by Martha Keyes
* * *
Wyndcross was already shrouded in darkness when they arrived. The travelers were all anxious for their beds and bid one another goodnight shortly after Kate was shown to her room.
She awoke in the morning to the sun pouring into her room. The summer days were long, which meant that it was still very early. But she had always been an early riser, and she couldn’t lie in bed when there was so much she wished to do. While it had been years since she had spent time with Clara, Kate felt tolerably sure that she was not an early riser.
Lindley was accustomed to her mistress’s habits and had pulled back the curtains to let light in. Kate rose from her bed, curious to see what view her window offered. Her room in Berkeley Square faced the street and the small adjacent park—a wonderful view for London. She pulled back the curtains with a contented sigh and smile. Between two hills, she could see the sea—a sight she hadn’t seen in fifteen years. It was an even more majestic blue than she had remembered. In the distance, she could see scattered white lines where froth gathered at the head of the waves.
Much was familiar at Wyndcross, if somewhat surreal. It was strange to walk the halls she had skipped along as a young girl, to see the aged faces of the few servants who had remained. The scale of the manor felt much smaller, whether due to her own height or to her experience with many other large estates, she couldn’t be sure. But she found herself looking with great anticipation through the manor windows at the surrounding gardens and countryside, wondering when she would have opportunity for exploring them.
Lady Crofte kept to her room, fatigued from the journey and convinced that she had a spasm coming on, so Kate and Clara were left to entertain themselves after breakfast. Kate followed Clara’s lead, unsure what to expect as a visitor at Wyndcross and not wishful to be anything but a pleasant guest.
Clara was eager to show Kate her generous wardrobe, and it was clear to Kate that Clara was rarely denied her wishes. As she ran a hand along the smuggled French silks and lace, she had to remind herself that Clara’s admiration for such things was naive and thoughtless, not a willful slight to the memory of Kate’s father.
* * *
The next day saw the arrival of Mr. Henry Crofte to Wyndcross Manor. Clara spotted him riding in on his horse as she and Kate walked the grounds.
“Henry!” shouted Clara. She covered her mouth with a guilty hand and hunched over, looking back toward the manor. “Mama despises yelling.”
Henry spotted them and guided his horse in their direction. He was a handsome bachelor, with an athletic build, blue eyes like Clara’s, and curly hair tending more toward brown than blonde. He was the eldest of the Croftes and the heir to his father’s baronetcy. It was strange to see the rascally young boy she had known, now a grown man. How much of the unruly little boy would be left over?
“You’ll never guess who’s here,” Clara said as she gestured for him to hurry.
Henry’s gaze flitted toward Kate and back to Clara. “What? Have you finally found a friend, then?”
Clara scowled playfully. “Not for long, if she is forced to spend time around you and your bad manners.” She abandoned the scowl, unable to resist breaking the news to him. “Do you not recognize her?”
Henry stared at Kate, eyes narrowed in thought.
“It’s Kate,” Clara interjected. “Kate Matcham.”
His brows went up and he scrutinized Kate’s face, as if searching for the 8-year-old version of her. There was a glint of recognition in his eyes and he said, “By jove, I believe you’re right! How could I forget those little green eyes that always used to glare at me so?” He scrunched up his face into a childish scowl.
Kate laughed. “Yes, I’m afraid that I wasn’t very fond of you most of the time.”
“Well,” Clara said in a rallying tone. “Times have changed, Henry, and now Kate and I are quite capable of paying you back for all the horrid things you did then.” She turned to Kate. “You know he hasn’t changed at all. He still tricks and teases me as much today as he did then.”
Kate clucked her tongue in disapproval. “For shame, Mr. Crofte.”
“Mr. Crofte?” Henry said, laughing. “It’s Henry, thank you very much.” His brows suddenly shot together, and he looked at his sister. “Do you know why Mama summoned me home, Clara? It’s always best to be prepared if I’m to be subjected to one of her dashed sermons.”
Clara picked a honeysuckle, not meeting his eyes. “You had better ask her yourself, Henry. You haven’t done anything wrong, but she has a very particular reason for wishing you home.”
Henry snorted. “In Mama’s opinion, I am always doing something wrong.”
* * *
That evening, the four of them played an engaging game of whist following dinner. Kate was hardly the most skilled card player of the group, but no one seemed to mind.
“Oh, I had forgotten to tell you, Kate,” said Clara, playing a card. “I received an invitation today from the Cosgroves. They live down the road—you wouldn’t remember them, though. They moved in some time after you left. They have planned an expedition for Saturday, and they would like us to join them. Well, that is to say, the invitation was addressed to Henry and me, but that’s only because they didn’t know we had a guest. I know they will be delighted to add one more to the party. We shall ride to St. Catherine’s Chapel for a picnic.”
Though an expedition was tempting to Kate—and a riding one at that—her pride balked at not only intruding on an expedition she had not been invited to, but at relying on the Croftes to provide her a horse as well. She did not share Clara’s confidence that the Cosgroves would welcome an added stranger to the party.
“That sounds delightful,” she said. “Only, I’m not sure if I should join. I have no mount for riding, and I don’t wish to intrude. I shall be quite content here, though, I assure you.” She smiled to ensure that her protestations would not sound like a plea for pity.
“Oh, fuss and nonsense, my girl,” said Lady Crofte, peering at her cards with squinted eyes. “You will take one of our horses, of course.”
“Mama’s mare is quite tame, you know,” said Clara. “And naturally, you are always welcome to ride my Rosebud if you should wish to do so when I am not in need of her myself. She could use the exercise, as Avery continually reminds me. Though she is quite difficult to manage, I warn you.”
“Well, now that’s rich, Clara!” cried Henry, slapping his knee in amusement. “You make it sound like a sacrifice. We all know you hate riding.” He leaned toward Kate. “Ain’t keen to have mud splashed on her precious riding habit. Though why she should bother buying ‘em in the first place if she don’t mean to ride is beyond me.”
“I do ride,” Clara insisted, her rosy lips pouting. “Only I am still teaching Rosebud to mind me, and I have no desire to be thrown.”
“Well it is very generous of you,” said Kate, trying to prevent further sibling debate, “but will you not need your horse for yourself on Saturday, Lady Crofte?”
Lady Crofte laughed. “Bless you, Kate. I rarely ride. Among us, Henry is the only one who rides frequently. As Clara said, our own horses are in great need of exercising, and both we and the stable hands would feel nothing but gratitude to you for taking them out anytime you should wish to. I’m sure Henry would be quite happy to take you around the area if you were desirous.”
Henry looked at his mother with an eyebrow cocked.
“You are too kind.” Kate said, greatly relieved that her use of their horses would not be a burden. “I admit that I dearly love riding and am grateful for any excuse to do so.”
“It is settled then,” said Clara with a smile at Kate. “I am quite impatient for it to be Saturday now.”
Henry looked at Clara with mischief in his eyes. “Was an invitation for Saturday extended to his lordship, the great earl-in-waiting?” He said the words with a flourishing hand gesture as he peered over his cards at Clara with feigned innocence.
“How should I kn
ow?” asked Clara, avoiding Henry’s eyes as she discarded.
Henry snorted with laughter. “Of course you know. Admit it, Clara. You’re not above forging the invitation yourself.”
Kate listened, intrigued by the implication that Clara had a love interest.
“I would never!” protested Clara, but she was unable to suppress a grin. “But if you must know, yes, he was invited, and he has accepted, of course. He and Lady Anne.”
“I hope you will remember to act with decorum, Clara,” said Lady Crofte with a hint of sternness.
“Of course, Mama,” said Clara docilely. She perked up. “Henry is taking me to Weymouth tomorrow to buy a new pair of half boots, Kate. I saw the most lovely pair in London, and I’m determined to have some exactly like them. Will you accompany us?”
“How kind!” Kate said. “I think that I should stay behind, though. I haven’t yet written to my aunt or my family, and I assured Fanny that I would do so as soon as I was settled.” She felt guilty that she was already hankering after time on her own, though she truly did need to write to Fanny and her family.
“How insipid to be stuck indoors writing letters,” Clara said.
Kate only nodded. In fact, she had no intention of staying indoors.
5
Wanting to make the best use of her time alone in the morning, Kate made her way to the stables once Clara and Henry had left. The old groom Avery’s reaction at seeing Kate was warm and welcoming, though he put his foot down when he learned of her intent to go out riding alone.
“It won’t do, Miss,” Avery said. “Lady Crofte would have my head if she knew I had aided ye in such a notion. Let me saddle up my hack, and I shall accompany ye.”
While she had felt inclined to argue the supposed danger of a solo ride, she decided against it. She had no wish to land Avery in trouble for neglecting what he felt was his duty. A ride with him in tow would be preferable to no ride at all.
She changed into her riding habit with the help of Lindley, and then instructed her to go in search of a basket, paper, a quill, and some ink which could be packed for her intent to write letters during the excursion.
Lindley had eyed her doubtfully upon being given these instructions.
Kate smiled at Lindley’s hesitation when she returned with the requested items. “I know it is strange, Lindley, but why would I care to be cooped up writing letters when I could be doing so outdoors?”
“You and your strange ideas, Miss. Only take care you don’t go spilling that ink while careering all over the countryside on an unfamiliar horse.”
“I shall take every care,” Kate promised, “and the ink shall stay safe in this basket the entire ride.” She patted the basket gently.
Lindley pursed her lips.
Once mounted on Rosebud, Kate felt a surge of excitement for the possibilities of her ride. The day was warm with a slight ocean breeze and interchanging sun and clouds. A perfect day for a ride.
“Avery,” Kate said as they started on their way. “Is there a place nearby where I can give Rosebud full rein?” She couldn’t remember the last time she had a proper gallop.
“Aye, Miss,” Avery said through a crooked smile. He was riding, as promised, at a discreet distance behind her. “Around the turn down the road, there’s a nice, level field on the left. She’ll be glad for a gallop.” He indicated Rosebud with his head.
“As will I,” Kate breathed.
As they reached the field, she slackened her hold on the reins, leaned forward, and signaled Rosebud.
The feeling was exhilarating. The ground flying swiftly under Rosebud’s feet made Kate feel as though she were gliding. The wind swept past her, tugging on her bonnet, tossing any of her hair that peeked out, and making her eyes sting. The experience was so familiar, and yet her life in London had been frustratingly bare of such thrills.
As they approached the other end of the field, she reigned in Rosebud to a trot, stroking her warm neck, and praising her. She turned again to Avery, unable to school her expression into anything but a wide smile.
“Thank you, Avery. You can have no notion how much I’ve longed to do that this past age.”
He looked at her approvingly. “She responds to ye, Miss. Miss Crofte has been trying to train her for months now, but the filly will have none of it. Tossin’ her head fit to break her neck.”
Kate said nothing for a moment. “She needs a gentle, confident hand, I think. She reminds me of my mare. Spirited, but loyal once she’s won over.”
She would have been happy for yet another gallop, but, remembering her promise to write letters to Fanny and her family, she instead asked Avery if there were a place she could tie up Rosebud in order to write.
Avery considered her question for a moment, chewing on a piece of wheat. “I think I know the place for you, Miss. Follow me, if you please.”
He took her over a shallow stream and up a small hill. When they reached the top of the ridge, he told her to look down the other side. Sitting between two hills with only a small dirt road connecting it to anything were the ruins of an old abbey. Its roof was missing, the grass and weeds grew long around it, and the walls were overgrown with ivy and creeping vines. The morning light bathed the hard gray stones and deep green leaves in a warm glow, casting long, soft shadows on the tall grass.
“It’s perfect,” Kate murmured with near reverence. For a moment, she pictured her childhood family walking the path up to the opening where the church doors would have been. Her father had been a religious man, and all her fondest memories of church involved him.
They rode down the hill, and Avery tied the horses to a tree away from the ruins, giving Kate her privacy. He sat down and reclined against the wide tree trunk to relax.
With her basket of supplies in hand, Kate walked around the abbey for a time, admiring the age and beauty of the building, and wondering what its history must have been before falling into such neglect and disrepair. She ultimately came to a spot at the meeting of two ruined walls, suitable enough for a back rest. She hummed through delighted lips as she removed the contents of the basket and gazed at her surroundings.
Lindley, bless her forethought, had packed a book to be placed under the paper, and Kate silently thanked her for it, realizing that, without the book, she would have only had the unforgiving jagged stone walls to use for a desk. She placed the book on her lap, dipped her quill in the ink before setting the well next to her, and began.
The first letter she addressed to Simon. It was short, simply letting him know that she was also, ironically, in Dorset and providing him her address there. She paused before signing the letter but decided against mentioning their last visit.
The second letter she addressed to Fanny. Kate knew she would be anxiously waiting to hear all about her stay thus far, even though she had arrived a mere two days ago. Fanny was always impatient for news, and she would particularly relish in all the details about the personalities and wardrobes of Kate’s Wyndcross Manor friends.
Kate’s writing was unusually slow. She paused frequently to look at her surroundings, savoring the stillness of the countryside, the smell of grass and fresh air. Quiet moments in London were few and far between, and Kate’s thoughts and feelings were enhanced in such tranquility.
Avery was far enough off that only a loud call would be heard, and she noticed with a smile that he had dozed off, hat covering his face, back against the tree, and the horses grazing next to him.
Once her letter to Fanny was complete, Kate set it aside and placed a clean paper on the book. She picked up the ink well and dipped her quill, wondering what to say to her sisters when, seemingly out of nowhere, she heard the pounding of approaching hooves. She startled, causing the ink well in her hand to jolt and send drops of ink flying around, onto her face, her dress, and all her belongings.
“Oh, bother!” she cried softly, setting down the ink and the book so that she could stand. She looked down at her brand new, ink-soiled dress and touched a fin
ger to her cheek. It came away black and wet.
Realizing the ridiculous appearance she presented and aware of the ever-advancing hoofbeats, she looked around frantically for a place to hide. She snatched her things and ran around to the other side of the abbey wall where she stopped to listen, her heart beating loudly in her chest.
The hoofbeats softened, changing from a canter to a trot, and then to a walk. She furrowed her brow in confusion. The dying hoofbeats seemed to be going back in the direction they had come from. She strained her ears further, but the sounds died off completely.
She waited, listening intently. Nothing.
Peeking her head around the wall, she saw Avery in the distance, still sound asleep. Like Fanny, he seemed to have the ability to sleep through anything.
She chewed the tip of her thumb nail, thinking. She should wake Avery so that they could return to Wyndcross where she could clean up and change. Lindley would be beside herself to see the new dress covered in ink, particularly after she had warned Kate against taking it.
Kate sighed.
Putting off that encounter to spend more time in the serene environment of the abbey was tempting.
The matter was decided with the knowledge that she still had one more letter to write and enough time to do so before Henry and Clara would be home. She checked the inkwell which, in a stroke of good fortune, still contained enough ink for a short letter.
The silence continued, reaffirming her decision.
She sat down and arranged her things once again, ready to compose the second letter. She pictured her sisters together at Miss Monaghan’s in Bath and smiled fondly. They would be so excited to receive a letter from her twice in the space of two weeks. Receiving correspondence at the seminary had always been a special treat. Letters were always shared amongst the seminary girls—a link to the outside world. She hummed quietly, dipped her quill, and began writing.