by Rose Pearson
Deborah nodded. “Yes, I am aware of that.”
“Oh?” The butler looked surprised.
“Lady Markham’s letter made that quite clear,” Deborah explained, seeing the look of relief etch itself into the older man’s expression. “I will not be afraid of such a demeanor, Mr. Morris. I am quite prepared for it.” She tried to put as much determination into her voice as she could, even though her heart was still beating rather quickly in her chest. “You have no need to concern yourself for my sake.”
Mr. Morris nodded, tipped his head and considered her for a few moments. “Very well,” he said, eventually. “I shall have your things sent up to your rooms and once you have met Lord Abernathy, I will have the housekeeper, Mrs. Denton, show you to your rooms. You will have your meals brought up to you, of course, but you are always welcome below stairs and to seek myself or Mrs. Denton out, should you have any questions or concerns.”
“Thank you,” Deborah replied, relieved that she was to have at least one member of staff within the household that she could rely on for help. “Might you tell me more about Lord Abernathy’s condition?”
Mr. Morris grimaced but gestured for her to begin to climb the stairs. He followed after, talking as they went.
“Lord Abernathy is, of course, the Duke and therefore would not have been expected to fight,” he said, as Deborah hurried up the staircase. “He has a younger brother, however, and so decided that he wished to do just that, stating that his brother could easily take over the title and continue the family line if something were to happen to him.”
Deborah’s eyes widened. “Goodness,” she murmured, as they walked into the long, bright hallway. “That is a little unusual, is it not?”
Mr. Morris nodded. “Very much so. Lady Markham was most distressed but His Grace was not at all inclined to listen to her. Therefore, he went to fight and the next thing we hear is that he has been injured and will require considerable care.”
Deborah looked all about her, taking in the grandeur of the house, aware of just how small it made her feel. “I see.”
“His hand has lost two fingers,” the butler continued. “And his face, on one side, has been badly injured. There are the usual poultices and bandages in place but His Grace is not at all eager to have himself bound up in such a way. It is only because of his sister’s insistence that he allows himself to be looked after at all.”
Deborah frowned. “He does not want to recover?”
The butler hesitated, then shook his head. “I am not quite certain what it is that His Grace struggles with,” he replied, carefully, “But he is not a man who gives any appearance of wishing to get better and return to his former life. Instead, he cries out about the war, states that he would have been better off in the grave than returned to his life here in such a state of brokenness.” He sighed and Deborah felt her heart sink to the floor. “His Grace is not the man he once was,” the butler finished, honestly. “I will be honest with you, Miss Harland, and tell you that I am struggling terribly with his demeanor, for I do not know what to do.”
Swallowing her concern, Deborah fixed a smile to her lips. “That is more than understandable,” she said, trying to find some sort of encouragement for him. “I have seen and cared for many injured soldiers, and some of them have been in the very depths of despondency for some days. It is only when they begin to recover that a fresh light seems to return to their soul.”
“Then I pray that you will be able to bring such a light back to Lord Abernathy,” the butler replied, fervently. “His sister, Lady Markham, is due to reside with us for a time by the end of the week. I know that she will be most grateful to you for anything you have been able to do.”
They walked up yet another flight of stairs – although this one was much grander than the servant’s staircase.
Deborah found herself astonished with the opulence that surrounded her. Having been brought up in the abbey where any such ornaments or trinkets were discouraged, it was almost overwhelming to see so many things littering almost every surface. The Duke was, of course, exceedingly wealthy.
Ahead of them, a door opened and, her attention caught, Deborah saw a woman step out of the door, pulling it closed softly behind her.
“Ah, Mrs. Denton,” Mr. Morris said, with a small smile. “May I introduce you to Miss Harland? She has been sent from the abbey.”
“I have not yet taken my orders,” Deborah said, by way of explanation as Mrs. Denton gave her a confused look. “But Mother Superior has sent me in the hope that I might be of some aid to Lord Abernathy.”
Mrs. Denton, who had grey hair pinned back into a tight bun, a thin, pinched face and the biggest brown eyes Deborah had ever seen, shook her head. Her slim frame seemed to be tight with tension. The paleness in her face warned Deborah that all was not well with the lady.
“I am glad to meet you, of course, Miss Harland,” Mrs. Denton said, quickly, “But I cannot suggest that you meet His Grace at this present time. He is…..not in the happiest of moods.”
Deborah held Mrs. Denton’s gaze, seeing two spots of color appear in the older lady’s cheeks. Was she embarrassed to have to speak so openly about her master? Or had she been humiliated in some way by Lord Abernathy’s words, her embarrassment due to his harshness?
“I have come to see Lord Abernathy, have I not?” Deborah asked, softly, trying to push away the fear coiling within her. “I must be able to help him in some way, and I cannot do that unless I meet with him.”
“He does not know of your presence here,” Mrs. Denton replied, urgently, as though this was the only reason required to set Deborah away from Lord Abernathy. “He will be frustrated with his sister for doing such a thing and given how he is this afternoon, I cannot think that adding to his woes will be wise for either of you.”
Deborah tried to smile, refusing to listen to the warning in her mind. “I will simply introduce myself, that is all,” she said, even though her heart was pounding with fright. “If he throws me from the room and demands that I leave the house, I have no intention of turning tail and running from the estate. Lady Markham was quite clear in her letter that I was to remain for at least a month. I have every intention of doing so, for I want to be able to help Lord Abernathy as best I can.”
Mrs. Denton hesitated, sharing a look with Mr. Morris that Deborah could not quite make out.
“I do think it would be best if you waited for Lady Markham’s visit,” Mr. Morris said, eventually. “But if you are quite certain, then, Mrs. Denton, I think we may attempt to introduce Miss Harland together.”
Mrs. Denton sighed heavily. “He is in a sour mood, Mr. Morris.”
“When is he not?” Mr. Morris replied, sharply, surprising Deborah with his tone. “Besides, it may be best for Miss Harland to see the Duke as he really is. We have no need to hide the truth from her now, do we?”
“I would protect you if I could, Miss Harland,” Mrs. Denton replied, one hand now on the door handle. “You do look very young and quite timid, if I may say so.”
Deborah allowed herself a small smile. “I am but one and twenty, Mrs. Denton,” she replied, “but I have quite significant experience when it comes to injured men. I have seen a good deal of strife and trouble, and I do hope that God has sent me here for the sole purpose of using that experience to aid Lord Abernathy.”
Her words seemed to encourage Mrs. Denton a little for the lady sighed, nodded and then opened the door wide.
It was time to meet Lord Abernathy.
Chapter Three
For all that Deborah had attempted to show courage, determination, and fortitude in the face of stark warnings about Lord Abernathy, inwardly, her strength was fading fast. Lord Abernathy’s room, as she stepped inside, was shrouded in darkness, as though he was halfway to the grave already. Heavy drapes covered the long windows, with only one pulled a little ways back, to let some of the daylight inside. Sweat began to bead on her forehead, and not only from the rising tension that she felt w
ithin her. The room was hot – too hot, as far as she was concerned – for she saw a blazing fire in the grate, the yellow and orange flames burning with such a fervor that she feared it might leap from the grate and catch onto the carpet.
As for Lord Abernathy, she could see no sign of him, which was not a surprise given just how dark the room was. Beside her, Mrs. Denton’s breathing was quickening, as though she too was afraid of even addressing Lord Abernathy.
“We will remain with you,” Mr. Morris murmured, softly, so that only Deborah could hear. “You will not have to fear being left with His Grace alone.”
“Thank you,” Deborah whispered back, quietly wondering what could be so terrible about the fellow that she would be in danger if left alone with him. Licking her lips, she came to a stop beside Mrs. Denton, seeing the housekeeper gazing towards the very darkest corner of the room.
“Your Grace,” Mrs. Denton began, her voice high pitched. “You have a visitor.”
There was nothing but silence.
Deborah closed her eyes and lifted her chin, opening them again to stare, fixedly, into the dark gloom of the corner. Was Lord Abernathy within? Was he busy studying her, looking at her with intensity? She could not feel his eyes on her, nor could she make out whether or not he really was hidden in the depths of the shadows. How could Mrs. Denton be certain he was there?
“His Grace prefers to sit there,” Mr. Morris said, out of the corner of his mouth as though he had heard Deborah’s thoughts aloud. “It is dark and he is alone. The firelight does not reach him, even though he insists that it is always lit.”
“I see.”
“What is it you are mumbling about, Morris?”
A harsh, angry voice flooded the room and Deborah stiffened at once. The sheer anger that seemed to reverberate towards them startled her, for Mr. Morris had not been doing anything incorrect in speaking to her. Besides which, Mrs. Denton had stated that Lord Abernathy had a visitor and he had not so much as acknowledged her presence!
“I was speaking to our new arrival, Lord Abernathy,” Mr. Morris said, hurriedly, his voice strained. “This is Miss Harland.”
Again, silence filled the room. Much to her surprise, Deborah felt an extraordinary amount of anger begin to fill her, which was not at all what she thought she might feel once she was in Lord Abernathy’s presence. Yes, she had a good deal of compassion for a gentleman who had been injured as he had, but that injury did not therefore mean that he had any right to treat his staff in such an inconsiderate manner. She had dealt with all manner of men before and some had been utterly silent, torn apart by what they had witnessed and the memories that had darkened their mind. Lord Abernathy, it seemed, was choosing silence as a means to either intimidate or express his displeasure.
Neither of which, she thought, was at all acceptable and certainly not for a gentleman so close in title to the King!
Having been brought up with the nuns and having never known her parents, Deborah had not truly been exposed to London society. She had never once felt the same air of wonder and astonishment at being addressed by a viscount as some of the other young ladies might. She had not gawped after a marquess as he had passed by in his grand carriage, nor watched with wide, fascinated eyes as an Earl had promenaded through St James’ Park with a lady on his arm. Therefore, she did not feel any overwhelming sense of awe at being in the very same room as a Duke, nor was she obliged to bow and scrape before his supposedly unapproachable presence. The more she stood in silence, waiting for His Grace to speak, the more irritated she became. Whether or not the gentleman was titled, there was a level of decency and respect that she found sorely lacking.
“As Mrs. Denton has just informed you, Lord Abernathy,” she said, finding her voice streaming from her without having had any intention of speaking aloud. “You have a visitor. I am Miss Harland.”
Beside her, Deborah heard Mrs. Denton’s swift intake of breath but she did not turn from her chosen course. “I have been sent to assist you with your recovery,” she continued, taking a step forward. “I have heard you have been injured in the war and I can assure you that I have already come to the aid of many other soldiers who find themselves in such a situation.”
She stood stock still, looking directly into the corner of the room and refusing to lift her gaze. She did not care what Lord Abernathy thought of her frank speech and did not listen to the murmured warning from Mr. Morris. She was here to help Lord Abernathy to recover, to dress his wounds and attempt to bring him out of the blackness that surrounded him, and she could not do that if he did not so much as acknowledge her.
“I did not request a nurse.”
His voice was low and threatening but Deborah did not back away from the corner of the room, nor did she allow herself to feel any fear at his harsh words. “And yet,” she said, firmly, “those who care for you saw your need and sent for me.”
“I do not want your help.”
Deborah, who had expected as much, stood her ground. “I am to remain here for a month.”
To her shock, something cracked to the floor at her feet, startling her. She took a step back, horrified to see a pile of broken glass all about her. Had Lord Abernathy just thrown something?
“I said,” Lord Abernathy exclaimed, his voice rising steadily, “that I do not want your help! You are to leave my house at once!”
Deborah, shocked that someone of such high standing would do something so terrible as throw an object at their visitor, stared down at the glass in disbelief. She could not believe that he had done something so awful! Here she was, having come to Lord Abernathy’s home as his sister had requested, only to be physically attacked by Lord Abernathy himself! It was not to be borne!
“Lord Abernathy!” she exclaimed, her righteous anger bursting forth once again. “How dare you throw –”
Before she could finish her sentence, something hit her, hard on the shoulder, forcing her to stagger backward. Mr. Morris caught her arm, his gasp of horror matching that of Mrs. Denton’s.
“We should leave,” he said, grasping her arm and pulling her towards the door. “I did not think he would be this irate, but –”
The sound of smashing china behind her made Deborah want to run for the door, suddenly afraid that she could be cut to smithereens by the broken glass and china that was being flung all about. Lord Abernathy was roaring something incomprehensible, his frustration and anger directed solely towards her.
“I am sorry, Miss Harland,” Mrs. Denton exclaimed, as they half ran towards the door. “I did not think that he would go to such extremes as this.”
Deborah hesitated, forcing Mr. Morris to let go of her arm. She turned back to the corner of the room, seeing the objects still flying towards them although none reached anywhere near them, given how far away they were now from Lord Abernathy.
Her face was burning with shame and fear, her heart beating furiously as she studied the darkness that surrounded the room. Lord Abernathy had tried to intimidate and frighten her from his presence when she had made no attempt to do as he demanded and quit his house for good. The darkness and gloom was what he used to hide himself away, and to make himself nothing more than a disembodied voice that sought to terrify her. Closing her eyes and reminding her that light will cast out darkness, Deborah took a few steps towards the drape covered windows, seeing that one was pulled a little back but that the other side remained tightly pulled.
“Miss Harland!” Mrs. Denton hissed, clearly afraid for her safety. “Whatever are you doing? Please, you must not!”
Deborah looked up at the drapes, the sound of Lord Abernathy’s angry voice still filling her ears although she paid no attention to either him or to what he said. She was here to care for Lord Abernathy, to try and bring him out of the shadows that clung to him – and she could not do that when he insisted on surrounding himself with darkness.
Lady Markham wants you to be here, she reminded herself, taking a hold of one side of the drapes. Mother Superior thinks
that this is where you are meant to be. You have a responsibility to Lord Abernathy. You took on that responsibility when you accepted the post here. You cannot fall away at the very first sign of difficulty.
“Miss Harland!” Mr. Morris’ voice was loud and frantic, calling her name as Lord Abernathy’s voice still called out its threats and anger towards her. “You must leave now!”
“No,” Deborah replied, pulling back the drapes and looking out into the gardens below. The grey day did not seem so gloomy now. In fact, it seemed almost bright when conflicted with the darkness within the room. “I will not allow you, Lord Abernathy, to try and threaten me, or to injure me, in order to have me do as you request.” She pulled back the drape as hard as she could, setting it behind the metal hook that held it back. “I will not leave this house.” She grasped the other one and pulled it back wide, before pushing the window open. Fresh air rushed into the room and she took a great lungful of it, feeling it cleanse her of the stench and the musty air that filled the room.
Something crashed at her feet but she did not hesitate. Keeping one eye on the corner of the room and doing her very best to keep her fright at bay, Deborah hurried to the next window and pulled the drapes back, before doing the same to the other side.
“Leave me!”
A crystal vase shattered by the wall beside her but Deborah did not stop. Soon, all but the final window was uncovered, the fresh air pouring into the room as the light began to pervade each and every corner.
“What do you think you are doing?”
Lord Abernathy’s voice was coldly furious, although he had not moved from his corner of the room. Slowly, Deborah turned around to look at him, her stomach tight with tension, her breath catching in her lungs. She feared that something might hit her, hard, across the head as she turned to look at him, as though he might try and strike her so that she could not continue, but to her relief, Lord Abernathy did nothing of the sort.
