by Tessa Candle
“My lord, I should never intrude upon your privacy, but I must say, though it is presumptuous of me, that I cannot imagine why your father should not wish to spend every available minute with his son.” She did not add, and such a marvellous son as you.
“I have had some time to puzzle over it. And I believe he thought he was protecting us. I only ever saw my father but one time, at an assembly in London where we chanced to both be. He recognized me at once, for I could see it in his eyes. But he looked alarmed. True, he paled and seemed almost desperate, before he pretended to stare past me as though he had not seen me. Then he quit the place forthwith.”
“What a shock that must have given you, my lord.” Her heart was moved at the thought of so cutting a rejection from one's own father. Her father's mind had been afflicted, but he had always been affectionate, even to the point of doting upon Elizabeth.
“I confess, I first thought that he could not stand the sight of me. But when I told my mother of it, she reassured me that his every thought was for me. She said that my father had been the one who ordered the portraits of me made every year, and had copies delivered to him. His only concern was for my wellbeing, she claimed. She was anxious that I should not try to contact him, however, for she said he would be angry enough that I had come to London at all.”
Elizabeth shook her head. His mother’s explanation was hardly satisfying. “My own father was full of dread that I should spend any more time in London than was strictly necessary. I suppose fathers may be consumed with strange fears that we cannot understand until we become parents ourselves.”
“You are very wise. Forgive me for the intimacy of it, but I must say I have never spoken to another of this matter. And you seem to understand me so well. I am grateful for your indulging my long tales of woe.”
“Not at all, my lord.” Elizabeth was anxious for him to know that she accepted his openness, without judgement. “I am deeply honoured by your lordship's trust. In fact, it makes me blush that I have been so stingy with my own confidences, only my father's decline is such a painful topic.”
“I should never force a confidence from you, Miss Whitely, nor broach a topic that could cause you pain. Only know, that whatever you choose to tell me shall remain with me, and not be repeated.”
“Well then,” she took a breath, “it is only that, as terrible as it is for me to say it, I must admit that my own father's behaviour, though not unaffectionate, has brought me more shame, I think, than even that to which your father subjected you.” She paused to drink more wine. “It is hard to confess, but his mind became so troubled with unreasonable fears and superstitions that, toward the end, I could only call him mad.”
“I entertained a similar suspicion about my own father, at one time.”
“I believe your lordship may be forgiven for it, if he had been so alienated from his senses as to give you the cut direct, my lord. But in my case, my father’s madness made him do things at such odd moments, and with so little apparent cause but caprice, that it became truly terrifying. Indeed, I would still have both of my parents, were it not for his taking it into his head that they had to go for a paddle about the lake one dark evening, when a bitter storm was brewing.”
As the words left her lips, she shrank from her own bold loquacity and solaced herself with more wine. What might he think of her for saying such a thing, for, even indirectly, accusing her father of his own and her mother's death?
And yet, she always came back to that question. Was her father’s madness so far advanced that he intended to—it seemed wrong to even ask. But it was such a relief to share the burden of that dark thought with someone.
“My God!” he said. “And I thought my misery was grave. What a feeling to carry around in such a young heart. I am sorry, Miss Whitely, truly sorry to hear of your doubly painful loss.”
“My lord, you cannot know how much it soothes my feelings, merely to be understood. Your lordship is the only one to whom I have ever disclosed these thoughts. There are not many who could even hear of my father's strange mental state, without thinking it cast some taint upon me. I sense that your lordship knows this sort of unjust judgement only too well.”
He nodded. “Indeed I do.”
“I am afraid it has set me somewhat apart in the world these last few years, and especially now.” She sighed.
Lord Canterbourne’s voice became warm and playful. “And saved you for me, set you in my path so that I might enjoy your company in this strange place. I cannot repine, selfish as it is of me to savour this blessing.”
She blushed and changed the subject. “If I may be so bold, my lord, what brings you this far away from your home?”
He shook his head and gave her an oddly penetrating look. “Ah, that is a stranger tale still. Are you sure you wish to hear it?”
“I must confess to a certain love for strange tales. Perhaps a life so sheltered as mine leads to longing for variation.”
The viscount chuckled. “Perhaps.” Then he drew in a long, morose breath.
Chapter 5
Some sleepless bird cried out in the fragrant air of night, almost unheard against the chorus of yet another bawdy Friulian song, poorly contained within the walls of the inn. Lord Canterbourne's servants cleared away the remaining food from his makeshift table and refilled their cups.
He drank deeply and sat himself on the other trunk to face Miss Whitely.
It was so odd a tale. Should he even tell her such a story? Would it not disturb her? He could scarcely think of it himself without feeling goose flesh along his spine.
Still, he wanted to share it with her. It tied into the darkest parts of his past, his estranged relationship with his father, his father's peculiar mind and apparent obsession. He could not say why it was so important, but he wanted her to understand him.
He took another deep breath. “In addition to the documents strictly entailed within my father's will, there was also a testamentary letter, explaining one particular element of the estate, which was a specific bequest to me.” He paused.
“What was the bequest?”
His brows knit together. “I cannot precisely say. Not because I do not wish to, but because I do not know exactly. It was a certain box, and its unspecified contents, which were on deposit with the solicitor. I received it sealed within a silk bag, and I have not opened it.”
“But was your lordship not curious about what was inside?”
“Exceedingly, but the solicitor was careful to follow my father's directions. He made me read the testamentary letter before he released the bequest to me.”
“And did the letter tell you what was inside?”
He smiled. She was a curious creature, and her face lit up with glee at the intrigue of it. He need not have feared she would be overly disturbed by the tale.
“No. The letter adjured me several times that I should never, under any circumstances, break the seal and open the bag, and that, should the bag be opened for any reason, I should never look inside. But should the box inside the bag be revealed somehow, I should most certainly never open it.”
“It sounds almost like a fairytale.” Elizabeth clasped her hands together and leaned in.
Canterbourne shook his head to dispel a strange feeling that she saw inside his own heart. “Indeed, fairytale is exactly the right word. I called it by a less kind name to the solicitor. But he assured me that my father was, though eccentric, in sound mind when he made the will, and that these directions were very much in earnest.”
“But my lord, why should he give you something that you must only hold, and are never permitted to see or make any use of?”
“A just question. There was more to the letter, you see.” He took another long draught of wine. “The box was not to stay in England. I was personally to deliver it to the home of a particular man, who lives about Melonia.”
“Could it not just be sent to him by special messenger?”
“One would think. But the directions were very
clear, that it was a duty that I should discharge myself. I could not do so by any proxy. And so I have arrived here on this errand. I must present myself, as soon as may be, to this fellow, and deliver the sealed bequest to his hand.”
“How very odd, if you do not mind my saying so, my lord.”
“You cannot be as perplexed by it as I was when this missive was given to me. And my father was adamant that I must follow the directions precisely and deliver the sealed box to this man, or that all would be lost. His sacrifice, he said, would have been in vain.”
“What a thing to write to your lordship after such a history. What sacrifice could he possibly be speaking of?”
She met his gaze, her brooding blue eyes full of compassion and understanding that made his heart flutter. He so wished to enfold her in his arms and kiss her. It was a preposterous thought to have about a young lady he had only just met.
And her vulnerable situation demanded circumspection from him. He could not make her feel ill at ease when she was so unprotected in the world. As much as he would like to take a few liberties, he must instead be her protector.
But where on earth were her blasted aunt and uncle? Some guardians they were turning out to be. This last thought was amusingly odd. It might be too much to call himself a rake, but not so long ago, inattentive guardians of fetching girls were his favourite kind.
He roused himself and replied, “I am deeply grateful for your kind sympathy, Miss Whitely. I must say that all my life I missed the presence of my father. I wondered what I had done to so lose him, and what I could do to get him back.”
“You should not have tortured yourself, my lord. Fathers have their own strange minds. The children must not take the burden of these fixations upon themselves—it is unjust and it is never what a good father wants for his child.”
He wondered if she had heard those words from her own father, or from some other concerned friend, for he could scarcely believe he was hearing them from the lips of a young maiden. She could not be yet nineteen, he thought. How could she be so deeply contemplative?
And yet this was a character trait he himself possessed. Perhaps it came naturally to all children who had been made to look out for themselves because of the strange obsessions of their fathers.
“But do you know who this man is, to whom you are to deliver the bequest, my lord?”
“In fact I do, but only just. He was pointed out to me at that same assembly where I saw my father for the first and last time. His name is Lord Orefados, which does not sound like a real name, if you ask me. Reputedly he is a man of great learning, and unfathomably rich. Eccentric too, which is attributed to his having spent so much time in the east, seeking out arcane knowledge.”
Miss Whitely chafed the fabric of her dress, and her eyes grew big with wonderment. “What sort of arcane knowledge?”
He tried not to chuckle at her insatiable curiosity. “I know not. But he was tall and broad-shouldered, and tanned as an Arab. So I think it must have been a more practical sort of learning than that which one receives by poring over whole libraries of manuscripts.”
Her voice was thoughtful. “It makes one wonder what might be in the box.”
A sudden gust of cold wind chilled his back and the candle sputtered out, so that they were plunged into darkness just as a cart pulled up.
A servant stepped over to re-light the candle, and when it was done, Canterbourne could dimly make out a middle-aged couple, with broad straw hats and deeply stained hands. The couple climbed down from the ass-drawn cart and approached them.
“Might these be your guardians, at last?”
She was squinting toward them. “I should say that I hope so, only it would mean a termination to our wonderful al fresco meal.” She turned to smile at him, though her face looked apprehensive. “I must thank you again, my lord, for rescuing me, and for staying with me, though it delayed you.”
“It was no delay and has been my great pleasure.” Did he see a glimmer of affection in her countenance? He needed to be introduced to her aunt and uncle, to be made acquainted so that he might call on her. For he had to see her again.
The couple made their way over to Miss Whitely. They both looked at her for a few moments.
Then the man spoke. “Are you Elizabeth Whitely?”
“Yes,” said Miss Whitely, smiling and looking from face to face. “You must be my aunt and uncle. I am so glad you are come.”
The couple did not smile, but shuffled self-consciously, and looked unhappily at Silverloo.
“This is Silverloo, our family pet,” said Miss Whitely. She seemed to detect disapproval in her guardians and added, firmly, “Before he died, my father instructed me to take care of Silverloo.”
“Ah, then so it must be,” said her aunt, in unhidden dismay. “I hope he does not object to catching mice for his supper.”
Her uncle seemed to collect himself suddenly, and added what Lord Canterbourne thought should have been among their first words to their niece, “I am sorry we are a bit late. We were delayed by grape work. And we had to leave two of the donkeys, so we only had two to pull the cart. Slow going.”
“It is quite understandable, uncle,” said Miss Whitely with a kind graciousness that Lord Canterbourne could not help admiring.
His own feelings were not so temperate, for he was irked by the insufficiency of the explanation. If they had lost a cart wheel, this would be some excuse. Still, he ought not start out on an evil foot with these people. However shoddily they were treating her, Miss Whitely was in their care.
Lord Canterbourne spoke up. “Miss Whitely, would you do me the honour of introducing me to your aunt and uncle?”
“With pleasure, my lord. Lord Canterbourne, may I present my uncle, Mr. Wallace Whitely, and my aunt, Mrs. Myrtle Whitely. Aunt and uncle, this is the Viscount Canterbourne, who is travelling here on business.”
They all made their bows and acknowledgements. Lord Canterbourne could not help but note a sort of constant apprehensive reserve about the aunt and uncle. He did not know what to make of them.
“His lordship has been guarding me from the local rabble who pour out of that inn.” Miss Whitely filled in the silence, anxious, perhaps, about how things might look to her aunt and uncle, coming across them alone together, but for the servants.
“Aye,” said Mrs. Whitely. “It can be a rowdy place in the evenings, when the vine-workers are about.”
Lord Canterbourne wondered at their so cavalierly leaving their niece to sit upon her luggage outside of such a place, if they knew it to be so.
But he only said, “I was surprised to find Miss Whitely travelling without so much as a servant. When I saw her accosted by some young brutes, I could not but intervene.”
When Mr. Whitely looked horrified, Lord Canterbourne thought the man might finally be realizing the position he had put his niece in. But neither he, nor his wife, uttered a word of shock or concern that their ward had been accosted.
Instead the odd man said, “Oh, the journey itself cost a pretty penny—but to bring a servant all that way.” He shook his head gravely. “Think of the expense, my lord!”
“Aye the expense. The expense!” echoed the aunt, almost as though the very thought threw her into a ghastly fugue.
Lord Canterbourne did not feel equal to a vulgar discussion about money, especially when he was already vexed by their indifferent attitude toward Miss Whitely. However, it seemed to him that if Miss Whitely's inheritance were in their management, they might have used some of those funds to make sure that she was protected on her voyage. They displayed rather odd priorities.
But he decided to change the subject. “I am staying this night here, at the inn, Mr. Whitely. But hope I might have the privilege of calling upon you and Mrs. Whitely, while I am in Melonia. I should very much like to see Miss Whitely settled in, and I will not have much other company among my own countrymen in this place.”
Their faces betrayed consternation, but apparently they had
not so completely taken leave of their sense of propriety that they could bring themselves to refuse a lord.
Finally resolving some internal conflict, Mr. Whitely said, “That would be most condescending of you, my lord. Our home is humble… oh, but I shall write the direction down for your lordship.”
Lord Canterbourne could not even take offence at this begrudging reply, for he was too engrossed in the lovely, sweetly blushing smile of Miss Whitely. Surely, if no one else would be happy for his visit, at least she would be. And this was all he could want. "Mr. Whitely, permit me to get my men to lift Miss Whitely's trunks onto the cart."
He did not wait for a reply, but turned to his driver, "Tonner, be so good as to fetch Blanch and load those two trunks for Miss Whitely."
"Very good, my lord."
He smiled as Tonner left to do his bidding. It felt good to offer any small service to the young woman who had so captivated him.
Chapter 6
The journey on the ass-drawn cart was slow, and the vehicle was much less comfortable than the carriages that Elizabeth had practically lived in these last many days. Still, she would have cheerfully embraced the long, jouncing drive to the place that was to be her home, had there been much conversation.
Elizabeth could see from their stained hands and clothes that they had worked a long day and must be tired, but she had hoped that her aunt and uncle would at least be happy to find her well, even if they were worn. Yet no expression of welcome or gladness greeted her.
She tried several times to start a conversation on various topics, but received only perfunctory replies. Nothing seemed to engage them, and every contribution they made would trail off into sighs, shakes of the head, and a strange echoing of troubled humming and hawing between them.
She asked if they had many visits from their neighbours, and her aunt actually sounded aghast at the notion. “Neighbours calling? Oh no. Not often. They know we are busy. Always busy. And the extra refreshments. Think of the expense!”