A Perfect Weakness

by Jennifer A. Davids

  An older man stepped into the stable hallway. He had a round face and short, graying hair. Though shorter than him by a head, he carried an air of authority. “English horses and saddles are different than those American ones. Best let the lad do that.”

  John looked at the saddle. He was right. He handed the saddle to Arthur again.

  “You must be Charlie Milford, the head groom. I’m sorry I haven’t made it here before now to meet you and your staff.” He thrust his hand toward him. “And please just shake my hand. All the bowing and scraping is getting under my skin.”

  The man took John’s hand, his grip good and strong. “Good to meet you.”

  “Likewise. Can I borrow Arthur? I want to go to the Castle, and I’m not too sure how to get there.”

  “Certainly.” He shouted an order to another groom who shot off to saddle another horse. “Heard you were unconventional.”

  He wasn’t addressing him as sir, Lord Turner, or my lord. And he hadn’t so much as dipped his head to him. Finally, an informal Englishman. “Sounds like you are too.”

  “Oh, I’ve a cousin in America. Been over there too, a few years back before all that war business. Got a sense of how you all do things over there. And I’ve heard a few things about you from Lionel Parker.”

  Arthur led Fortis out, and John mounted.

  “Mr. Parker? My butler?” he asked as he settled into the saddle.

  “The very same. We go down to the pub in Woodley for a pint now and again.”

  His straight-laced, poker-rod-backed butler kicking back in a public house with a man like Charlie Milford? That must be a sight to see.

  Arthur rode up behind him, and John turned. “Ready?”

  The young man nodded.

  “I’ll tell the boys they can act natural-like round you,” Charlie said. He cocked an eye at Arthur. “Hear that? You don’t have to go bowin’ all the time ’less there’s others round.”

  “Yes, sir, but if my mum ever caught wind of me doing that, it’d be my hide.”

  “It’s all right, Mr. Milford.” John gathered the reins. “I wouldn’t want anyone in trouble with their mother.”

  Charlie’s bark of laughter followed them as he and Arthur rode off.

  The Castle was roughly a half an hour’s ride from the Hall, which gave John the opportunity to quiz Arthur about the books he’d lent him as they rode. Arthur forgot his formality as he answered and asked questions of his own. The young man had a quick, logical mind, which would serve him well if he truly intended to go to medical school. John would follow William’s example and help him. There were various paths Arthur could take to obtain his medical license in England, but he would need tutoring of some sort, and experience would be helpful as well.

  John shifted in the saddle and clenched the reins a little tighter. He’d speak to Dr. Royston and see if he would be willing to take Arthur on. They could borrow any books they needed from the library, and perhaps Arthur could work at the cottage hospital in some capacity and gain experience. Should he send him over to America first, then return here and then Edinburgh? No. Let Dr. Royston assess what would be the best path for him to take to get his medical degree and license. All John should do was provide the funds and materials to make that possible.

  Arthur led him down a tree-lined path that steadily rose at a gentle angle, and before long, the Castle came into view. The path they were on ended at a small bridge which crossed the old moat. Another path crossed it, taking a circular route around the ruins.

  Arthur stopped at the bridge and turned to him. “Would you like to go around them first, sir?”

  Just past the bridge to the left were the remains of what was once a huge tower. It must have been magnificent in its day.

  “No, let’s go in.”

  They guided their horses over the bridge, and John surveyed the wide round grassy plain in front of him. “It was huge.”

  “Yes, sir.” Arthur pointed to two of the three structures that interrupted the remains of the crumbled wall. “Those towers there were defensive towers.” He gestured to the ruins to their left. “That was the great hall. You can see where Lord Renshaw had stairs built so people could climb up.”

  John swung down from Fortis, and Arthur followed suit. Noting a wooden hitching rail of sorts, he led his horse over.

  “Another addition of my cousin’s?” he asked as they wrapped the reins loosely around it.

  “Yes, sir. We get tourists up here sometimes that take a picnic on the grounds.” He cast a look up at the steel gray of the sky. “Won’t be any here today, though. It looks ready to rain.”

  “Sorry about that. We might get a little wet on the way back.”

  “I don’t mind, sir.”

  As they climbed up and around the great hall, Arthur told him bits and pieces of the history. They were taking in the view through what once had been a large window. “My mum doesn’t like this place.”

  “Why not?”

  Arthur shook his head. “She says it’s haunted.”

  “Haunted?” John crossed his arms. “There’s a story there.”

  “Well, it’s said the second baron took a young wife. They were only married a month before he was called away to the Crusades. He never returned. She died bearin’ his child, and they say she still wanders the great hall, walkin’ in and round it, waiting for her lord to return. Lord Renshaw always said it was rubbish. But my mum swears she saw her here during the Harvest Dinner a few years back.”

  “The Harvest Dinner?”

  “Yes, sir. Lord Renshaw would set up tents and take a meal with the farmers. All the Hall staff was invited too.”

  “That sounds fun. I’ll speak to Parker and Mrs. Lynch about doing it again this year.” He pointed out a large tree. “I’m surprised that tree’s allowed to grow that close to the wall.”

  “Mum said Lord Renshaw was going to have it pulled down years and years ago but didn’t for some reason. It’s never bothered the wall.”

  “Let’s take a look at it.”

  He strode across the meadow, Arthur trailing behind. A hearty English oak, by the looks of it. Laying his hand on the trunk, he walked around it and stumbled over something at the base. What was that? He knelt and pushed away the grass. A marker with an angel engraved on it.

  “Is this what I think it is?”

  Arthur shifted his weight. “It’s an old grave, sir. The tree grew up around it, I’m told.”

  A large drop of rain hit John’s head. More drops started coming down with the suddenness and velocity of cannon fire, and he and Arthur ran to the great hall. They were only damp by the time they reached its wide opening. John peered out at the horses. They seemed fine but were huddled together with heads down. He rubbed his bad leg. It ached from the run. He limped over to a dry spot. Better sit down and rest it.

  “You didn’t hurt your leg, did you, sir?” Arthur asked.

  “No, it aches a little, but it’ll be fine. I just need to rest for a few minutes before we start back.”

  “I think I should try to go back to the Hall and fetch a coach for you, sir. We won’t be able to ride fast in this. It may take an hour or so to get back.”

  John rubbed his leg. “Maybe it will let up soon.”

  “I’ve lived here all my life, sir. This lot could go on for a while.”

  He was right. It used to rain like this in London. And his mother had told him how she’d be stuck inside for days. He relented, and Arthur made a dash for the horses. He returned a minute or so later with Fortis.

  “I’ll go faster with just one horse, my lord.” He wiped water from his face. “With your permission, I’ll ride Fortis back when I come with the coach.”

  “That’s fine. Just be careful.” John rose, took the reins from him, and pulled the horse inside.

  He disappeared behind the rain. John pulled out his handkerchief and wiped down his horse. ”Sorry I can’t do better than that,” he said when it was soaked through.

 
Fortis rumbled and nudged him.

  Now where to sit? His leg still ached. An old fireplace lay farther inside and had a low ledge. Better than the ground he’d been sitting on. Within several minutes, the slight ache in his thigh disappeared, and he stood and walked on it. Much better now. The sprint to the cellar hadn’t bothered it much, but had he attempted to stay astride Fortis in the rain for almost an hour, he would not have made it to the ball the day after tomorrow.

  He ran a hand through his damp hair. Miss Abbott and every other eligible young lady would certainly be thrown at him. At least Thomas would be there too. He considered the man his friend, his being his employee notwithstanding. He and Miss Howard were good people.

  Her warm nature tried to thread its way around him, and he strode to the edge of the wide opening. The other side of the ruins and the tree that he and Arthur had been looking at earlier were just visible through the sheets of falling rain.

  John tapped a fist against the stone. If the grave were as old as Arthur said, the marker would be more worn. The face of the childlike angel on the stone was still smooth for the most part, not pocked and marked by time and weather. And wouldn’t it be marked with the name of the child that died? He’d been to enough graveyards to recognize a child’s grave when he saw it. Arthur knew more than he let on.

  Movement caught his attention. A form emerged from the square tower and moved to the tree. It stood there a moment then disappeared.

  What on earth had that been? Or, rather, who? Mrs. Wilcox’s ghost from the story Arthur told him? No. He was a reasonable man of science. It had to have been some trick of the wind and rain. He walked over to Fortis and rubbed his neck. There were no such things as ghosts.

  Then he heard the faint crunch of gravel.

  He peered into the dimmer part of the cellar. Had Arthur come back for some reason? He walked back to the doorway. Water and a small portion of light dripped in just on the other side of it from a hole somewhere above. He looked to the right as he stepped through. Nothing there. He turned to the left. Had he heard something?

  A wet form walked straight into him, and he stumbled backward. He grasped a delicate pair of shoulders as he regained his footing and looked into the twin orbs of crystal blue staring up at him.

  “Miss Howard!”

  CHAPTER 15

  She wore no bonnet. Had it blown off? The rain had molded her golden hair along the soft curves of her cheekbones. Her fiery hands splayed lightly across his chest, hands that could surely feel how his heart was responding to her being all but in his arms. And her lips—he stepped back and released her. No. That thought had not just crossed his mind.

  “Lord Turner.” Her voice was soft and raspy. She shivered and swayed slightly, catching herself by laying a hand against the stone wall next to her. “I ... I thought you and Mr. Wilcox had ridden off.”

  “You mean to tell me that was you out there at the tree?” He tore at the buttons of his coat and pulled it off.

  “You saw me.”

  That was not a question. She averted her gaze as he maneuvered the coat over her shoulders. Something wasn’t quite right. She wiped her wet cheek, and he tipped his head. Her eyes were red.

  “You’ve been crying.”

  “The rain ran into my eyes.” She dipped her face away and folded his coat around her. “Thank you.” She walked over to Fortis and laid a hand on his neck. “So this is why I thought you both had left. You brought him in here.”

  Something had upset her. But what? “What were you doing out in the rain?”

  A slight pause. “I got caught on the way to visit a friend.”

  He strode to the opening and peered out into the torrent. “Where are your horse and the cart, then?”

  “I decided to walk.” She smoothed Fortis’s sleek coat. “If you don’t mind my asking, why were you out in the rain today, my lord?”

  Why was she trying to sidetrack him? “I hadn’t been here yet, and I wanted to see what needed done to the square tower for myself. But you never really answered my question. Why were you standing out in the rain just now?”

  “It’s a silly reason.”

  “I thought we already established that you are not silly.”

  “That tree is special to me.” She gathered his coat closer and sat on the edge of the fireplace. “When I was a child, Uncle William— Lord Renshaw—had a mind to have it cut down. He was worried it would damage the wall of the ruins. I begged him to let it be.” Her face reddened. “I told him God Himself had decided it needed to be there, just for me. My uncle relented, and it has never bothered the wall. He used to say I was the tree’s little angel. In time, we took to calling it the Angel Tree. I thought to come visit it today, and it began to rain.”

  “That explains the marker, then.”

  “Yes. My uncle had it placed there only a few years ago.”

  No wonder she’d been crying. She had come to remember William.

  Fortis gave a rumble and yanked him back to the matter at hand. “Arthur has gone for a coach. It was easier for him to leave Fortis here with me. Your way home will be warm and dry.”

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  “Actually,” he said as he sat down across from her on the far side of the fireplace, “I would like to thank you for looking for someone to help care for Peter Fletcher.”

  She tilted her head. “I am only doing my duty.”

  “You regularly go above and beyond that duty. It heartens me, knowing the tenants are under your care.” He praised her; she turned a beautiful shade of pink, and he had the urge to praise her even more. He shouldn’t do that to her, to either of them. But what was he supposed to do when someone did something that deserved a kind word? Say nothing?

  “I just don’t want to see them sent to the workhouse,” she said.

  “They won’t be,” he declared. “At least, not by me. I’m doing everything I can to find work for Mr. Fletcher.”

  She fingered a button on his coat. “Does it help?”

  No use pretending he didn’t know what she meant. He just had to pretend it didn’t affect him as it did. “I hope it will.”

  The rain lightened some. The tree and the square tower were shimmery outlines, and thin trickles echoed from the rear of the cellar. Would she say anything else? Ask what he meant? No. She wouldn’t. She would know he would not want to go into it. He was almost certain of it.

  “Arthur Wilcox is a very considerate young man,” she said. “Bright too. Too smart, I always thought, for the stables.”

  His heart surged when she broke the silence with this commonplace observation. He clamped a band around it. “Oh?”

  “Yes. Mr. Gregory said he was one of the smartest he’s ever taught at the boys’ school. He even taught a time or two in his place.”

  John nodded. “Did he go on to any other school after that?”

  “No. Although, Mr. Gregory did tutor him for a time. But his mother is eager for him and Joseph to do well at the Hall.”

  “Is there anything else beyond that for the boys and girls around here?”

  “Most of the children do not aspire to anything beyond what our village schools offer. It is enough for them and their families to learn to read and write and, for the girls, how to sew and knit and keep a home.”

  “But to not want something more than that?” He grimaced. “That isn’t what I call progress.”

  “It is progress, my lord. It was once scorned for the poorer class to read and write. Sir James even refused to hire servants who could.”

  “What changed his mind?”

  “His daughter, Isabella Abbott, actually. I understand she insisted at a very young age that he stop the practice.”

  That wasn’t in keeping with his first impression of her. “Good for her.”

  “I know Miss Abbott seems cold and distant, but I understand she is extremely intelligent. Her lady’s maid is a former governess. I am sure you will enjoy getting to know her.”

  Even Mi
ss Howard wanted him to marry. The thought deflated him. It shouldn’t. “You should be aware that I have no intention of marrying her. Or anyone else for that matter.”

  A notch appeared between her brows. “But Ashford Hall needs an heir.”

  “It has an heir.”

  “But you will not live forever, sir.”

  John nudged the dirt with his toe. “I came here to take care of William’s legacy. I will do that to the best of my ability and make sure it will remain that way once I leave this earth.” He went on before she could object further. “Thank you for the tea you sent over.”

  She regarded him for a moment. “You’re most welcome. I trust you are enjoying it.”

  “I am.”

  But that wasn’t quite the truth. It was the exact blend she had served him in her parlor but, try as he might, he couldn’t quite fix it the way she had. Every time he drank it, he found he’d added either too little milk and too much sugar or just the opposite. He’d never had a problem before.

  “And I hope you enjoyed the basket that I sent over with Thomas,” she continued.

  Basket? “Your brother didn’t bring over a basket today.”

  “I mean the basket I sent with him the day you arrived.”

  “I’m sorry, he never mentioned it.”

  “I see.” She waved a hand. “That’s quite all right. There wasn’t anything in it the Hall didn’t already have.”

  All the same, he would ask about it when he returned to the Hall.

  The rain strengthened its efforts and slapped at the ground. The fresh, wet scent in the air doubled. Miss Howard shifted and released a deep sigh. Without thought, he spoke.

  “Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;

  Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;

  Thy fate is the common fate of all,

  Into each life some rain must fall,

  Some days must be dark and dreary.”

  Good humor laced Miss Howard’s reply. “I gather you are enjoying the library, my lord. But I can’t recall who—”

  “Longfellow.”

  “A fellow countryman. I should have known.”

  “Do you like to read?”