A Tale of Two Hearts

by Michelle Griep

  “Cherish pain?” She shook her head, but even that didn’t put any order to the curious thought. “I don’t understand.”

  “You see, my dear, real joy is not found in the best moments of life, but in trusting that God is making the best of every moment…even those as dreadful as death.”

  What an odd sentiment. Mina sank deeper into the seat cushion, her thoughts taking a dive into Miss Whymsy’s logic. How could it possibly have been the best for her to lose her mother at only seven years of age? Was it best that she’d wept for years on end and her father grieved alone every night? Or maybe—perhaps—had she been so caught up in the losing that she’d given no thought to the trusting part of the equation?

  “I can see you’re puzzled. Let me try to explain it a bit better.” The governess inside Miss Whymsy emerged in the straightening of her shoulders. “I believe that when God permits pain, it is for the purpose of allowing something new to be born inside of us. I am not the same person I would be had Roger lived—and I trust my clever Creator that I am the better for it.”

  “So you’re saying,” Mina thought aloud, “that if my mother had lived, I wouldn’t be the person I am today.”

  “Exactly. Oh, don’t get me wrong, my dear.” Miss Whymsy reached over and squeezed her hand. “I am in no way trying to negate how awful it was for you to experience the loss of your mother. I am simply saying that one must cherish all moments in life, happy or sad, for when you are older, memories are ofttimes all you have left.”

  Mina’s heart broke, especially thinking of Miss Whymsy sitting by herself in front of the tiny hearth in her chamber, a tea tray set for one on the small table beside her, alone with naught but her memories. “Is it so very awful, living alone?”

  “La!” the old lady chuckled, the ruffled edge of her bonnet bobbing with the movement. “God’s children are never truly alone—especially in a world filled with books. I daresay you know that, hmm?”

  They fell silent then and remained so until the carriage slowed. The horses stopped in front of a three-story, white-stone building, looking as merry as the snowflakes that danced about it. Vines wrapped brown arms around the structure in a loving embrace, and were it spring, no doubt green leaves would offer a stunning show against the backdrop. As her gaze landed on two bay windows curving out on either side of the front door, her smile returned in full force. What a perfect place to curl up with a book.

  She turned to Miss Whymsy and rested her hand on the lady’s arm. “Thank you for coming along with me. I hope you shall enjoy your stay here.”

  “I am sure—”

  Just then the carriage door flung wide, and instead of the expected footman offering a hand, Uncle Barlow’s grey-tufted head poked into the carriage. “I’ve been waiting for you—oh? What’s this?” His eyes widened as his gaze landed on Miss Whymsy. “Two lovely ladies? How grand! M’ladies, my castle awaits.” He backed out and held the door wide.

  “Actually, my dear,” Miss Whymsy quirked a brow toward her. “I have a feeling I shall enjoy my visit here very much.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  There is no playing fast and loose with the truth, in any game, without growing the worse for it.

  Little Dorrit

  Will handed over his horse’s lead to a stableboy, then patted the mount on the neck. The ride from Bishop’s Stortford to Uncle’s estate had been refreshing, reminding him how much he missed the sweetness of air unsullied by coal smoke and humanity.

  “Mind you rub this fellow down good and have his left foreleg checked. He seemed to be favoring it.”

  “Aye, sir.” The boy dipped his head.

  Wheeling about, Will strode to the front door of Uncle Barlow’s country home, his footsteps muffled by the thin layer of snow. Ahead, Uncle held out both arms, Mina’s gloved hand perched on one, and Miss Whymsy’s curled around the other. Uncle threw back his head, his laughter jolly in the greyness of the late afternoon.

  Following their heels, Will entered the large foyer, already decorated for Christmas, and breathed in the scent of fresh greenery, beeswax candles, and hundreds of memories. Ahead rose the staircase where he and Percy used to race down the banisters on Christmas morn—until the year Percy had fallen and his nursemaid had put a stop to that. To his left, the door to the sitting room. How many summer holidays had he hidden behind the settee to avoid having to ride with his cousin? For Percy had ever been the worst horseman on the face of the planet. All walk and no gallop.

  Shoving aside the memories, he caught up to Mina and helped her out of her wraps. Uncle Barlow assisted Miss Whymsy, and they loaded down a servant with cloaks, hats, and mufflers.

  “Oh, my!” Mina breathed out as her wide-eyed gaze drifted from the holly-and-ivy garland along the stairway to a bowl of clove-studded oranges on a nearby table. “You’ve decorated early for Christmas.”

  Uncle Barlow gathered one of her hands in both of his, patting the top of it. “I thought that since we’d not be here for the actual holiday, why not decorate now? It was so thoughtful of you, my dear, to have invited us all to your father’s Christmas Eve gala at the Golden Egg. I own I’ve never been there, yet William tells me the oyster stew is not to be missed. And I cannot think of a more perfect venue or time in which to announce who my heir will be.”

  “Th–thank you,” Mina stammered. As soon as Uncle released her hand and Miss Whymsy claimed his attention, she shot Will a narrow-eyed glance and a whisper. “What did you—?”

  “Sorry,” he whispered back, adding a sheepish smile that he hoped was convincing. “It was the only way I could think of for us to leave here by Christmas.”

  Her brows pulled together. “But—”

  Whatever rejoinder she intended died on her lips as Alice and Percy descended the stairway. Will stifled a smirk. Saved by his cousins. That was a first.

  “Well.” Percy sniffed as he joined Will’s side. “I see you’ve arrived.”

  In spite of his cousin’s rancor, he couldn’t help but smile. Some things never changed. In an odd sort of way, Percy’s predictability was at least familiar, like donning a ratty woolen jumper, all scratchy and smelling of mothballs, yet altogether a necessity to the feeling of having arrived home.

  “Good afternoon to you too, Percy. Alice.” He nodded in greeting.

  Alice bypassed him and closed in on Mina. “Good afternoon, Mina. I hope your journey wasn’t too taxing, though by the looks of you, it likely was. I see you’ve brought along your mother.”

  Pink flushed Mina’s cheeks. “Oh, but this is not my mother. This is one of my dearest friends, Miss Whymsy. Miss Whymsy, please meet Alice Barlow, wife of Percival Barlow, Will’s cousins.”

  The older lady bowed her head. “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Barlow, Mr. Barlow.”

  “A friend, you say?” Alice’s green eyes narrowed as she swept her gaze over Miss Whymsy—and apparently found her lacking, judging by the perfect pout on her lips. She whirled back to Mina. “You brought along an uninvited guest? How bold. One might almost get the impression you felt the need for a chaperone.”

  An alarm gonged inside Will’s head. If Alice continued that line of reasoning, she might draw a very revealing picture. He opened his mouth—

  But Uncle Barlow charged ahead, collecting Miss Whymsy’s hand and placing it on his arm. “I assure you, Alice, had I known Mina was acquainted with such a delightful lady, I would have invited her straightaway myself. Miss Whymsy, allow me to escort you to the sitting room, where you can wait for a chamber to be readied.”

  At her consent, they both disappeared out of the foyer.

  Percy sidled closer to Will. “A very clever scheme, Cousin.”

  Ignoring the man, Will swept out his hand toward Mina. Sometimes the best defense was to change the subject. “Mina? How about I show you the house?”

  She stepped to his side.

  But Percy blocked their passage. “It won’t work, you know.”

  Afternoon light glinted off Percy’s sp
ectacles, drilling a beam into his eyes, and he blinked. Clearly there’d be no putting off the man. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Bringing the old lady to distract Uncle. You think she can make up for your dodgy past?”

  Beside him, Mina tensed. Blast his cousin for always planting doubt in her mind. “No, I do not,” he said through clenched teeth. “But if Uncle enjoys Miss Whymsy’s company, why begrudge him a little happiness at Christmas?”

  “There is something not right about this.” Alice tapped a finger against her lips. “Something I intend to find out.”

  Mina huddled closer to his side, and he stretched out his arm, drawing her near.

  And at that moment, Uncle Barlow strolled out of the sitting room, chuckling. He clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “This shall be the merriest of Christmases. I feel it in my bones.” He stopped in front of the group and nodded to Will. “Why don’t you see Mina up to the blue room and you can both refresh from your travels. We’ll meet for dinner at seven o’clock.”

  Will waited for further instruction, but Uncle Barlow turned, apparently dismissing them.

  “And to what room shall my things be delivered?” he asked.

  Without turning back, Uncle waggled his fingers in the air. “Why, the blue room of course.”

  Percy and Alice give him a queer look—but their confusion was nothing compared to the apprehension in Mina’s large eyes as she blinked up at him.

  He tugged his collar, fighting for air. Of course he’d be expected to share a bedchamber with his wife.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Death doesn’t change us more than life.

  The Old Curiosity Shop

  Mina stepped into paradise.

  She’d read of bedchambers like this. Walls papered with blue velveteen. Windows overlooking a wonderland of snow-encrusted tree branches. A merry fire glowed in the hearth, and thick rugs added warmth to the room. On one wall was a mahogany desk with a matching chair. Near the fireplace sat two wing-backs stuffed full enough that one might sleep the night through in them without a crick in the neck. A small table rested against another wall with a full tea set. Against the third wall stood a vanity filled with bottles and brushes and a mirror that bounced back light from the windows. But as her gaze landed on the bed—canopied and ruffled and with mattresses so high, a stepstool stood nearby—her stomach twisted.

  That bed was clearly meant for two.

  Flames shot from her stomach to her cheeks. She whirled to face Will. “You cannot possibly stay in here with me. You must speak with your uncle today. Now!”

  “Shh.” He lifted a finger to his lips and closed the door behind him. “Percy and Alice weren’t far behind us.”

  She retreated a step. He followed. He wasn’t seriously thinking of spending the afternoon with her here? Alone? This was taking things too far. Far too far. A hero would not even think such a thing. “This is indecent.”

  She sidestepped him, but he blocked her.

  “Mina, you have my word. I will tell my uncle as soon as the opportunity presents itself, but he’s clearly preoccupied with your Miss Whymsy for the moment. Let’s give him time to get her settled. We’ve only just arrived.”

  “Well you cannot remain with me behind a closed door for the afternoon.”

  “I know.” He rubbed the back of his neck. Was he as knotted up about the situation then? “I shall think of something.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know.” His hand dropped. “But if nothing else, there’s a spare room at the end of this corridor. I’ll wait until no one’s about, then slip off down there.”

  “If my father hears of this—”

  “He won’t. Mina, please.” He closed the distance between them and rested his hands on her shoulders, giving them a little squeeze. “We ought not give Percy and Alice anything more to wonder about, hmm? All will be well. I promise. Try to relax.”

  Relax? When she stood in a bedchamber alone with Will Barlow? Riding in a carriage with the man had been scandalous enough, but this was immoral. She pulled away.

  “Mina, I am sorry, truly. I should have seen this coming, and I didn’t. Forgive me?” He dipped his head, looking at her through his lashes. A lad with his hand caught in the sweets jar couldn’t have looked more contrite.

  She sighed. How was she to stay cross with such a look? “Very well.”

  “That’s my girl.” His head perked up, and he strode to the door. After a glance into the corridor, he looked over his shoulder at her. “All’s clear. Rest up. Your trunk will soon be brought ’round, and I shall meet you downstairs later for dinner. Agreed?”

  She nodded, for there was nothing more she could do save storm out of there and tell Will’s uncle herself.

  As soon as Will shut the door behind him, she wandered the room a bit, trailing a finger over much of the finery. Memorizing it all. Was this how Esther Summerson had felt when she’d first arrived at Bleak House?

  A yawn stretched her jaw, and the quilted counterpane on the big bed called to her. After travelling all day, it would be lovely to close her eyes, just for a few minutes.

  But by the time a rap on the door jolted her awake and a white-aproned maid peeked her head in, more than minutes had passed. Darkness filled the room.

  “Might I help you dress for dinner, ma’am?”

  She blinked, fighting the urge to look over her shoulder to see to whom the maid offered her services, though it could be none other than her—and that sent a thrill through her. She smiled at the woman as the servant scurried about the room, lighting lamps. “Thank you, but no need. I shall manage quite well on my own.”

  “As you wish, ma’am.”

  The maid was followed by a footman with her small trunk hefted up on one shoulder. He set it down next to a large wardrobe, then with a bob of his head, exited as well.

  Mina crossed to her trunk and lifted out her dresses. There were only two—her very best—and she frowned at them both. By the third night, when she’d have to repeat one, surely Alice would have something to say about it. But perhaps by then, the truth would be out, and there’d be no reason to stay any longer.

  She hung up one dress, then worked her way into the other. By the time she pinned up her hair, she smiled at her reflection in the mirror, satisfied that she looked her best, leastwise for tonight. After one more visit to her trunk, where she pulled out a small pouch containing the second-chance coin, she tucked the bit of gold into her pocket. She might not need it tonight, but when dining with Will’s cousins, one never knew.

  Stepping out into the corridor, she shivered. The air was far more chill than her chamber, so she upped her pace and descended the stairs to ground level. Surely the dining room was here somewhere, though she should have asked Will the location.

  She passed the sitting room, and near the end of another passageway, two doors stood open. Golden light poured out of each. Could be either, so for no other reason than a whim, she ducked into the door on the right.

  Then gasped. Books lined three walls, and on the fourth, at least twenty-five pairs of eyes stared back at her. Drawn toward the gilt-framed portraits, she padded inside and wandered from picture to picture.

  One was surely a dark-haired Uncle Barlow with his apple-cheeks shaven clean and face smoothed of wrinkles. She cocked her head. He might almost be…yes, with that straight nose and strong jawline, the resemblance to Will was stunning.

  To the left of Uncle Barlow’s portrait was a shadow-faced fellow with a severe brow and overly large eyes. The man was seated, and beside him posed a bony woman in a brown, empire-waisted gown. Both frowned. Each looked as if they’d prefer to run off to another canvas rather than live immortally together in this painting. Were these Percy’s parents?

  She sidestepped over to the other side of Uncle Barlow’s picture, and her breath hitched as she looked into Will’s eyes. The hair on this man was a shade darker, but all the same, the features matched Wil
l’s exactly…save for one thing. There was a certain sadness to this portrait. The kind that called out from the years like a whisper from a grave. She stepped closer, gooseflesh rising on her arms. Was this Will’s father? And if so, why was his mother not featured here as well?

  “I thought I might find you here.”

  A deep voice turned her around, and she slapped a hand to her chest. “Uncle Barlow, you startled me.”

  “Sorry, my dear, but no need to fear in this house. To my knowledge, there are no ghosts—Christmas or otherwise—roaming about. Once a Barlow is dead, he is well and truly dead.” He chuckled as he crossed the rug to stand next to her. “I see you’ve found William’s father, and no wonder, for my nephew is the very image of my brother Edward. Both of them too handsome for their own good.”

  “He is so young here. He can’t be much older than Will is now.”

  “True, and this is how I shall always remember him. Carefree. Laughter at the ready. Holding the world in two hands and tossing it about like a ball. I admired that about him, though I never spoke it aloud, for elder brothers rarely do.” Uncle Barlow cleared his throat, then murmured, “In my quieter moments, I yet miss him keenly.”

  Sorrow thickened his words. He must’ve loved his brother very much to still feel such strong emotion. Was that why he’d given Will a second chance, perhaps? Had it been some kind of offering of honor to a lost brother?

  Pulling her gaze from the portrait, she turned to Uncle Barlow. “What happened to Will’s father?”

  “It is a sad story, one best told while seated.” He turned and sank into one of the chairs near the hearth, then waited for her to take the other. “Edward was the youngest of us three Barlow boys. And as you know, the youngest often are the wiliest. I suppose they have to be, to keep up with their elders. But Edward was more than that. He was a sunburst on a clouded day, always ready with a laugh, and oh, what a charmer. He could lure a penny from a miser’s purse with nothing more than one of his grins.”