“Yes,” I whispered.
Grabbing the hem of my gown, he pulled it over my head, leaving me naked. He looked his fill, then held out his hand. “Come, Titania, let’s have our midsummer night’s dream. Come be my lover.”
The clatter of blocks tumbling to the floor startled me from my dream. The secret passage alarm! Jumping up, I ran to the schoolroom, heart pounding, in a replay of what I had just dreamed. No one was in the schoolroom. The chair still sat against the passage’s door, but the blocks were on the floor.
My alarm had stopped an unwelcome guest. I couldn’t call a household member an intruder, could I?
My dream had been nothing but the impractical imaginings of a spinster’s loneliness, best buried forever. I dragged a heavy desk across the passage door and set my chair alarm in front of that.
Benedict was out of town; but given my dream, I would have blocked the door anyway. No matter how seductive his kiss was, I would not walk to my ruin.
Dawn was ebbing the darkness from the night by the time I shut my eyes and fell into a restless sleep.
12
“Not so fast,” I called out to Justin and Robert as they dashed ahead of me in the formal gardens.
“I want to hurry,” Justin said.“After our lessons I want to go and play with Cesca.”
“I want to play with Cesca, too,” Robert chimed in, jumping up and down.
“Can you do that with your father out of town?”
My question turned his slight smile to a determined frown. “I don’t care. I want to, and I will. He gave her to us.”
“Cesca is ours,” Robert agreed.“I want to see Cesca.”
“Stop!” My disapproving shout rang out through the morning air. Everything seemed to fall so quiet that I swear the birds stopped singing and the bugs quit buzzing. Robert and Justin looked at me with shock on their faces. I don’t think I had ever yelled at them so sternly before.
“You were given a wonderful gift, which I thought you two were mature enough to have. But I must have been mistaken. Surely I did not hear you say you did not care about what is right and what is wrong. Surely I did not hear you say you were going to do whatever you wanted to do, because you felt like it?” I shook my head. “I am severely disappointed to hear you speak so disrespectfully and so irresponsibly. Do you know everything you need to know about a horse yet?”
Both of the boys shook their heads.
“Yet with very little experience and without even asking permission, you would take her out to play? What if something went wrong? What if you, Robert, or even Cesca got hurt? Badly hurt? Cesca is a precious gift, and as her owner, it is your responsibility to keep her safe, even if it means you can’t have the fun you want to have until you’re ready. Do you understand?”
Justin nodded, real repentance in his eyes. Robert, too.
“Now, let’s figure out the best thing we can do. I don’t know what I need to know to be safe about horses either. What if we ask your uncle Stephen to take us to play with Cesca? Or maybe he can have one of the groomsmen in the stable help us?”
Both the boys smiled.
I narrowed my gaze at Justin. “Defiance will only bring you trouble and make you lose in life. You must deal with life and its disappointments as you would a game of chess. Consider the moves available and choose the best action to help you win.”
Justin’s eyes widened, then he nodded his head, telling me he understood.
“Can I pway chest too?” Robert asked.
“Yes. You’ll start learning how to play chess soon.” I held out my hands to them, and we made our way to the herb garden.
My steps slowed. Across the tops of the cheery roses, I could see the dark patch of dirt for our herb garden. Something was very wrong. There was no ring of stones, no neat rows of sprouts, only a churned-up, jumbled mess. I had no choice but to continue with the boys and face what had been done.
Robert started to cry. “They killeded the babies, Miss Wovell,” he said through his tears.
“I know.”Tears filled my own eyes. It wouldn’t have done any good to tell him that we could plant more seeds at that moment—that plants weren’t like people and could be easily replaced. His heart grieved.
Justin fisted his hands. “Why should I care about what’s right and wrong when no one else does? I don’t want to play with Cesca, either. Everything dies.”
Robert cried harder. I picked him up, holding him to me.
I put my other arm around Justin’s shoulders. He didn’t pull away. “I know,” I said. He was grieving. Not for the plants, but for his mother. As we stood there looking at the fresh dirt, I knew what I had to do next, even before I gave the adult inhabitants of Trevelyan Hill a piece of my mind. Disturbing my personal belongings and disrupting my peace of mind was one thing. Hurting the children in the process was completely unacceptable.
Pulling my gloves on, ready for battle, I found Dobbs in the foyer, overseeing the maids cleaning it.
“Miss Hain, this is the most important room. Everyone who comes to Trevelyan Manor sees it. I expect this floor to be spotless. There’s a streak on the tile in the corner.”
I found it surprising that Dobbs agreed with my feelings about the stained glass foyer. Even though his reasons were different than mine, the fact that we were in agreement about anything just wasn’t acceptable. I pressed my lips to a grim line.
Moving across the room, taking care to avoid the cleaning areas, I passed though the brightly hued beams streaming from the stained glass. They were warm and felt like a heavenly blessing upon this mission I was about to embark on with the boys.
“Mr. Dobbs, I would like a word with you, please,” I said, drawing his attention.
“Miss Lovell. I am sure even you can see that I am rather busy at the moment.” His nose lifted, and I had the sudden urge to push smelling salts beneath it. I didn’t think he’d be so highbrowed then.
“I am afraid I must insist. Masters Justin and Robert and I have little time to waste if we are going to return by afternoon tea.”
“Your lack of discipline in regards to keeping a teaching regime is—”
“Not of your concern. Mr. Trevelyan is more than capable of monitoring my competency.” I lowered my voice. “I need to know where Francesca Trevelyan is buried, please. The boys have some flowers they wish to put on her grave.”
Dobbs jaw dropped even as his back stiffened. “Really, Miss Lovell. You go too far. Taking the boys to their mother’s grave is not within the realm of your responsibilities.”
“I assure you, Mr. Dobbs, if I did not deem this essential, I would not be asking. They have had a rather upsetting morning. Someone destroyed the children’s herb garden last night. Most probably to strike out at me, since this is not the first untoward incident I’ve had to deal with. Now if you will please tell me what I need to know, you will save me the trouble of inquiring in town.”
“The family has their memorial at Prynne Hill Cemetery,” he replied, his words terse with disapproval. “Now would you care to inform me of what incidents you speak?”
“No,” I said. “But you can tell me what the plans are for Master Justin’s birthday. He will be eight in a few weeks.”
“Plans?”
“Yes. What sort of celebration is planned?”
“There is none. We are not a trivial household.”
“A celebration of thanksgiving is not a trivial matter. I will attend to Master Justin’s birthday. The children and I will be back for tea.” I left before he could delay me further.
No matter what little we had, my mother had always spent the day of my birth giving thanks and making me feel very special.
Within minutes I had gathered the children, and we sailed out the door, ignoring Dobbs’s glowering expression. I led them first to Holloway Park, where I’d planned to tell the children what we were about. I decided to take them to visit my mother’s resting place first, then to their mother’s.
They didn’t even smi
le or try and run down the lazy green slopes as the other children were doing. “We need to find the prettiest flowers to take with us.”
“Where are we going, Miss Wovell?” Robert put his hand in mine. His tears had dried, but the hurt dealt to him this morning still lingered in his young eyes.
I knelt down to meet them eye level. “First, I would like us to visit the place where my mother is buried. I want to take her some flowers just to let her spirit know that I love her. Then, if you would like, I will take you to do the same for your mother.”
Robert’s eyes widened.“My mommy has a resting place I can see?”
“Yes. Would you like to go?”
“Oh, yes. And I can take her flowers, too?”
“I think that will be a very beautiful thing to do. Why don’t you collect some of those purple flowers over there and let me talk to Justin.”
It was good to see Robert dash off eagerly after the flowers.
“I want to take a rose,” Justin said. His voice was flat, as if he didn’t dare let the tiniest bit of emotion escape from him.
I met his gaze, wondering how long he’d be able to keep the dam from bursting. I prayed it would be soon, for I was beginning to understand Stephen’s concerns. I’d heard of children who’d shut themselves off from the world and never opened to it again.
“We will go to the florist in town and buy one, then.”
He nodded. “What will it look like? My mother’s resting place.”
“You have never been?”
“I don’t remember if I have.”
“If your mother’s grave is like my mother’s, then it will be not too different from the grass where we stand and a headstone with her name. But I am sure your father made her place more special.”
Robert ran back, arms full of purple flowers, cheeks smudged with dirt, and grass stains on his knees. His eyes shone with triumph. My heart squeezed as it hit me. I loved them with all of their problems and moods, smiles and sadness. They’d become a part of my heart.
Helping Robert with the flowers, we made our way to town. At the florist, Justin chose a large red rose, and Robert picked a daisy to add to his collection.
We soon reached my mother’s simple grave. I lovingly set the flowers at the foot of the wooden cross with her name on it. Justin stood off to the side, not getting close to the grave. “I come here and talk to her sometimes and tell her what’s making me happy or sad.”
“Does she hear you?” Robert asked, moving to my side.
I looked up at the sky. “I do not know, but if she can, I want her to know that I love and remember her.” Leaning over, I pulled away a few weeds trying to grow among the thickening grass. “Someday I will be able to buy her a spe cial headstone, so everyone who passes by will know how well she was loved.”
“Do you think my mommy has a special headstone?”
I stood.“Let’s go see. She is resting in a place closer to the town.”
Leaning down, Robert set one of his flowers on my mother’s grave, then put his hand in mine.
“Thank you,” I whispered, squeezing his hand.
The walk to Prynne Hill Cemetery passed in silence. I’d hoped to find a gardener or caretaker to tell the exact location of the Trevelyan’s memorial. As it was, we had to search through the place. Every now and then the boys would stop and ask me to read a marker, and Robert and I would talk about what that person’s family or life might have been like. They were surprised to see a good number of the buried were children.
“Your father is blessed that you both are so healthy. Other parents are not nearly as lucky.”
I breathed a sigh of relief when we came upon a beautiful granite statue, a replica of the angel that graced Trevelyan Manor’s gardens. There were two headstones at the foot of the angel, under her protective shadow.
“ ‘Benedict W. Trevelyan, Sr. Born 1815. Died 1871. Loving husband and esteemed father. Though lost at sea you’ll remain in our hearts forever.’ This would be your grandfather.” No wonder Benedict’s mother looked so sadly out to sea.
“I didn’t knowed he was here with my mommy. He can take care of her, can’t he?”
“Yes, he can. So can the angel. She’s the same angel in your garden at home.”
Robert nodded solemnly.“That is good.”
“Very good.” I looked over to see Justin near the other headstone and nudged Robert that way with me.
“ ‘Francesca Ortega Trevelyan. Born 1848. Died 1872. Wife of Benedict W. Trevelyan, Jr., and beloved mother of Justin and Robert.’ ” It was a beautiful headstone, engraved with a fancy scroll along its edges; the grave itself was well tended. Both the boys stood silent. I knelt down and placed the few flowers I carried at the foot of the grave. She’d only been twenty-four years old. I was twenty-four years old. My stomach churned.
“Did our father putted our names there, saying we bewuved her?”
“I am sure he did,” I said quietly.
“Can I touch it?”
“Yes.”
Robert walked hesitantly up to the headstone. He squatted, carefully laying his bouquet against the headstone. Then he traced his mother’s name with his finger.
Justin hadn’t moved, though he looked as if he were barreling forward or about to do so. It was as if he stood outside an invisible barrier, unable to press himself through it. His breaths seemed ragged, and I wondered if I’d made a mistake in bringing him here.
“Justin.” I kept my voice quietly soft. He didn’t answer or look my way, but he did move closer to the headstone. His hands shook as he held out the rose. I winced as I saw how he held the flower. He had both his hands wrapped tightly around its thorny stem.
He dropped the flower on the grave. I could see blood staining the white paper the florist had wrapped the stem in. And I felt as if my heart bled at the sight. I moved to stand next to him, unable to leave him so alone.
“Why?” I asked softly, taking a handkerchief from my pocket and pressing it gently upon his cuts. “Why did you hold the thorns so tightly?”
He looked up at me, pain etched tightly upon his wanface. There were tears trapped behind the shadows of his dark eyes, tears with no hope of ever being freed. The set of his shoulders was too rigid. Just like his father.
“My hands are full of thorns,” he said. Then he turned from the grave and walked away, leaving me with the bloodstained handkerchief.
The tears I’d been holding back quietly streamed down my face. He remembered the story I’d told him about Cynthia Parker and her son Quanah.
“Justin? Robert? Miss Ann?”
Looking up against the bright glare of the sun, I saw Stephen hurrying our way. Justin stopped walking and shoved his hands into his pockets.
“Uncle Steph, are you here to surprise us?” Robert ran to greet his uncle.
I dashed at my tears, scrambling to gather my composure.
“I do not suppose you are here by coincidence,” I commented as Stephen approached.
“No, Dobbs contacted me. I would have been here earlier, but I was in the middle of a meeting with my banker. What the devil is wrong?”
“Aside from our garden being vandalized, circumstances just led to this being an appropriate time for Masters Justin and Robert to express a remembrance to their mother. I do not believe they have ever been to do so. It is an important part of easing grief.”
Stephen’s eyes widened. “I was not aware they had not been here.” He looked over my shoulder to the memorial, and sadness filled his eyes. “She should not be there, so alone.”
“It is all right,” Robert said, patting Stephen’s hand. “Grandfather is there. He can take care of her. The angel, too.”
Stephen blinked, surprised. “I guess you are right. You know what else you are right about?”
“What?”
“I am here to surprise you. They have a new flavor for a candy stick, and I need your expert opinion about it. In fact, I told the proprietress that she could not sell any
until she had your approval. Shall we go to the confectioner’s shop? Perhaps even get some gumdrops and chocolate as well?”
Justin shrugged, but began to follow his uncle.
I welcomed the distraction, thinking it would be best for the boys to have a little bit of sweet added to the bitter tastes of the day. The candy was nice, but the laughter Stephen’s antics elicited when he made coins disappear, then found them behind our ears, was even better. We barely made it back before it was time for me to meet Mrs. Trevelyan for tea.
As it was, I had to rush to the solarium. Stephen stayed in the schoolroom with the boys to play chess, after which they were going to eat an early dinner and go to bed. Stephen promised to take them to play with Cesca in the morning, an activity that I’d somehow involved myself in.
I wasn’t sure exactly what I would say to Benedict’s mother. I couldn’t very well come right out and ask her if she’d murdered her daughter-in-law. Yet I was determined to find out if she was responsible for all of the odd incidents. I feared she was not. Churning up her grandson’s garden didn’t seem to be in character.
“You are almost late,” she said as I strode into the room.
“Good afternoon to you, too.” I smiled, noting that she was alone. “Is Maria planning another visit to my room while we meet?”
“Miss Lovell, I have no idea what—”
“Mrs. Trevelyan. Neither of us have time to waste on pre- tenses, and we are too intelligent to spend energy on frivolous inanities.”
“No. Maria is out with Constance today.”
“Good,” I replied, sitting down before she invited me to do so.“I have several untoward incidents that I wish to clear up. But first, I find myself thoroughly fascinated by what I saw last night.”
“An old woman walking with a cane?” she asked, pouring two cups of tea from a server situated next to her. “Sugar?”
“Yes, please. Actually, I was speaking of the book you held. Did your husband write and publish a book, or was I mistaken in the author’s name?”
Setting down the sugar, she stared at me a moment.
The Mistress of Trevelyan Page 17
