Stunned by her words, Rafe reacted by taking her hand once more. There was only one thing he could do to protect her. He began walking faster, keeping her beside him. Hedley matched him, stride for stride.
They stepped off the curve of the road to a small gully. Just beyond it stood a grassy hill dotted with white boulders shaped like tombstones jutting up from the ground. He glanced over his shoulder, seeing the carriage on the road. “Pick up your skirts,” he urged with a squeeze of her hand.
She let out a startled laugh but gripped a handful of skirt all the same. “They will call us both mad.”
“Let them.” If he could help outrun her fear and never witness her terror again, then he would keep running until they reached Greyson Park.
Once they gained the other side of the hill and the road had disappeared from view, she stopped, effectively stopping him too. Her cheeks were bright pink, and her lips were ripe once again. Just as they should be.
“Madness suits you,” she said, smiling.
He raked a hand through his unruly curls, pleased by the comment. Considering the way his family was viewed by the ton, or even his history with the Sinclairs, he shouldn’t be grinning. But he was. “Does it?”
Hedley nodded and then looked away quickly, her expression somber.
She slipped her hand from his and moved toward a pair of boulders to lean against one. “There were five of us girls in the carriage that day. All the village children were given the chance to take a tour around the maypole festival.”
Rafe felt his grin fade and knew that she was going to tell him about her fear. He didn’t stop her or make any response. He merely leaned back against the boulder beside hers.
“Henrietta was my dearest friend. We often played together, both of us wanting an escape—her from the strictures of the vicar and his wife who’d taken her in as orphan, and me from Ursa.” Hedley drew in a breath before she continued. “The night of the festival, Henrietta feared that the vicar wouldn’t approve of the celebration. I begged her to go anyway. Then, soon enough we were waving from the windows with streamers dangling from our hands. We felt like princesses.”
Rolling her head to the side, she looked at him. A ghost of a smile flitted across her lips, but then her cornflower blue eyes clouded over. “I’m not certain what happened next. The driver shouted. The horse let out a cry. Suddenly, we tipped. Three of the girls were thrown from the carriage. Henrietta and I were on the side that crashed to the ground. Everything went silent for a moment. Still and suspended, the same way the morning sounds after a heavy snowfall. The groaning of the carriage, the shouts from the driver, the horse . . . all fell eerily silent.”
She took another breath, and Rafe realized that he was holding his. He could see the events in her haunted eyes and pale face once more.
“I won’t describe the rest,” she whispered. “I’m certain you already know what sounds breached the silence.”
Screams, he thought. Dozens of screams—from the people witnessing the horror, to the girls within it. Hedley’s screams. And he imagined that was one of the things that had been locked inside her when he’d found her beside that carriage earlier.
“Did all five of the girls survive?” he asked, but his voice was edged with trepidation. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.
“Not Henrietta.” Hedley drew in a staggered breath and looked away. “I remember how her eyes were open so wide, I thought she was looking at me for help. I reached for her hand, to pull her to safety, but I couldn’t hold on. It was too slippery. When her arm dropped, it fell against the door as if it were boneless. It wasn’t until I looked—I truly looked—that I saw . . . ” Hedley swallowed and tears began to stream down her face. “Henrietta was on the outside, between the carriage and ground. Crushed. And her hands were slippery because she was covered in blood. I was covered in her blood too.”
He was silent for a long while. At some point during this, he’d taken her hand in his again. He wasn’t sure if it was to provide himself comfort or her. But he liked knowing she was here beside him, and he refused to look any deeper than that.
CHAPTER NINE
Hedley awoke the following morning feeling lightheaded and somewhat dizzy. It took a moment to orient herself before she padded across her bedchamber to the washstand in the corner. By rote, she lifted the chipped brown pitcher, poured cold water into the rutted basin, and began to wash her face.
That was when she noticed that her eyes were tender and slightly swollen. But that puffy flesh beneath her fingers made her smile at the memory of what caused it.
Yesterday, for the first time in her life, she’d told someone about the accident. And afterward, Rafe had turned to her, tucked her head beneath his chin, and simply held her as she’d cried.
Just thinking about it made the slushy pwum-pum-pum beat of her heart return.
They hadn’t spoken much after that. But he’d walked her to Greyson Park and made sure she had enough firewood before he’d set off for Fallow Hall.
He’d told her that he was her friend. She hadn’t had a friend since Henrietta, and so Hedley decided she liked having Rafe as hers. Very much, indeed.
Of course, he still wanted to take Greyson Park from her. Yet that didn’t really bother her right now.
Gradually, the sense of dizziness faded as she donned her clothes for the day. She still hadn’t worn the lovely blue dress that Rafe had purchased. In fact, she hadn’t intended to wear any of the clothing in the parcel because her days centered on cleaning. The clothes were so beautiful that she didn’t want to ruin them. She would never forgive herself for snagging that fine, colorful muslin.
Yet when it had come time to dress for the market yesterday, she’d given in and worn the new shawl. Today, she couldn’t help but wonder what the pale pink chemise would feel like against her skin. The new stays didn’t have a single bone exposed. And the petticoat was so white and lovely . . .
No, she thought. She would not wear a pristine petticoat when she had to sweep out the cellar today. For that matter, she wouldn’t risk sullying the new chemise or stays either. “One day, when I’ve got nothing better to do than sit around all day, then Rafe’s clothes will be the perfect things to wear.”
That day was not today, however. She slipped into a threadbare cream-colored dress that had once had beautiful green piping around the neck, the cap sleeves, and the hem, along with a sash to match. And since the sash had long since shredded into bits, Hedley made her own sash out of strips of cloth she’d kept from other dresses that had degraded too much over the years. And as always, she slipped into her red shoes.
After spending hours in the cellar, Hedley was not only exhausted but thirsty. Unfortunately, her tea tin was empty. Not a single leaf remained. She’d found a few dried herbs, but that was all.
Undeterred, she filled the kettle. She’d simply drink a cup of hot rosemary water in the parlor. By the time she started a fresh fire in the kitchen stove, she heard a knock on the door. Not having heard a carriage and knowing that Ursa wouldn’t bother to knock, Hedley eagerly answered it.
There to greet her was none other than Calliope Ludlow, Viscountess Everhart.
“Hullo,” Calliope said, her face aglow with cheer beneath a straw bonnet. She lifted up a basket. “A few odds and ends to bid you good welcome.”
Grinning, Hedley didn’t know what to think, but she couldn’t have been more pleased. Her first guest! “Please, come inside. Your visit is just the thing to brighten my day, but oh—I must look like a chimney sweep. I hope you can forgive my appearance.” Feeling self-conscious, Hedley began to brush her hands over her dress to clear away the errant smudges and sticky cobwebs.
Calliope gently stayed her hand. “Nonsense. I came to see you, not your clothes. And I hope the items in this basket will offer the perfect distraction.”
Grateful beyond words, Hedley took the basket and led her neighbor into the parlor.
After washing the walls, floors,
and windows, the parlor had become her favorite room. She’d freshened up the moldering sofa with new straw stuffing and upholstered it with the curtains from the far bedroom upstairs—the one with the broken window. She’d found two similarly sized end tables and placed them on either side of the sofa, along with a pair of stiff-backed chairs, sitting at an angle for ease of conversation.
“It’s lovely,” Calliope said as she glanced around the room, never once mentioning the hole in the ceiling. “So cheerful. You can tell a great deal about a woman by the state of her parlor.”
This intrigued Hedley. She suddenly wanted to know about the parlor in Fallow Hall and even the ones in London, especially since she would never go there to see any for herself.
“You can?” she asked, placing the basket on the low table in front of the sofa.
“Oh, yes. My mother’s parlor, for example, is full of bright colors and plump pillows, rather like her disposition and her person.” Calliope laughed and sat down on the sofa. As if perfectly at home, she untied her bonnet and lifted it away, setting it down beside her. “My sister-in-law—the one I mentioned to you yesterday—enjoys shopping a great deal. The parlor’s appearance changes each time I visit.”
“And yours?” Hedley sat across from her. She’d never felt so at ease as she did now. Certainly not in her mother’s company or Ursa’s. She’d always had to prepare herself for the next insult or threat to lock her out of sight.
Calliope pressed her index finger to the end table and grinned. “You will find a book, or two, on each table.”
“And flowers.”
“Most definitely flowers,” Calliope said with a laugh. “Which is why I’ve asked Rafe to make me a set of small vases, so that I can put flowers all throughout the manor.”
At this, Hedley quirked her head to the side. “Rafe makes vases?”
And in that same moment, it hit her. The glass front cabinet in the drawing room at Fallow Hall. Of course! All those lovely creations. They were Rafe’s. She should have known the moment he’d told her about the artists in his family. Now, she was eager to see him again in order to ask about his craft.
Yet if she were honest with herself, the impulse to see him didn’t begin with this discovery. She’d carried it with her all day long.
“Vases, bowls, decanters, stemware . . . ” Calliope allowed her list to trail on as she sat forward and focused on the basket. After a moment, she reached inside and withdrew a small wooden chest with the word Oolong painted in gold. “What do you think of continuing our conversation over a cup of tea?”
“I already have the kettle on.”
“Splendid!”
While the tea brewed, Calliope told her of spending time in the kitchen in their house in London and how her family’s cook, Mrs. Shortingham, made “the best gingerbread in the entire world.” Hedley didn’t believe she’d ever eaten gingerbread, but it sounded quite delicious.
Gradually, the conversation drifted back to parlors, and Hedley learned about Calliope’s other friends and even the Dowager Duchess of Heathcoat. It was amazing to Hedley, to sit and talk with someone related to a dowager duchess—and even a duke, for that matter. Yet during the entirety of their discourse, Calliope never once made her feel as if she were backward for the questions she asked.
After Calliope had fashioned a tray with cups, saucers, spoons, serviettes, and an assortment of empty dishes—whose purpose was still unknown to Hedley—they were seated, once again, in the parlor.
“Do you mind if I pour?” Calliope asked.
“Um . . . no. Please do.” Not only had Hedley’s education lacked in societal behavior—how not to curtsy to the head butler, for instance—but she knew little of etiquette. She’d never attended a family meal. So what knowledge she possessed was from the years she’d spent dining in the nursery with the governess, before the accident.
Mimicking Calliope’s actions, she gently laid a serviette over her lap.
“How do you take it?”
Hedley looked down to the liquid splashing into the cup and then up to Calliope, wondering what she meant. “The tea?” In receiving a nod, she wasn’t sure what to tell her. Were there different ways?
“When I was putting this little basket together, I wasn’t sure how you preferred your tea. I enjoy mint in mine, but not everyone is the same. Then, of course, as I was pondering this over, Danvers suggested I nip some sugar from the loaf.”
Sugar in tea? She’d never heard of such decadence. Yet now that she looked at the basket, she saw a small brown sack, no bigger than a fist, marked SUGAR.
“Danvers takes sugar in his tea. But I brought mint and a lemon, just in case.”
“I’ll try it with sugar, I suppose,” she said, and summarily watched a pair of scalloped tongs sink into the sugar and then open over her cup.
While Hedley stirred her tea, Calliope removed a tin from the basket and opened the lid. Then, gingerly, she reached inside and pulled out a small round biscuit. A tin of biscuits! What a luxury! It had been ages since she’d eaten a biscuit. After the accident, she wasn’t permitted. A physician had recommended a diet of bread and broth. Over the years, her invisible self had maneuvered through the kitchen and secreted away breads, cheeses, and fruits. Yet never biscuits.
At present, her life was so altered that she hardly knew what she’d liked best. Unfortunately, just as she was trying to decide, she heard a carriage in the drive. Instant dread knotted her stomach. Her hand started to shake before she’d even taken her first sip of tea with sugar.
“Hedley, what’s wrong?”
“My sister is here,” she said, her voice hollow as she placed her teacup and saucer on the table. Slowly, as if someone else had control of her body, she stood and stared at the open parlor door.
She’d been having such lovely afternoon with her new friend and soon, she feared, she wouldn’t have any friend at all.
Without a knock of warning, the front door opened.
“My dear simpleton . . . are you going to hide from me again? I’ve brought our mother for a special treat,” Ursa chirruped. “She’s visiting my aunt as well.”
“You needn’t speak to the girl,” Mother said, her tone clipped. “She cannot understand you.”
The girl. Ah yes, such a warm term of endearment. She’d ceased being Hedley to her mother within a year of the accident.
“I’m here, in the parlor.” Her voice cracked ever so slightly when she saw Calliope’s look of utter horror. Hedley looked away quickly.
“The parlor.” Ursa laughed, emerging into the doorway. “Did you hear that Mother? She’s actually named the rooms in this ruin. Oh, and she has a guest. Dear me, have I interrupted a tea party? How quaint. Don’t be a dolt, if you can help it, sister, and introduce us.”
Calliope folded her napkin and stood, turning to face them in a way that blocked her expression from Hedley. But it was all for the best. After all, she didn’t want to see her neighbor’s desire to bolt from the house and never return. So for now, Hedley pretended that they could still be friends.
“Calliope, this is my mother, Lady Claudia Sinclair, and my sister, Mrs. Nathan Cole.” Hedley focused on the two pairs of black irises looking at her with disdain. At least, with this, she already knew to what to expect. “Mother, Ursa, this is my neighbor, the Viscountess Everhart.”
At the mention of the title, both Mother and Ursa arched their brows and focused their attention on Calliope. Together, they inclined their heads and sank into graceful curtsies. Calliope did the same. Only with her, the courtesy seemed more natural and less of a production.
“How good of you to visit the infirmed at Greyson Park out of charity,” Mother said, her lips spreading in something of a smile. At least, Hedley hoped it was a smile. It almost looked like a snarl.
“I too enjoy a bit of charity work,” Ursa offered, fiddling with the ruffled cuff of her sleeve. Then she primped her hair in the manner she always did when she wanted to be admired. “Though I’ve
always found it difficult to visit the infirmed without feeling as if I’ve degraded myself in some manner. Of course, she is my sister. So what can you do? We all have that one barmy relative.”
“Contrary to what you might have assumed,” Calliope said, her voice sweet but with an edge, “I am here visiting my friend. There is no charity here, other than what one friend provides another.”
Hedley felt tears prick the backs of her eyes. What a lovely thing to say, she thought, and then conveyed that sentiment in her smile when Calliope turned to her.
“Then it is a tea party after all.” Ursa didn’t bat an eye but smiled more broadly. “The long drive has left me rather parched. Perhaps I could join you for a spell. Though we don’t have long to dally.”
Warning shot through Hedley as her sister sauntered around the sofa and walked directly to the low table. “I’m afraid I have no additional cups, Ursa.”
Her sister feigned a cough into her glove. “Surely, you wouldn’t deprive me from having a sip from your cup?”
Hedley didn’t know what her sister planned to do, but she knew it wasn’t good. Ursa would never drink from her cup. And yet, she reached for it, all the same. But then, just as Ursa was about to take a drink, her fingers opened and the cup started to fall.
It hit the basket, falling directly onto the open tin of biscuits and liquid splashed out, saturating the sack of sugar. Calliope gasped. Hedley merely stared at the disaster.
“Dear me,” Ursa said, not bothering to hide her smile. “I do believe your cup was greasy. Quite slippery. Such a pity, though without a maid, it is no wonder. I should think it impossible to keep a house without servants. Wouldn’t you agree, Lady Everhart? In fact, Mother and I are here to fetch her.”
Fetch her? Imprison her was more like it. “I’m not going anywhere.”
The Devilish Mr. Danvers Page 10
