02 - Borrowed Dreams

by May McGoldrick

  *****

  Everyone in the servants’ hall was rushing about, obviously concerned about Moses, who was standing in the back door, wringing his hands. A black serving maid hurried up the steps to an upper floor after Mrs. Page whispered an order to her. Holding the large man’s arm, the housekeeper led him to a bench by the fire. There, one of the cooks handed her a steaming cup of drink, which she pressed into his huge hands as she continued to talk to him in a low, reassuring voice.

  Gibbs had entred in the midst of all this, but instead of meddling he stood back and watched the scene unfold before him. Moses was saying something in a broken voice, and it looked to Gibbs as if there were tears standing in the old man’s eyes. Someone appeared with a blanket that Mrs. Page threw around his shoulders. All the time speaking soothingly to him, she ran a comforting hand over his back.

  The household at Melbury Hall was roughly half black, half white, but what had struck Gibbs most impressively since arriving here was the familial feeling that held sway. Clearly Lady Aytoun’s desire to treat all fairly, regardless of skin color, was a manner embraced by the people she employed.

  The same servant who had been sent up the stairs returned, followed by the old woman Ohenewaa. Words passed between Moses and the woman. Almost immediately Moses stood up, shed the blanket, and the two of them went out through the back door.

  Gibbs’s gaze returned to the housekeeper. As she bustled about, he could not help but admire the efficiency with which she settled everything back to normal in just a few moments. He had to admit, though, that Mrs. Page’s competence was not the only thing he had been finding fascinating lately. Inviting from a safe distance, but somewhat reserved whenever he came near, Mary Page had been drawing him in bit by bit. What was most interesting, though, was the fact that Gibbs wasn’t even minding the feel of the hook she had in him.

  “What was troubling Moses?” Gibbs managed to ask, once he was within arm’s reach of her.

  Mary’s green gaze lifted, and she smiled tenderly. “One of the stable dogs that he has become fond of caught a leg in a poacher’s snare tonight. Some of the grooms think the poor animal should be put down, but Moses wanted Ohenewaa to look at the injured dog first.”

  “So is this what Ohenewaa means to them? Is she a healer of some sort?”

  Mary nodded. “Aye, but she is also seen as an elder and wise woman. Amina told me that Ohenewaa forms a sort of bridge for them to a part of their past.”

  “Ye mean Africa?”

  “I believe so, Mr. Gibbs.”

  The Highlander followed Mrs. Page as she made her way out of the hall.

  “Since the first day, I have not seen much of this Moses. But from all I can tell, the man appears to be well looked after.”

  “He deserves it.” The same look of tenderness shone in her face. “Despite his scarred body and a weak mind, Moses is the gentlest person I have yet to meet in my life. I’ve heard stories of all that he regularly endured during the squire’s time. The man cannot be blamed if he’s a little slow when it comes to any complicated thinking. I think I would have lost my mind completely long ago if I were in his shoes. But Moses is devoted to the mistress and to those who were kind to him over the years.”

  Gibbs waited when the housekeeper paused at the bottom of the stairs to exchange a few words with Amina, who had just entered the hall. When they were finished and the young woman went off toward the kitchens, Gibbs gave Mary his most serious look.

  “And if I were to confess my absolute devotion to ye, Mrs. Page, would ye treat me with same affection e were treating Moses a few minutes ago?”

  A blush crept into the woman’s fair cheeks. “A cup of warm cider and a blanket around your cold shoulders, Mr. Gibbs?”

  “A caressing hand on my back and soft words whispered in my ear.”

  Mary Page gave him a coy smile. “And why, sir, would someone with your looks and manners be wanting any such thing from an old widow like me?”

  “Old, mum? I think not.” He took her by the hand and pulled her into the shadow of the steps. “But ye know I’m going a wee bit daft trying to win yer affection, Mrs. Page.”

  “I don’t know what you mean!”

  “Don’t ye now?” Gibbs dropped his head lower until he was looking into her eyes. “Ye wouldna ride back with me from Knebworth Village last Sunday. Ye have twice refused my offer of walking the grounds in the evening this week. Ye didna find the—”

  “I should be honored to have tea with you tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Tea, did ye say?”

  “Tea,” she repeated with a smile.

  He bowed, placing a kiss on the back of her hand.

  “Tea! Well, I’ll be dashed, mum, but I’m thinking ye’ll be making me the gentleman yet.”

  “I would expect no less from the next steward of Melbury Hall.” She withdrew her hand and fluttered past him. “You would be perfect for the position, Mr. Gibbs, and I do hope you are considering it.”

  *****

  Violet ran to keep up with Amina’s longer strides. “How is Moses taking it?”

  “He is very upset, Vi, and that is not helping anything,” Amina replied. “Jonah wants to have Ohenewaa see to the dog’s leg, but to do that, Moses has to keep the animal calm. We do not want the creature to bite anyone. But with Moses moaning and acting more wounded than the dog…” The young woman shook her head.

  Inside the stables, a lantern was burning in one of the stalls, and at least a dozen people had gathered. Violet, followed by Amina, pushed through them to find Moses crouched on a pile of straw next to his dog. The animal’s leg was a mess, and Violet could see what looked like bone sticking out of the bloody flesh.

  “They should take off the leg,” a groom said to her left.

  “She won’t make it,” someone else commented. “‘Twould be better to cut her throat and put the poor beast out of her misery.”

  Violet shivered and looked at Ohenewaa, who was spreading out linen strips and some broken branches amid several bottles of salve a foot or two away from Moses and the dog. The old woman said something quietly to Jonah, and the bailiff bent over Moses and whispered to him.

  Even from across the way, Violet could see that Moses’s body was shaking and tears were running down his face when he stepped back acret Jonah take his place beside the dog as Ohenewaa approached.

  When the healer touched the animal’s head, Moses winced. When she reached for the paw, the man’s whimper matched the dog’s. The old man’s suffering tore at Violet’s heart, and she found herself pushing through the people and going to him.

  “Moses.” She tugged on his arm when she reached him. Eyes filled with anguish turned to her. “Will you please come and sit outside with me? I cannot watch this. It breaks my heart.” When he hesitated, she held his arm. “Please, Moses. I need you.”

  The old man’s feet slogged through the straw as they left the stables. Violet led him outside the open doors and sat down on a wall, pulling him down next to her.

  “I took the basket you made me to the village this morning,” she said, trying to tear his mind away from what was going on inside. “Will you show me sometime how you managed to weave all those pieces together? That was the best present.”

  “Do you think she can heal my dog, Vi?”

  “Yes, Moses. I think she can heal her.”

  “M’lady gave her to me. My own.”

  “I know.”

  “Never had nothing of my own, Vi.”

  “I know, Moses.” Violet looked into the face of the former slave. It didn’t matter to her how hideous he looked. He was so kind and gentle. She held tight onto his arm and pressed her cheek against his shoulder.

  “You shall always have at least one friend, Moses, as long as I live.”

  “I know that too, Vi. Friends.”

  Violet nodded, forcing down the knot in her throat. “Tell me about your dog, Moses.”

  ****

  It was past midnight when Millice
nt saw the shadowy figure of Ohenewaa trekking up from the stables. A couple of hours earlier, when she had gone to her own bedchamber to change out of her gown, Millicent had heard from Violet about Moses’s injured dog.

  Millicent’s time had been so consumed with Lyon that she hadn’t spent much time with the old woman. She had barely had the opportunity to thank Ohenewaa for the tea that she believed had helped Lyon through the first nights of going without the laudanum.

  She thought back to the day that they’d spoken about the letter from Jasper Hyde. Millicent had listened to everything Ohenewaa said. She had already heard such horrors. And she had seen the same superstitious ignorance in others that might very well drive a man like Hyde to hold Ohenewaa responsible for his suffering.

  Millicent’s refusal to the plantation owner had been clear and direct. Ohenewaa had no desire to meet with him, and neither did she.

  The old woman was no witch, of that Millicent was certain. The fact that she obviously had a knowledge of herbs and medicines did not make her evil. No matter what others chose to think, Millicent felt deep inside that Ohenewaa could be trusted. She had felt it from the first day the old woman had entered Melbury Hall.

  That was why Millicent had to see her again tonight. She needed her advice.

  Turning away from the window, she watched Lyon breathing comfortably in his sleep for a moment. He had been correct in saying that he didn’t need her. There were no more nightmares. No staying awake just to be difficult.

  Millicent went to the door and quietly opened it. The hallway was immersed in darkness, and she stepped out of the bedchamber, pulling the door partially closed behind her. Almost immediately she saw Ohenewaa appear at the top of the stairs. The old woman’s dark eyes shone like a cat as they fixed on her.

  “How is Moses?” Millicent asked softly when the woman drew near.

  “He was worried about the animal, but he is doing better.”

  “Did the dog live?”

  “She has a broken leg, but Moses was taught how to tend it.”

  “We are fortunate to have you here. Thank you.”

  With a nod, Ohenewaa started past her.

  “Would you consider, at some point in time, examining my husband?” Millicent paused when the older woman turned to look at her. “From what I can tell, none of the English doctors have seen any hope in him ever improving, in mind or in body. But we have already proven them half wrong. He is awake, aware, intelligent.”

  “And loud.”

  “That too.” Millicent smiled. “This is why I cannot help but believe there might be something else—in his legs and arm—that they might be overlooking. So would you consider it? When the time is right, of course, and when I can convince him of it?”

  The old woman studied her for a while and then nodded slowly. “When the time is right.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Millicent was astounded.

  No other word could describe her feelings at the flawless perfection of manner with which Lyon greeted and conversed with Reverend Trimble, despite the lengthiness of the visit.

  Settling into a chair in the library as if he planned on spending the remainder of winter there, the minister touched upon one topic of discussion after another. Like a pair of old university friends, the two managed to engage themselves in occasionally heated discussions on everything from the political and social struggles in Ireland, to the changing face of industry under the visionary and exploitative influences (Reverend Trimble’s phrase) of such people as Josiah Wedgwoodto Hugh Williamson’s recent assertion that comets were positively inhabited. Having covered the rumors of land clearings in the Scottish Highlands, they moved easily into the latest news of the growing unrest in the American colonies. In someplace called the Carolinas, she heard Reverend Trimble say, British troops had recently been needed to suppress open rebellion there. And things did not look to be improving.

  During the entire time, Millicent had remained attuned to Lyon’s mood. She was ready to jump in at any time that her husband suddenly decided that it was time to be rid of the visitor. She did not want her old friend to be offended.

  Despite his customarily talkative nature, Millicent maintained a great affection for the minister. Mr. Trimble had been a great ally to her and to the workers at Melbury Hall for a long time, even while Squire Wentworth held the whip over them all. It had been because of Reverend Trimble and Mr. Cunningham, the village schoolmaster, that a routine of tutoring the slaves had been established on the estate. Because of their perseverance and watchful intervention, more lives had not been lost to the brutality of the squire’s bailiffs.

  Mr. Cunningham.

  Millicent’s chin sank. A knot the size of a fist formed in her chest as she recalled for the thousandth time how the young teacher had lost his life while trying to protect her. She had asked him to come to Melbury Hall in the early hours of dawn to help take the frightened Violet away. But Squire Wentworth had thought the man was taking Millicent away with him. He had killed Mr. Cunningham that morning. And after all this time, she still could not free herself of the guilt.

  She blinked back the sudden tears and tried to not think of the young man’s affection—of how he had been her friend, her salvation during those horrible years. During his last days he had even thought that he was in love with her. But Millicent had discouraged his declarations. She had feared for her own life, but never guessed Cunningham would be the victim.

  When Millicent looked across the room, she found Lyon’s gaze focused on her face. The conversation between the two men appeared to have become one-sided. She realized they were talking about building construction—or rather, Reverend Trimble was. What he had just proposed, she had missed his point, and an awkward silence fell over the room.

  “Would that be satisfactory to you, Lady Aytoun?” the clergyman asked.

  Millicent had no idea what was satisfactory. She sent Lyon a silent plea.

  “Has anyone checked this stonemason’s references?” the earl asked, never taking his eyes off her.

  “I believe so, m’lord," the minister replied. "He would not have been hired to work on the grange otherwise, and his work looks entirely satisfactory.”

  “And with the grange work nearing completion, you said he is willing to begin working here two days a week.”

  “That is correct.”

  “And after he is finished in the village, he can work a full schedule here?”

  “That is what he says, m’lord.”

  “What do you think of hiring himthen, Millicent? You have been anxious to start on your projects.”

  She gave a grateful nod to her husband and then turned to Reverend Trimble. “That would be wonderful. Thank you for seeing to this.”

  “My pleasure, m’lady. Well, I suppose I should be getting home, though I must say I have thoroughly enjoyed my visit.”

  The clergyman pushed himself reluctantly to his feet and said his farewells to the earl. Millicent escorted him out of the room.

  “Once again, m’lady,” he started as soon as they were heading down the hall toward the front foyer, “I must congratulate you on this union. Lord Aytoun hardly matches his reputation. I am so eager for Mrs. Trimble to meet him. What an intelligent man! So well spoken and such wonderfully progressive views. Very edifying, indeed.”

  “He is a surprising man.”

  “And I understand that Lord and Lady Stanmore are returning to Solgrave in a fortnight. It will be such a happy occasion to have both your families here. Quite happy, indeed.”

  “Please send my regards to Mrs. Trimble,” Millicent said before the clergyman could start in on another topic. A servant helped him into his coat and handed him his gloves and hat. “By the way, what is the name of this stonemason?”

  “Ned Cranch. He is eager to start at this second job. He told me confidentially that he could use the work and the extra wages.”

  “Could he?”

  Reverend Trimble gave a nod. “I heard all about
his two wee ones and his wife in Coventry. Says she’s expecting their third child any day now. The man has mouths to feed.”

  “Tell him we shall have work ready for him as soon as next week, if he is free.”

  “I am certain he will be here.”

  *****

  Goldsmith’s The Vicar of Wakefield, the book that Reverend Trimble had brought for Lyon, lay on the edge of the table before him. As he reached for it, though, the heavy volume slipped through Lyon’s fingers and struck his leg. His left foot jerked along the carpet, and the volume landed on the floor. Lyon stared down in disbelief.

  The sensations running up and down his leg were real. His leg had moved. He tried to move his foot again, but he could not repeat the movement. Then, as quickly as they had come, the feelings disappeared. No matter how hard he concentrated, he was not able to move his foot so much as an inch.

  “Thank you for your courteous treatment of Reverend Trimble.”

  As Millicent came back into the room, the soft voice drew Lyon’s attention away from his legs. Her smile dimmed a little, however, when she saw his face. He simply nodded curtly and looked down at the book at his feet.

  “While I was watching you with him, I began to doubt that you were the same man I married. So I immediately became a student for the rest of his visit, trying my best to observe the techniques the good reverend employed to keep you in so agreeable a state.” She crouched down beside Lyon’s chair and fetched the book. “Did you wish to read this?” p>p> “No.”

  At his sharp answer, Millicent put a hand on his arm. She continued to kneel beside his chair. “Is something wrong?”

  “No.”

  After a moment of close scrutiny that he tried to ignore, she rose to her feet. “I am going to fetch Reverend Trimble before he leaves. I am going to ask him to stay and dine with us.” She started for the door. “There must be something that I lack in—”

  “Millicent!”

  Lyon’s call turned her around.