The Seventh Miss Hatfield

by Anna Caltabiano

  I couldn’t help but notice the dry tone of Henley’s voice and I wondered if Willie could hear it as well.

  ‘Not as happy as Mother is with Mary’s debut into society. She’s almost as excited about Mary’s first season as Mary is!’ Willie betrayed no sign of having heard the dark notes in Henley’s voice, and he ploughed on, apparently trying to distract Henley. ‘I think Mary’s more enraptured by the idea of having a season than with the actual season itself.’

  There was an awkward pause as Willie and I both waited for Henley to say something. When it was clear that he was just going to sit there staring at us with blank eyes, I tried to jump in, but Willie spoke again before I could.

  ‘Mary always had that fantasy of marrying a wealthy titled lord after only her first season. Remember when you two used to make up stories about that? I blame you for encouraging her.’ Willie laughed, but Henley’s expression remained unchanged. ‘We would all end up buying neighbouring houses, though we’d spend so much time with each other that we might as well be living together …’ Willie trailed off in the face of Henley’s persistent silence.

  A servant I didn’t recognize left Mr Beauford’s room, carrying an empty glass on a tray. She nodded at Willie and me as she passed.

  I caught Willie’s gaze, and he understood without me having to tell him that I wanted some time alone with Henley. He obliged, smoothing his crumpled hat in his hands before entering Mr Beauford’s room. Although he closed the door behind him, I could still hear the mixed mumble of voices. I couldn’t distinguish individual words, but Willie’s reassuring tones were soothing.

  I knelt down in front of Henley, who had his face in his hands again. We sat there in silence, listening to each other breathing, and to the muffled voices next door. Then he gathered himself together.

  ‘I–I don’t know how I feel,’ Henley said. ‘I’m terrified for my father, yet … there’s a part of me which can’t feel anything for this man I hardly know. I know it’s horrible – I know I’m not supposed to be numb like this. He’s my own father—’

  ‘Henley. It’s all right,’ I said. ‘You don’t have to feel a certain way. I know you have conflicting emotions, and that’s normal. You don’t have to justify anything to yourself or to me and Willie. We’re here for you and that’s not going to change. Your father will be all right. What did the physician say?’

  Henley drew a shaky breath. ‘It’s just that I can see him slowly going insane. I know it and there’s nothing I can do about it. When I was younger, I remember asking him about his love of collecting antiques. He said he collected them because they’re immortal; they were here long before us and will remain long after we’re gone. But his collecting has become an obsession, not a love.’ Henley jerked his head up to look at me. ‘He’s been driven insane by his fear of dying. It’s all he ever thinks about now. He practically has that chaplain by his side day and night, as if that alone will ward off death. Father Gabriel even appears to be indulging my father, pretending he actually takes an interest in the things he collects. He’s using him, thinking that if he yields to my father’s every whim, my father will give his chapel more money. That’s what everyone’s ultimately after, isn’t it? His money. That’s why they give in to all his desires … even this sickening fixation of his. I–I actually thought it would pass … that he’d somehow get better, but today … Today I really saw what his insanity can do to him. I saw the way the people in the park looked at him. I’ve never seen eyes like that. They judged him. They labelled him and I know he wouldn’t want that. I know he’s a greater man than that, and he deserves more. But I know he’s not well, either.’

  ‘Margaret, Mr Beauford has asked for you.’ Willie was at the door.

  I nodded and stood, but paused at the doorway and looked back.

  ‘Come on, I’m afraid you look paler than your father,’ Willie said as he grabbed hold of Henley’s arm. ‘To bed with you, and that’s not a suggestion.’

  Henley didn’t resist and I watched him stagger down the hall next to Willie, just as Mr Beauford had staggered along beside us.

  I closed my eyes for a long second and entered Mr Beauford’s room.

  ‘Close the door behind you.’ His voice was stronger than I’d expected it to be.

  After I’d closed the door as he instructed, I sat in the vacant seat next to the bed. Unsure of what to do, I folded my hands in my lap before spying a glass of water on the bedside table and asking him if he’d like some.

  ‘No, thank you,’ he said. ‘If I were thirsty, I’d be drinking water right now. I’m not sick, you know, I’m perfectly capable of picking up a glass. It was just a misunderstanding. All I did was mistake someone for Ruth.’

  ‘But Ruth … She’s not here any more.’

  Mr Beauford looked away from me. ‘Pass me that pillow beside you,’ he said.

  I did as he asked and he put it behind his back to help him sit up taller.

  ‘I miss her,’ he said. ‘I just don’t know why she won’t come home.’

  ‘She’s—’

  ‘Yes, she’s dead. Was that what you were about to tell me? But she’s not, you see. I saw her a few years ago.’ Mr Beauford nodded to himself as he spoke. ‘She was standing right there.’ He pointed towards his window. ‘I remember it as if it were yesterday.

  ‘I was wearing my smoking jacket, for it was hours after dinner. I was thinking of retiring to bed when I glanced out of the window and saw her. I saw Ruth. She looked exactly the same as when I’d last seen her. She was standing on the sidewalk, right there. At first, I wondered if I’d drunk one too many glasses of brandy after dinner, but when she looked up at me, I was sure it was her.

  ‘I remember the moment our eyes met. She looked scared. I wanted to tell her there was nothing to be scared of, but when I opened the balcony doors, she was gone.

  ‘I ran out of the house to look for her. I looked for her for hours before Jim found me and brought me home. He tried to convince me that I’d mistaken someone else for her.’ Mr Beauford laughed, scaring me. ‘But there’s no mistaking that face. Ruth was – and still is – the prettiest girl I’ve ever laid eyes on. She has a special air about her.’ Mr Beauford smiled up at me and reached over to pat my hand. ‘You look a bit like her, you know. You two would have got along. She has some sense of humour … You’d love it. Everyone does.’

  I stood and began to back away towards the door when Mr Beauford started using the present tense for Ruth, as if she were still alive.

  ‘You need your rest, Uncle. We’ll visit you in the morning,’ I said, but Mr Beauford didn’t seem to hear me over his own laughter.

  That evening, I dismissed Nellie early, then waited in silence in my room until dark. Shadows flitted about, cast by the single candle I’d lit at dusk. They snatched at my feet and grabbed at the empty air around me. I knew one of the shadows was mine, but somehow I couldn’t find it. Footsteps crept about, making the old house groan as if it were tossing and turning in its sleep. Then all at once the house was still, and all its inhabitants were fast asleep.

  I took the candle and felt my way along the wall to the door. My steps were strangely sure, even though I’d only been in this house a short time. It was as if my body had memorized the house itself, and when the house breathed, my body breathed with it.

  I managed to find the back stairs and, from there, the servants’ hallway from which I’d first entered the house. It was as cramped and cold as I remembered it being. When I opened the servants’ entrance, relief washed over me with the cool night breeze. I blew my candle out, thankful to have the gas street lamps to guide me to Miss Hatfield’s house.

  ‘Go down Second Avenue and turn right onto East Sixty-Sixth Street, past Park Avenue.’ I still remembered Miss Hatfield’s directions to the Beauford house, and I muttered them to myself for company as I followed them in reverse and made the lonely walk back to Miss Hatfield’s.

  Having knocked at least four times, I told myself I’d wa
it a few seconds more before turning back. Where else could she be, after all?

  ‘Miss Hatfield?’ My voice had a rasp to it I didn’t recognize.

  She didn’t look at all surprised to see me, even though it was around one in the morning. She invited me in as if I was calling in the early afternoon. ‘I’ll just go and brew some tea,’ she said, and I nodded, amused. As if tea would bring a tone of civility to our discussions of stealing a painting.

  I sat down on the overstuffed pea-green couch in the parlour, just as I’d done the first time I met Miss Hatfield. I wondered whether I’d have guessed anything at all of her past if she hadn’t told me. Would I have thought even for a moment that there was anything amiss? I realized that her smooth demeanour betrayed nothing – not even time itself.

  ‘I hope you like Earl Grey,’ she said as she poured. I held the hot cup in my hands, waiting for Miss Hatfield to speak, but the silence dragged on.

  ‘This tea … It’s delicious.’

  ‘I was surprised to see you at the ice cream parlour today.’ Miss Hatfield’s abruptness startled me and made me swallow hard. After all that had happened, I could hardly believe our shopping trip had only been this morning.

  ‘I–I was surprised to see you, too.’ My mind scrambled to find a way to tell Miss Hatfield that I hadn’t been distracted from my mission.

  ‘Why were you there?’

  ‘I could ask you the same question.’ Even I was surprised by my defensive words. Perhaps she had something to hide herself.

  ‘What I do to reminisce about my past is none of your concern.’ Her tone was chilling, her face a white mask. ‘But you completing your task is, unfortunately, mine.’

  ‘I was there to get more information about the painting.’

  ‘In an ice cream parlour?’ Miss Hatfield was quick to squint her eyes at me, but I tried to brush it off.

  ‘The painting that was stolen from you,’ I began, ‘it’s being moved to Mr Beauford’s country home.’ I went on to explain that I’d posed as Mr Beauford’s niece Margaret so that I’d be taken to the country as well, in the hope of securing the portrait.

  ‘I see,’ she said. ‘Taking the painting appears to be a more difficult task than I anticipated.’ Miss Hatfield eyed me more closely, as if trying to decide whether the mission was really all that difficult or if I was just incompetent. ‘If you can’t bring it back to me, destroy it.’

  ‘The painting? Destroy the painting?’

  ‘Yes.’

  I was startled by this new instruction, but tried not to show it. Instead, I talked further about posing as Mr Beauford’s niece.

  I waited for Miss Hatfield to praise me for blending into the family and devising split-second adaptations of our plan, or even to question some aspects of my tale, but her face remained grave.

  ‘He has a son, doesn’t he?’ Miss Hatfield asked.

  ‘Who? Mr Beauford?’ Her question startled me.

  ‘Yes. I don’t know his son’s name – but he seems convinced you’re his cousin?’

  ‘I–I don’t know him that well, but I don’t think he’s suspicious at all.’

  Miss Hatfield squinted at me again. ‘Wait for my instructions once you’re at the country house,’ she said, then paused. ‘And … who was that young man you were with?’

  I knew she was talking about Henley in the ice cream parlour, but I was surprised to learn that she didn’t know he was Mr Beauford’s son. I wondered where I should start. Yes, I’d already told her the necessary details concerning the painting, but there was so much more I needed to say. I wanted to tell her about Henley, but I knew Miss Hatfield would disapprove. I decided to make nothing of it.

  ‘He’s just some gentleman’s son.’ I took another sip of tea so I wouldn’t have to add anything more.

  ‘You two appeared to be having a riveting conversation. Where on earth did you find time to meet him?’

  I forced myself to inhale a deep breath, hoping that would calm me. How long had she been there watching us? How much did she know?

  I opened my mouth, unsure what to say, but Miss Hatfield spoke first.

  ‘Don’t let him become a distraction. You have a lot to focus on as it is. We don’t need another complication.’

  I nodded, not trusting my voice.

  ‘I thought you knew better.’ She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples as if she was a hundred years old. ‘I should have spent more time teaching you about the consequences of various actions for us.’ She paused again, then looked right into my eyes. ‘Do you remember what I told you about the fourth Miss Hatfield?’

  ‘That she died in an asylum?’

  ‘Her fiancé locked her up.’ Miss Hatfield’s voice was hard and emotionless.

  ‘And she died in there because they tortured her?’

  ‘Precisely. She thought she could trust someone. That was her downfall. Foolish, really. Idiotic.’

  Miss Hatfield’s strong words made me swallow a bitter lump in my throat. She spoke as if she believed love was a choice that could be made willingly, and I couldn’t find it in myself to disagree with her. What did I know of love, anyway?

  ‘Love will weaken you,’ she said. ‘We’re not like other people. We’re not made like them. You won’t even be able to physically tolerate staying in one period of time for long. Your body knows it’s not supposed to be here in this time. It’s uncomfortable. Unnatural, even. And you’re not only putting yourself in danger, but also me. Loving him will cost you my life as well as yours. It’s a selfish thing and you can’t afford to give in to it.’

  When I couldn’t respond, my hands tried to keep busy. They found a loose thread at the seam of my dress and began to work at it, dragging it out so it appeared to grow in my hands.

  ‘Don’t fall in love with him,’ Miss Hatfield said. ‘If you do, it’ll lead to your downfall.’

  She stood up, signalling the end of our conversation.

  Dawn chased at my heels as I crept back into the Beauford house. Once in my room, I changed into my nightgown so Nellie would think I’d slept, but in reality I spent the rest of those placid hours awake and worrying about what was to come. And, despite Miss Hatfield’s warning, with thoughts of Henley.

  Chapter 11

  When Nellie crept into my room in the morning, I was already sitting upright in bed.

  ‘Oh, miss, I’m sorry not to have been here when you woke.’ She was quick to apologize and continued apologizing when I told her I’d been awake for hours before she arrived.

  Nellie opened the curtains and pulled out a morning dress for me to wear to breakfast.

  ‘Will this do?’ she asked, holding up a dress with blue flowers on it.

  ‘Yes, that’ll be perfect.’

  I’d learned that it was easier to say yes than to explain to Nellie that I simply didn’t care what colour my dress was, or what kind of peonies I would prefer on my bedside table, or anything like that. She didn’t know that I had more on my mind.

  ‘Did Mr—’ I realized I didn’t know Willie’s last name. ‘Did Willie spend the night here?’

  Nellie’s hands froze when I called Willie by his first name.

  ‘I didn’t realize you and Mr Garner were so familiar with each other.’ Nellie’s mouth was agape, but she quickly began apologizing again. ‘E–excuse me. That’s none of my business. The younger Mr Beauford did ask Mr Garner to stay the night.’

  ‘No need to apologize,’ I said. ‘I’m afraid it skipped Henley’s mind to properly introduce us, so I never discovered his full name.’ I remembered how Henley had in fact forgotten to introduce us altogether. ‘And Henley? How’s he faring after the scare he had yesterday?’ I knew what had occurred in the park would already be common knowledge. The servants knew most, if not all, of what occurred among the folks ‘upstairs’.

  ‘I’m not sure how he is faring, but he did go out riding early this morning before breakfast. He should be back by now.’

  I rushed to get dresse
d and ran downstairs to see Henley. I knew that if he was back, he’d probably be at breakfast.

  ‘Someone flew down the stairs … and not too gracefully, I might add. I could hear you all the way.’ Henley was seated at the head of the table in Mr Beauford’s absence, looking at me. It reminded me of all Henley would someday inherit.

  I playfully swatted at Henley before taking my seat next to him. Across from me, Willie was already devouring a piece of toast overladen with marmalade.

  ‘We could hear you thundering along from a mile away,’ Willie chimed in. ‘How unladylike.’ He wrinkled his nose in a comical way.

  ‘And did you know she hates to shop? Or to have things bought for her?’ Henley said.

  ‘Nonsense, all women like to be showered with gifts!’

  I couldn’t help but notice how familiar Willie was getting with me. I knew yesterday’s events had a lot to do with that. The frightful experience had brought us close, but still, we’d only met the day before. I paused, remembering that he also believed I was Henley’s cousin.

  ‘You’re lucky you’re too far away to swat,’ I said, and Willie wiggled his eyebrows in a way that reminded me of Henley.

  A lot of the things Willie did reminded me of Henley. I accredited that largely to their similar upbringing. But there were many things Willie did that startled me. I realized that I expected him to act like Henley in a time when it was unusual for people to act like Henley.

  When a servant took their plates, I saw that difference again. Henley thanked her, while Willie didn’t even acknowledge her.

  I tried to let that go. Willie had somehow brought Henley back to his former self and I was thankful for that.

  ‘How’s your father?’ Willie asked suddenly. I held my breath, expecting Henley to relapse, to return to how he’d acted yesterday, but to my surprise he answered the question directly.

  ‘He’s well enough to travel. Dr Hanville said the fresh country air will be best for him.’

  ‘Is he coming to breakfast?’ I enquired.

  ‘I asked them to take up a tray for him when he woke. They said he wanted to come down, but I thought it would be best for him to conserve his strength.’