“Oh yes.” Anabelle said gratefully. “Yes, very nice.”
The Duke handed the book to her and resumed his position at his sister’s side. Anabelle felt suddenly a little on display, as she had done in her youth whenever her father had beseeched her to play a little tune on the piano for the edification of his company, or worse still, when he would have her sing.
But she was not a little girl anymore and the young lady in front of her needed help. Anabelle did not know if this would help at all, but at least she could try. She opened the book and gently cleared her throat.
“Oh yes, this is a nice one. The Southsea House.” She said, announcing the essay. “Reader, in thy passage from the bank – where thou hast been receiving thy half yearly dividends…” Anabelle began to read gently and confidently, carrying on without looking up at all for several paragraphs.
Although it was a curious experience, she began to come to terms with it very quickly. This was her job now, this was her purpose. To find some way of reaching the lost little girl in front of her.
“…. Where Threadneedle Street abuts upon Bishopsgate? I daresay thou hast often admired its magnificent portals ever gaping wide, and disclosing to view a grave court, with cloisters and pillars, with few or no traces of goers in..…” She continued, chancing a look up at Lucy.
To her surprise and relief, Lucy looked at peace. With her head tilted to one side and her hazel eyes, so like her brother’s, narrowed somewhat sleepily, Lucy Saville gave every appearance of enjoying having the book read to her.
Perhaps she was already familiar with the little collection of essays by Charles Lamb and found the recitation of the words comforting, soothing, and safe.
In the moment of turning her attention back upon the page, Anabelle caught the merest glimpse of the Duke. His eyes were on her entirely and, although she had not time to study him closely, she was certain that he looked pleased.
“This was once a house of trade, a centre of busy interests. The throng of merchants was here – the quick pulse of grain – and here some forms of business are still kept up, though the soul be long since fled.” As Anabelle continued to read, she became aware that the Duke silently left his sister’s side and passed her, presumably to either join Mrs Arklow on the other side of the room, or to leave altogether.
But Anabelle could not concern herself with that for now. In that moment, she had the full and rapt attention of her charge. And seeing how well Lucy responded to her reading, she could do no other but continue. And so it was, with a sense of relief as if she had passed the first of many tests, Anabelle settled down for a full hour of reading aloud.
Chapter Eight
Within a matter of a few short days, Anabelle and Lucy had already developed something of a routine. Lucy seemed to take to Anabelle immediately, trusting her and never once seeming uncomfortable with her presence.
From the second day, Anabelle had decided to spend time with Lucy alone. She had been truly grateful for the presence of Mrs Arklow throughout that first day but was certain that she could manage by herself. And even if she could not, Anabelle knew that she must at least try it.
It had gone surprisingly well although she wondered if it was largely because Lucy was so very withdrawn and could have easily sat for hour upon hour without saying a word or moving a muscle. Had she been a much livelier patient, Anabelle would have likely felt the need for support far beyond that first day.
She had been surprised to find that the Duke, however, called in upon them both several times a day. Anabelle did not entirely feel that he was checking up on her, but rather that this was just something that he did.
Anabelle quickly came to the conclusion that she would be spending very much more time in the company of the Duke of Westward than she had imagined upon first meeting. But he was an attentive brother and she would not begrudge him the time he wanted to spend with his sister.
Anabelle set up the custom of the two young women beginning their day with breakfast in Lucy’s room. As soon as she was washed and dressed, and the maid confirmed that Lucy was the same, Anabelle routinely made her way into Lucy’s chamber and read to her for a few minutes whilst they waited for their breakfast to be brought up to them.
The effect of reading upon Lucy had remained constant and Anabelle was glad for a system she could rely on which would be both soothing to her charge and pass the time.
As soon as their breakfast was delivered that morning, Lucy looked pleased, as if she had expected it. Perhaps the little routine would do some good.
Lucy did not need any help at all in eating or looking after herself. Despite her withdrawal from the world of conversation, Lucy knew exactly how to get herself ready in the morning. She washed herself and demurely allowed the maid to help her dress as she had always done. She sat at her dressing table staring vacantly at her reflection in the mirror as her maid brushed and pinned her hair.
And when her breakfast was set in front of her, Lucy lifted her knife and fork and began to eat. But as with every day, Lucy ate very little indeed, seeming able only to enjoy her food in the very beginning.
Anabelle studied Lucy closely and wondered if she only ever enjoyed brief periods of time without thinking. It struck Anabelle that a cloud came over Lucy, some horrible feeling which stopped her eating within minutes of beginning.
As each day passed, Anabelle had seen that cloud come down time and time again and knew there must be something inside it, some grim reality which had become a fantasy of sorts; a perpetual dream which would not release the sleeper.
If only she knew what that reality was.
The only time Lucy seemed to be entirely at peace, if her countenance was anything to go by, was when Anabelle read to her. She wondered if Lucy was concentrating so hard on the words that it gave her some distraction from her own mental turmoil, that dream which gripped her.
They were already some way through Charles Lamb’s Essays of Elia and Anabelle hoped that she could find a suitably engaging, gentle, and familiar book to take up the very moment that one was finished. There were few books in Lucy’s room and she thought it would be a good idea to gather a selection of appropriate material from the library if the Duke would give her leave to wander around to help herself.
“What is it, Lucy?” Anabelle said gently when Lucy, still holding her knife and fork, stared into space as her expression became one of desolation.
Anabelle already knew that the expression meant an end to Lucy’s breakfast. No wonder the poor child was so thin, so fragile.
“Lucy, what is it that troubles you? What is it that stops you eating, my dear?” Anabelle said, carefully putting her own knife and fork down.
“I do not like the sunshine, Anabelle.” She said suddenly, using Anabelle’s name for the first time.
Anabelle could not help but take some comfort from that, feeling pleased by the idea that she was, perhaps, getting through to Lucy just a little.
“Why do you not like the sunshine, Lucy?”
“But everybody likes the sunshine. That is what everybody always says. What a beautiful day it is, how nice it is to see the sun. Everybody likes the sunshine. I do not like the sunshine.”
“Did something happen to stop you liking the sunshine, Lucy?” Anabelle said, wondering if this really was the right approach.
The Duke had not yet mentioned to her whether a physician regularly attended Lady Lucy, but she had an idea that this was not the case. Surely if it was, there might be some little instruction as to how Anabelle would do best to proceed. Perhaps he had never brought in a physician. Perhaps his need for secrecy was such that he did not even trust doctors.
“The man frightens me.” Lucy said, letting go of her knife and fork.
The cutlery dropped with a loud clatter onto the table and the noise was jarring to Anabelle’s own nerves. But it was her words which jarred her more than anything.
“Which man frightens you, Lucy?” Anabelle persisted.
“I
wish he would go away. I wish he was not here looking at me.” She said and suddenly began to tap hard on her own forehead. “I wish he would go away. I wish he would leave me alone.” Lucy went on, her voice growing louder and more disturbed than Anabelle had yet heard it.
Anabelle’s heartbeat quickened, and she wondered what she ought to do for the best. Not wanting to startle Lucy, she pulled herself gently from her seat, careful not to scrape the chair legs across the floorboards or make any noise at all. She made her way to the young woman’s side and knelt on the floor, slowly reaching out with both hands to take Lucy’s.
“You must not hurt yourself, my dear. That will not help you.” Anabelle said and felt both saddened and tremulous all at once.
Although it was not a particularly violent action, it was certainly enough to shock Anabelle. She had only once in her life seen a person striking themselves in such a way before and the similarity was both unsettling and enlightening.
Lucy’s behavior in that moment reminded her very much of a young man who had once lived on a small farm on the outskirts of Forton, not far from her father’s estate. But he had been to war, he had fought Napoleon’s men in Portugal, and had come back very changed.
Surely this was not the same thing.
Lucy’s hands went limp and all the fight went out of her. She turned her large hazel eyes, filled with fear and misery, to Anabelle’s, truly holding her gaze for the first time since they had met.
“There will be something we can do to get that frightening man to go away, Lucy. We just must work out what that is. But we will find a solution, I promise. We will find it together, my dear.” When Anabelle saw the first tears rolling down Lucy’s face, it was all she could do to hold back her own.
She wondered if she was simply making a promise that she had no way to keep, but she had to do something to comfort her. She reached up and pulled Lucy into her arms, holding onto her gently but firmly. In no time, Lucy seemed to calm down, her weeping coming to an end.
When Anabelle released her, tearstained and red-eyed, Lucy leaned back against the chair as if she had not an ounce of strength left in her.
“I think we both ought to eat a little more breakfast, Lucy. And when we have done, perhaps you would like to go outside for a while. It looks as if the sun is going in, see?” She looked out towards one of the full-length windows. “The sky is even a little grey.” She raised the tempo of her voice as if poor weather was something to be looked forward to.
And it worked, for Lucy turned in her seat to look out of the window. And seeing how the sky had clouded over enough to hide the blue, Lucy finally smiled.
“Yes, we can go outside when it is grey, and the sunshine is gone. It is much safer then.” Lucy turned to look back at Anabelle, still smiling and nodding vigorously as if she could hardly wait.
“But first we must eat, Lucy. We need strength to be able to go outside when it is a little cold like this.”
And to her complete relief, Lucy looked down at the table and finally retrieved the knife and fork which had scattered across the top just minutes before.
Giles had stood outside the chamber for so long that he began to wonder if he would soon be discovered as the eavesdropper he was. It was not that he did not trust Anabelle Brock, he just could not fight the urge to know how his sister really took to her.
He had quickly come to see that Miss Brock was not afraid of his sister. That had been the very first obstacle overcome, and it had been overcome almost immediately.
That first day, when the flaxen-haired young woman had read to his sister in such soothing tones that Giles had enjoyed it also, he had allowed himself that burgeoning relief.
He had stayed for a good deal of that morning before Mrs Arklow had motioned to the door with her eyes as if to gently eject him. He knew that it was her way of telling him to let go, if only for a little while.
And when Mrs Arklow had sought him out in the evening to tell him that Lucy had had a very good and calm day with her new companion, that sense of relief had only grown. When he had looked in upon his sister in the evening to find her already tucked into her bed and sleeping soundly, he had immediately turned in for the night himself.
It was the deepest sleep he had experienced for a long time, a feeling of no longer being alone with his problems. But even as he thought of it now, standing outside Lucy’s chamber door with his ear almost pressed up against the wood, Giles could not work it out.
He had never been truly alone with his problems. Mrs Arklow, their undeclared mother, had never taken her eye off things for a moment. And Lucy’s maid, Miriam, had also been well trained enough to spend time with her rambling mistress and not be made uncomfortable by determinedly spoken sentences which appeared to make no sense whatsoever.
But Anabelle Brock was something new. She was everything he had hoped for when the idea of a permanent companion for his sister had come to him. She was closer to Lucy’s age than Mrs Arklow and similar in intellect, more so than dear Miriam. What he had really wanted for his sister was a friend, even if that friend had to be employed.
And listening at the door, fighting the urge to make his way in when he first heard signs of his sisters’ distress, he was beginning to think that his particular wish was coming true.
He clenched and unclenched his fists as he always did, not in an aggressive way, but in a rhythmic and repetitive way which kept him calm in times of stress. He had heard his sister’s raised voice and clearly identified the word frightens. But soon he had drawn nearer to the door and heard how easily Anabelle Brock had diffused things.
He was certain that his beloved sister had been striking her own temples again, her own forehead, and it had gripped him with the fear that Anabelle Brock would flee from the room. But she had not. She had stayed, and she had helped. He could hear her soothing words, even if he could not make them out entirely. And then he had heard his sister responding, her tone improving, sounding even a little excited. Perhaps Miss Brock had promised to read to Lucy again. How clever that young woman was to have alighted upon something so simple and effective within minutes of meeting Lucy. Something which Giles himself ought to have identified months ago.
His sister had always enjoyed stories; she loved reading. Why had he not thought to sit by her bed and read to her also?
Giles’ attention was drawn back to the chamber when he heard sounds of movement inside. It was quite determined movement and he realised suddenly that the two women inside were about to make their way out. He looked all about him a little desperately before hurrying away and letting himself into an empty chamber some doors away, nearer to the staircase.
But he did not close the door entirely, leaving the merest gap through which he could peer out.
“It is still wonderfully grey outside, Lucy. And you may trust me, my dear. If the sun comes out at all, we shall come straight back indoors.” He heard Anabelle say brightly.
“Yes, it is still grey outside, Anabelle. I like the grey sky. I like the grey sky.” Lucy said and sounded so content and even a little excited by the prospect of going out of doors.
What was it about the sunshine? Why could his sister no longer enjoy something she had adored since she was a child?
Arm in arm, Lucy and Anabelle passed by the door behind which he hid and turned to make their way downstairs. Although Giles knew he ought to leave them be, he wondered if there would be any harm at all in donning a thicker coat and making his way out in a few minutes, seemingly bumping into them as if by some coincidence.
And just as the thought occurred to him, Anabelle paused on the stairs and looked back over her shoulder. He held his breath, realizing immediately that she could not possibly see him. But had she known that he was there? Had she sensed him watching her?
Chapter Nine
As the two women walked arm in arm around the front of Westward Hall, Anabelle hoped that the grey sky would not only remain but would not turn to rain sooner or later. All that was requir
ed in this instance was a good, cloudy day.
They walked around the side of the hall towards the back where they could both become a part of the view that they enjoyed from their respective chamber windows. Although she was holding her arm, Anabelle let Lucy lead the way, even if Lucy did not realize she was doing so.
She took them both along a path towards the east of the estate, looking over towards the stable and smiling.
“Lucy, the estate is so large and the ground so fine you must have had some wonderful times here.” Anabelle prodded gently.
“I play hide and seek.” Lucy said, and it sounded such a strange thing to say in her womanly voice. “I always win, though, because Jenny always hides in the same place.” She carried on animatedly.
The statement gave Anabelle such an eerie feeling that the hair on the back of her neck stood up. How strange it was to hear Lucy talk of her sister as if she was still alive and they were both little girls again.
“Does she?” Anabelle said, not knowing whether she ought to go along with the little tale or if she should heartlessly remind Lucy that her beloved twin no longer walked the earth.
“Yes, she always hides in the stables. And always in the same place even then!” Lucy gave a light laugh. “And she always looks so surprised when I find her.”
Anabelle laughed gently, certain that she ought not to legitimize Lucy’s imaginary world in any way. She had an awful feeling that if she did, it would be too easy for Lucy to stay there.
“But Jenny is not here anymore.” Lucy said quite suddenly, stopping dead in her tracks and turning to look at Anabelle. “Jenny is not here anymore, even though the sun has gone in, she is not here.”
“I am very sorry, Lucy.” Anabelle said and patted the arm she held in her own. “Sorrier than I can say.”
“Oh, what a coincidence.” Came the Duke’s booming voice.
Both Anabelle and Lucy started visibly at the sudden appearance of the Duke, seemingly from nowhere.
The Duke's Heartbreaking Secret: Historical Regency Romance Page 7