“I was happy in London,” he said, simply. “We have family there, I had friends, and a vocation to keep me busy. I know it is not a popular sentiment, but I enjoyed my profession, and I was damn good at it,” he added fiercely. He turned to look across the expanse of trees and shrubs. There was tension in his shoulders, his entire body seemed on a fine edge, and then suddenly he relaxed, as though deflating. “I mourn Freddie, for the loss of my brother and friend, but I mourn, too, the life I had. That life died with him.”
Harriet was consumed by the need to comfort him. She reached out and placed a hand on his forearm. He placed his own hand over hers. It was warm and solid, and she moved her thumb across the top of his hand in an unconscious caress. She heard a gasp from somewhere across the picnic blanket, and she quickly tried to pull her hand away. He held on for a just a moment, and then released her.
“And what of you?” he asked suddenly. “Louisa tells me you have relations in London, as well. Why do you not go visit them for a season?” And find yourself a husband, hung in the air unasked.
Harriet could have told him what she told everyone else, that she had no love for London, that she found the company plenty varied and lively at home, that her mother liked her to remain close, but after his own revelations, she could not bring herself to lie.
“My father.”
George's eyebrows rose in surprise. It was obviously not the answer he had expected. “Your father?”
She nodded and cleared her throat, for a moment unsure whether or not she could continue. “I told you my father was ill?”
George nodded his head but said nothing. He seemed to sense that she could not take any interruptions.
“He isn't merely ill.” Harriet was shocked at how clear and normal her voice sounded. “He suffered an apoplexy last spring. He hasn't been himself since.”
Wondering if that was enough, she paused, waiting for the customary consolations that came whenever she revealed anything about her father's condition. George merely waited, staring at her with those deep gray eyes, eyes that did not show pity, or worse, revulsion. They were only calm and questioning, and undeniably comforting.
“He hasn't said a word or been able to move more than a finger on his own since it happened.”
Now he knew it all. The only person outside her own family and the Fischers to know the extent to which her father was incapacitated. The neighborhood thought him feeble, perhaps even slightly touched in the head, but no one knew that he could neither move nor speak at all. She was looking down when his hand moved over hers. She looked up at him, surprised to see that he was smiling at her.
“Thank you for telling me,” was all he said.
Stunned, Harriet smiled back. “You're welcome,” she said, not knowing what else to say.
The picnic did not last much longer after that. Lady Whitney, in particular, seemed anxious to leave. As it was getting on in the day, no one argued with her much. The driver returned to pack the lunch basket and preceded them down the hill.
“George, dear,” Lady Whitney's falsetto voice grated against Harriet. It seemed incongruous in the quiet, ancient woods, like a tropical bird squawking from the top of one of the birch trees. “You must help me down this dreadful hill. Whatever encouraged you to come up here, I'll never know.” The look she gave Harriet, however, said she had ideas about the source of the bad influence.
Although she was grateful to him for showing her this beautiful place, Harriet was glad that George was gone. She wanted a moment to take her leave of the place in peace, in the solitude it demanded. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, listening to the soft calls of birds and tittering of tiny insects. So much life in a place so old. With one last look at the wild roses, she turned away from the wood and walked slowly down the hill alone.
By some design or lucky happenstance, Harriet was placed in a carriage with only George and Lillian for the ride back to the Hall, so it was a very pleasant trip. Between George's dry humor and Lillian's exact impressions of everyone from Lady Whitney to Mrs. York, Harriet did not stop laughing the whole way back. She stepped down from the carriage feeling light and warm, seeking only an hour or so in Margaret's company to make her contentment complete.
~~~
Part Two
Over the next few days, Harriet was a part of several parties, picnics and walks and rides across the grounds. There were always many people, sometimes people Harriet had never seen before, and yet somehow, Harriet and George were almost always left on their own for a large part of the afternoon. They were just returning from a walk through the garden, during which an increasingly irate Lady Whitney had been forced to explain the qualities and origin of every plant they came across to a rapturous Lillian, leaving George and Harriet to walk the rest of the path together. Despite herself, she was enjoying her time at the Hall, and smiling, she turned to tell George, when a waiting figure caught her eye.
Standing in front of the entrance to the Hall was a man, tall and well-dressed with a shock of bright red hair and deep brown eyes behind large circular glasses. At the sight of him, all the pleasant, warm feelings inside Harriet evaporated, replaced by an empty cold space under her breast bone.
“Are you alright?” George's voice in her ear and his hand on her elbow made Harriet realize that she had stopped right in the middle of the path. Louisa looked at her, eyes filled with concern. Lillian rushed past her, head down, eyes averted, brushing against her side in her haste.
Harriet spoke through clenched teeth, “I'm fine.” She pulled her arm out of George's grasp and approached her brother.
“Harriet,” he smiled and moved towards her, arms wide. Harriet stepped back, and his arms dropped, though the smile did not waver. “I am glad to see you.”
“Why are you here, Lucas?”
Lucas shrugged, “Mother said you would be here, and I wanted to see you. It has been some time since we've seen each other, after all.”
Harriet laughed, but this time, it was a cold, derisive noise, and she hated the sound of it. “Yes, some time. Nearly a year, as I recall.”
Finally, the smile dropped off his face. He looked tired, and somewhat sad. “I've been busy, Harriet,” he spoke quietly.
The cold place inside her was suddenly full of fiery, burning anger. It rose up her throat, and she had to open her mouth and let it out, or be consumed by it. She didn't bother to keep her voice down as she advanced on him, “Much too busy for your family, I see. Whatever could have happened now to pull you away from your busy and important life? Father's illness wasn't enough to make you leave. Letters from your family begging you to come home weren't enough. You left me here then to attend to it all alone. What is it then, Lucas? What, tell me, finally got you here?”
“Harry, I'm getting married.”
The rest of her tirade died in her throat, “Married? When?” She was still angry, but curiosity overtook all other emotions. She had heard nothing of a courtship or an engagement from any of her relatives. “And to whom?”
“Her name is Violet,” he said through a goofy grin. He looked absolutely smitten; there was no other word for it. “She is the most lovely creature I have ever set eyes on. We will be married at once. I came to introduce her to... my family,” he finished, after a pause.
Harriet knew that he had been about to say Father's name and realized the error, but not in time to stop her rage from returning in full measure.
“Congratulations, but I, for one, will not be able to attend. Someone has to stay here and take care of Father while the rest of the family traipses off to Oxford for your wedding.”
Lucas looked quietly at his sister and shook his head. “My wedding will not be in Oxford, Harriet. It will be here, and Violet and I will be returning after the honeymoon. To stay,” he added, unnecessarily.
She stared blankly at him. She had heard the words but did not dare to believe them. Lucas had always been the irresponsible one, in spite of being the only male Davenport child. After a
ll, he had run off to university the first chance he got and never come back. And now, he was saying that he and his new bride were moving to Thornwood Park to stay?
“Harry,” Lucas hesitated for just a moment before grabbing both her hands and holding them in his own. “I know this does not change anything, but I honestly did not know how hard it has been for you these past months. Mother and Margaret were always vague but upbeat in their letters; yours were fewer and farther between. When Violet found out about Father, she asked me to cancel the honeymoon altogether, so that I could take away the burden you've been under immediately. Mother talked her out of that,” he said, smirking. “Still, I plan to make certain everything is in order before the wedding. I promise, Harry, I will not let you down.”
He looked so earnest, eyes staring directly into her without guile. Harriet felt tears forming, and she blinked them back, but she did not stop herself from being pulled into her brother's embrace.
When she spoke, it was in a quiet, slightly choked voice. “I have missed you, Lucas.”
“Please do not become sentimental, Harry. It doesn't suit you.”
She laughed and pulled away from him, wiping her eyes.
“Now, come, Violet wants to meet you. I've told her all about you.” Lucas smiled mischievously, and Harriet guessed that not all his stories were strictly flattering to her.
“Wonderful,” she murmured.
~~~
Harriet could not remember a time when her sister looked so happy. She was still pale and thin, but there was such joy in her eyes that it warmed Harriet's heart.
“You have truly reconciled?” Margaret whispered, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes.
“I don't know that I would say that,” Harriet said, “but we will see. I promised I would come meet his Violet tomorrow.”
Margaret's smile widened even further, stretching the limits of her face. “You have reconciled.”
Harriet shook her head. There was no use arguing with her sister when she was in such a mood. She honestly didn't know if she was ready to forgive Lucas or not. She had felt so abandoned, so betrayed when he didn't come home after her father's illness that it was difficult to let go of those feelings. She realized with a small shock how much they had been festering inside her over the past months.
Patting Margaret's hand, she stood to leave. “I am going for a ride, my dear, but I will come see you tonight.”
Harriet asked the stable lad to saddle her horse, and she went for a ride to clear her head. She felt at home on a horse, and normally, nothing made her feel more completely alive than a ride, but today, she could not stop thinking about Lucas. He seemed truly different than the last time she had seen him. She would not allow herself to become too hopeful - he had disappointed her too many times in the past - but she allowed for the possibility of change. Perhaps this Violet was a good influence, she thought. Her revery was broken when a sharp wind blew across the field, chilling her to the bone. The day, though it had started out pleasant, was turning dark and cold. Shivering, she gathered her cloak closer around her and turned back towards the Hall. A lone rider, unnoticed until she turned around, was riding swiftly towards her.
“Oh! Sir Whitney. I wasn't expecting to meet anyone.” Harriet felt a flush creep up her neck into her cheeks. She hoped the faded light hid it sufficiently, but she doubted it once she saw the look on his face. His eyes twinkled in blatant amusement, clearly enjoying the fact that he had caught her off-guard. She coughed slightly and asked, more to cover her embarrassment than out of an actual desire to know, “Are you on your way somewhere?”
“Actually, I was coming to meet you.”
Harriet's eyebrows shot up. “Meet me? Why?”
“There is something I would like to show you, if you have the time.”
Though the sky was filled with clouds, Harriet knew the hour was not so late that she would be missed at the Hall. “I suppose I could spare an hour. What did you want me to see?”
“It is a bit of a ride. Do you think you can manage?”
Harriet, who was an excellent horsewoman, bristled slightly at this, and her tone was colder than she intended when she answered. “I will manage. Which way?”
They rode in silence for several minutes before either of them spoke. Finally George broke the silence, “Who was that at the Hall earlier?”
Harriet thought she sensed a strain in his tone of voice. Remembering her behavior in the front walk of the Hall when she first saw Lucas, she blushed once more. She rushed to explain, “That was my brother, Lucas. I have not seen him for many months, as he has been living in Oxford. It was quite a shock to see him standing there.”
George's face lit up in recognition, “Yes, I should have recognized him from the first! I wish I had realized. We used to play together a bit as boys.”
Harriet smiled, “I remember.”
The clouds, which had before been grey but not threatening, were steadily becoming darker as they rode farther into the woods. Harriet began to feel nervous that the storm would break before they reached their destination.
“Is it much farther?” she asked.
“No, it is just there, near the river.” He pointed to a small cottage in the distance, partially blocked by an outcropping of trees. Harriet could only see part of the roof and one wall, but she noted that there was no smoke rising from the chimney. She didn't have time to consider this, however, since at that moment the skies opened and water started coming down on them in sheets. She was soaked to the skin within seconds.
Pushing his horse faster, George led the way to the cottage. The rain was so thick that Harriet could hardly see where she was going, and she did not resist when George opened the door, without so much as knocking, and pushed her inside.
She stood, dripping a puddle onto the rough wooden floor, in a small room containing a table and chair, a small cot on an iron frame with a wooden chest at the foot, and the fireplace. Other than the door they had come through, there seemed to be only the one window, luckily tacked over with an oiled skin that was keeping out the rain, and another door at the back of the room.
George moved quickly, kneeling before the fire to check for kindling and wood. He had the blaze going in moments, and Harriet sighed as heat filled the room. He must have noticed her shivering because she felt a weight settle itself across her shoulders. She pulled the quilt closer and hugged her arms against her body, willing some of the cold from her body.
“Sit here,” George said, his voice wavering slightly, and he pulled her towards the fire, where he had placed the single wooden chair.
“I'm all right,” she assured him. “Just a bit damp.”
He laughed softly but still made her sit in front of the fire. After a few moments, she was still wet, but she was warm, and steam was rising from her clothes. It was only then that she noticed that George was still dripping, and his lips had started to turn slightly blue around the edges.
She jumped out of the chair, “What do you think you are doing?” she demanded.
He looked startled and moved away from her. “Letting you warm yourself.”
“By allowing your own self to freeze half to death. Sit down.” Her tone was sharp and commanding, and he sat without comment. By rooting around in the chest near the bed, she found another quilt, and though it smelled slightly of mothballs and dust, it was dry. She put it over his shoulders and began rubbing his cold fingers.
At her touch, he looked up. She found herself staring into those strange gray eyes, and she felt suddenly breathless. Then she noticed that she was no longer rubbing his hands, but he was softly stroking the back of hers. Hastily, she dropped his hand and stood up. She cleared her throat, “I'll just see if there are any tea things, shall I? I think you could use something hot.”
She spent several minutes rummaging through the cupboards without really seeing anything. A warmth was spreading itself throughout her body, starting low and moving steadily lower. She closed her eyes to steady her
self and saw grey eyes behind her closed lids. She heard a cough behind and whipped around, knocking a tin cup to floor with a loud clang.
“You startled me,” she said, putting a hand to her fast-beating heart.
“I want to show you why I brought you here.” He was looking at her intently and holding out his hand.
She nodded her consent but tactfully pretended not to see his hand.
“This way.” He led her to the door she had noticed on first arriving in the cottage. He opened it to reveal another room, slightly larger than the living quarters and smelling strongly of woods shavings and varnish. She stepped into the room and waited while George brought a light.
He walked through the work space, past benches and tools towards the back of the room. Following, Harriet suddenly realized that they must be in Mr. Hudson's cabin, the carpenter. But where is Mr. Hudson? she wondered. George had stopped next to some kind of chair, but Harriet could not make it out right away in the dim light.
It was definitely a chair of some kind, made of a deep, rich-colored wood Harriet could not identify. The workmanship was incredible; she could tell even in the dimness that it was of impeccable quality. It had slender, curving arms and a foot rest in the front, but what held Harriet's attention were the two large wheels affixed to the sides.
“It's for your father,” George was saying.
Stunned, Harriet turned to him. “I don't understand.”
George looked down, and Harriet had the horrifying thought that he was embarrassed, but she did not know what to say.
“You mentioned that he has some trouble moving about,” he began. This was a vast understatement, since he knew that her father could not move at all, but she ignored it and let him continue his explanation. “I thought that this way he could be moved more easily, perhaps someone could even push him around outside on occasion. I'm sorry, it is quite heavy, but I'm going to try again to make a lighter one that you could easily push. I hope this will work in the meantime.”
Lady of the Rose Page 3
