I doubt it will work, Tom, but I’ll try.
Inhaling slowly, I listen to the beating of my heart. I reach out, calling her name with my psyche. Mary Arden. Mary Arden…Yet I hear nothing. Clairvoyant patterns are unique, and it’s difficult to connect with a virtual stranger, like taking a handful of sand and searching for a specific grain. Unless there’s an intrinsic bond, like Tom and I share—then it’s as easy as breathing. The crazy witch woman and I do not have such an attachment, however.
Sorry. I’m not getting her.
How did it work before, love?
My exchange with Mary Arden plays through my mind again, leaving an unpleasant residue. I think she used Compulsion.
You’re sure, Hettie? Forbidden gifts?
As sure as I can be.
All right then. We’ll have to find old Mary’s place in the woods. Until I locate her, stay inside, no more taking off on your own. Be cautious, for once.
I bristle at his reprimand. Why does everyone in my life imagine they can tell me what to do?
Fine, Tom. I’ll do it if you insist, but boredom makes me grumpy.
Better grumpy than dead, love. I’ll come to you tomorrow. See for myself that you’re recovering.
I wish you could, but I expect Mama will hang about. And the new doctor is scheduled to visit.
Suddenly, I feel as though I cannot endure another moment of wakefulness. Sensing my fatigue, Tom fades away fast, but calls to me once more.
Be careful, heart of mine. Be safe.
7
Luctor et emergo.
I struggle and I survive.
It is early evening of the next day when Dr. Kelly returns. Cordelia has been my only source of entertainment, since Mama hasn’t allowed me to leave my suite of rooms. We are now halfway finished with A Sicilian Romance, another of Mrs. Radcliffe’s novels. The oldest child of two teachers, Cordie is well-educated, and her voice is smooth and expressive. Even so, my body is aquiver with untapped energy, and I fantasize as she reads, of escaping through my window and climbing to the ground on the thick vines girding the trellis.
If not that route, surely I could manage something.
Cordelia has just poured me a cup of Earl Grey when the doctor walks into my bedroom. The scent of fir trees, wet wool, and saddle leather clings to him. Kelly is literally a breath of fresh air.
He checks me over, asks pertinent questions, and decides I am shoring up nicely. Cordie fetches my mother, and she is delighted with the good news. Mama stays but a moment since my father is going over her household accounts in the study on the main floor. This is just a formality. My mother is an East-Coast heiress and has plenty of her own money—she doesn’t drain his reserves in the least. Sounding impulsive, Mama invites Dr. Kelly to supper tomorrow.
“I would be delighted, madam,” he replies. “Especially if Miss Grayson joins us. She’s looking better every second.”
Not a family meal. Anything but that.
Mama hems and haws and tries to avoid confirming my attendance while still encouraging the doctor to come. My father sends the butler to find Mama, and she leaves in a rush—after agreeing to Kelly’s request.
Brimstone and hell-fire! Now I’ll have to go.
Kelly wanders around my room snooping, as though he has nothing better to do with his time, and picks up one of the books Cordelia has been reading to me. “You’re a fan of romance novels? I’m shocked by this, Miss Grayson. Absolutely scandalized.” The doctor chuckles at his own teasing, replaces the volume, and continues to investigate the shelves. “Ah, but here’s Jane Austen to balance things out. Bronte, Longfellow. And my old friend, Lord Tennyson. An excellent choice.”
“‘One equal temper of heroic hearts,’” he recites. “‘Made weak by time and fate but strong in will …’”
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield. Take that, Kelly, and—
I stop mid-insult when he asks, “Have you heard of Braille, Miss Grayson? It can help you to read these books for yourself.”
Braille? What in blazes is that? Crossing my arms, I feel awkward standing there, still in my nightclothes. I shrug, having never given actual reading much thought. Why would I? I have Cordelia.
The doctor leaves the shelves and walks directly to me. “Through Braille, the blind use their fingers and touch a series of raised dots on the page. The dots represent words. A former patient of mine in Boston reads Braille. I could ask her for advice on your situation.”
Overwhelmed, I retreat a few steps, back toward the safety of Cordelia. The doctor gives me no quarter and follows. “As a physician, I am duty-bound to improve your quality of life if I see a means of accomplishing it. I also feel some proprietary rights concerning you, Miss Grayson. I did save your life.”
Guilt rears its ugly head. Without Dr. Kelly’s heroic actions, I might well have died yesterday. I sigh and gesture toward the sitting room of my suite. We may as well be comfortable if Kelly is going to keep talking about this Braille business. Cordelia offers him a cup of tea.
“Thank you, Miss Collins, but I cannot stay,” he replies. “Miss Grayson, we’ll continue our discussion another time, I hope.”
Kelly heads for the door and then pauses. “In future, may I have the honor of using your Christian name?”
My eyebrows rise of their own accord, but I nod, bemused by this question. No man has ever asked my permission before. Even Tom assumes things.
“Then good evening, Hester,” he says, a smile in his voice. “And I’m Noah to my friends.”
Twenty-four hours pass, and given that I have received no reprieve, the family meal is unavoidable. I’ve been bathed, doused with rose water, and powdered. Not that my skin could get much paler if popular opinion is correct.
Cordelia is working feverishly on my hair with the curling tongs. “Sit on your hands, Miss Hester,” she barks like a soldier on campaign. “If you keep reaching up to your head that way, you’ll get burned.”
It takes forty-five more minutes, but my hair is finally done. Cordie steps away and sighs. “How striking you look! That dress, the oyster-colored silk. Just lovely.”
My companion is doing double-duty tonight since Mama is between hairdressers, and she gathers her weapons of beauty and goes to check on my mother’s coiffure.
“Don’t move. Don’t mess yourself up,” she orders on her way out the door.
I fully intend to follow Cordie’s advice, but it is so tedious to sit here, waiting to proceed down to the dining room. It’s like passing time in a tumbrel when you know you’re expected at the guillotine. I cannot stand the thought of descending the stairs under Kelly’s watchful eyes. Or worse, with my father silently criticizing my every move. Better to go down now without an audience.
After slipping into a pair of elbow-length gloves, I choose my best mahogany cane, and take the stairs to the main floor.
I turn in the direction of the drawing room, but a rider gallops up the drive and stops at the front entrance of the house. I recognize his whistle, but it isn’t the Clementine song tonight. It’s “Sweet Rosie O’Grady”. Our butler fails to appear so I open the door and smile at Dr. Kelly. He steps in, smelling of citrus linen water and newly ironed cotton.
“You do clean up nicely, Hester,” he says, taking my hand and kissing my gloved knuckles as though I were a fine lady.
My face feels ten shades of red, but he continues chatting away. Even a novice can tell that Dr. Kelly is good with women. It does not stretch the imagination to suppose he has conquered more than his share of hearts.
Cane in hand, I lead Kelly to the drawing room. I hear him remove his overcoat and drape it across the sofa. The doctor admires the piano, fiddling around with the keys before breaking into a sprightly rendition of John Phillip Sousa’s “Semper Fidelis”. What in the world? I wasn’t expecting this martial tune. For the hundredth time, I wish I could laugh. Instead, I grin until the sides of my face hurt.
My parents join us as the last note hangs i
n the air. Then there is an awkward period of silence. Kelly seems to have surprised them as well with his choice of music, but Mama recovers quickly and welcomes him with a flourish of friendly words. “You have real talent, Doctor. One doesn’t usually hear marches performed on a Steinway. And a hero, too. I shall never forget the sight of you carrying my daughter into this house.”
Kelly dismisses the praise, claiming that any able-bodied man would have done the same.
“Surely you know Hester is mute,” my mother says, as though I’m not standing between them. “She won’t contribute much to the evening’s conversation, although she did talk as a child. Quite faintly, due to flawed vocal cords, but then illness struck and robbed her of what little voice she had.”
This is precisely the scenario that I wished to avoid. Let me crawl under a rock. Or better yet, return to my room.
Kelly intervenes, however. “Words are not always necessary, ma’am. Hester and I communicate just fine without them.”
“How kind of you,” Mama says. “And forgive me for not inquiring before. Is there a Mrs. Kelly?”
“Not any longer. I’m happily divorced.”
“Why happily, if I may ask? Most men would never admit to such a thing in mixed company.”
“Then I must beg your pardon, good lady, but the institution of marriage holds no appeal for me. Although I am grateful my former wife and I had our Alice. My daughter makes the entire experience worthwhile.”
This shuts my mother up. She expected something superficial, nothing so vulgar as an honest answer.
My father clears his throat and suggests that we make our way to the dining room. Kelly moves to my left, the opposite side of my cane, and tucks my hand into the crook of his arm. Father leads our group down the hall. The ice in his drink jangles against the glass as we walk.
“Where do you hail from, Doctor?” he asks.
“Massachusetts, sir.”
“And who are your people? Have we heard of them?”
Kelly’s arm flexes under my glove, but he otherwise seems unruffled. “My heritage, do you mean, Mr. Grayson? My illustrious ancestors?”
Father is a chronic opportunist. It’s how he’s made his money. I can almost hear the machinery at work in his brain—hoping to take advantage of this new connection if there is a profit to be made from it. “Exactly so,” he says. “They must be an impressive group.”
“No, Mr. Grayson. I’m a mongrel. We think granddad was partly Irish, having the last name Kelly and all. Still, no one is entirely sure as he was born on the wrong side of the blanket.”
And that shuts my father up. He downs his drink in one swallow and walks ahead with Mama. Nicely done, Kelly!
I’m having a hell of a time keeping a straight face. This is the best family dinner I’ve ever attended. The doctor leans my way. “What?” he whispers, all innocence. “Did I say something amiss?”
Very amiss, and he knows it.
“Sorry, but I couldn’t help myself. As the saying goes, you can take the boy out of the gutter but you can’t entirely take the gutter out of the boy.”
Kelly pats my arm as we walk. “You find me amusing then? You’re enjoying my social disgrace?”
I nod without a bit of hesitation, and he laughs lightly. “As you should, dear girl. God’s made your face for smiling.”
The doctor slows the pace as we turn a corner, making sure that I manage it smoothly. “I know whereof I speak, Hester. I’ve learned something about those smiles over the course of our brief acquaintance. There is the polite, impersonal one, and the smirk that says I-know-more-than-you-do. I’ve seen both of them a number of times. But tonight you are mysterious, like Leonardo’s Mona Lisa. I am lucky, am I not? For what man does not enjoy variety?”
My, my. I had not taken the full measure of Kelly’s magnetism. He is a danger to the average female.
Fortunately, I’m not average.
After reaching the dining room, Father takes his seat at the head of the table. Mama and I sit on the opposite end and Kelly is stationed in the middle. The servants deliver a fragrant bowl of soup to each of us. Tangy, peppery steam rises to my face, and my stomach rumbles with nerves rather than appetite. Mama scoots her chair close to mine, the sound making me tremble. This is what I’ve dreaded most. Kelly may never think well of me again after witnessing my humiliation.
I listen as she scoops up a spoonful of soup, blowing on it several times. No, please don’t make me do this. Not in front of the doctor.
But I am nothing if not well trained. I open my mouth and Mama slips the spoon inside. I normally would enjoy the creamy duck bisque, but it sours on my tongue. We repeat the procedure until the soup is gone. My mother then gives me a drink of water before turning to her own bowl.
For as long as I can remember, we have followed this procedure while dining formally. I can skirt around most household rules, if I am circumspect, but Mama doesn’t budge here.
Dr. Kelly is quiet as a stone, but I know he’s watching me. Tears of embarrassment fill my eyes, and I blink them away, thankful for the barrier of my spectacles.
Things deteriorate further as Mama cuts my meat, carrots, and potatoes. She gives me generous portions of all three until I shake my head, the signal that I am finished. Throughout the meal, talk has been meager at best, until Kelly asks what he must have been wondering all along.
“Why must you feed Hester, Mrs. Grayson? Why not allow her to do it for herself?”
“It is unseemly for a young woman to fumble about her plate, searching for nourishment.” The chill in Mama’s voice could freeze the blood of most men.
Kelly does not back down. “Improvement comes with practice, madam. Everyone should feel capable in their own right.”
My mother doesn’t back down either. “Hester need not be subjected to such experimentation while I am here to help.”
“I see.” He clicks his utensil on the plate once and mercifully, says nothing more.
Somehow we survive dessert, but Kelly is not invited to linger over port or coffee. My parents bid him adieu and then retire to their private salon, leaving me to show him out. Most young ladies of a marriageable age, such as I, would not be left alone with a bachelor of little acquaintance. However, I do not think that my parents consider my virtue tempting enough to the opposite sex to worry about protecting it.
Adding to my embarrassment, the butler has gone missing again. Kelly’s coat is still draped over the drawing room sofa, and he shrugs into the garment without assistance. I feel my cheeks flame as I open the front door and curtsy for him. He doesn’t say a word, doesn’t move an inch to leave my home. I pivot toward the stairs, but Kelly’s there before me.
“One question, Hester, if I may, and then I’ll go.” His whiskey-voice is low and serious. “Would you have tea with me in town on Wednesday?”
Does he jest? Scalding drinks in china cups with fairy cakes and cucumber sandwiches? Everyone in Stonehenge would be abuzz over it.
“Please say you will. It would be an honor to escort you.”
I hesitate long enough that he feels the need to explain. “I have a sister who is dear to me. I left her at home with my parents when I went off to medical school, and I’ve always regretted it. Rachel has bloomed in the years since, but she was quite lonely then.” Kelly clears his throat. “Such a waste, loneliness, and so easily avoided. Add another person to the scenario and you’ve got it beat.”
Simple words, so genuinely spoken that I cannot refuse. Haven’t I wished to be treated like other girls my age? They wouldn’t fear an outing such as this. It would be a feather in their caps. I inhale, straighten my spine to its full length, and smile.
Kelly—no, rather Noah, just for this moment—squeezes my hand. “That’s the spirit.”
The doctor walks out into the night, whistling a merry tune, and I shake my head briefly, wondering what I have gotten myself into. Cordelia joins me, and we stand at the door together as Kelly rides away.
Ninety minutes later, I am tucked into bed, curtains drawn, telepathically sharing the details of my day with Tom. He is disgruntled, even a little bitter, and waves of jealousy transfer from him to me. The doctor came to dinner? How cozy. I’ve never been invited.
You know it’s necessary for us to be discreet, and anyway, it’s not like that with Noah.
You’re on a first name basis?
We’re friends. My mother only asked him out of gratitude.
How good a friend is he, love?
Stop being ridiculous, Tom. He’s just a nice man who dined with us. You have no cause to worry.
If Tom and I weren’t miles apart, I’d be tempted to box his ears. Instead, I kick a porcelain doll off my bed and hear a satisfying crunch when it hits the floor. Obviously, this isn’t the time to mention that Kelly is taking me to tea.
After further reassurance, my love is finally appeased—how can such a strong, capable man be so insecure?—and then we make plans. Tomorrow, I will steal away at midnight, after Cordie has gone to sleep. He will come to the French doors in the library and wait for me there.
Once we disconnect, I fall into a dreamless sleep, and my world is fairly peaceful when I awake.
Until Mama makes her announcement.
8
Mirabile!
A marvelous thing!
“I am with child,” Mama says, sounding delighted. “Can you believe it, Hester? Over four months gone.”
Quite frankly, I can’t. She has had so many miscarriages over the years that I thought the childbearing season had passed her by. And being my parent’s child isn’t easy. I’m not sure I’d wish the experience upon another. Still, this little person will not be alone. I’ll help and protect him or her—assist in any way I can.
The more I think of this baby, the tighter my heart feels, as though there isn’t room enough for all the emotion. Hang it, I’ll call the little one Cherub. Gender-identification will be unnecessary, and I won’t have to resort to using “it”—a horrible term for an unborn child.
Veritas Page 6
