Frail

by Susanna Ives

  “What have I done to deserve that treatment?” he asked Helena as he took her hand.

  “I don’t know,” she replied, all too conscious of her shoulder rubbing against his chest and the warmth of his fingers.

  “Don’t worry about tomorrow,” he whispered. He released her and swung up into the carriage. “I will be around at a quarter to nine sharp,” he called to the others and quickly shut the door. The carriage lurched down the lane.

  Helena hurried to catch up with her cousins.

  “I thought he might have escorted us inside, at the least.” Emily shook her head. “I can’t understand that odd man.”

  “I can’t understand him, either,” Megan said, scowling in the shadows.

  A slender girl opened the door. The lamp she gripped illuminated her somber mouth, intelligent eyes, and blonde hair, which was pulled smoothly back. “Good evening, Mrs. Pengwern. I’m Sara.” She performed a curtsy. “Mr. Mallory sent me. I’m supposed to help you about your house and see to your comfort.”

  The ladies spun around, but Mr. Mallory’s carriage was gone. Helena could hear the receding rattle of chains and the clomp of horse’s feet.

  “That sly sneak!” Emily exclaimed.

  ∞∞∞

  As Emily conversed with the new servant, Helena trudged up the stairs with a lit candle. Her body ached from the exhaustion of worry. She set the candle on the commode and strolled to the window while removing her hairpins. The light from Theo’s house and the moon shone through the lace of tree branches.

  I could love you, she had said. What was she trying to do to herself?

  She heard soft footfalls outside the door and then a tap. “May I talk to you?” Megan called through the wood.

  “Please. Come in.”

  The girl slipped inside. She wore a loose robe over her plain chemise. Her glossy hair tumbled about her shoulders. Her eyes were dark and troubled.

  “What’s the matter?” Helena patted the bed. “I could see that you were upset on the way home.”

  Megan remained standing. “Do you love Theo?”

  Helena paused. “What is this about?”

  Megan fidgeted with the knot of her robe string.

  “Speak to me, Megan.”

  “I overheard Mr. Gordon and Theo talking.”

  “What did they say?”

  Megan lifted her gaze. “Mr. Gordon said that Theo was only hosting the dinner party because the reverend insisted. That Theo was playing cruel games with you, even if he didn’t mean to. And you should have left.”

  “What else did he say?”

  Megan shook her head. “I don’t know, they saw me and stopped talking.” She came to sit by Helena. “I… I don’t want bad things to happen anymore.”

  “Oh, Megan. I wish bad things wouldn’t happen anymore either.” Helena put her arm around the girl’s shoulder. “I truly do. But on this count I can assure you. Theo can’t hurt me, because we are only friends. He has made that quite clear.” She tapped Megan on the knee. “Do you know the thing I’m most looking forward to tomorrow? The one thing? Listening to you sing. You have such a beautiful voice.”

  “I wish I were beautiful.”

  “What?” Helena pulled back. “You are very lovely. Don’t you know?”

  Megan slumped down, letting her hair cover her face. “I’m homely. The boys call me ‘rat face.’ I shouldn’t care for their stupid opinions. But... I do. I can’t help myself.”

  Anger fired in Helena’s heart that anyone should make this faithful, loving girl think poorly of herself. “You know who is homely?” she snapped. “They are! And one day very soon, they are going to regret saying those words.” She fingered a strand of her cousin’s hair. “Do you know, I think I shall arrange your beautiful locks in braids and secure them with a pretty comb for the dinner party. Maybe let a few braids trail down—little teasers. Let us try now.”

  If this dinner party did little to help Helena’s cause, well, at least some village boys were going to feel very sorry for calling Megan rat-faced.

  ∞∞∞

  Theo didn’t trust himself around Helena after their discussion in the corridor. The better part of his afternoon was spent helping Gordon oversee the construction of a spit so he wouldn’t see her. But her words repeated in his mind: I could love you.

  Well, he did love her, desired her conversation, her laughter, her heart, her body. No rational thought could stop the unwanted deepening of his affection.

  He returned home to hear activity continuing in the kitchen. He lit a candle off the parlor fire and headed to his library, passing the landing with the carving of Owain saving his friend, Luned. What a lie he had told Helena! He wasn’t Owain, but Perdeur, fighting battle after battle, turning away ladies and fortune for the love of one woman.

  He lit the coals in the grate and then the lamp on his desk in his library. The firelight danced on the barrel of his faithful Minié hung on the wall.

  He unlocked his desk and opened the bottom drawer. In the shadowy bottom rested the leather portfolio containing the articles and letters incriminating Helena’s father. The information Wilson sought.

  “I did the right thing,” he muttered. In good conscience, he couldn’t have concealed that Helena’s father had set up phony investments and bilked the English populace, including men who served under him in Crimea.

  He rose up and rested his forehead against the mantle. Helena was so trusting, she had lived side-by-side with one of the greatest thieves in British history and had never suspected a thing. What if Theo never told her he had turned her father into Scotland Yard? Officer Wilson had promised to keep Theo’s anonymity. The only other person who knew of Theo’s involvement was Gordon, who might disapprove and quit, but ultimately could be kept silent with the right persuasion.

  What if Theo committed a fraud on Helena’s heart and never got caught?

  He banged the mantle with his fist. No, no, no.

  But dammit, hadn’t he done enough? Hadn’t he served his country? Buried his friends? Caught her father? On that count, didn’t he have some responsibility towards her?

  Should he not marry her and provide for her for the rest of her days? Give her a home for the one he took away? Give her a new name for the one he had destroyed? Should he not love her to make up for all the hate she had endured because of him?

  Would anyone else of means love her better?

  You need to get these ideas out of your head, he warned himself. Gordon was right: if he were caught in the deception he was contemplating, he would finally and truly break Helena, and possibly destroy his friendship with Emily and Megan.

  He fumbled in his coat pocket for his cigarette case. He lit up a cigarette and tossed the used match into the fire. He crossed to his desk, shoved the drawer closed, and turned the lock.

  He needed this dinner party to fail.

  Fifteen

  Theo could hear the shuffle and strident whispers of hurrying servants about his corridors before dawn. Soon the scents of baking bread, roasting goose, and stewing vegetables infused the air. By nine, the last traces of the night’s rain had dried up, and the peaks of the mountains glinted in the sky. Reverend Jeffries’ and the Rees’ servants descended on his home. Theo stood by his fountain, trying to appear as the lord of the manor while Efa issued her orders to the legion of female servants whose skirts beat like flags in the breeze.

  Anticipation charged the air, contrasting with Theo’s dark mood. Unable to pound out his frustration by hacking in his new garden, he dressed, strode to the library, and locked the door.

  In the late afternoon, he rode in his carriage down to Emily’s home. The new servant Sara opened the door before he knocked. “Good afternoon, sir.” She reached for his coat and hat, but he gently waved her off.

  He strode into the parlor to find Emily standing by the window, already in her cloak. Her auburn hair was elegantly swept up with small curling wisps around her face.

  “You are absolutel
y stunning.” He bowed, easing into his jovial big brother role to conceal his black mood.

  “Ah, it’s Sara’s work.” She crossed to him. “She’s wonderful. You should know I shall be paying for her services.” She jabbed her finger into his breastbone. “Not you.”

  He held up his palms. “Now, I’ve been practically sinless all week and don’t want to ruin my personal record of goodness the day before Sunday by quarreling with you. I insist upon paying.”

  Emily opened her mouth to object at the same time Helena glided into the room. Her hair was pulled back in a plain knot with only a few strands framing her pale face. Only the addition of a small white collar to her gown gave any indication that this was a day out of the ordinary.

  She glanced over her shoulder, as if to check for someone, and then spoke in an excited whisper. “Megan is all dressed up. Some cruel boys called her rat-faced—”

  “What?” Emily cried.

  “Do I need to have a little discussion with the village boys?” Theo thundered.

  “Oh, I believe the situation will readily correct itself.” The small, enigmatic smile that graced her lips crackled like electricity on Theo’s skin.

  “Now, she is very nervous, so assure her she is pretty.” She looked pointedly at Theo. “No teasing.”

  “Me?” Theo said, feigning shock. “Tease?”

  Before Helena could retort, Megan’s footfalls echoed on the stairs. Helena quickly stationed herself beside Emily and assumed a disinterested expression as she thumbed through a journal.

  Megan appeared at the door. Her hair was curled about a crown of wild flowers on the top of her head, and the rest fell in long, shiny spirals down her neck. She wore a rose-colored gown that Theo remembered from previous occasions, but a dainty lace collar and blue sash had been added, and a crinoline flared the skirt. She gazed at them with apprehensive eyes, her fingers clutching and unclutching the sides of her gown.

  “My little girl has grown up,” Emily whispered. Her eyes possessed a dreamy quality as though she were peering at the memory of her daughter as a small child. “The years are passing too fast. Were you not five last month, Megan?”

  “You look lovely.” Theo opened his arms to the girl—young lady now. “Are we friends again?” he asked, hearing the small tremor in his voice. His adopted family was changing. He could no longer contain them or keep them safely tucked away.

  Megan rushed to him and hugged him.

  “I won’t be able to do this much longer,” he said. “Some gentleman is going to steal you away from us.”

  “Oh no, Megan and I discussed this last night,” Helena said. “She assures me she desires a man of good sense who will live here and tend the land and animals like her father did.”

  “And Helena is staying, too,” Megan added. “She can bring her husband here, as well.”

  Emily flashed Theo a coy look from under her lashes. “Perhaps she will find a husband nearby.” There was no guessing as to the identity of this nearby husband.

  “But Mama,” Megan said. “Helena told me she and Theo are only friends.”

  A soundless thud dropped on the moment. Theo forced himself not to glance at Helena, although he could feel her embarrassment.

  “But that’s what she told me,” Megan said sensing the tension. She was now a young lady in hoops and tendrils, but still too naive to grasp the complicated machinations of adulthood.

  Emily rested her hand on Theo’s arm. “What is the m—”

  “Yes,” he cut in, catching the conversation before it could veer further down this dangerous path. “We shall always be very good friends—a family, in fact. For I know I shall be spending the party acting like an overbearing father, giving an ugly glower to any callow young sprout who ventures to ask Megan to dance.” He forced a laugh, trying to relax everyone. No one joined in his charade, and his flat chuckles died in the air.

  ∞∞∞

  The wind beat the carriage as it rambled up the hill. Helena gazed out the window, studying the crags on the mountains, and chewed on her thumbnail. She turned her head as the carriage passed into Theo’s estate. Her throat began to burn. The next twelve hours would decide so much. Could Reverend Jeffries really work miracles?

  Helena let Theo assist Emily and Megan from the carriage. Helena lingered behind a moment to compose herself.

  “Don’t let them say something horrible around Emily,” she whispered, grasping Theo’s hand as he helped her step onto the ground.

  Despite the wind, the sun was high in the sky; its light sparkled on the water gurgling in the fountain. The breeze carried the scent of smoke and roasting meat. The villagers looked on, forming a misshapen line to the carved front doors. She recognized most of the faces from the village and church. These people knew almost everything about her, the newspapers had cracked open her life for everyone to see, but she knew hardly anything of them. They stared at her like a jury—judging, assessing, deciding her guilt or innocence, whether to give her amnesty or send her away.

  Helena felt she might retch. “No,” she whispered and stepped back only to bump against the wall of Theo’s body.

  He cupped her elbow. “Come, Helena,” he whispered.

  Reverend Jeffries broke through the crowd and ambled over. His relaxed and jovial face was a stark contrast to the tension infusing the air.

  “What did I tell you?” the reverend said. “A wild success. Let me present you to everyone.” He drew Megan, Emily and Helena into the lines of guests. Theo remained behind her.

  “Miss Gillingham, so charming to see you,” Helena heard a woman say. “I’m sorry I’ve been remiss in visiting you.”

  Helena turned, coming face-to-face with the baker’s wife and her husband. The woman’s eyes were crinkled and kind, her husband kept his trained on the ground.

  “May I present Mr. and Mrs. Davies,” Reverend Jeffries said, unaware that Helena had already met the couple. “They make the delicious muffins you smell all across the village in the mornings.”

  The wife jabbed her husband. He murmured something unintelligible.

  With the reverend and Emily beside her, the greetings were pleasant enough, some warm and genuine, others terse and, like the baker’s, spoken to the ground. Helena kept a brittle smile stretched on her face. But one mean word, one cruel look might break her apart.

  She no longer felt Theo behind her. She panicked. She turned her head, looking about until she caught a glimpse of him. He balanced one foot on the rim of his fountain, wrists crossed at his knee as he conversed with Caroline Rees, a smile playing on his lips.

  ∞∞∞

  Theo had stepped away from Helena. He didn’t want others to think he had any connection to her beyond his friendship with Emily—he was merely lending his house for the cause. He wanted no part in the judgment of Helena. He knew it would be best if the dinner party failed, but he refused to play a hand in its outcome. He was to merely welcome people to his home and give an obligatory, boring toast.

  He listened to Caroline discussing going to London for the season, but in his periphery, he followed Helena’s progress. Her face presented a stiff, pleasant façade. The arm not clasped by the reverend kept rising across her chest like a shield. He knew that raw, naked pain of vulnerability. He wanted to go to her, take her into his arms and hide her away in his gardens. But then Major Wright appeared at her side, replacing Reverend Jeffries.

  Dammit. Wright had bled to death on the boat to Scutari. Theo didn’t have the wherewithal to contend with his madness today.

  Theo spun on his heel, leaving a shocked Caroline by the fountain. He strode to his library and locked himself inside. He poured a glass of gin and leaned his head against the cool paneled wall. The muffled chatter of his guests streamed around him.

  Just one drink. But once he had finished it, he poured another.

  An hour later, Efa, who usually tapped softly and treaded lightly about his library, rapped loudly on his door, her way of indicating what she
thought of being deserted during the house party. “It’s time to seat everyone,” she said through the wood.

  Theo issued a silent curse and went in search of Mrs. Rees to escort her to dinner. He found her and Emily with their heads together in the conspiratorial manner of school girls, their faces bright with mischief as the reverend and Megan blushed. No telling what ribald story those ladies were retelling. Theo’s angst temporarily lifted to see Emily as happy as when he had first met her, but Helena was nowhere in sight.

  “Where is your cousin?” he asked Megan.

  “I don’t know.” The girl shook her head, worry fattening her dark eyebrows. “She said she would be only a second. I’ll go find her.”

  “No, no, I’ll find her,” Theo said. “I believe you have a young man admiring you from the corner.”

  Megan didn’t give him the usual huff or roll of her eyes. Instead, her blush deepened and she sneaked a peek at Warren—a shy, gangly, and gentle son of a widow.

  “What do I do?” she asked, terrified.

  “Just be kind to the poor flustered boy.”

  Theo edged through the rooms, nodding to and greeting guests, while he searched for Helena. She wasn’t in the parlors or dining room. He quietly ducked through a side door meant for servants and then through another door to the carved stairwell. There, he found his quarry.

  She stood with her back to him, studying the image of Owain. She slightly swayed as she traced the lines of Owain’s sword with her finger. Tiny, fine hairs, shining with a blue hue in the afternoon light falling from the windows, had escaped her bun and spilled over her collar. The ghost of her words hung in the room: I could love you.

  She turned, suddenly realizing he was there. Her smile wavered as if it were on the surface of water.

  “Your house looks lovely, and Emily is having a capital time.”

  “Are you?”

  “I’m not, but… I’m grateful to you and Reverend Jeffries. Thank you for trying so hard on my behalf. For…” her voice trailed off. She wanted to say something else, very badly, but couldn’t, for whatever reason.