by Eliza Lloyd
Nora placed both hands over her face and rubbed at her eyes.
“And if you insist, I will facilitate a transfer deed to you for Henbury Hall this week, along with making an inquiry with my solicitor about a dissolution of our marriage.”
She gasped. “Carlow, that is not what I want!”
“Do you know what you want?”
She got to her feet and walked to the sidebar, pouring a drink and swallowing all the liquid in a quick gulp. She coughed and, with a shaking hand, poured another glassful. The bottle clinked against the rim of the crystal a couple times.
“I would ask that you reconsider. I’ve done something foolish. I’m sorry. I would go to any length to know the truth of what happened with my father, but I find that I have a line that I can no longer cross. I do not want to hurt you in any way. I don’t want to tarnish your reputation or hurt your friends or cause you distress other than what a normal marriage might.” She swallowed the second glass. Was she drinking whisky as if it were a fall cider ale? He’d not known her to be especially fond of strong liquor. She turned to him. Tears gleamed silver down her face.
“Nora, sit down. I have something I need to tell you.”
“Carlow, no. You can’t mean it. As you said, we are married now. Nothing can change that.”
“I want to talk to you about Henbury Hall. And what has happened to it.”
She gathered her robe together and hurried to the table in front of him, sitting on the edge of it, her knees next to his, she looked up at him. “What do you mean?” she asked quietly.
“Many years ago, my father lost his mental capabilities, and he went a little mad.”
“You told me.”
“What I didn’t tell you was the reason for insanity. He had heard rumors about a treasure your father had left behind. Somewhere on the estate.”
“But that’s not true.”
“My father believed it was. And he looked for it in every room and outbuilding. In every wall and floor. In ceilings and cellars. In short, he tore Henbury Hall and its surrounds to shreds. The home was nearly derelict when my father died.”
She sat quietly and lowered her head. “It’s gone?” She swiped the back of her hand over her cheek.
“Not gone. Severely damaged. After my father died, I hired laborers to complete the needed repairs so that I could sell the estate, but it has been a long, arduous project and we are nowhere near complete.”
“Oh. I see.” She sniffed, but she had no questions to accuse or condemn him.
“Nora, go to bed. We’ll leave for Henbury in the morning. We can make decisions then.”
She stared at him for a moment before turning toward the door.
“Nora?” Gabriel didn’t feel any relief in the confession.
“Yes?”
He’d had too much to drink at the Talbots’ ball. Truth could be hard, but he could have presented it in a kinder way. “Whatever happens, I will take care of you and Timothy and Lord and Lady Fortenay. You mustn’t worry about that, at least.”
* * * * *
“Don’t forget your mother’s diary,” he said. Nora glanced at him, all darkness in the middle of the night. She’d left the book on the table, reading it while Carlow was at the Talbots’ ball.
“I finished it earlier. You can burn it, if you wish.”
“Did you learn anything that might aid in your quest?”
“Do you honestly care?”
“At the moment, more than you might think.”
“What I learned isn’t fit for consumption. It will only confirm your worst fears about our family, and I don’t really want to add fuel to that fire. Not now. Not when we…”
She couldn’t say anything else. Tears leaked from her eyes, and there didn’t seem to be a way to stop them, except in her bed by crying herself to sleep. She thought Carlow was the only person who understood her mission, aside from Timothy. But her pursuit—the way she had pursued it—had only chaffed, rubbing raw already tenuous bonds. And now, with this revelation, the entire endeavor was for naught.
The path had been so clear. The plan so deceptively delicious. The revenge glorious. Except now she loved him and everything she did to achieve her ends only pushed him a little bit further away. She would lose Carlow along with Henbury Hall.
And there was no new truth to be found. Bits and pieces of the story were known to all.
“It was a boy,” she said. “The baby was Papa’s, according to Mother’s written words. I had a little brother and didn’t even know it.” Carlow’s brows winged. “I’m not going to question her word on this. It was enough that she tried to protect the Blasington name, in the end.”
“What happened?” he asked, sympathy soft in his voice.
“The baby was born dead. It was one of the last things she wrote in her diary. She also wrote that she was extremely ill and still bleeding from childbirth. A fatal diagnosis. And her last entry.”
“And Exeter never married her.” Carlow said, stating the painfully obvious.
“Because she didn’t have any properties to bring to the marriage. Just as we thought.”
“Is that the last chapter in this saga?”
“If only there was an epilogue. Just think how it could have all been different if my mother and father had loved each other. I would like to believe she reached out to Exeter just to have someone take care of her, but Father wouldn’t have gone to such extremes if he knew Mother was devoted to him and to me and Timothy.” She let out a breath, feeling defeated. “Good night, Carlow.”
“Mintz will pack your things. We’ll leave at ten in the morning.”
“For Henbury?”
“Of course. You need to see your home.”
“I suppose I must. It’s time.” Now that she’d read the last of her mother’s diary, Henbury seemed the final discovery in the mysterious search, even if it was a smoldering heap. With the opening of the manor door, she could close this part of her life.
* * * * *
Enduring the coach ride to Henbury was a torture. Carlow sat next to her with a straight back and a perpetual frown. The only words he spoke to her were with regard to her comfort. Are you hungry? Do you need relief?
They’d said no soft words upon waking or over the breakfast table. All these weeks later, Nora was anxious. Carlow was withdrawn and without any excitement to show her the Blasington family home. He had described the destruction, but Nora could not see the home in anything but the warmth of her memories.
When the carriage slowed and turned from the main road, Nora sat up and glanced out the window. “Are we there?”
“Nearly.”
What would she remember? What was left of a home fifteen years empty and destroyed by fantastic and unbelievable rumors?
The carriage rattled along the road, slowing again. She swallowed the lump in her throat and pressed her hand to her chest.
“Nora, we are here. I am sorry that it won’t be how you remember.”
They turned into the lane and Nora gripped the edge of the open window, looking at everything. She held back her smile. No rift with Carlow could diminish her joy at finally returning home. There would be things she would recognize. Carlow’s father could not have destroyed everything.
“Where are the trees?” she asked. There had been apple trees. Many wonderful trees. Rows of trees on each side of the lane. She turned to Carlow, but he ignored her. “Where are the trees?” Misshapen tree trunks marred the lane, branches broken and left where they fell.
“I’m sorry,” he said without turning his head. His jaw flexed.
The ponds were there, but not the clear pools of water she remembered. They were covered in moss, turning the surface a slimy-looking green. A heavy weight bore against her shoulders. Her lungs ached as she tried to pull in air.
“I need to get out. Stop the carriage. Stop the carriage, Carlow!”
Nora couldn’t wait. She had to get out. She threw open the door and jumped from the slow-moving
conveyance, landing forcefully and running to a stop in the thigh-high grasses.
“Nora!”
She picked up her skirts and waded through the overgrown pasture, fighting against the urge to scream. She pushed on, looking toward the house and outbuildings.
This wasn’t her home! This was some nightmare that shredded every belief she had about her father and mother; about Henbury Hall; about her and Timothy’s rightful place in life.
Destroyed? The devastation was complete!
The rock fence had crumbled; the wooden fences broken. There were no animals in the pens, no fruit on the trees. No industrious tenants, no lord or lady of the manor.
She found her way to the circular lane, which took her by a building she didn’t recognize or remember. It matched the stone of the house, so it must have been here when she was a child. She walked along the building her hand touching the rough-hewn rock, giving her wobbly legs a bit of stability. The vines covering the wall tickled her palm.
The earthy smell of plant and animal wafted around her, bringing back a rush of memories. A small pony. Her pony named— what was its name?
A small chapel to the right. She’d forgotten that!
Nora stopped and glanced up at the house. There! There she saw some semblance of her home. The rock and wrought iron fence across the front, protecting a manicured lawn. Should she take some comfort in the freshly painted fence and the pristine lawn between it and the front door of the house? That small area hinted at some care. The windows were not broken out but appeared polished. Smoke drifted upward from one of the chimneys.
She glanced at the carriage, now parked at the curve of the lane. Carlow stood at the back of the conveyance, watching silently, holding his hat. His hair rustled in the wind. He did not rush to comfort her, which made the tears all the more bitter.
There were flat stones on the walking path that were slippery when it rained. Nora tread slowly, trying to relive a piece of her history. She opened the front door without a thought as to who might be inside. Carlow hadn’t said anyone lived in the house.
Carlow had said very little about Henbury Hall at all. Only his anger had finally driven him to deliver on his promise to get her home. Was this his punishment for her? To show her that she had no home at all?
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to recall the imagined days of her glorious youth. The foyer was clean; the stairs upward were covered in dust and a few odd stacks of wood.
There was a large sitting room to the left. She walked through the double doors. It seemed like the right place, but there was no familiar furniture or pictures. And it smelled of paint and polish. The room was clean, with only a few pieces of furniture near the cold fireplace. Clean and modern, but hollow.
Across the foyer there was another room, with its doors closed. She walked to it and turned the handle, forcing her mind to recall something about what was behind the door, but nothing came to her. It was a blank, unlike all the memories she had designed and embellished.
Inside, the room was a disaster. Scaffolding lined one wall where repairs were being completed. Other than that, the wallpaper, lathe and plaster walls had been demolished. Stripped bare, down to the wall studs. In the dust, there were footprints marking the comings and goings of someone in the house.
Carlow had come inside and stood at the door behind her. “The kitchen has been repaired. I’ve turned another of the sitting rooms downstairs into a temporary bedroom until the main bedroom upstairs can be completed. There is still a lot to do.”
He sounded apologetic. Nora faced him, her throat raw, tears streaming down her face. She would have glared at him, but she couldn’t find that emotion amongst the cacophony buffeting her. She pushed past him and hurried up the stairs. Why couldn’t she remember? What had happened to her home?
There was one room she was certain would revive her memories, comfort her. Her bedroom. She ran down the hall. The second to last door. The door hung open. The floor was covered with dust particles and piles of discarded wall boards, just like the room downstairs.
Nora stared at the curtains, red, just as she remembered. And the wallpaper, with red flowers and leafy vines repeating up and down the wall in an untouched section. She walked up and touched the brittle material, stirring up the accumulated dust. The once-heavy cloth felt as if it would disintegrate in her hand.
She braced her fingers against the wall. The pattern wasn’t floral. Why had she remembered flowers? There were red grapes, faded with time. Red grapes. Not at all as she remembered.
The room had been hers once. A bed there, against the wall. An armoire. A small desk for her lessons. There had been a box where she kept two dolls and wooden blocks and her jump rope and other forgotten toys.
Oh, and a kaleidoscope! What had happened to it? She would sit on the small window seat when the sun was shining and watch myriad glass crystals change shape as it was turned.
That was her life since she was eight. With every turn of the prism, her life looked different. Sure of her past, she’d charged headlong into her future, only to have someone make a quick turn and disrupt the pattern once again.
Should she bother looking at the rest of the house? Was there more heartbreak around every corner? Of course there was. Carlow had waited to bring her to Henbury Hall because of this. He’d known its terrible condition and couldn’t tell her. He’d known her heart would be broken.
Was it Carlow’s fault? Was it anybody’s?
Nora leaned against the wall, then slid down until her bottom hit the floor. She wrapped her arms about her knees and placed her head down and let the tears flow.
It was all lost.
If Carlow actually returned the property to her, how would she ever be able to repair it? A few poor tenants would never generate enough income. There was nothing here for her, nothing here for Timothy.
She’d wagered all and lost.
When the tears dried up, she leaned her head back against the wall. The sun set to the west, the last rays came into the room through the cracks in the dislodged curtains.
The smell of bread roused her. Her stomach growled with hunger.
In her haste up the stairs, she had not noticed the sound of hammers and saws and the quiet rumble of conversation from the other side of the house.
She listened. Bees were buzzing outside the window, collecting some last-minute pollen before returning to their hives. The hollow sound of a cowbell indicated there were sheep or goats nearby. Probably loose animals foraging on the unkempt grasses around the estate.
And then she heard Carlow’s voice in conversation outside before the opening and closing of the front door.
She jumped to her feet and wiped at her face. Batting at her skirts, she caused her own dust storm from the collection she’d acquired sitting on the floor. She should see the rest of the house. Not just to see the horrors of the past but to stir her memory and find some shadow of happiness lurking in the corners.
Or should she return to the first floor and find the dining room? Submit to defeat and humbly ask Carlow’s forgiveness while enjoying supper in the country?
The heavy tread of Carlow’s boots sounded as he came up the stairs and toward her room. Probably tracking her prints in the dust again.
“Nora?” he said at the door. He wore a blank expression. She tried to see into him, understand what had led them to this reckoning. “Dinner is ready, if you would like to come down and join me.”
“Such a dispassionate statement.”
“You have always been better at drama. What would you like me to say?”
“’I beg your pardon for this unexplainable turn of events and won’t you forgive me’ would do for starters.”
“I beg your pardon for this very explainable turn of events, and won’t you forgive me?”
“You should have told me the whole story the night of the Weatherby Ball and we could have avoided all this!”
“You mean our marriage?” he asked calmly.
“I’m afraid that was nearly impossible. And that I’m not prepared to explain.”
“Nothing can adequately explain this.” She waved her hand around the room. “How could a proper earl allow such a fine home and estate as Henbury Hall to fall into complete ruin? Forget that it was my home. Forget that you knew it was the most important thing to me and Timothy. Why wouldn’t you tell me? Why let me build fantastical dreams about the joy I would find here? Why wait until last night? Why marry me at all when you could have handed this derelict eyesore over to me and never have to spend another shilling? Why marry me when I allowed myself to be as much of a ruin as Henbury Hall?”
“You cannot guess?”
“Carlow, I have had to guess about everything in my life since I was eight. For once I just want someone to tell me simply. Why? My God, how you must have laughed at me! I just want to go home to Whitmarsh. I can’t bear this anymore.”
He took a deep breath and looked around the room. “One day Henbury Hall will be restored to its former glory. When I look around, I see the incredible possibilities. After the repairs are done, I think you will be happy to call this home again.”
“You should just sell it to Exeter. Let it be his problem,” she said.
“Well, at this point, it’s a matter of principle to do all in my power to see that Exeter doesn’t get within a country mile of Henbury.” He stretched his hand toward her. “Dinner is ready, Nora. Shall we?”
* * * * *
Gabriel didn’t beat the life out of Nora, but the effect was the same. She sat next to him at the table eating slowly and finding no words to his questions except those needing only a yes-or-no answer.
The sounds of the kitchen surrounded them. The new cook at Henbury wasn’t one of his French chefs. She made solid meals of meat, vegetables and bread, which was appreciated by the laborers who sat at the table with Gabriel and Nora. Their conversations were about the weak second rung of the tall ladder, the missing handsaw and the soundness of the house structure, with a few questions directed to Gabriel about tomorrow’s labor.
