Frail

by Susanna Ives

  “What is this?” Theo demanded, harsher than he had intended.

  Reverend Jeffries fingered his hat nervously, turning it in circles. “Pray, given the hostility over Miss Gillingham, I was optimistic that perhaps eight or so people would grace our party.”

  “How many people are coming tomorrow?” Theo asked, misgivings in his gut. What had the man done?

  “Now, I went about telling everyone how poor Miss Gillingham wept in the churchyard that morning and how wonderfully she treats her cousins. Many felt sorry for what happened in the village and were on pins and needles to meet her. Pins and needles, I say.”

  The women parted, allowing Mr. Braddock, a nearby farmer, to pass through their line. He yanked his hat off his head like a young boy suddenly remembering his manners and made a jerky bow. Behind the wiry man, his four adolescent sons held aloft the ends of a pole that carried a massive swine bound by its feet.

  “Good day to you, Mr. Mallory,” the father said, jerking his head at the pig. “I slaughtered this one three days ago, but like I told the reverend, it’s done bleeding out and is ready to roast. Please, tell us where we could build a pit.”

  Theo paused, taking in the farmer’s words and then turned to the reverend and repeated, “How many?”

  Reverend Jeffries drew up his expansive frame and looked Theo straight in the eye. “Thirty.”

  “Thirty!”

  “Maybe thirty-five, possibly thirty-seven.”

  The men stared at Theo, waiting for his next words.

  Theo’s plans were falling to pieces. What the hell was he going to do? If Reverend Jeffries managed to pull off a miracle and fold Helena into the community, how long could Theo keep the painful truth from her? Crimea was thousands of miles away. There were times before the vile business with Gillingham that he could finally go a day without thinking of the war. But Helena would be here every day, constantly lighting up his mind. He would be forced to live in lies—what he came to Wales to escape. All he had wanted was to dwell honestly and simply.

  Yet, he couldn’t deny that the idea of having her close excited him.

  He laughed, a sound between bitter and resigned.

  The reverend’s round, ruddy face lit up like a happy infant’s. He was a child and an old man at the same time.

  Theo glanced askew at Efa. “Well, do you think we can have the dinner ready by tomorrow?”

  She loved a challenge. She was a match for Nightingale herself.

  “You girls take that food around to the larder,” she ordered.

  “Please have Gordon show you a good place to dig a pit near the outbuildings,” Theo told Mr. Braddock. “I’ll join you soon.”

  He gazed up. The rain was gone and the sky was a vivid blue, spotted with a few cottony clouds.

  ∞∞∞

  Theo and the reverend ambled to Emily’s house. Branwen zigzagged behind them, sniffing every clump of grass and hole in the road.

  Reverend Jeffries pondered different schemes of rearranging Theo’s furniture to accommodate the flux of guests. Theo half listened, inserting a “hmm” or “that might work” in between suggestions, but inside his nerves were racing with the possibility of seeing her again.

  Broken branches and twigs blown down during the night littered Emily’s front garden. As Reverend Jeffries pulled the door bell, Theo scanned the mess, making a mental note to send a servant to clean up.

  Betry opened the door and Branwen shot inside and disappeared into the parlor. The servant’s belly seemed to have doubled and lowered since Theo had last laid eyes on her.

  “Good morning, sirs.” She made a small curtsey, letting out a rush of strained breath. “Let me take your coats.”

  Theo removed his hat, but kept it in his grip. “Not today, we won’t stay long. We are very busy gentlemen on a mission.”

  He followed the reverend into the parlor. The air was heated and lightly scented with perfume. A thick drowsiness permeated the room. Helena was standing behind the sofa, her face almost translucent, as if she hadn’t slept. Her lips parted when she saw him.

  “Pardon the intrusion, Mrs. Pengwern.” Reverend Jeffries bowed and pressed his hands together in supplication. “We seek a small favor.”

  “We would like to borrow the contents of your home,” Theo said, his voice a little louder and faster from being so close to Helena.

  Emily shifted her gaze between the men. “What is this?” She tilted her head, suspicious.

  “It seems the village will be in attendance to meet Helena tomorrow,” Theo explained. “We require extra tables and chairs.”

  Emily’s eyes widened. “This is wonderful!” she said at the same time Helena exclaimed, “What?”

  “And Reverend Jeffries said we need the best singer in Snowdonia,” Theo continued. “And I replied, ‘You mean that Megan brat.’”

  “Me!” Megan jumped up from where she rubbed Branwen’s belly. “You want me to sing?” She rushed to Theo and threw her arms around his neck, shaking all the glass and ornaments on the tables. “Yes!”

  Branwen barked at their feet.

  “I knew you and Reverend Jeffries would make everything well,” Megan said.

  “Since I am causing such an imposition,” Theo told Emily, “I suggest I bring the carriage around in two hours or so. You can dine and relax while Reverend Jeffries and I are occupied with seating charts and deciding ways to rearrange the furniture. You wouldn’t guess it by our appearance, but we are quite talented at throwing parties.”

  Emily laughed. “Oh, Lord, you better bring that carriage as soon as you can hitch those horses. I cringe to think what you two gentlemen might do without proper female supervision.”

  Theo feigned outrage to Reverend Jeffries. “I can’t believe they have so little faith in our abilities!” He flung up his arms and turned on his heel. Helena’s presence excited his nerves. He acted like a jester, trying to make her smile. “Well, I guess we should return home and twiddle our thumbs until Mrs. Pengwern arrives and instructs us what to do.”

  “Pray, you best relax now,” Emily said. “For when I arrive, you won’t enjoy a moment’s rest between Mrs. Gordon and me.”

  “Wait!” Helena reached out to Theo and then drew her hand back, as if she had thought better of touching him. “You needn’t host this dinner party. This is all too much trouble now.”

  “Don’t think you can talk him out of this little party,” Emily said. “Mr. Mallory is far more stubborn than me.”

  “Good God, I can’t be that mule-headed,” Theo retorted.

  Emily shot him a saucy look.

  “I’m frightened of her,” Theo told Helena. “I dare not scuttle her plans.”

  “And I shall sing!” Megan exclaimed.

  “You had best start practicing, young lady,” Theo said sternly. He placed his hat back on his head. “I shall have the carriage sent down. I can see Emily is fidgeting to rearrange my home.” He seized the reverend by the elbow and started pulling him to the hall, not wanting to give Helena another chance to protest. “Stop lingering, Branwen. We have work not to do.”

  In the hall, Betry had sunk into a chair, resting her head in her hands. She started to rise, but Theo held up his palm. “Betry, you have the day off. Efa will be attending the ladies today. Go rest.”

  ∞∞∞

  Helena gripped the seat’s edge during the brief carriage ride to Theo’s home. Since Theo had left, Megan had been singing song after song and asking her mother or Helena which she should perform at the party.

  “Good heavens,” Helena exclaimed aloud as the carriage made the sharp turn past Theo’s gate. A dozen or so people dressed in servants’ clothes formed a line to the front door as they hauled in great tables and chairs. The front fountain was running, and columns of clear water rose four feet into the air before splashing down. The little green shoots Helena had helped plant a few days before now peeked over the edge of the boxwoods.

  Helena shoved her arm against her knotted s
tomach. Her throat went dry.

  With Branwen beside him, Theo jogged out to meet the carriage.

  Megan didn’t wait for him to pull down the steps, but leaped down to Branwen. The two scampered off.

  “Capital!” Theo called after her. “Run away before I could ask for help.”

  “I have to practice my songs,” she shot back and disappeared in the direction of the tower.

  “Is all of Wales attending tomorrow?” Emily asked as he assisted her down.

  “Perhaps had I not stopped Reverend Jeffries,” he replied. “I’m holding him captive in my office with a plateful of Efa’s biscuits; else he might go traipsing about finding more people to invite.”

  Helena waited at the threshold of the carriage, not wanting to step down, but instead to remain hidden in a dark corner. She grasped his proffered hand. His touch caused the vivid memory of his kisses to flood back. “You don’t have to—”

  “Mrs. Pengwern! Miss Gillingham!” Mrs. Rees broke through the cluster of servants, waving a sheet of paper. “Thank heavens you are here. I’ve spent the last half hour prompting the reverend’s memory of everyone who said they were coming. What a disheveled mind that man possesses. Thirty-six people. You must help me decide how they shall be seated.”

  “I believe you’ve been press-ganged.” Theo winked at Helena. “Come, Branwen,” he said as he jogged away.

  “Wait!” Helena cried, but Theo had hurried on, her protest heard only by the wind.

  ∞∞∞

  Inside the house, Helena could hear women’s laughter ringing through the rooms. The scent of baking bread and roasting meat streamed from the kitchen. Theo’s furniture had been shoved against the walls. The rugs were rolled up and all interior doors were open, causing a draft through the rooms. Mrs. Gordon directed the servants from neighboring houses as to where to set the borrowed tables. When she saw Emily, she slid a comfortable upholstered chair by the fire and insisted that Emily sit down. Then she buried Emily in a pile of blankets, which Helena’s cousin cast off as soon as the housekeeper had rushed off to check on the status of a leg of lamb.

  Mrs. Rees and Emily began the serious politics of arranging the seating. Helena had to admit that London gossip held nothing on the delicious dirt Emily and her friend could dig up on the guests. Mrs. Rees and Emily recounted hilarious and ribald stories about the villagers that had Helena wiping tears of laughter from her eyes and had the Rees sisters turning red with mortification and exclaiming, “Mother, must you tell that one?”

  Megan returned with Branwen, who got caught up in the excitement, barking and whacking the linens with her tail.

  “For heaven’s sakes,” Emily said to Theo when he ducked in to check on the destruction of his home. “Remove that filthy dog.”

  “She desires to help,” he said. “Let her stay.”

  Helena leaned down and kindly rubbed the recalcitrant hound behind the ears. Branwen raised her dirty front paws, placing them on her bodice and strained to lick Helena’s chin with her wet tongue.

  “Sorry.” Theo pulled his hound away. “Branwen, proper manners or I must lock you in the greenhouse.”

  “Wait!” Helena cried.

  But Theo was gone again.

  ∞∞∞

  Later, Helena turned into the stairwell from the corridor, returning from the necessary. She could hear Emily and Mrs. Rees’s laugher from the parlor.

  “What do those London people and their wicked little newspapers know?” her cousin said. “You see for yourself Helena is all kindness.”

  Poor Emily. She was so earnest and unsophisticated. She and Megan had a great deal of faith in the reverend’s powers of persuasion, but Helena had seen too much hatred in the last months, had lost too much faith in people to believe one man could change the condemnation of her and her father. Emily could not conceive of how terribly Helena had behaved when she was in society. But Theo knew the real Helena.

  He said he couldn’t get close to her because the war had left him unstable. She wondered if those answers were uttered just to spare her feelings.

  Light flooded in vertical shafts from the arched stained-glass window, turning all the carved walls a deep, shiny gold. On the wooden panel beside her were carved five women in Arthurian-styled gowns and a man holding a sword. She ran her fingers along the grooves.

  Planks in the corridor creaked. Theo turned into the stairwell. His hair was disheveled, batted by the breeze. He wore no shoes and mud caked the edges of his brown trousers. The smell of burnt wood and smoke wafted from his coat. He must have been out by the pit where the men were roasting the pig. He started when he saw her and then spun as if to make another escape.

  “No!” she cried.

  He halted, his shoulders sinking with his exhale.

  “Theo, don’t have this dinner party if you don’t desire it.”

  “I could no more restrain Reverend Jeffries than I could a steam train.” He turned and combed his fingers through his hair, spiking the strands. “The entire affair flowed out of my control. And Emily and Megan are so happy,” he said. “Give them a chance to enjoy themselves. God knows they’ve known enough grief. Emily and Mrs. Rees have decided to open a bottle of wine and will soon be telling tales that will shock the reverend.”

  “I don’t want Emily to witness how I am treated. What if someone says something cruel—”

  “They won’t.” There was a low, unsettling growl in his voice. “Not in my own house, or I’ll kill them. You know I’m so unhinged as to do it.” His chuckle softened his face.

  She did not join in his laughter. “How do I talk to you now?” She reached out and fingered the cuff of his coat.

  He sucked in a breath and looked above her to where the stairs zigzagged up all the stories of his home. After a long moment, he finally spoke. “The ground floor is about Owain.”

  “Pardon?” she said.

  “All these carvings illustrate Owain’s stories in the Mabinogion.” He panned the wall with his hand. “The next floor is Peredur and then Geraint. I’ve spent many a gray winter’s day with the book open, identifying the scenes.”

  Why didn’t he answer her question? Was he pretending he didn’t hear? “I’m sorry, but I don’t know…” She struggled to find her words. “How shall we be to each other now?”

  He held up a finger, almost touching her lips. “Owain was a knight of King Arthur’s and, hence, his sole occupation was saving women from evil villains, monsters, serpents and so forth, and in return, receiving due female affection.”

  “So these are all his deeds and women… many, many women,” she said, unable to hide her building annoyance. “I don’t think I like where you’re leading.”

  “This is Luned,” he said, pointing to a woman with long hair. She was bound by rope to a pole with kindling at her feet. “She was quite fair and very resourceful. She rescued Owain with her magic ring when he was trapped in the Black Knight’s castle. And he, in turn, saved her from being burned alive.”

  “Quite noble of him. How much due affection did he receive for that gallant deed?”

  “None,” he whispered. “They were dearest friends.”

  The sunlight coming through the windows illuminated his eyes. He hiked the side of his mouth, forming a wry smile. “Of course, while the evil men were building the fire, Owain had to venture out and slay a giant to rescue another fair maiden in a separate episode, but in time he returned to save his friend as the flames were at her feet.”

  “Pray, we are friends.” Why did the word thud so hollowly in her chest? Why wasn’t she happy? Isn’t this what she should want, too? “As Owain and Luned?”

  “Yes, and if you are ever going to be burned alive, you can count on me.”

  You are already too late, she wanted to say. Instead, she carried on his pretense. “At the very last minute and only after saving a maiden from a giant and receiving due affection.”

  “In your case, I’ll let the giant have the maiden.”

>   “Friends.” She held out her hand for him to shake it.

  “Ffrindiau dda.” He made a dramatic production of lifting her fingers. But when his lips touched her skin, the comical expression on his face vanished. He released an uneven breath and squeezed his eyes closed. “Helena,” he murmured, holding her palm to his cheek. She caressed his skin, feeling the rasp of his beard.

  “Don’t you wish everything could have been different with father… with me?” The words burst from her. “I could love you.” She bit down on her lip. “I’m sorry.”

  She tried to rush past him but he seized her elbow. “No!”

  “We are but friends,” she cried. “Ffrindiau dda.”

  Theo’s jaw worked. She held her breath, waiting for him to say the thoughts that darkened his face. Instead, he let go of her arm and gazed down at the floor. “It can’t be different.”

  ∞∞∞

  The next time Helena saw Theo was in his carriage as he escorted Helena and her cousins home. He had changed clothes, cleansing the scent of smoke from his person.

  Emily remarked how excited she was about tomorrow and then yawned and rested her head on the seat cushion. Megan, unusually sulky, leaned against Helena. Meanwhile, Helena remained silent, trying to conceal her wounded heart.

  As they turned into Emily’s small drive, a haze of golden light streamed from all the ground floor windows.

  “What is this?” Emily said, “I told Betry to rest.”

  “Well, you better get in there and smartly scold her,” Theo said, as he unlatched the carriage door.

  He helped Emily down and then pointedly offered his hand to Megan, although Helena was closer to the door.

  Megan shot him an ugly glare. “I don’t require any help,” she spat. She hopped down without his assistance and ran to her mother.