more speed than Barrett would have thought him capable of.
Barrett stepped aside.
‘You are not to be bothering our guests.’ Carson’s face had reddened and Barrett didn’t think it all from the exertion of running up the stairs.
‘It’s no bother,’ Barrett reassured Carson.
‘She’s not to be about,’ Car
son said, shooing her away with his hand. ‘I’ve told her many times that she is not to interfere with business.’
The smile left her face. ‘Yes, Father. I was just going to see how Myrtle is doing. Her feet were hurting her so, as she has been running up and down the stairs to make sure I am fine.’
‘You are not to be traipsing after the servants. It is their duty to care for you. I would not want Mr Barrett to get the wrong impression of you.’
She looked down, but Barrett wasn’t sure if it was submissive or to hide her eyes. He’d seen the set of her jaw.
‘Go to your room,’ Carson instructed.
‘Wait.’ Barrett held out a palm in Carson’s direction. ‘It’s her house. I wouldn’t want to displace her. And my only impression seems to be that she understands someone else’s discomfort.’
‘She doesn’t mind staying in her room,’ Carson said. ‘Annie is used to it. Prefers it most of the time.’ He spoke the last words almost as an accusation.
‘I’m sure she wishes to keep out of the way. And I would imagine she does quite well at it.’ Barrett could attest to that. He’d tried for three days to see her in the family quarters and apparently the only time she would be there was when no one was around.
‘You don’t realise what it is like to have a daughter,’ Carson eyed Barrett. ‘Annie is the sunshine of our days. She tried to keep her older sisters from upsetting us. She’s the youngest and above all else I want her protected from business and the strife life can bring.’
‘My sisters—I have two,’ Annie said, lifting her eyes. ‘Father is concerned that I don’t follow in their footsteps. They’ve both recently...moved away.’
‘Laura married and Honour is visiting family because she could not be content at home. Annie is all we have left. And we don’t want anyone getting any wrong ideas.’ He glanced at Barrett. ‘She’s half-betrothed, but I must beg your confidence in the matter.’
‘Of course you have it,’ Barrett said.
Annie took in a breath and stared at her father. Barrett caught the apologetic glance her father gave her.
‘I’m sure there are few men who are good enough for a woman who might be concerned for a staff member’s feet,’ Barrett said.
She turned to him. A glimmer of appreciation flashed across her face.
Carson nodded. ‘It is indeed difficult to find someone suitable. I’d thought the man her sister Laura married half-good enough for her and—’ he shook his head so that his chin wiggled ‘—he sorely disappointed me.’
‘Perhaps Miss Annie and your wife could join us for a cup of tea,’ Barrett said.
Now Carson turned to him, suspicion in his eyes. ‘The women would not be interested in the things we men like.’ He clasped his hands behind his back and frowned at Barrett.
Annie smiled, but it dimmed her eyes. ‘I would not.’ She turned and walked down the hallway, head proud as any peer, and disappeared around a corner. The servants’ stair.
‘I don’t remember ever seeing your other daughters about London,’ Barrett said.
‘No,’ Carson said. ‘They chose to leave. I expect them both to return eventually, sadder but wiser.’ Carson stared at the path Annie had taken to leave. ‘Sons would have been so much easier to raise...’
The older man walked to the door of the sitting room, went through the doorway and then, within seconds, returned for Barrett, seemingly forgetting about his daughters. ‘Oh, and I’ve some balloon drawings to show you. I sent for them and they arrived while we were out.’
‘Certainly,’ Barrett said. He didn’t need drawings of balloons. He had something else entirely to visualise. In fact, based on the exterior of the house, the rooms he’d seen and Annie’s departure up the stairway, he knew the house as well as the one he lived in. Annie’s movement up the stairs had filled in the last question in his mind.
* * *
‘Dearest.’ Her mother stopped at the doorway, head down, her hand shielding her eyes. ‘Please close the curtain. I fear my head is going to start hurting. I see the little waves of pain prancing in front of my eyes.’
Annie turned, noticing the green beads sparkling on her mother’s slippers.
‘Of course.’ The curtain fluttered back into place.
‘Would you please read to me until the physician arrives?’ Her mother’s voice wavered.
She held an arm out and Annie guided her to the darkened sitting room, helping her sit. Annie picked up the footstool. Raising her feet, her mother waited for Annie to put the stool directly under the slippers. The older woman settled in place, fidgeting into a comfortable position.
‘I could fetch you something from the apothecary. I’d take Myrtle for a chaperon,’ Annie offered.
‘Nonsense, dear,’ her mother muttered, waving a hand but still keeping her eyes closed. ‘The housekeeper can send someone else. You have a weak constitution. I won’t have you catching your death from that tainted air. And please hand me the cinnamon biscuits.’ She waved an arm. ‘The physician has had them made to his instructions. I can see why he has been physician to so many families of the ton. He is so knowledgeable and so caring.’
Annie stepped away from her mother and lifted the tray of confections, the scent of them trailing behind her as she walked. She put them on the table at the side of her mother. Her mother took the nearest one, leaned back in her chair, shut her eyes and crunched at the edges of the biscuit, tasting more than eating.
Annie looked over her shoulder at the flowing velvet covering the windows. Some days she didn’t care if the air was unhealthy or the people all carried the plague and vermin crawled about. Some days she would just like to go to the shops without having to fill the carriage with people who must go with her.
Then her mother peered over Annie’s shoulder, and the older woman’s face brightened. ‘The physician can verify that you need to take care and stay inside.’
Annie moved, her eyes following her mother’s gaze.
‘Your mother is right.’ The physician stood in the doorway, perfectly dressed, perfectly perfect and very perfectly annoying.
Now she was sure she didn’t like the man. If he wished to keep her locked away, too, then she had no use for him. The house was bigger than a crypt, but just as closed. Well, no. The people in the crypt had more freedom.
He walked in, placing his bag on the floor, next to the pedestal with the bust of King George.
‘Oh...my...’ The physician stared at her. His eyes widened. Then he put a hand to his coat pocket and pulled out a monocle.
Annie leaned backwards as she pulled in her breath. Her mother straightened, as if waiting for a life-or-death pronouncement in a trial.
The doctor paused. He turned to her mother. ‘How long has your daughter been this way?’
‘What?’ her mother gasped.
In one stride he stood in front of Annie. He held the glass against his eye and peered at her. The scent of dried weeds tainted the air. The man smelled like a poultice. ‘Her skin. It’s too thin.’
Annie didn’t move. Her stomach knotted. She would be a near-invalid like her mother. She would be trapped forever. Her breath caught. She put her hand over her heart.
His head darted around, vermin-like, and he did all but wiggle his whiskers. ‘I can’t see straight through to the bones exactly. But I’m sure they have the texture of sawdust now.’
He lowered the glass to his side and bowed his head. ‘I would hate to see one so young forever... Well, forever not with us.’
Annie took a step back. She had to get away from his words. And if she was going to die anyway, she’d rather do it away from the house.
‘I can save your life. Should it be necessary.’ He raised his face. Then he saw the look in her eyes. ‘Don’t worry, Miss Annabelle. I have a cure.’ He held out a hand in a calming gesture. ‘A very reliable cure.’
<
br /> Her mother tensed. ‘What’s wrong with her?’
‘She has epidemeosis.’ He patted a hand to his chest. ‘That term is my own as I am the first to be aware of it. In the rest of the world it’s unknown—for now.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘Well. Nothing really.’ He blinked his words away. ‘The cure is so simple as to be...simple, for lack of a better word.’
‘But her illness?’
‘It’s merely a lack of bile. A serious bile blockage.’
‘The humours again,’ her mother whispered, eyes widening. ‘Those devilish humours. They never stay in order.’
‘Yes. But she’s young. She’ll recover fast. I just would not want it to hurt her spleen. If it reaches the stage where it damages the spleen...’ He shook his head, and expelled a lingering breath, seeming to paint the room with his concern.
‘I will recover?’ Annie asked. She clutched the back of the chair, using it to keep herself upright.
‘Of course.’ The physician turned in her direction, but he glanced briefly at the ceiling, as if he’d heard the words before and perhaps did not even believe himself.
Annie sensed something wrong, but she wasn’t sure if he lied about her recovery or something else.
Then he took the manner of a tutor. ‘It seems the night air right before dawn can build strength. By exposing a person to a small amount of some poisons, they can build a resistance. Edward Jenner discovered this with his cowpox theory when he created a way to save us from smallpox.’ He puffed at the glass of the monocle, blowing away a bit of fuzz. ‘But we mustn’t be overzealous. Give me a few moments and I’ll search out the room which has the highest chance of filtering the air in the right amounts.’
‘Are you sure it will help?’ Annie asked.
‘It’s very simple. You’ll have to sit alone, awake, in the room between four and five in the morning—breathing. Those are the best hours for the air. You can read, or sew or whatever suits your fancy.’
