“I wish I knew why people like Malcolm are the way they are but I don't have any answers, sweetheart. And I'm sure MacDuff will be fine.”
Hope pulled away and wiped at her eyes. “Will you go and check on him for me?”
“I will,” Martha smiled. “As long as you promise me to obey the doctor's orders and not put any weight on that ankle.”
Hope nodded her agreement, seeming very frail right now and not at all her usual, bold self. Martha gently manoeuvred the covers out from under Hope, then pulled them over her, tucking her in. She then slipped from the room, only to find the hallway crowded with servants and two policemen. The housekeeper, Mrs Lassiter, seemed to be standing guard over Hope's bedroom door, preventing the police constables from entering Hope's room.
“Lady Beaumont, I'm sorry to have to ask this but we need a statement from your daughter about the attack.”
“Of course,” Martha nodded. “If you would just give me a few moments; I must check on my daughter's dog to ease her mind a little, then I must make her presentable. The doctor has only just left, you see.”
“Of course, Ma'am.”
“Thank you. There were many in the house who came across Hope shortly after the attack, so perhaps in the meantime Mrs Lassiter would point them out for you. I'll let you know when my daughter is up to answering some questions.”
“Of course.”
Mrs Lassiter nodded to Martha that she would handle things.
“If anyone knows anything or witnessed anything that is relevant to the attack, please follow Mrs Lassiter. The rest of you, please get back to work.” She stopped Mrs Lassiter with a hand on her arm. “Thank you for keeping them out of Hope's bedroom.”
Mrs Lassiter smiled and turned away. “If you'll follow me, officers.”
Martha headed into her bedroom to see that MacDuff's bed had been placed before the fire and Mr Peters was kneeling down beside the animal, splinting his front leg.
“How is he?” she asked, kneeling down beside them once James got up to make some room for her.
“He's in a bad way,” Mr Peters said. “He'll need weeks to properly recover from such an attack but whilst his abdomen is swollen and tender, it's not so firm that I believe he has ruptured any internal organs.”
“How should we care for him?” Martha asked, stroking the top of MacDuff's head.
“Let him set the pace largely, he will know when he is up to moving but stop him from doing anything too strenuous, like chasing rabbits or jumping.”
“He's very well trained and devoted to my eldest daughter, who can't go very far herself for the foreseeable future, so that shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Good. I'm sure in a few days he'll be limping around on three legs and you should let him, within reason. Feed him lots of red meat to aid his recovery, but a little and often, no big meals for a while.”
“I understand.”
“Good. I'll return in a week to check on him but if his condition worsens in the meantime, don't hesitate to fetch me again.”
“Thank you.”
The vet left and gently, James and Barry lifted the dog bed with MacDuff on it, and carried him back through to Hope's room. Her face lit up as Martha opened the door and she saw James and Barry behind her.
“He's fine,” Martha assured her daughter. “A little battered, much like you, but Mr Peters believes that he will make a full recovery.”
As the bed was placed next to her again, Hope turned on her side and reached out to stroke MacDuff's flank. He managed to turn his head a little and gave her a feeble lick on her arm.
“Darling,” Martha sat down beside her daughter. “The police are here and want to ask you about what happened. Do you feel up to answering a few questions?”
Hope shrugged.
“Barry and I saw the end of the incident, perhaps our statements will be enough,” James said.
“Yes, that's not a bad idea. Mrs Lassiter should be able to tell you where they are.”
So James and Barry departed and Martha sat with Hope until finally, the shock wore off a little and she fell asleep.
Chapter Twenty One
Lucien had been in Penchester that day, a trip he made every month to check on their gloving workshop in the town. They also had a shop in the town, as they did in most cities these days, but they didn't require much day to day monitoring.
Martha had sent Alf, her brother and the head groom, straight to Penchester to fetch Lucien, as he would be terribly upset to realise that his daughter had been hurt and he hadn't been there. Unfortunately, that meant that he arrived home at 11 o'clock in the evening. Martha had waited up for him and was by the front door the moment she heard hoof beats along the driveway.
“Is she all right?” he asked, almost throwing himself from the carriage before it had even stopped.
“She's fine, darling,” Martha said, holding her arms out to catch him before he could pass her. She was weaker, but she knew that he wouldn't risk harming her by throwing her off. “She's sleeping now but I got her to eat some broth for dinner. I'll let you look in on her if you promise not to wake her.”
Although reluctant because he wanted to hear from his daughter herself that she was alright, he nodded his acceptance of her terms. Martha dropped her hold but took his hand, lest he still try to run ahead.
“Doctor McCoy came to see her and she has a broken wrist and possibly ankle too. Both are splinted. She had many bruises and cuts but he assured me that none are serious. She just needs time to recover.”
“And he didn't- Malcolm, that is- He didn't-”
“No,” she assured him. “Both she and MacDuff put up one hell of a fight, so I'm told, and it was Hope who knocked him unconscious by kicking him in the head.”
Although he probably shouldn't, Lucien smiled at that, proud of his daughter's ability to take care of herself, even if she shouldn't have to.
They finally reached the landing and Martha went into the bedroom first, slowly opening the door so as not to disturb Hope, although MacDuff looked up very briefly. She stayed by the door as Lucien approached the bed. A pained expression came over his features as he saw her injuries and one hand reached out to her, but stilled before he could touch and risk waking her. Martha had left candles burning in case she awoke in the night and was frightened, but they didn't give off an awful lot of light. The servants' bell, which was by the door, has also been extended with rope so that she didn't have to get up to summon help, should she require it.
Lucien stood there for a few moments, taking in every detail that he could in the dim light, then he looked over at Martha. She gave him a sympathetic smile, having herself felt as pained and helpless as he must now feel. In fact, her bruising looked even worse now, as they'd had a few hours to develop. She gestured for Lucien to come away and he did, then she quietly closed the door behind him. They didn't talk until they were in their bedroom next door.
“She looks so...” he didn't have the words to describe how awful she looked.
“I know, but she will heal.”
“Why was the dog on her bed?” There were so many more pressing questions so he was surprised to find that was the one he asked.
“MacDuff was also seriously injured.”
“That doesn't explain why he's on her bed!” He didn't mean to sound snappish but he couldn't help himself.
“She will heal physically,” Martha began, “but I'm not so certain that she will recover in spirit. She wanted the dog with her and I couldn't really see the harm if it made her feel better.”
“What do you mean, 'recover in spirit'?” he sounded concerned.
“She's been very quiet and meek since the ordeal, something that I haven't seen since she was a child and frightened of strangers.”
“It's probably just shock,” he tried to reassure her, taking her in his arms and kissing the top of her head. “It will wear off soon enough.”
“I hope so.”
But it didn't wear off.
She didn't talk much at all and never engaged in conversation. She didn't even seem interested in the estate school, which was unusual. James had taken over Hope's and Martha's teaching days and seemed to be determined to do what he could for the family, but there wasn't an awful lot that he could do.
On the third day of Hope's confinement, he asked what her favourite books were, then asked if he might be allowed to read to her each day. Although Hope was confined to her bed, Martha couldn't see the harm. Besides, James' confidence had taken a severe knock after Honoria's disappearance and she thought that they might be good for each other.
James seemed to have aged a lot in the few weeks since he discovered the truth about his sister and her marriage, and he spent much of his time reading. Unlike before though, when he would read the Bible or works by pastors, now he perused the Beaumont library and had chosen some unusual works for a man of his beliefs. First Martha had seen him reading Woman in the Nineteenth Century by Margaret Fuller, then A Vindication of the Rights of Woman by Mary Wollstonecraft, Mary Shelly's mother.
He also seemed to be paying attention to some articles in the newspapers, specifically those on the proposed Married Women's Property Act. When Martha and Lucien had discussed the subject over dinner one evening, James had declined to comment, although he had listened attentively. He looked surprised to learn that Martha's adopted father, Gus Aldercott, had left her and Hope his fortune in trust, so that it would never become the property of their husbands. That Martha and Lucien intended to do the same for Charity, came as no surprise.
“What about a dowry?” he had been forced to ask, for few aristocratic families would consider not offering their daughters a dowry. The fact that his family had been paid by Honoria's husband for her hand in marriage, had been quite a shameful thing for him to admit at one time.
“I'm not going to pay someone to take my daughters off my hands!” Lucien sounded shocked. “I love them and would be happy if they remained at home for the rest of their lives. Any man hoping to impress me will have to love them, with or without my money and if they don't, I won't be parted from either of my daughters for anything less than genuine affection, hopefully love.”
Once James might have argued that the dowry allowed women to forge a good match and attract the right kind of offers, but lately he had to admit that some of his ideas were flawed. He had always viewed women as a burden to their families, beings who could not contribute financially (and in many others ways) and so it was best that they fulfil their potential as wives and mothers, whilst making the most astute marriage possible.
The idea that parents might not want to be parted from their children was new to him, but he had seen for himself that both Lucien and Martha missed their sons dreadfully whilst they were away at school. When he was at school, it had never occurred to James that his mother and father might miss him, they never said as much and when he had written of his trouble settling into his school, they had dismissed his worries. He soon stopped telling them that he was homesick and missed them, instead preferring to write them perfunctory letters about the happenings in his life.
Only Honoria had seemed to miss him. She had taken the time to calm some of his fears (as best she could) and encourage him.
And in return, he had viewed her as a burden to the family and agreed that she should allow their father to take a bribe for her hand in marriage. He had treated the only woman who truly cared about him, as nothing more than chattel.
His shame was part of the reason that he couldn't discuss his changing feelings with anyone yet.
Instead he kept his thoughts to himself and tried to broaden his mind. The Beaumont's library held a wide collection of books but with a little searching, he discovered a few tomes that helped him to see the opposing point of view.
His reason for volunteering at the school had been because he felt that he owed a debt to both Hope and the Beaumonts, for the help they had offered him and his sister. He offered to take over Martha's teaching day as well, because she wanted to send as much time as she could with Hope.
Quickly though, it became apparent that this too could be a learning experience for him. Not only were the other teacher and trainee teacher, educated women who could converse with him on almost all subjects, he found teaching to be fount of new experiences too. No matter what subject he taught or to what age group, he honestly couldn't say that one gender outshone the other.
He came to realise that most of the women he had met in his life had been of his class, which is to say, educated to a basic level, then taught only subjects that would make then seem 'accomplished' to a potential suitor. If they had opinions, they didn't venture them and if they showed any interest in an 'unladylike' subject, they would be swiftly dissuaded from that avenue of interest.
He felt like Paul on the road to Damascus, having had the scales ripped from his eyes and able to see things clearly for the first time.
It was a very unsettling feeling.
Chapter Twenty Two
Hope didn't know how Honoria endured this. The last few days had just been an endless cycle of fear. She jumped at every small noise and each time she closed her eyes, she saw him, his face by hers, his rancid, whisky breath making her want to recoil but she couldn't. His words tormented her, replaying over and over in her head, reminding her of what he wanted to do to her. She didn't understand everything he'd said, but she knew enough that his words struck fear into her heart.
And then there was the pain. Her wrist hurt, her ankle hurt, her ribs hurt and she could hardly open one eye, although that was getting better.
Hope knew that Malcolm was in jail and had been denied bail, because he continued to make threats towards Hope. Many people had told her this but for some reason, that didn't make the fear go away.
How did Honoria not only live with not only the pain and the memories, but also with the man himself?
She had always thought herself a strong woman but now she realised that she had no idea what true strength was.
Everyone urged her to get up and out of bed; they had found an old wheeled chair that she could be moved about the house garden with. Her mother especially was keen on her going out into the garden, but didn't she realise that the garden was where it happened? She would no more voluntarily go into the garden, even with other people, than she would fly.
Her father wasn't quite so adamant, but he too pushed for her to leave her room. Even her lady's maid pestered her.
Only James didn't. She didn't know why, perhaps he preferred her meek and placid. Every day he came in and read to her for two hours and he enjoyed those hours very much. He was a natural orator and brought the stories to life, so for a few hours at least, she could forget her painful memories and instead, immerse herself in the story for a while. Their first novel was Mary Barton but now they had moved onto Jane Eyre
Jane was strong too but like Honoria, it was a quiet strength. Like Hope, she wasn't afraid to speak her mind, but Hope felt that she didn't have the inner strength to back up her bluster. One attack and she had crumpled.
She smiled as James knocked on her door, then came in when bid and smiled at her.
“Does MacDuff need to go outside?” he asked.
Hope could hardly believe that James would stoop to carrying her dog to the garden, but each day he asked.
“If you wouldn't mind, he hasn't been out since this morning.”
“I wouldn't ask if I minded.”
MacDuff could walk on three legs now but he found going down the stairs difficult, so someone always carried him. As gently as he could, James eased MacDuff into his arms,
holding the dog's rear by his waist and putting each leg over a different shoulder, as if MacDuff were a child. Still, he seemed to feel more secure being carried that way than any other.
They were gone about ten minutes and Hope used the time to plump her pillows, adding the spare pillows from MacDuff's side so that she could sit up for a change.
She smiled even brighter as James came back and gently laid her dog back on the bed. He had made a few protests about hygiene but seemed to have accepted the situation now. He even paused to stroke MacDuff for a few minutes.
“How was school?” Hope asked. Although she hadn't been talking much, people kept talking to her, telling her what was happening and sometimes, she even listened. She wasn't sure what day of the week it was but she knew that this must be a teaching day, because he was later than usual.
“Good,” he smiled. Hope had never asked him anything before, and had only begun exchanging pleasantries with him a few days before. “I never thought that I would be good at teaching arithmetic, it was my worst subject when I was young but I finally stumbled on a reward system that makes them much more eager to learn.”
“Reward system?”
“Yes. Each day I set a challenge at the end of the lesson, difficult problems for each age group. The ones who get all five questions right get a red ribbon and a pin to wear it on their shirt. Those with five red ribbons get a blue ribbon. Those with five blue ones get a gold. Well, probably yellow, I haven't needed to buy any gold ribbon yet, but already Sally Mayhew has four red ribbons, so I had better get some blue before I go back on Friday.”
“She's very bright,” Hope said.
“Yes, but dreadfully poor.”
For a moment, Hope thought that he was judging her based on her family's money, or lack thereof, but he looked so downhearted when she glanced at him, that she knew her initial judgement was wrong.
“Anyway, I probably shouldn't be talking of such depressing things when you're still in your sickbed. Where did we get to with Jane Eyre?”
Degrees of Hope Page 17
