“Oh! That is unnecessary.” But the smells were quite enticing, and she had had nothing but coffee and bread and butter this morning. In England, it was afternoon already.
“It would be my pleasure.”
Upon Huxley’s further insistence, Bess requested tea and cakes and was settled at a table near the big bay window where she could see the road. She could make nothing of it beyond the swirling movement of distant pedestrians and carriages, but she liked to believe she would recognize her father’s carriage when it appeared. When her meal arrived, Huxley gave her another bow and bid her farewell, then left by the same door they had entered. Bess was accustomed to the War Office’s Bounders, who thought nothing of Bounding away in public, and had forgotten there were manners and niceties the private sector observed.
Having ascertained the name of the tea shop, Bess Spoke its direction to her father, and settled in to eat and drink and listen idly to the conversations carried on around her. She bit into an almond-flavored cake, savoring its sweetness, and suddenly the unreality of her situation overwhelmed her. Was this home, was this England? The blurred figures of her fellow patrons swam in her vision, and she closed her eyes against dizziness. It did not help; she had the oddly swollen feeling she sometimes got when she was ill with fever, disconnecting her from reality.
She swallowed the cake, which had gone dry in her mouth, and gripped the edges of the little round table tightly enough to make them bite painfully into her flesh. The Incas, Lima, London, Exeter all whirled round her head like dancers engaged in a complex gavotte, blinding her with their motion.
Bess made herself breathe slowly, focusing all her attention on the feeling of sweet-scented air entering her nostrils and warm, moist breath leaving her mouth. The sounds of the tea shop were louder now, and echoed strangely. They were all so placid, as if they did not appreciate their ordinary lives. A momentary image of treating Quispe to cakes and tea flashed across Bess’s tortured mind, and she laughed at how confused Quispe would be—as confused as Bess had been in the Inca city, no doubt. Everyone was an alien somewhere in the world.
She opened her eyes and found the dizziness had passed. She believed the couple at the nearest table were looking at her, and she smiled as best she could and hoped their attention would turn elsewhere. She touched her heavy braid and tucked in a wayward lock. This odd sensation of not belonging would pass. She was home now.
She stared out the window, unconscious of time passing, and listened to the sound of the door opening and closing. There were tiny bells over it that jingled when it moved, almost imperceptible over the general busyness of the tea shop, and Bess found herself straining to hear them, waiting for the time they would announce her father’s entrance.
Finally, the door opened, the bells jingled, and hard on their heels was the sound of her father’s voice, crying out, “Bess!”
She stood, tangling herself in her chair, and turned blindly in his direction only to be swept up in his powerful embrace. He was wearing his greatcoat that always smelled of camphor no matter what it was cleaned with, and the sharp scent brought tears to her eyes that turned into a painful, chest-aching flood. She sobbed into his shoulder and his arms tightened around her, making her cry harder.
After a long time, when her tears subsided into sniffles, Father held her at arm’s length and said, “I have a mind to forbid you to go farther than the garden gate in future. We have been so worried.”
“I know,” Bess said, wiping away tears, “and I feel so miserable at having caused you pain. Though the shipwreck was not my fault, so I do not know how much blame to take.”
“You can scarcely be blamed for natural disasters. Come, the carriage waits. Your mother is beside herself with agitation.”
Bess let him lead her to the carriage and for once did not cavil at his assistance to a seat. “Has she been…very ill?” she asked as the carriage lurched into motion. “I do feel entirely to blame for her condition.”
“She has borne up better than I hoped,” Father said, “and her nerves are not your responsibility, Bess. She will be quite well once you are restored to her. Tomorrow we will have a fine family supper, and you may reassure your brothers that you are not hopelessly lost in the jungles of Peru.”
“Peru does not have jungles, it has mountains—at least, that was my observation,” Bess said in a droll tone. “But why tomorrow?”
“You cannot possibly be well rested enough for company tonight. You were a captive, Bess, and I cannot imagine the privations you have suffered.”
“I apologize for being a rather poor correspondent,” she said. “There really has been little to tell since I escaped, and after I reached Lima, everything happened so quickly I would only have told you something in time for it to be outdated news.”
“I am having great difficulty not asking you to tell me everything now,” Father said with a smile. “You will rest, and I daresay a bath is in order—you will want to recover an appearance suitable to your birth and station.”
Bess self-consciously touched her braid. “This is how the Incas wear their hair,” she said, making a joke of it. “I was all the fashion there.”
Her father laughed, and everything was suddenly more normal between them.
In the end, she did tell Father much of what had happened, asking his opinion on how much to tell Mama. Mama’s sensibilities were acute, and she worried so about her children Bess felt it was cruel to torment her with images she could do nothing about. By the time the carriage rattled up the long gravel drive, Bess’s sense of unreality had all but vanished. Her father was too commonsensical a man to permit her to entertain ridiculous fancies.
The afternoon was cold but clear, and the sun shone brightly enough to make Bess’s head twinge with pain. Its warmth on her face made the pain a small annoyance only, but she was grateful for her father’s arm guiding her up the steps and past the front door. The familiar, indefinable smell of home combined with the scent of dried lavender made Bess’s tears rise again, and she wiped them away with a rough hand. She should put on a brave face for Mama, though it was not as if they were sad tears. But she found herself navigating the well-known passages to her mother’s bedroom at speed, longing for this reunion to be over and herself back to her usual place in her family.
Her mother sat up in bed when Bess entered and stretched out her arms, crying out her name. Bess sank onto the bed beside her and embraced her, weeping again—but this time it was acceptable, since her mother was in tears as well. “Oh, Bess, you—my dear, how could you leave us like that?” Mama exclaimed. “I always said it was a terrible idea, that sea voyage.”
“That is not true, you thought it an excellent idea when Mr. Thorpe proposed it,” Bess chided her gently. “Though I admit I was shamefully wrong to permit myself to be shipwrecked and kidnapped, and for that, I apologize.”
Mama laughed weakly. “Bess, you are terrible. I am so glad to have you safely home.”
Bess extricated herself from her mother’s grip and clasped her hands—when had they become so frail and soft? “I am glad to be safely home. And now I wish to change into my own clothing, retrieve my other spectacles, and eat something more filling than tea and cakes…though perhaps I should control my appetite for a few hours and align myself better with this hour. It is quite a bit earlier in Peru than it is here.”
“I will never understand that,” Mama sighed, “but we dine early, you know, and it is not so long until supper. And your hair, Bess, it is almost a rat’s nest!”
Bess began to harbor dire suspicions about her appearance. She pushed them to one side and said, “I will dress, and put my hair up properly, and then I will sit with you until supper, unless you feel well enough to rise.”
“Your mother has been ill with an ague all week, so it is not all your reappearance that distresses her,” Father said. “I would appreciate it if you would keep her company.”
Bess rose. “I would enjoy that immensely,” she said, and meant
every word.
The sense of dissociation came and went at times all through the afternoon and into the evening. Effusive greetings by Mrs. Kearsley and others of the servants both comforted Bess and left her feeling awkward as she answered the same questions repeatedly. Occasionally she caught her mother watching her as if she might disappear, and felt irrationally guilty. She kept a pleasant smile on her face throughout the evening and retreated to her bedroom as quickly as she dared, pleading tiredness.
Safely in bed in her own nightdress, she Spoke to everyone who needed to know she was safe, beginning with Daphne, for whom the next day was only just beginning. She exchanged only a few words with Clarissa, mostly thanking her for the War Office’s financial assistance, and, more tentatively, sent a short message to Julieta, once more warning her to take care. Honoria and Eleanora expressed their joy at her return; Maria could not Speak at the moment, but promised to address Bess in the morning; Mrs. Grantham was coolly pleased at Bess’s return. Rose wanted to chat, something Bess felt unequal to, and she had to promise her young friend she would Speak with her again on the following day.
After some consideration, she Spoke to Amaya: I have returned to England and hope you are safe. She was reluctant to Speak to any non-Speaker when she did not know whether her Speaking might be disruptive, but Amaya would want to know she was safe.
At the end, she had one last person to Speak to and found herself unexpectedly reluctant. Mr. Quinn had been her friend throughout her adventure, he had given her support and comfort when she needed it, and he deserved reassurance that she was well. But now that she was back in England, she did not believe their relationship could go on as it had done. To be so close to someone whose true identity she did not know, particularly when she had her suspicions as to which of three men he might be, struck her as…inappropriate, perhaps? Certainly uncomfortable. She wanted her friend to have his privacy, but she did not believe she had the fortitude not to pick away at the mystery until it was solved.
There was also the question of how she should behave to those three men. How awkward, to encounter them in company and be conscious that one of them likely knew her better than he professed? Perhaps she should simply lay the problem before Mr. Quinn and request him to identify himself. He should know by now that she would not shun him for whatever reasons he held himself aloof.
She eyed the window, past which she saw nothing but a black night sky. It was too late. She should wait until the morning rather than disturb him. That was the sensible course of action, not at all cowardly.
Miss Hanley. What news?
The suddenness of Mr. Quinn’s address—perhaps she should instruct him in Speaker etiquette, in sending out a warning pulse before Speaking—startled Bess’s heart into a couple of quick beats. Mr. Quinn. All is well. I have returned to my home and…well, that is all there is to it.
He laughed. It seems there should be more drama to conclude your tale of adventure.
Oh, there was. Bess related her narrow escape, which to her now seemed like a dream, all except the hard, cruel look in Mendoza’s eyes when he reached for her.
When she was finished, Mr. Quinn said, Thank God you are well away from him. He seems the type not to believe anything that counters his desires, and who knows what he might have done to induce you to lead him to the Inca city.
That was my thought, as well. Bess shivered and pulled the blankets closer around her, though her room was comfortably warm. But I am halfway around the world from him, and he can do me no harm.
And you can leave your adventure behind and embark on a life of peace and placidity.
His Voice sounded neutral, but for some reason Bess felt uneasy at his words. I suppose, she said. Mr. Quinn…
Yes?
You recall the dance at the Hainsworths’ where we first Spoke?
With some chagrin, yes. I am grateful you did not hold my rudeness against me.
Nor you my impertinence. But that is not what I meant. Bess fingered the softness of the counterpane. I did not know who you were, and I am no more enlightened now. But I know you are someone with whom I may have social contact. And I feel discomfort at the idea that I might converse with you without knowing it.
Mr. Quinn was silent for several breaths. Finally, he said, Then you believe our friendship should be at an end.
The abruptness of his words sent a chilly spike through her heart. No. I did not say that. I—
It is unfair of me to maintain an intimacy with you that you cannot enter into unguardedly. I had not considered it until tonight, but you are correct—I would be taking advantage of you.
No, Bess Spoke, putting all the force of her aching heart behind her thought. Could you not—that is, I will not pester you for your identity, but—surely nothing is so terrible that you cannot share it with a friend?
There was another long pause. I fear you would no longer call me friend if you knew the truth, Mr. Quinn said. I realize this means in a sense I have gained your friendship under false pretenses, if you would not have become the friend of the man I am publicly. I apologize, Miss Hanley.
There is nothing to apologize for. You have supported me in my greatest need, and as I believe I have told you, I care nothing for who you appear to be because I know the man you are.
Mr. Quinn said nothing, though their connection quivered with his presence. Finally, he said, I fear I cannot support lying to you, even in such a second-hand way. Goodbye, Miss Hanley. The connection stilled and died.
Bess discovered she was weeping, a slow trickle of tears flowing down the sides of her face, and ruthlessly swept them away. That had sounded like the kind of goodbye a man makes on his way to the gallows. It was impossible. He would change his mind; they were too good friends for anything else. But…if she were no longer in extremis, if she no longer needed his support, was there anything else to base their friendship on? Perhaps it truly was over. And perhaps he was right, and it was for the best. But her aching heart gave her no peace all the rest of that long night.
Chapter 21
In which Bess’s life returns to normal
Sitting at table in her parents’ dining room, observing the many dishes laid out for her family’s consumption, Bess felt another of the dissociative moments that she hoped would eventually diminish. She could not help remembering sitting cross-legged on the floor with Quispe and Inkasisa, eating those soft, unknown morsels, or gnawing on a potato under the moon next to Amaya. This room, this meal, was what she was familiar with, but was it any more real than the others?
“I still say you ought to write your adventure for the papers,” Edmund said, helping Bess to another portion of fish. “You might title it Slave of the Savages! Or possibly Shipwrecked! if you prefer a less sensational approach.”
“You are incorrigible,” Bess told her brother. “I was not a slave. And there is very little interesting to tell.”
The truth was that she felt increasingly uncomfortable at spreading the details of her adventure, as Edmund persisted in referring to it. There was likely no one in England who might make anything of her time with the Incas, certainly no one who might try to use her to locate the hidden city as Mendoza had wanted, but that was not her only concern. Telling the story, speaking of Sapa Inca and Achik and even the terrible Uturunku, seemed to diminish them, made them figures in a play instead of living, breathing men.
“I think it quite horrid, and you, Edmund, should be ashamed of yourself, pestering Bess to relive her experiences that I am certain she wishes to forget,” her brother Charles’s wife, Mary, said. Her thin features were furrowed in the intensity of her words, so unlike her light, airy voice. Bess controlled a smile. Mary rarely spoke, even at family dinners, and Bess believed Mary was intimidated by her, so for her to speak out so forcefully in Bess’s defense, she must feel strongly about the subject. Bess would have been better pleased if she did not suspect, from Mary’s frequent blushes in Bess’s presence and her inability to meet Bess’s eyes, that Mary be
lieved Bess’s reputation had been ruined by her captivity, and that was what prompted her comment.
“It’s all in fun, Mary,” Charles protested. “Edmund is never serious.” Bess’s oldest brother met her gaze across the table. He was as solemn as Edmund was carefree, and Bess always appreciated his steadying influence.
“Yes, Edmund is never serious, and Bess knows that,” Edmund said with a wink.
“I do, and for once I am grateful for your light-mindedness,” Bess said in a mock-chastising tone. She wished she had worn a warmer gown; the family dining room was chilly despite the many candles illuminating the table. She ate another bite of fish and patted her lips dry. “I prefer not to be seen as a figure of tragedy.”
Mary blushed, and Bess immediately regretted her words. She had not intended them as a criticism of her sister-in-law, but Mary was easily embarrassed and just as easily offended. “I mean,” she went on swiftly, “nothing awful happened to me, and I could instead have been seriously injured, or still a captive, and that would be tragic. Or I might have perished in the shipwreck as so many sailors did. How many did you say survived, Mr. Thorpe?”
“Fifteen, including Mr. Rawleigh,” Mr. Thorpe said from the far end of the table. “Who was deeply relieved to hear of your survival, Miss Hanley. He searched for you upon landfall and was certain you had perished.”
“If you think it would suit, I will Speak to him tomorrow and assure him of my safety.”
“He is recovering from his broken arm nicely, and would appreciate your message,” Mr. Thorpe said. “I, personally, feel I cannot enough—”
“Mr. Thorpe, please,” Father said with a smile. “You have apologized enough. You have no more control over the weather than Bess.”
“Yes, Mr. Thorpe, pray do not continue to feel guilt over what happened,” Bess said. “I feel I have grown from the adventure.” Though she could not share most of that growth with anyone. Her ability to read minds had not disappeared once she was back in a land where she spoke the language, and even now the dinner conversation was a disorienting blend of thoughts and voices that forced her to concentrate on anyone who addressed her. She adjusted her spectacles, which gave her a good, if slightly blurry, view of everyone at the table, and added, “If nothing else, I have learned of new cultures and met many interesting people, something I thought I had left behind with the War Office.”
Whispering Twilight Page 22