In all the months I had been there, neither of us had ventured to speak one word of the past, fearing it would taint the present, but after the torment of my nightmare and the unsettling appearance of Allenham’s gift, I could hold my tongue no longer. This is not to say that, until this time, neither of us grieved. Oh, what a falsehood I should tell if I did not confess to the burden of remorse we carried. It was cumbersome, to be sure, but to expect us, as young as we were, to live out our days in a state of perpetual mourning was most unreasonable.
“Is it because of her that you do not wish to play?” he asked after a pause.
I nodded. “It reminds me.”
In truth, the sight of the fortepiano called to mind a number of things I had pushed away, not simply the disturbing images of my nightmare. Many shadows had followed me to Herberton, questions I had been too frightened to consider or to mention. Now, by speaking my sister’s name aloud, I had invoked these other fears too.
“George,” I whispered, “is it wrong that we should love one another?”
“No. The love of a man and a woman is never wrong,” he responded in a clear, certain tone.
“No matter what the circumstances may be?”
He looked at me, as if to question why I doubted it.
“Would my father think it wrong?” I asked. My hands had begun to tremble and I gripped them together tightly.
“Lord Stavourley knew only of our friendship, and that he believes to have ended. I wrote to tell him as much when you arrived here.”
It pained me to hear him say that. My heart contracted, and the sharp deception it contained cut into its walls.
Slowly, I shook my head. My mouth held bitter words.
“No,” I breathed. The tears started down my cheeks. “He has seen your letters.”
My beloved turned to me slowly, but as he opened his mouth to speak, we were disturbed by a rap upon the door. His valet entered, short of breath.
“My lord, your attendance at the house is required. A messenger awaits.”
Allenham rose carefully to his feet. His face appeared quite void of expression. He idled for a moment behind his chair, his hands resting at the top of it. His sight was directed towards the window where large feathers of snow floated in the darkness.
“And what has become of them, these letters?”
“My father burned them,” I wept.
He inhaled, somewhat relieved at that news, though his face remained troubled.
“I dare not think…” he began, and then shifted uneasily. He removed his clear, bright eyes from the distant place where they rested and settled them upon me. “We shall never be free from worry, Henrietta, or the fear of consequences.”
He said no more than that, but moved towards the door where his valet stood.
I heard it shut and watched him, with his hat pulled over his eyes, pass before the window and disappear into a swirl of snow and night.
Chapter 18
Allenham did not return to me that night. I went to my bed and awaited him. I let the candle burn down to its nub before extinguishing it and then rolled over in the darkness and wetted my pillow with self-pity.
I awoke in the morning to find no sign of him. I enquired of his movements from Bess as she dressed me, but she claimed to know nothing more of them than I. I sighed. He had never before been so long at Herberton.
I passed the morning as I might if he were there alongside me. I sat at my artist’s table with my back to the fortepiano, that spiteful, uninvited guest whose presence I now abhorred, and worked upon a still-life painting of winter berries. Beyond the window lay a perfect, untrammelled bed of snow, the sky still rolling with angry grey clouds. There were no telltale footprints, no sign of hoof marks outside the cottage.
By the time the servants had lit the candles, an hour before dinner, I had begun to fret. I put my paints away and took a book beside the fire. I could not even recall which story it was that I read, for none of the words penetrated my heavy thoughts. I listened to the snap of wet wood in the flames, hoping those sounds would soon be the accompaniment to the squeal of moving door hinges, but this did not come to pass.
I ate, my knife and fork scratching against the porcelain in the silence. I looked to the window where the snow had resumed its downward progress. An entire day had passed since my love had set out for Herberton. Surely whatever business this was could not occupy him for so long, I thought. I called to Bess and asked again if she had heard any news of Lord Allenham. “None,” she replied, for she had spent the entire day with me.
I stood at the window for most of the night, until my eyes wished to close. “I am certain I shall find his lordship here in the morning,” I cheerfully announced to Bess as she helped me into my nightdress and cap.
“Yes,” she agreed in that way that servants have when they mean to please.
But I went to my bed in another mind, full of dark thoughts, growing ever more anxious that my revelation was the cause of his absence. I twisted amid the sheets and then began once more to weep.
On the second morning, I found myself truly distressed. Indeed I felt so ill with worry that I could eat nothing. Bess brought me a hot dish of chocolate to sip, but it smelled, to me, burnt and rancid.
“I shall send a note to the house,” I stated. My maid removed the chocolate and brought instead some writing paper, pen and ink.
“Pray, my lord, I do not wish to trouble you,” I wrote, deciding it was best to write in a formal manner, now vastly cautious of betraying myself upon paper, knowing what misfortune might come of it, “but the household desires to know when we might expect your return.” I signed it “H. Lightfoot.”
I sealed it and passed it to Bess, ordering it to be brought up to Herberton immediately.
My maid set out through the frost-painted orchard in her cape and returned the following hour.
“Did you see him?” I queried anxiously.
“No, madam. The housekeeper took it from me.”
“And what did she say?”
“She examined it, madam, and placed it in her pocket.”
“You directed her to bring it him, did you not?”
“Of course, madam.”
I stalked my sitting room like a cat, moving from one corner to the next, hoping there would come an answer, listening for the sound of shoes in snow. I waited hours; two, three, four, perhaps more. The sun began its downward slant, but no word came.
Another meal was prepared and served. This I devoured, for my nerves had raised my hunger. When I finished, I called for Bess.
“Something is not right,” I said to her, my voice quavering. “You will take another message to Herberton. I insist that you place it directly in his lordship’s hand.”
I drew out another sheet of paper and penned the same words I had committed to ink earlier, and then sent Bess abroad with a lantern.
She returned to me, and when she took down her hood I saw the apprehension in her features.
“Oh madam,” she said, wide-eyed, “I did as you requested. I asked to see his lordship but Mrs. Shirley would not permit it.”
“How so? Why would she not permit it?”
“I do so beg your pardon, madam, but she forbade it and took the letter from me. She said there was no need for urgency and it was not my place to demand an audience with him and whatever message I bore would be brought to him by herself, madam,” Bess rattled.
“But what reason did she give?” I demanded.
“None but that. I do so beg madam’s pardon.”
I failed to sleep that night. I could not lie still. My mind tumbled with questions. Had I driven him away? Had some accident befallen him? My dear Allenham would not have left me here with no word from him to explain his absence. He would sense my distress and wish to assuage it. No, no, I told myself, I felt it in my heart, this was not right.
I sat at the edge of my bed and listened to the nothingness of night.
He had received a vow from me tha
t I should never venture to Herberton when I knew him to be there. I had given him my word; I had made a promise. I recalled the sight of his hardened features when he begged me; he feared I should put us both in danger. I gripped my head as it howled with frustration. “No, he has not deceived me, it would not be possible,” I calmed myself. “His love is true.” The only deceit had come from me. “Oh!” I cried out miserably. “I have wrought this!”
Having convinced myself of my wrongdoing, I determined to rectify it, though I might incur his further displeasure by doing so. I had given my promise and now I must break it. (Where the logic was in this, dear friends, I am sure you cannot fathom, but to a lovelorn girl of seventeen in the middle of a restless night, it had all the reason of Aristotle in it.) I resolved that if his lordship did not appear by morning, I should set out after him.
Sure enough, another morning broke with no further sign of my beloved. I called for Bess, in fact, I shouted for her, which is something I had never before done. In my echoing tones, I heard the shrill cry of my sister; her angered voice rang from my lungs. I clapped my hand to my breast, startled at the force within me.
Bess had brought breakfast, which I turned away. I could not stomach it.
“I am going up the hill, to Herberton,” I panted. My heart was racing. “Dress me. Quickly.”
I do not know what time of the morning it was when I set off through the frozen rows of sleeping apple trees. The sun sat low and thin on the hazy horizon. I struggled through the snow, my breath coming hard and vaporous in the cold, but even this could not slow my steady climb. I recalled that it was not many months earlier that I had mounted this hill. I thought about from whence I had run and the terror of that flight. Herberton had taken me in and it felt as much to me a home as ever did Melmouth. But, reader, I had grown too comfortable. I had forgotten that I was but a guest, and there upon his lordship’s sufferance. While I had become accustomed to ordering my own household at Orchard Cottage, I held no sway at Herberton.
I fairly ran the final lengths to the house, so eager was I to see Allenham and bring to an end this disagreeable episode. I thought I might mount the steps to the entrance, but fearing I should make myself conspicuous to any visitors, thought better of it and went round to the side and through the rustic. It was to this same place that I had come in October and it felt as if I might relive that familiar scene once more. However, on this occasion, I strode through the doors with as much command as his lordship himself. Rather than cowering at the prospect of my encounter with the chatelaine, fear had emboldened me. I asked to speak with Mrs. Shirley directly.
She approached me from down the corridor, as she had on the day of my arrival, but when she recognized my face, I noticed her demeanour sharpen.
“What may I do for you, miss?” she enquired in a voice that matched my imperious manner.
“I must see his lordship,” I responded firmly.
“I am afraid that is not possible,” said she, “for his lordship has gone to London.”
I stared at her blankly. This, I had not expected. My face, along with all my strength, began to tremble.
“When… when did he depart?” I asked.
“Three days prior.”
“Three days,” I echoed.
“I am afraid so, miss. You are too late for him.”
“But… when shall he return?”
“This I do not know. A dispatch came. He left in the dead of night.”
I did not know what to make of this.
“Has he left no instruction for me, no letter?”
“No, miss, he left none.”
“Oh,” I breathed. I felt suddenly as if I were a child, as if I were alone, and very much all at sea. “What… shall I do?”
Why I asked that dragon of woman this, I cannot say; surprise and my own weakness led me to it.
“I do not know, miss. It is no business of mine to say.”
She folded her arms and regarded me with impatience. At that time, I was still too ignorant of the world to recognize that Mrs. Shirley had the measure of me. She knew precisely who I was and what I had become. I was so young, so fresh, and his lordship so powerfully handsome, as to leave her in no doubt. Her shrewd eyes had observed me come to the house in that hurried, flustered way before. Although I had not seen her since that first day, she would have understood well enough what had transpired in his lordship’s apartments. She also would have known that I now lived as Allenham’s mistress in Orchard Cottage. Indeed, she would have had knowledge of all this long before I made my reappearance, sporting fur and a swagger.
There she left me, paying me a nod and withdrawing with no more care for my concerns than any other stranger might have.
I lingered for a moment in confusion, looking about me for an answer which I knew I should not find there. I twisted my hands inside my muff, until a clear thought came to me.
I started back down the hill to Orchard Cottage in a fury, my pace matching the speed of my galloping mind. Now I was certain he had quit Herberton in a fit of anger, or else he would have left some instruction, some calming note to explain his absence. Oh friends, what panic came over me! I strode without care through the snow, tripping several times over the hem of my petticoat and upon the fur edge of my cloak. Were I so able, I might have run on all fours like a bolting horse back to the cottage! It is remarkable indeed how simple it is to shed one’s dignity in a time of trouble.
I had resolved to write to him, to beg his forgiveness, and by the time I had arrived at Orchard Cottage, I had already composed the letter in my head. I scrambled through the door and called for Bess to bring pen and paper. This she did, but as she conveyed it to me, I was distracted by something far more promising.
I own that at that moment, I was not entirely of a rational mind. I saw, amid the collection of items that my maid carried, a small purse containing coin for household expenses—postage and the like. My eyes fixed on it, the pieces bulging within either end.
“What amount is here?” I asked, reaching for it like a desperate beggar.
“One pound, fifteen shillings and threepence.”
I had no sooner clasped my hand around the knitted pouch and felt the weight of coin in my palm than I understood what peace of mind spending it would bring me. As much as I loathed the idea that I should embark upon another journey, I knew I should never have a night’s rest till I had seen Allenham’s face and, if necessary, thrown myself at his feet and cleansed them with my tears. This was all I required, this small sum to carry me to my beloved’s side.
I asked that Bess prepare us for a journey and collect for me a change of linens and my small things in a bundle, for I had not even a box with which to travel and, in my haste, I cared not for what items I brought. I wished only to set out as soon as I might in order to catch that day’s mail coach. I feared even then that I would be too late for it. I had not even paused to consider from where I might board the vehicle, or how to convey myself there.
“Lechlade, madam, at the Crown,” said Bess, who then set about arranging a cart to take me there.
It was near midday when the cart, which regularly ferried the servants into town, arrived for me. Bess watched it roll to a stop and lingered near the door sheepishly.
“I mean no disrespect, madam, but… there ain’t enough coin in that purse for two fares.”
I had not applied my mind to this, and indeed I felt as dim-witted as I had when I first climbed upon the mail coach at the White Hart.
“I have travelled unaccompanied before, Bess,” I announced, raising my head haughtily as if that admission should be some matter of pride for a genteelly bred young lady. “And I am to return shortly with his lordship.”
Her expression was unmoved by that pronouncement.
One never knows what servants think, or for that matter the nature of the secrets to which they are privy. As she dropped a curtsey at my departure, I believe she held an altogether different view as to what I might encounter and
for how long I might be gone.
Chapter 19
I had been too late for the mail, and therein lay my first misfortune. To make up the time I had lost, I boarded the stage—when it eventually made its appearance. My intention was to join the next day’s mail coach at Oxford, but the snow came so hard that day that the roads became impassable, and we were forced to weather the night at an inn not six miles short of my destination. So disappeared the day, for had I managed to depart from Lechlade upon the mail, I would have found myself in London in ten or twelve hours. So also diminished what little funds I possessed, and I felt again all the discomfort and dread I had known on my previous flight. I ordered refreshment, but could hardly touch it for my nerves. The road, too, caused me no end of sickness.
When at last I stepped into the mail’s carriage at Oxford, two days had passed since I had set out. “What folly was this!” I had now begun to chasten myself. Indeed, had I sent a letter it might have reached London long before me, and at far less expense. Each hour of delay spelled another hour in which my dear love thought ill of me. I could hardly tolerate it!
The mail shook us all night upon the road to London, entering it in the darkness of the morning hours, at that time when the night’s lamps had begun to burn out and sun had hardly reared its head. Beggars huddled beneath the bulks of shops, a shadowy, slumbering pile of bodies in the dirty snow. The criers were just emerging on to the streets with ballads and quinces, scissors and fish. Servants wrapped against the chill skittered by in wooden pattens. The wheels of the mail slowly churned us through a paste of slush, straw, animal waste and mud. London had never before seemed a place of menace to me, and yet at this early hour, not quite eight o’clock, it appeared drab, washed with mud and soot. Its sounds were louder, the grins of the urchins wider and more sinister. As I alighted in the yard of the Swan with Two Necks, I could think of nothing but racing to Allenham, to Arlington Street in St. James’s, where I knew his warm, well-lit townhouse to be.
“Oh my love!” thought I, shivering with cold and anxiety. I imagined that I should find him there, still in his bed, that I should request his butler to rouse him, that I should wait impatiently for him in his drawing room, and that my beloved would appear, swathed in his wrapper, his hair undone. There would be a scene, I understood this. I should beg his forgiveness, throw myself upon my knees. I should weep piteously and declare my love for him, and swear I should do whatever penance he required of me to contradict the evils of my mistake. Then he would lift me from the floor and look upon me with grace. He would take me into his arms and heal my heart with kisses. That was how it would play out, I was certain of it.
Mistress of My Fate Page 19
