Chapter 23
The following morning, I took my breakfast in my room. Nellie, who had at least temporarily escaped from Christine’s demands, brought me my tray when I told her I was ill and didn’t want to intrude upon everyone else. I don’t know whether she believed that or not, but I didn’t really care. I wasn’t ready to see Henley yet, and didn’t know if I ever would be. The only time I ventured out was to go down the hallway to Eliza’s room, just to let her know I hadn’t abandoned her. She asked about Henley, but I found ways to change the subject pretty quickly, only commenting that I’d heard Mr Beauford was holding his own. Nellie had told me that, since Mr Beauford had taken a turn for the worst last night, Father Gabriel barely left his side. She said the family physician floated in and out of the old man’s room several times a day, usually shaking his head from side to side as though he didn’t know what else he could do, and that Mr Beauford might depart at any moment.
‘Then I shall continue to pray for him, I swear,’ Eliza said, ‘and for Henley, of course. I pray for you, too, Rebecca,’ she said softly, ‘even though I don’t think you believe in the power of prayer. Or maybe even in God.’ She paused. ‘I’ve come to love you as a sister, Rebecca, and God loves you, too, more than you know. You’ve brought me much comfort, and I’ll be forever grateful for having met you. I’ll see you in heaven someday, I know it. It doesn’t matter whether you believe or not, you see,’ she added. ‘God loves you either way.’ Then she fell silent, and I could see her lips moving in inaudible prayer. I left her room quietly.
If she only knew that I was the one thing God didn’t intend to create. I was coming to believe that my very existence went against nature itself, and for that I knew I would not be welcome anywhere.
I had no sooner returned to my room when I heard a gentle knock at the door. It was Henley. His voice held such a tone of entreaty that I couldn’t help but lean against the inside of the door as I imagined he was leaning up against the outside. ‘Rebecca, please. Rebecca, won’t you please come out? I need you. I promise not to touch you. Please? Father has asked to see me, and the doctor says it’s most urgent. I must go to him now, and I’d like to have you by my side.’ His voice caught in his throat. ‘If I ask nothing of you ever again, would you please come downstairs with me now?’
How could I not open the door after that? I took a deep breath and very slowly looked outside. He looked dishevelled in a way I’d never expected to see my handsome Henley. He had what Cynthia’s father used to call a dark five o’clock shadow, and I knew he hadn’t shaved for at least two days. His clothes were all rumpled, and I could swear he must have slept in them. I didn’t care. He was still my Henley, and he needed me. I reached up and smoothed down his hair a bit.
‘We can’t have you going in to see your father looking this rough.’ I clucked my tongue. ‘I’ll go with you, yes, of course.’ And though I’d promised myself I wouldn’t say it to him, I knew it was the only thing that would give him the strength to go and see his father upon his deathbed. I took a deep breath and said, ‘And yes, Henley, you’re right.’
He looked at me with a puzzled expression. ‘Right about what?’
‘That I love you, Henley,’ I said very softly. ‘But we must away to your father now. We’ll talk about that later.’ I took his hand, more like a playmate than a lover. ‘Come along, now.’
We descended the stairs like that. There was no passion flying between us as there had been the last time we were together, only the familiar comfort of being in the company of a good friend, as it had been at the beginning of our acquaintance.
When we arrived at Mr Beauford’s door, Henley motioned that I should come inside. I’d have preferred to stay in the hallway, but his eyes implored me. I sat upon a small chair close to the door where Henley could see me, but Mr Beauford would be unaware of my presence. Father Gabriel gave Henley a nod in my direction, as if to question why I was in the room, but Henley merely held a finger to his lips to tell him not to let his father know I was present. Father Gabriel nodded to me as he left the room, so now it was only Henley and his father, with me watching from a distance.
‘Henley, my dear boy,’ Mr Beauford began in a quaking voice.
‘I’m here, Father,’ Henley said, taking his father’s trembling hand.
‘Please sit down, son,’ the old man continued. ‘There are things you must know before I die. Things I’ve withheld from you for far too long.’
Henley’s face creased with concern as he pulled a chair close to his father’s bedside.
Mr Beauford looked up at the ceiling, as though he could see someone floating up above him. He nodded to the invisible figure and said quietly, ‘Yes, I know. I’ll tell him now, my dear.’ Then he turned back to Henley and began. ‘Henley, first I must tell you that I’m not your natural father. Not your biological father. I’ve raised you and loved you as my own, but your mother became pregnant with you by her husband, your real father.’
Henley’s world was visibly rocked and he pulled back from his father in disbelief. We both hung on every word Mr Beauford uttered next.
‘I loved your mother with all my heart, more than I can possibly tell you. I proposed to her, but she accepted the affections of another. Heartbroken, I vowed never to love again. We lived in the same town, and one rainy night she appeared on my doorstep with a tiny baby – you, Henley – wrapped in many blankets. I quickly ushered you both inside and brought you to sit by the fire. Your mother told me that your father, who had joined the Navy, had lost his life at sea when his boat was caught in a terrible storm.’ Mr Beauford paused to take a drink of water from the glass on his nightstand. Henley was in such a state of shock that he couldn’t even hand him the glass, but watched as though he was hearing an awful tale about someone else’s life. I knew in a strange way how he must be feeling, since I too was now living the life of another.
Mr Beauford took a shallow breath and continued his halting story. ‘Your mother wanted me to take you in and raise you as my own child, saying she couldn’t stay. I told her that she wasn’t in the right mind to make such a momentous decision, not so soon after receiving the news of her husband’s death. I begged her to stay the night at least, so we could talk in the morning. Your mother struggled, but soon agreed when I swore on my life that I would raise you as my own.’ He looked up at the ceiling again, as if to let whoever he’d spoken with just before know he’d be joining them very shortly. ‘When morning came she was gone, leaving you behind. She’d written me a note, asking me to keep true to my promise if I’d ever loved her. I sent the police looking for her – I didn’t know what she was going to do and I was scared at the possibilities, but they never found her. She was presumed dead, although they never found a body. They thought it might have been suicide, but that’s not Ruth. Not her. But you see, Henley, I’d promised your mother that I would take care of you for the rest of your life. I said I’d make sure you didn’t go without anything, but I know I haven’t provided the emotional support you needed. I know that now, son.’
Henley visibly jerked back upon hearing the word ‘son’, as though it was a dagger in his heart. He hadn’t said a word this entire time, and I knew he’d forgotten I was witnessing the whole thing as well. Now he only asked one simple question. ‘What was my real father’s name?’
‘Benton,’ answered Mr Beauford. ‘Your parents were George and Ruth Benton.’ He paused for a moment, because his voice was growing steadily weaker and softer. ‘I have to tell you, Henley, that though I’ve done my best to provide everything you’ve needed in the way of food, clothes, shelter and education, when Ruth … went away, I became obsessed with finding the secret to escaping death, so that I could keep on looking for her. I know she’s still alive, still looks exactly the same as she did that first night I met you. It’s as if she’s managed to stop time. And I know your mother’s waiting for me – I’ve seen her. I’ve seen her right there!’ Mr Beauford feebly pointed towards the window, but Henley d
idn’t even glance in that direction.
Henley’s lips turned pale as he saw Mr Beauford get riled up, but the old man was blind to everything but the vision only he could see. He continued as Henley shut his eyes.
‘Ruth’s waiting for me. I just had to beat death. That was all I had to do.’ Mr Beauford’s hands started to shake as they clasped each other, as if hoping to find comfort. ‘Son, I’m dying. And only now do I realize I’ve wasted my entire life in the pursuit of this folly.’ I saw Henley cringe again at the word ‘son’. ‘All I want is your forgiveness. I should have been focusing my attention on you, since you were the only part of Ruth that remained here on this earth. You, my son—’
Henley angrily jumped to his feet. ‘I am not your son! You … you old hypocrite!’ he screamed. Mr Beauford shook his head as if he didn’t understand the words Henley was using. ‘You’re nothing but a liar. You just use everyone around you … If you see my mother in the afterlife, tell her she should be happy that she left when she did.’ He stormed out of the room, not even seeing me. The force of his anger nearly pushed me off my chair in his wake.
‘Son – Henley!’
I glanced back to see Mr Beauford sink into his pillows. Buried in a mound of comforters, he looked like a small child; vulnerable and afraid of something he didn’t know and couldn’t understand. I shut my eyes, trying to rid myself of that image. So this was death.
Chapter 24
Dazed by everything Mr Beauford had just revealed, I went outside to take some deep breaths of fresh air. I could only imagine the intense shock Henley was experiencing. He’d fled to his room and bolted the door behind him. I knew because I’d tried to follow him after telling the doctor to go in and tend to Mr Beauford. When I tapped at Henley’s door, I heard the bolt slide shut.
Knowing Henley needed time to process everything he’d just heard, I went to the stables and had a chat with Bessie. Wellesley wasn’t around, so I could talk freely rather than whispering to her as I had many times before. I told her all about Mr Beauford’s deception of Henley, about Henley’s disillusionment now that his entire world had been turned upside down. I told her that I’d fallen deeply in love with Henley, but that it was an utterly hopeless situation from which I must extricate myself, and the sooner, the better. She snorted at that, as if agreeing with me. I fed her a carrot and stroked her soft nose for a couple of minutes before heading back to the main house.
I walked slowly, wondering how Henley was feeling now. Nearly an hour had passed, but I knew this was something that might take him a lifetime to get over. I wanted to help him, but had absolutely no idea how. Once inside the house, I aimlessly wandered from the parlour to the kitchen, unsure of where I was going or what I would do. I found myself once again outside Henley’s door. I was about to knock when I thought better of it and started to step away, but then I heard the sound of muffled sobs coming from within. I knocked on the door and called softly, ‘Henley, dearest, please open the door. Is there anything at all I can do to help you?’
I stood there, praying he would open up and let me see him, though I had no clue what I could possibly say that might make his hurt any less. ‘Henley, darling … please just let me see you. I’m not going away until you open the door.’
I heard him blow his nose and knew he was trying to make himself a bit more presentable. I couldn’t have cared less what he looked like at that moment. I just wanted to hold him and comfort him. But when he opened the door, his eyes were red and bloodshot from crying, and he had the look of a defeated man about him. His shoulders were slumped, so unlike his usual sharp posture.
Regardless, I took a step towards him, thinking to give him a sisterly hug to reassure him, but he recoiled from me the same way he had from his father when Mr Beauford had last called him ‘son’.
‘What do you want? I don’t want your pity, for God’s sake,’ he growled. His voice sounded like gravel. He flung the door open wider. ‘Come in, if you’re that reckless. I’m not a pretty sight, and I won’t be for some time to come.’ He crossed to his writing table, where two snifters and a carafe of brandy stood. ‘Would you join me in a drink?’ he asked with false gaiety, waving me towards a chair.
I shook my head no. ‘I’m afraid I’m not a drinker,’ I said softly. ‘But I completely understand if you need to drown your sorrow—’
A guttural laugh escaped him; unlike his carefree belly laugh that he favoured me with sometimes, this laugh had an air of danger about it, and it frightened me. ‘Drown? What a cruel choice of words, considering my dear daddy drowned at sea.’ He began pouring himself a snifter of the brown liquid, then thought better of it and took a deep swig directly from the carafe. He ambled over to sit on the bed, dangling his legs over the edge of the mattress as he faced me, holding the carafe at calf-level in both hands. I’d never expected to see him like this. I had no idea what to say next, for fear that anything I came up with would set him off again.
He took another long pull from the carafe. ‘You know, “Rebecca”—’ and now his voice dripped with sarcasm ‘—if that’s even truly your name, because something tells me it’s not …’ He smacked his lips and had another drink. ‘You know, Miss Righteous Honour— Are you afraid you’ll be disgraced by kissing me and having me marry another?’ He laughed at his own wit. ‘That’s a fine name for you, let’s change it to that, what do you say? Miss Whoever You Are, I don’t expect you to understand this at all, because I surely do not, but I have absolutely no idea who I am right now. Which really makes us perfect for one another, my sweet, because I don’t know who the hell you are, either. And neither do you, I suspect.’ He was getting drunk rapidly, and hitting closer to the truth than he could possibly know. I wanted to leave, but was frozen there in my chair.
‘You needn’t worry about me disgracing your reputation,’ he mumbled as he set the carafe on the floor and began to unbutton his shirt. ‘I can’t even stand right now, much less do anything to a delicate flower such as you. All that’s left is for me to sleep this off.’ He fell back on his bed, then turned onto his side and looked at me with a terrible sadness in his beautiful eyes. ‘Go on, get out of here, before I embarrass myself further. I must look a sight.’ With that, he rolled onto his back and almost at once fell into a deep, if troubled, sleep. I crossed over to him, pulled his shoes off and covered him up with a blanket.
‘Yes, you are a sorry sight at the moment, Henley,’ I said as I gently kissed his forehead, ‘but I still love you.’ I quietly made my way out of his room, hoping he would fall asleep to numb his pain, though I was certain he’d be hung over whenever he did awake.
Chapter 25
The next morning, I chose to have breakfast in my room once again. I knew Henley’s head would be throbbing from his hangover and didn’t want to cause him more pain on any level; he needed time to sort things out for himself. As was my wont these past few days, I saddled up Thunder and went for a ride, but took my time about it. I breathed deeply, and when we got close to the old mill, I dropped the reins and let Thunder walk wherever he chose. This wonderful horse and I had formed a mutual admiration society now. We trusted one another. I extended my arms straight out to either side and did my best to embrace the day. I was desperately attempting to feel alive in this moment, focused, even if only for a short while. The pangs in my stomach had increased throughout the night, and I knew this was a signal that I didn’t have long left in this reality.
‘There, Thunder, good boy,’ I murmured as we stopped under the spreading branches of one of the trees. I dismounted and let the horse help himself to some grass. I knew he wouldn’t take off, and even if he did, a long walk back to the estate wouldn’t hurt me. However, I was loath to return for other reasons. I’d been awakened by a dream that Mr Beauford had died in the night. Yet when I descended the stairs to slip out for my ride, no one was astir in the house. The intuitive feeling only grew stronger, though, and I knew at the core of my being that when I got back, the old gentleman would ha
ve passed on.
I skipped a couple of rocks over the water, going over my memories of my short time with Henley. I knew I was procrastinating, delaying my inevitable return to the house. Growing bored after a while, I sat down where Henley and I had sat when we visited this lovely spot. Closing my eyes, I tried to relive that innocent day, but I kept feeling waves of desire pulse through me as the scene of our kiss a few nights ago washed over my memory and sent shivers through my body. The pain in my stomach was slightly muffled by these pangs, but it remained ever present, ever growing.
‘Now, Rebecca,’ I told myself out loud, ‘or whatever my name is these days, you must relinquish such feelings for Henley. They’ll only frustrate you more, and cloud your judgement. Besides, his mind is certainly not on what happened between us. His father is gone, and he’s still in shock after learning that the man who raised him wasn’t truly his father at all. You must go back and be strong for him, like a good friend. No, like a sister. He needs support. You can do this!’ I finished my pep talk, took a few more deep breaths and stood up.
To my surprise, Thunder had crept up silently behind me, and now he gently put his head over my shoulder, nuzzling me.
‘Aw, what’s the matter, Thunder?’ I teased softly. ‘I’ve been ignoring you, haven’t I? Well, I apologize, sir.’ I gave him a curtsey and he gently pawed the ground with a front hoof. ‘Oh, ready to go, are you? Very well, let’s be on our way.’
Reluctantly, I mounted the horse and turned his head homewards. He wasn’t in a big hurry, either, he just seemed to feel that we needed to get on with the day. Animals are amazingly intuitive at times, I thought. Why can’t people be like that more often?
The Seventh Miss Hatfield Page 21