A long pause. “Does that worry you?”
“Not at all.” She turned her head to look at him, seeing the slightly strained expression in his face. “It pleases me that there is no awkwardness between us after… what happened.”
“It pleases me too,” he said, but his voice was low and tense. He stopped abruptly, hands on hips and head low. “I think I must go away. I… I cannot do this, Annie. I cannot go on day after day, pretending, being distantly polite to you. How can we meet publicly as no more than friends when I hope for so much more from you? All I want to do is to take you in my arms and kiss you, and it is driving me to the point of madness. Help me, Annie! Tell me to go away, for God’s sake, before I do something we will both regret.”
“If I were to do so, would you go away?”
“Of course! I want nothing more than your happiness, you must believe me, and I am determined not to press you, but it is so difficult when—”
“When?”
“When I love you so much!” In a whisper, he added, “I cannot bear it. Help me, Annie, I beg of you.”
22: A Seat Beside The River
All Annie’s careful plans to put off any romantic thoughts until the spring were lost in the face of Adam’s impassioned plea. She had to face the truth of it — he loved her deeply, and it would be cruel to keep him dangling. Yet she could not commit herself, not yet. Love was too difficult, and her own feelings too confusing.
To give herself time to consider her answer, she said, “There is a seat not far from here where we may talk.”
“A seat? Is there?” But he willingly turned and headed in the direction she indicated.
“There used to be a fallen tree with a trunk of a very convenient width to sit upon. When he saw that I liked the spot, Rupert had the tree trunk removed and a wooden seat placed there.”
“Oh.”
“He was very kind, in some ways,” she said cautiously. How inept of her to raise the subject of Rupert with Adam at such a time! Yet it could hardly be ignored. He must not be forgotten or never spoken of, as if he had never existed.
To her relief, Adam said, “He was. He loved you very well, in his own way. Did you—?” He stopped with an exclamation of annoyance. “Forgive me. I should not ask such impertinent questions.”
“I hope you may ask me anything you wish to know,” she said. “I will not answer if the question makes me uncomfortable.”
“Then… oh, this is a lovely place!”
They were come to the seat with its tranquil view between the willows towards Durran House, Lady Charlotte’s home. Somewhere in the distance, Jerome’s high voice and Edwin’s lower one could be heard. There was a splash, followed by a shriek, and with slow flaps a heron took off and flew low over the water, settling a little further upstream. The river was high after the rain, but there were no rocks or rapids here to slow its progress, so the water sped swiftly and silently towards its meeting with the Avon at Salisbury.
They sat, Annie at one end of the seat and Adam at the other.
“What were you going to ask me?”
“Only… did you love him, Annie? You must have had some affection for him, or you would scarcely have married him.”
She raised her eyebrows in surprise, but then she laughed. “Perhaps only a man could think so. I was six and twenty years old, and had never received a single offer of marriage. Oh, a few had thought about it, I am sure, and one or two even went to Papa, but nothing ever came of it. I have never laid claim to beauty or wit or accomplishments, and my only portion will be Mama’s three thousand pounds after her death. It is not a great inducement for a man, is it? And then Rupert came along, a respectable man, a gentleman, with a fine house and two thousand a year… how on earth could I possibly refuse him? Affection had nothing to do with it. I did not dislike him, and so I accepted him.”
He exhaled slowly, then shook his head, bemused. “I had assumed — in fact, he implied as much himself — that there was some long-standing arrangement between you, an understanding from years ago.”
“If he said so, then he lied, or was mistaken, perhaps, for there was no understanding. He wished to marry me eight years ago, but he had not the income to support a wife then and Papa would not permit him to pay his addresses to me. Even if he had, I am not at all sure that I would have accepted him, not then. What seems so eminently suitable at six and twenty is not always so appealing at eighteen. At that age, I still felt I had… possibilities. Something would turn up, it seemed to me. Oh, the optimism of youth! After he left, I cannot say that I thought about him at all. Did he imagine I stayed single for his sake? Poor, deluded man! I should have married in a heartbeat if anyone had ever asked me.”
Adam laughed, and for the first time the anxiety creases on his forehead softened. “I had no idea!” he said, still chuckling. “When he told us in April that he was to marry, he—”
“April! He said that in April?”
“Why, yes. What of it?”
“He presumed a great deal, then, for he did not call upon me until May.”
“It was definitely April,” Adam said. “He was here in early March, when Herbert’s body was finally brought back from Cornwall — and what a business that was! But still, Rupert was here for a few days for the burial and the reading of the will. Then he went away again, back to Grantham, we all supposed. He returned in April, told everyone he was about to be married and ordered all the rooms and furniture rearranged. The next time he appeared was in June, with you. And you knew nothing of it until May?”
“Not a thing. He called one Wednesday without a word of warning, and by the following Tuesday we were betrothed. He had a friend in Guildford, so I suppose he must have known that I was still unwed, still living under my uncle’s shelter. He would have guessed that I could not refuse him. Still, one likes to be asked before the furniture is rearranged.”
Adam laughed. “How presumptuous of him. But thank you, Annie.”
“Whatever for?” she said, turning to him with a questioning tilt of the head.
“For talking me down from the boughs. You are of such a practical nature, that even my agitation cannot be sustained. However, I should still like to know if you wish me to go away.”
“Wish it? No, I do not wish it. But equally, I do not want to make your life uncomfortable.” She stopped, hesitating, but she had always found that honesty was the best way forward in difficulties such as this. “Adam, I said that I could make you no promises, and that is true. Who can say what may happen before my year of mourning is over? But I will tell you this, if it will bring you comfort. I have never wanted anything in my life except one thing — to be married, to be a wife and mother, to have my own family about me. I grew up in such a happy house. My parents had a deep affection for each other, and for me, but I was the only child and I felt the lack of brothers and sisters almost as much as my mother did. Poor Mama! She lamented her failure, as she saw it, for years, and so did I. How I should have loved to be part of a big, happy brood. I envy you yours, however troublesome they may be.”
In the distance more shrieks and splashes marked the location of Jerome and Edwin. She laughed, and went on, “When Mama and I went to Uncle Tom’s house, I saw just how wonderful a large family could be. They have five children now, and there may yet be more, who knows. I should like very much to have such a family. And that means another husband. When I am finally out of black gloves, I am sure that I will be looking about me for another husband and if you are here, waiting…”
“Ahhh,” he said, a soft sigh that was almost inaudible. “And yet… I would not have you marry me simply because I am a gentleman with a fine house and a good income.”
“If it should come to a question of marriage,” she said carefully, for she was anxious not to say anything which would give him false hope, or bind her irrevocably, “there is far more to you than that. You are not a stranger to me, as Rupert was. But such a discussion is for the future, I think.”
“You are right,” he said quickly, but he seemed downhearted by her non-committal words, and lapsed into brooding silence.
To distract him, she said, “Is there any news from Sir Leonard? He has been here several times to talk to the servants, but not lately. Has he abandoned his enquiries?”
Adam’s face relaxed a little at the more neutral subject. “I believe not. I asked him that very question at church on Sunday, but he gave only the vaguest of answers. When I invited him to dinner, as I do every month without fail, he refused it, and I am not sure what to make of that, for such a thing has never been known before. He is one of my most faithful guests. But perhaps he feels that he must keep his distance from anyone touched by the tragedy until he has resolved the matter in his own mind. He is still asking questions around Wickstead, that is all I know.”
“At the Manor, or in the village?” Annie said.
“Both. One must assume that he has his suspicions about someone from the area, and it makes sense, since Rupert was returning from the church when he was attacked. But still, one wonders what he hopes to find after more than three weeks. He is too secretive by far, if you want my opinion. Captain Edgerton asked me if I would help him to further his own investigation by introducing him to the coroner and this army fellow, Major Corbett, who inspected the wounds from the gunshot. He has spoken to the coroner, who would tell him nothing but what is known generally, but only Sir Leonard knows the major, and he refuses to allow Captain Edgerton to talk to him.”
“I have his card,” Annie said thoughtfully. “He is from Salisbury, I believe, so he should be easy enough to find, and if I write a letter to him explaining that Captain Edgerton has my authority to investigate my husband’s death…?”
“That might do the trick,” Adam said, with a flash of his usual sunny smile. “How clever you are! Oh, look, here are my two ragamuffins. Is there any water left in the river, Jerome, or is it all clinging to your person? If I had known you meant to swim, I should have brought towels.”
“We have not been swimming,” Jerome said with dignity. “We were racing stick boats, and they needed a certain amount of encouragement. We had to flap at them with bigger sticks and the water got spread about rather.”
“Whatever am I to do with them?” Adam said to Annie, laughing and shaking his head.
“Did you never get wet when you were a boy?” Annie said with a smile.
“Naturally I did, but I had the manners not to appear before a lady soaked to the skin.”
“It is only Cousin Annie, and she will not mind, will you, Annie?” Jerome said cheerfully.
“I shall not mind a bit, so long as you find dry clothes and a warm fire before very long. I shall mind a great deal if you take a chill from this little game.”
“Oh, we will not take a chill, or if we do, you can physic us. Come on, Edwin, let us find out where the heron went.”
“No herons,” Adam said firmly. “Not until you are out of those wet things. Go home and change, both of you.”
“But—”
“No argument. Off you go.”
“Race you!” Edwin said, and within seconds they were gone, bashing their way through the undergrowth so that birds screeched upwards in alarm, and the poor heron, disrupted once more, flapped his slow way downstream again.
For a while Annie and Adam sat on in silence, while the sounds of the two boys disappeared into the distance and the river returned to its afternoon somnolence. For herself, she felt it was a comfortable silence, as between friends, but she could not be sure that Adam felt the same way. He sat at the far end of the seat, elbows on knees, head down, lost in thought. The contrast with Rupert was striking. Her husband had liked to watch her — always he had watched her, with an unnervingly intense scrutiny. Adam, though, did not. Yet both claimed to love her. And that in itself was strange, that two men, so very different, should fall in love with the same woman.
Frowning, she turned her head a fraction to gaze at the water sailing past. She was caught up in an odd sensation, as if the water were still and she herself were moving, rushing off to some unknown future. Which she was, of course. Only four months ago, her life had been spiralling down into permanent spinsterhood, to become one of those myriad women every town could boast — industrious, respectable women, always bustling about on good works or family business, perpetually at the beck and call of others. And now, she found herself with not one but two men who loved her, and—
“What is so puzzling as to bring a frown to that smooth forehead of yours?” Adam said. It was akin to magic, that way he always knew when her mood shifted, even without looking at her, just as country folk could detect a change in the weather by some sixth sense that owed nothing to science or learning.
As always, she had to be honest. “I was wondering what it is about me that causes not one, but two men to single me out. There is nothing special about me in the slightest, and I am not fishing for compliments here, so do not think it, but I cannot account for it.”
He smiled gently. “Ah, love! It is mysterious, is it not? You look at yourself in the mirror, Annie, and think ‘Who could possibly fall in love with me?’ whereas I look in the mirror and think ‘Who could possibly not fall in love with me?’ And there is the difference between us.”
His lightness made her laugh. “I was used to think you too frivolous, Adam, but you always lift my spirits. You lift everyone’s spirits, in whatever company you find yourself, and that is a rare gift indeed.”
“Do I?” he said, his face lightening at once. “Do I lift your spirits?” She nodded, and he sat back with a smile of satisfaction, folding his arms. “Ah, how much I have hoped that was so! You were always so quiet, so subdued that I wanted more than anything to make you laugh. How pleased I was when I managed to raise a smile from you! And then Rupert would catch your eye, or make some repressive remark, and you would subside again. I wanted to see the lively Annie, but you kept her well out of sight most of the time.”
“Lively? Me? You must be mistaken!” she said, laughing. “I am placid by nature.”
“Now there you are quite wrong,” he said, more seriously. “Do you remember the first time we met? Of course you do, for I came upon you quite unannounced and you were very cross with me. But I was so keen to see the fabled former Miss Dresden.”
“Fabled!” she said in astonishment. “But I am perfectly ordinary!”
“I would not quite agree with you there, but let it pass. Rupert had told us all about you, and he made it seem as if you were spectacularly extraordinary. Your purity and goodness and other fine qualities were too magnificent and abundant to be enumerated, and Rupert’s vocabulary fell woefully short. In the end, the words ‘perfection personified’ were employed, as I recall.”
“Goodness! It must have been a sad disappointment to meet the reality.”
He laughed. “Naturally, I could not wait to meet such a paragon. And there you were, seated at the instrument, industriously working away, dutifully repeating the piece until you got it just so, your face a picture of intense concentration, for all the world like a schoolroom miss, not a happy bride. I confess, I wondered rather at that point just what Rupert saw in you that drove him to such elegiac heights of hyperbole. But then… oh, then you saw me and your eyes flashed and you rang such a peal over me! Then I understood the meaning of perfection personified.”
She shook her head at such nonsense. “Perfection is a waspish woman, is it?”
“Perfection is a woman with spirit! Someone who will speak her mind and stand up to maltreatment, as you did even to Rupert that day, do you remember? You were very cross to have had no forewarning of my existence, and rightly so. But after that… every time I saw you, I found you a little more subdued, tucked a little further into your submissive shell and it grieved me beyond measure. I had seen the lively Annie, you see, and every time I visited you, I tried to draw her out. My efforts became too outrageous for Rupert to tolerate and in the end he banished me, which was
probably for the best. If someone had not already taken pistols to Rupert, I should inevitably have called him out.”
“Now it is you who is guilty of hyperbole, Adam. I trust you would have done no such thing, for you would have been quite in the wrong.”
“I know,” he said quietly, leaning forward again and gazing at his hands. “No one has the right to come between a man and his wife, no matter how great the provocation, but I would have done it anyway. I hated what he was doing to you, Annie. To take a beautiful, vibrant woman and push her down and down so far that it seems she might never get up again… it is wicked! He was an evil man.”
Beautiful and vibrant! She had never considered herself in that light before.
“No,” she said softly. “Not evil, merely… misguided, perhaps. He genuinely believed his way was best.”
Adam jumped up, and took a few paces towards the river. Hands on hips and head lowered, he took several deep breaths before spinning round to face her again. “I beg your pardon,” he said, and it was obvious that the words cost him some effort. “I should not speak so of your husband.”
She heard the anguish in his voice. He was a man of such sensibility! He was not calm and controlled as Rupert had been, and as she herself was. Yet his pain aroused such feelings of protectiveness. If she could possibly spare him this hurt, then she must do so. Annie had not the words to comfort him, but she knew what he needed, the same comfort he had given her when she was in distress. He needed to be held.
Without hesitation, she rose and went towards him, wrapping her arms around his waist and laying her head on his shoulder. His arms reached around her and he pulled her tightly to him.
“Oh, Annie!” he whispered into her ear, the words muffled by her bonnet.
And because she could not help it, she turned her face to his and reached up to kiss him.
The Apothecary (Silver Linings Mysteries Book 3) Page 22
