by Adele Clee
“Aye, I was, miss.”
“He told me the damaged painting had been left on the chair,” she said pointing to where she expected to find the memory of her mother torn to tatters.
Higson lifted his chin, gesturing to the empty chair. “Mr. Stone. He moved it. He didn’t want to cause any more distress than was necessary.”
“I see.”
It was a thoughtful gesture. Whoever left it there wanted her to see it in all its wicked glory, shredded and maimed, the soul stripped right out of it.
“He put it behind the chair,” Higson said holding out a meaty finger to direct her gaze.
Rebecca shook her head when she noticed the corners of the gilt frame poking out at the sides. She stared at the decorative edges, fear growing in her chest as she anticipated the pain she knew would follow.
“It feels as though my mother’s memory has been desecrated. It feels as though she has died all over again.” She hadn’t meant to say the words aloud. Higson glanced behind to see if she was talking to someone else. “How could anyone be so cruel?”
“If you don’t mind me saying, miss. All the precious things are in our head. Memories, that’s what counts. There’s no need for objects when your memory serves you well enough.”
Rebecca stared at him, his words filtering through all the madness. “Memories are painful, Higson, and objects have a way of making us feel connected to the person.”
“I don’t follow, miss,” Higson said scratching his temple. “What need is there for objects when our loved ones never truly leave us? How can they, when they’re in our hearts? No one can rip the love from our hearts. No one can destroy the memories in our head.”
Rebecca felt a sudden rush of compassion, as she knew Higson spoke from experience. “You speak like a man who has lost a loved one. Like a man who has suffered the loss of a parent.”
The corners of his mouth turned downward, and he sighed. “Not a parent. I never knew them. It was a wife I lost.”
The harrowing image of Gabriel lying cold on a stone slab caused her heart to hammer against her ribs. “I … I am sorry, Higson. I can only imagine how difficult it must have been.”
“Pay it no heed, miss. It was a long time ago. Daresay the heart never truly heals. But like I said, everything I need to know is stored in my head.”
Rebecca forced a smile. Would she ever feel that level of acceptance? Did she really need to surround herself with her parents’ belongings to keep their memory alive?
“I think I have formed attachments to things, to objects, as though they contain the essence of the person. If that makes any sense. I feel the same way about my father’s relics as I do my mother’s painting.” She had no idea why she was telling Gabriel’s coachman her innermost thoughts. Perhaps because he was easy to talk to. Because he did not judge her and her heart didn’t flutter when she looked into his eyes. “Being around their things gives me purpose.”
Higson’s expression softened. “I know it’s not my place to say, but when you only take comfort from the past, then there’s no hope for the future. I don’t suppose that’s what your parents would have wanted.”
The man was wiser than his years and his station.
“It’s the same for Mr. Stone,” he continued with a shrug. “But that’s his story to tell.”
A million and one questions flooded her mind. “Does Mr. Stone ever talk about his sister?” she asked even though she knew Higson would never betray a trust and suspected Gabriel never spoke of his feelings to anyone.
“Not to me, miss.”
“Thank you, Higson. You have been a great help to me today. More than you know.”
His plump face flushed and he shuffled from side to side while standing on the same spot. “I’d best go down and look at that door. Mr. Stone won’t be happy until he knows you’re safe.”
The last comment caused a bolt of awareness to shoot through her, an intense desire to feel the strong arms of his master wrapped tightly around her — the only place she truly felt safe.
Higson walked out into the hall, but then stopped and with a deep sigh trudged back to stand in the doorway.
“About Mr. Stone,” he said with a slight tremor in his voice. “He needs you, miss. He needs you more than he’s needed anything his whole life. He’s not the easiest of gentlemen, I know, but I once heard it said that the rocky path always has the better view.” He tipped an invisible hat and stalked off down the stairs.
Rebecca stood in frozen silence as she watched him go.
He needs you more than he’s needed anything his whole life.
The words echoed in her mind, filling her with a sense of purpose, flooding her body with warm feelings of desire, of love, a longing that burned with such vibrant intensity.
No one had ever needed her.
No one could imagine how desperately she wanted those words to be true. How they penetrated the loneliness, banishing it back to its cold dark place.
When you only take comfort from the past, then there’s no hope for the future.
Drawing strength from Higson’s wise words, she walked over to the chair and dragged the painting out to examine it.
Holding back a surge of emotion, she noticed there were two diagonal slashes across the canvas, splitting her mother’s perfect face into four equal triangles, the pieces flapping back and forth. It was a despicable thing for anyone to do and an hour earlier she would have sobbed until there were no more tears left to shed.
With a deep breath and a renewed sense of optimism, she pressed the pieces back into place. As the face became whole again, she noticed her mother was still smiling.
Higson was right.
Nothing could erase the memory of her mother’s happy countenance. To Rebecca, she would always be smiling, and she did not need a painting to remind her of that.
With a full heart, a feeling she thought she’d never experience again once witnessing the damage, she managed to gather the strength to hang it back on the wall above the fireplace. It would stay there until she found a way to get it repaired. It would remind her that love lived in her heart.
Rebecca spent a few minutes looking at the portrait, letting only positive memories of love and affection fill her thoughts. Grief had a way of numbing all other feelings and she did not want to live her life in a state of constant sorrow.
By some miracle, she had found the one person who made the future appear brighter. She had fallen in love with Gabriel Stone, with the charismatic scholar of Egyptology whose intense passion often robbed her of her breath. When she thought of him, her heart soared and she would not run away from it. She would not let the fear of loss influence any future decisions.
What was Gabriel's story?
Higson had suggested a similarity to her own. If so, Rebecca would help him to look beyond his grief. If he came to her, which she hoped he would, she would do everything in her power to show him that a life and a future existed beyond the pain of the past.
Chapter 17
Gabriel milled about the house for hours, wandering from room to room, feigning interest in his books, in a piece of plum tart and a broken eyeglass, in anything that would stop him thinking about the events of the morning.
It was no good, he thought, throwing himself down on the sofa. He had to address his feelings at some point. He could not walk about in this comatose state for the rest of his life.
It was time to acknowledge the fact that he had stood like a dimwit, a man robbed of all sense and logic and watched Rebecca leave. A tiny part of him had breathed a sigh of relief. Her absence gave him time to reflect, time to repair and reinforce the wall. The largest part of him felt like a drunken sot who had lost his entire fortune in one idiotic turn of the dice. The lesson being, one should never play games with those things considered most precious.
You are not the man I hoped you would be.
She had used those words at their first meeting, and perhaps she was right.
He could be a
friend and a lover, but never anything more, never a husband.
He had been deliberately quiet at breakfast, rudely so, withdrawn even, lost in some fearful nightmare from the past. Rebecca had sat dressed in the cotton nightdress he’d so eagerly dragged over her head just a few hours before, eating toast and sipping tea. He half-expected the door to burst open and the room to explode with the bustling sound of hungry children. Their children, all sharing breakfast in their family home.
And it scared the hell out of him.
The comfortable scene reminded him of a time in his youth when he’d come down for breakfast with his father, his mother’s chair cold and empty. Perhaps his father thought that a mouthful of eggs somehow rendered the news of his upcoming nuptials less shocking. Like a startled deer, Gabriel’s gaze had shot to the empty chair. His mind busy counting the weeks since his mother’s passing. Yet he knew it was only seven.
A new mother soon followed and then a sibling. The irony being that he had never felt more alone in his entire life.
Loneliness consumed him, drove him to form an obsession with Egypt. He had mirrored himself on his mentor, Lord Wellford, believing him the epitome of everything a man should be: loyal, devoted and honest — everything his father proved not to be.
Even that turned out to be a lie.
He still felt a thread of vengeance running through his veins. His heart was torn between a genuine sadness for Rebecca’s plight and wishing he could slash and stab at a painting of his own stepmother. Wishing he could hurt his sister the way her mother and father had hurt him.
That’s why he stayed away: because of guilt, anger, and shame.
There were many similarities between his situation and Rebecca’s. So many, he could not help but feel that fate had conspired to throw them together, and these strange coincidences were not coincidental at all.
Perhaps in understanding his own disgraceful feelings, it would help him to discover who wanted to hurt Rebecca.
The answer was obvious. The only people with motive were the Wellfords.
He recalled the three brothers: George, Alexander, and Frederick. They all had a reason to hate her, more reason to hate than even he could comprehend. Their mother had lived to witness her husband’s indiscretion.
Rebecca’s safety was of paramount concern and despite her plea for secrecy, Gabriel decided he would begin by calling on George Wellford.
Gabriel rode halfway across town only to discover that Lord Wellford had gone to his club. In his current mood, he did not want to wait until Wellford returned home and so swallowed down the feeling of irritation, dismissed his anxiety at having to mingle amongst the elite of Society.
Indeed, the look of surprise on the faces of the gentlemen who acknowledged him with a respectful nod reflected his own shock at being there.
Thankfully, Wellford sat alone, next to the white marble fireplace, a copy of The Times in one hand and a glass of port in the other. A steward approached, and he put down his drink and newspaper, his inquisitive gaze drifting beyond the man’s shoulder, locking with Gabriel’s frustrated glare.
Wellford beckoned him over. “Won’t you join me, Stone?” he said waving to the empty chair. “I’m ordering luncheon if you’re hungry.”
Gabriel did not intend to stay long. The pale-green walls were supposed to be calming, but they would need to plunge him into a vat of it to achieve the desired effect. “No, thank you. But I will have a pot of coffee.”
Wellford relayed the order to the steward and waited for him to depart. “I didn’t know you were a member,” he said in a lofty tone. “I assume you’re looking for me.”
“I am, and I’ve been a member for years.” It was not out of choice. His uncle insisted on securing membership for all the gentlemen in the family, but this was the first time it had proved useful.
“Then sit.”
Gabriel pulled the chair out and sat down. “Does being a member mean I’m now on your list of respectable gentlemen?”
The corners of Wellford’s mouth turned up into a half-smile. “Have you come to declare your intentions?”
“There is nothing to declare,” he shrugged. “I had the utmost respect for your father, and I offer his daughter the same courtesy. What more do you want me to say?” It was not a lie, and so he could accept the fact it was not entirely the whole truth.
Wellford leaned forward. “Look, I was angry when I insulted you. I’m sure your intentions towards Rebecca are respectable. Besides, last night you had the look of a man obsessed, besotted. Now you have the look of a man in love. Forgive me, if I jumped to conclusions.”
Gabriel snorted. He was a man in lust; a man ravaged by the needs of his body, there was a vast difference. He could not deny that his affections were engaged, but it would not be fair to either of them to allow it to develop into anything deeper.
“You have a right to your opinion, but that’s not why I’m here.”
The steward returned with their drinks and Gabriel informed him he would pour his own coffee, much to the man’s chagrin.
“Men like to earn their wages, Stone,” Wellford said once the steward moved out of earshot. “If everyone poured their own drinks the man would be out of a job.”
Gabriel did not need a lecture on etiquette. “Forgive me, if I lack the refinement necessary to lounge about at my club all day, waiting for the staff to wipe my nose.”
Rather than appear offended, Wellford chuckled. “What? Are we to share barbed insults for the rest of the afternoon? Don’t despise me for being concerned about my sister.”
“Don’t despise me for being concerned about your sister.” Gabriel knew he was provoking the man, but he just couldn’t help himself.
Wellford relaxed back in his chair. “Look, let us draw a line and begin again. You obviously see more of Rebecca than I do. It appeases my conscience to know someone is looking out for her, in a brotherly way.”
There was a hint of sarcasm as he stressed those last few words. Deliberate or not, it caused guilt to flare in Gabriel’s chest.
“Why do you even care what happens to her?” Gabriel sneered. The question was blunt and to the point, revealing an inner frustration and Wellford reeled from the shock of it.
“She’s my sister,” he said making a quick recovery. “Why would I not care about her?”
“Because she reminds you of your father’s indiscretion.” There, he’d said it and could not take it back now. “Do your brothers feel the same way as you do?”
Wellford shrugged, choosing not to address the first comment. “I assume so, yes. What is this all about, Stone? I came here for peace and relaxation not to be dragged over hot coals for some unknown transgression.”
Against his own counsel and because he thought it would help determine who wanted to hurt Rebecca, Gabriel revealed something he had always kept secret. “When my mother died, my father remarried quickly. I despised him for it. I despised my stepmother and chose to pretend that my sister did not exist. Your father’s indiscretion was deemed far worse.”
Gabriel saw a flicker of uncertainty in Wellford’s confident gaze. “I suppose you think one truth deserves another.”
“Isn’t that the way it works?”
Wellford reached for his glass and downed the remainder of his port. “My father’s actions were unforgivable. After Rebecca’s birth, my mother was never the same again. She died of a broken heart years before her body grew cold. Love does strange things to men, as I am sure you will agree. But I have come to terms with my parents’ weaknesses and have decided to respect the wishes of my father by protecting the daughter he loved.”
“Rebecca believes your interest lies in the museum. That she is an embarrassment to your family, and you want rid of her.”
Wellford gave a mocking snort. “My father was unfaithful to his family long before he met Rebecca’s mother. His work was his mistress, and we all suffered greatly for it. Why would I want to be reminded that he chose to worship the dead ov
er the living?”
An unsettling thought entered Gabriel’s head, a recognition that his work was his mistress, and he preferred the dead to the living. “Is she an embarrassment to you?” he asked focusing his frustration elsewhere.
Wellford snorted and shook his head. “No, she is not an embarrassment. Would I have escorted her out into Society if she were? I want her to marry, to have protection and security. I want her to have the respect she deserves and not be judged for my father’s mistakes. That is all.”
Gabriel took a sip of coffee, letting the warm liquid soothe his agitated mind.
Was he guilty of judging his own sister for their father’s mistake?
He pushed the thought far from his mind and focused on the anger he knew would resurface with his next comment. “Two men broke into Rebecca’s house last night and used a knife to slash the painting of her mother. Thankfully, she managed to escape before anything untoward happened.”
Wellford almost shot out of the chair. “What the hell,” he whispered, yet the words conveyed vehemence. “Was she hurt? Where is she now?”
She was at the museum, as he had been stupid enough to let her leave without him.
“She’s fine,” he said in an attempt to convince himself. “Naturally, she is upset but insisted on returning to the museum. My man Higson is with her for the time being.”
Wellford’s eyes widened. “She’s gone back to the museum? Heavens above, I have never known a woman so stubborn.”
“In that we are agreed,” he said, remembering how she refused to move from his front steps. Remembering how her tenacity made him hard with need. “Do you happen to know where your brothers were last night?”
“Alex and Freddie?” he replied in a tone of disbelief. “Surely you don’t think they had anything to do with it?”
“They have a motive,” Gabriel shrugged. “Who else would ignore valuable antiquities to destroy a painting?” Only someone out for vengeance, he added silently.
