“I hope so.”
Annabelle enjoyed Jane’s company. Other members of the staff treated her with suspicion and coldness, and her odd encounters with Mr. Bryant made her uncomfortable, but Jane treated her as an equal. Perhaps Jane might be able to shine a little light on the subject for her.
“May I ask you a question?” Annabelle tugged at the ribbons of her bonnet.
“Of course.”
“Do you know Mr. Simon Bryant?”
“Yes, he is one of the boys’ teachers. Why?”
“Nothing really. I have not met any of the boys’ teachers yet, but I did encounter him at my uncle’s cottage a few weeks back.”
“Did he behave inappropriately?”
“No, nothing of the sort. It was just a feeling, that is all.”
“Well, I am not surprised you have not met any of the male teachers. Mrs. Brathay is quite insistent that we have as little interaction with them as possible. The rule is quite strict. Our schedules are set so we only see them in church on Sunday. On more than one occasion I can think of, a female staff member has been relieved from her duties for being too familiar with the male staff.”
Jane adjusted her hat and looked sideways at Annabelle. “Oh, and we also will be able to interact with them at the Autumn Festival. Has anyone mentioned that to you yet?”
Annabelle tilted her head. “No, I don’t think so.”
Jane’s face brightened. “Oh my, I can hardly wait for it to arrive! It is still a couple of weeks away, but I have heard ever so many wonderful stories about it. Dancing and music and merriment. It is the one time of the year the townspeople are invited to the school grounds to celebrate the harvests from our agricultural efforts and mingle with the staff.”
Annabelle’s interest was piqued. “That does sound exciting.”
“And what is even more exciting is that it is the one time we are allowed to dress in attire other than these horrid black dresses, to hearken back to the school’s earliest days before a uniform was enforced.”
Annabelle was glad to hear of it. She was about to ask more questions about it, but as they walked along the garden’s low wall toward the school’s main gate, she heard a giggle.
“Did you hear that?” Jane stopped and turned. “The children should all be taking their meals.”
Annabelle frowned. Something was oddly familiar about the voice. “I did hear it. From where do you suppose it came?” She stepped away from Jane and around the garden’s wall where she thought the sound originated.
And what she saw horrified her.
For there, in the distance, stood Crosley.
With a man.
Obviously unaware that she was being observed, Crosley threw back her head in laughter. Her blonde uncovered hair caught the few bright rays of sunlight that managed to squeeze through the shifting gray clouds. She reached out and touched the coat sleeve of the laughing man, who lifted his finger to her lips to tell her to be quiet.
Jane approached, and her steps slowed as she took in the intimate sight. “Oh my.”
The man’s finger lingered on Crosley’s lips, and instead of resisting his touch, she leaned in closer. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her tight.
Annabelle could handle the silence no more. She tore her gaze away from the scene. “We should leave.”
But Jane stood firm. “It’s Mr. Hemstead.”
“Who’s Mr. Hemstead?”
Jane did not take her gaze off the pair. “He is one of the boys’ schoolteachers. A handsome man, but a dangerous one as far as a pretty female is concerned. Miss Crosley would do well to avoid him.”
Concern pulsed through Annabelle. Even though there had been several odd, tense moments between Crosley and her, she wanted to protect her former lady’s maid if she could. “Why?”
Jane kept her voice low. “I have not made his acquaintance personally, but apparently he fancies himself quite the catch. I do not know why your uncle allows him to continue here, for if the rumors are true, he has put more than one young woman in a compromising situation. His father is on the school’s advisory board and provides substantial financial support. That is the only reason I can think of.”
The chiming bell atop the chapel marked the end of the meal hour. Crosley turned to leave, but the man reached out his hand to playfully stop her.
Jane pulled back from the gate and straightened. “I must go, but since you are her friend, it might be wise to advise her to guard the company she keeps.”
Jane’s warning burned in Annabelle’s ears as the other woman headed back down the path. Annabelle waited for Mr. Hemstead to leave Crosley’s side, and then as Crosley took the path back to the school, she hurried to catch up with her former lady’s maid.
“Crosley, have you gone mad?” Annabelle hissed as she jogged to fall into step next to the shorter woman.
Crosley did not slow her pace and fixed her eyes on something in the distance. “What do you mean?”
“You were with a man. Alone! What were you thinking? Anyone could have seen you.” Annabelle righted her bonnet, which had tilted to the side with her hasty action. “You know full well behavior like that could result in your termination.”
“You fret far too much. Besides, Mr. Hemstead is kind. I think he likes me very much.”
“Therein lies the problem, Crosley.” Annabelle lifted the hem of her gown and struggled to keep up. “According to Jane he has quite the rake’s reputation.”
“That sort of thing might concern you, but it does not concern me.” Crosley increased her pace.
“Well, it should. Men like that can be dangerous.”
Crosley came to an abrupt halt and faced Annabelle. “And you know of such things? Of ‘men like that’?”
Annabelle lifted her hand to still the hair flittering about her face. “We have both heard stories of how women—seemingly good, wholesome women—have fallen prey to a handsome man. It is just a warning, Crosley. I mean, Margaret. From a friend.”
“A friend?” Crosley crossed her arms over her chest. “Why, is it because you care so much for my future?”
Annabelle finally made eye contact. “As a matter of fact, I do.”
Crosley’s light eyes narrowed. “We should probably come to terms on one fact. You and I came here together, but we are not family. We are not friends. I worked for you, waited on you. Primped you. Dressed you. Kept your secrets. Brought you tea and coffee whenever your heart desired. That does not make me beholden to you for anything, nor does it give you the right to comment on my personal affairs.”
Annabelle winced at the words, surprised by their sting. She opened her mouth to speak, but Crosley had not finished speaking her mind. “You might be willing to throw away marriage proposals like they were rubbish, but some of us can’t afford such luxuries. I, for one, do not want to end my life as a spinster.”
Annabelle clenched her jaw to prevent harsh words from spilling forth and then took a deep breath. “If you are insinuating that I threw away a marriage proposal, I—”
“You can interpret my words however you like, but I am not going to pass up the opportunity to marry and be settled. Mr. Hemstead may be that man or he may not be. But that is my decision to make, not yours. You’ll not be able to tell me what to do anymore.”
Frustration welled within Annabelle. Never had Crosley spoken to her that way. “I only meant that—”
“And while we are on the subject, you would be wise to heed your own advice.”
Annabelle winced at the sharp tone. “I don’t understand.”
“I think it’s terribly ironic that you warn me of such things, when you yourself had an open conversation with a man right in the middle of the courtyard for all to see.”
“Who?” Annabelle demanded, her defenses rising.
“Mr. Locke.”
She huffed. “What does he have to do with this conversation?”
“Perhaps you have the same idea as I. You just do not want to admi
t it.”
Annabelle’s head swam at the myriad insinuations flying at her. She was not in a position to scold Crosley, as Crosley was well aware. In fact, Crosley could spoil Annabelle’s entire situation with one slip of the tongue. How could Annabelle have been so foolish as to get herself so indebted to another?
She lowered her voice. “I’ve no desire to argue with you. I’m only suggesting that it would be sensible to guard your character and heed what others are saying.”
“I could care less what others say about me.” Crosley leaned closer. “Perhaps you should stop pretending to know me and my character. Let me be clear: we may have lived together, but we were not friends, and I’ve no desire to be so.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
After the odd encounter with Crosley, Annabelle longed for solitude.
She looked up to the sky and watched a cluster of birds fly by. She did not want to return to school, and she did not have another class for an hour.
Annabelle had not realized how sheltered her old way of life was. She’d grown comfortable in her bubble of isolation, and she felt unsure of how to handle the constant presence of other people. She had thought the lack of luxury would be the hardest part of this transition, but that assumption was far from the truth.
She glanced back to see Crosley’s small form stomping toward the kitchen garden. Their conversation had left her feeling weak and foolish. How naive she had been for assuming Crosley’s sincerity all those years.
There was little she could do about that now, and she did not want to give Crosley the satisfaction of knowing how sharply her words had cut. The mention of Mr. Locke and the following accusations had struck a chord, for in reality Annabelle did want the security a husband would offer. She wanted a home of her own and the knowledge that she belonged somewhere of her own merit. And right now, she was far from either.
Annabelle stepped through the garden gate that led outside of Fellsworth School property. Doubt choked her. Perhaps she had made a mistake in coming here. But what good would it do to second-guess her decision now? There could be no going back.
Step after step took her deeper into the forest. It was much cooler beneath the canopy of green boughs, and the soothing birdcalls and gentle twinkling of sunlight streaming through the emerald leaves made it seem like a fairyland. She closed her eyes in the forest’s calming stillness and took several deep breaths.
She did not need Crosley’s friendship. But what did she really need? Rest? Security?
Her body was tired, but it was more than that—her mind was tired. Tired of change. Tired of not meeting the expectations of those around her. Tired of feeling like a leaf in a pond, bouncing and swaying with the water’s will.
A sudden voice pulled her from her reflection.
“Miss Thorley. What are you doing here?”
Annabelle turned around to see Mr. Locke, straight and tall upon his brown horse, a rifle across his lap. Drake trotted next to his master, but he did not stop with the horse. Instead, the brown dog scampered toward her, tail wagging. He came quite close and sniffed her hand.
She smiled at the animal’s affection and then looked up. “I was just taking a stroll.”
“Do you know that this is Bancroft property?” His eyes were shadowed by the brim of his hat, hiding his eyes and any expression held within.
She drew her eyebrows together. “I did not mean to trespass.”
“I did not say it to make you feel like you were trespassing.” He dismounted from his horse, the keys at his waist jingling as he did so. “There are traps along this area over here. I caution you to be careful, ’tis all.”
“Thank you for the words of caution.” She rubbed her arm. “I lost track of how far I had walked. It is beautiful here. I never realized spaces like this existed. There was certainly nothing to match it in London.”
Owen tipped his hat back and took several seconds to observe his surroundings, almost as if seeing them for the first time. “I would take the solace of a forest over the hustle of London’s streets any day. Just listen to the silence. My father always said that if the mind is too cluttered, you will never hear your soul’s whispers.”
Annabelle never would have expected such a rugged man to reveal such a tender sentiment. He looked up at the leaves once more. Appreciation was evident in his tanned face as he surveyed the space. He clearly saw more than trees. More than a forest. He was in his home.
It really was good to see Mr. Locke. He removed his hat, and slivers of sunlight played in the wild, curly black locks. He shook his head to brush them out of his face.
As much as she didn’t want it to be true, the conversation they had on Fellsworth property the other day had been weighing heavily on her mind. “I am glad to have encountered you, for I wondered if you have received any more news of my brother.”
He flipped the horse’s reins over the animal’s head and looped them around a low-hanging branch. “Unfortunately I know nothing new, other than your brother and sister-in-law have relocated to Bath. That is all Mr. Treadwell shared with me.”
“How odd.” She stilled her bonnet’s windblown ribbons. “My sister-in-law does not care to leave London.”
“From what Treadwell said, I think the situation was so dire that she wanted to be free of it.”
Annabelle could not blame Eleanor, and pity for her sister-in-law’s situation threaded around her. Their family had already been the source of scandal. News of the murder of a guest in the Thorley home would spread quickly. It would be impossible for any member of the family to show their face without whispers and stares. Even if the murderer was never found, the scandal would follow their family wherever they went.
A bird chirped overhead, and she squinted to see it in the branches above. “May I tell you something, Mr. Locke?”
“You may tell me anything you wish.”
Annabelle’s chest tightened. “It concerns Mr. McAlister.”
His eyes narrowed on her, and for a moment she regretted bringing the topic to light. But the memory of that night had been pressing on her, and who else could she speak to about it? “That night, before we left for the ball at the Baldwins’, Crosley brought me a missive from Mr. McAlister.”
She watched him, waiting for some sort of shock at learning she had received a note from a man, but no such response came. “In it he told me that my brother was in dire trouble and he asked me to meet with him privately to discuss it.”
His expression remained stoic. “And did you speak with him?”
She shook her head and looked down at the leafy carpet beneath her feet. “I could not risk the scandal of responding in a letter, and I had hoped to talk with him at the ball, but that never happened. And now . . .” Her words faded.
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Do you have any idea what he was referring to?”
Annabelle gave a little laugh and tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. “My brother is always in some sort of predicament, Mr. Locke. I probably should have been more concerned when I received the note, but my brother had made it perfectly plain that I had no business interfering with his dealings. I can’t help but wonder if Mr. McAlister’s message had something to do with what transpired that night. Furthermore, I wonder if in some way I could have prevented what happened.”
“You cannot take such an act upon yourself, Miss Thorley. It is a horrible act, but it is not yours.”
Her gaze landed on the weapon now resting against Mr. Locke’s shoulder. She knew nothing about weapons or firearms. But her brother kept smaller versions of them in Wilhurst House. And something like it had taken Mr. McAlister’s life.
He nodded at the rifle in his arms. “Is this making you nervous?”
Embarrassed she had been caught staring, she managed a thin laugh. “I am just not used to seeing those carried about so casually.”
“There is nothing casual about them. In fact, I keep it completely out of sight when Hannah is around. She is ner
vous around them too. Here, I’ll put it down if it makes you more comfortable.”
His action indicated that he intended to stay in her presence for a bit longer. A strange, girlish flutter stirred within her. She was glad. She did not want him to leave.
A bird swooped from the branches and landed on a nearby shrub, the suddenness of it taking Annabelle by surprise. “What sort of bird is that? I never saw it before I came to Fellsworth.”
“That?” He pointed at the bird and raised his eyebrows. “That’s a warbler.”
“She is a pretty little thing, and I have seen several of them since I came to Fellsworth. I didn’t see many birds like that in London.”
“Well, she is actually a he. You can tell by the black cap on his head.” Mr. Locke stepped toward the bird, and it took flight and disappeared into the waving leaves. “Meddlesome creature, really. But harmless.”
She was not used to feeling so unknowledgeable. In the London drawing rooms she was well versed in the topic of literature or the fashion of the day. She found it refreshing, if not humbling, to explore a new topic. “You must think it odd that I know so little of these things.”
“Not really. You are from a town. I have been here a lifetime. My earliest memories took place in these very woods, and I have not wandered far. I know these woods like the back of my hand. Take this warbler, for instance. You’ve not seen him in London because it is not safe for him there. No food. Too dangerous. But get him in the right environment and he will thrive, just like people do.”
Annabelle liked Mr. Locke. Something about his nature made her feel as if she had known him all her life. Maybe it was because he had already seen her at her worst, or maybe it was because she felt as if she had no more to lose.
She allowed her perfect posture to slacken ever so slightly. “I suppose I don’t know where I belong anymore.”
“Yes you do.” His response was swift. “Otherwise you would not be here in Fellsworth.”
She gave a little laugh. “Are you always so confident?”
A Stranger at Fellsworth Page 17
