Glitter

by Abbi Glines

  Stopping, I waited for my eyes to adjust to the darkness and saw the pale blue of Miriam’s gown shimmer against the moonlight. She turned then and saw me at the arched entrance to the gardens. I couldn’t see her face clearly in the shadows, but I knew I had surprised her by my appearance.

  “Lord Ashington,” she replied.

  “Try again,” I said, taking a few steps in her direction so that I may see her clearly.

  She paused but for a moment then I heard a small sigh before she said, “Ashington, then. I didn’t realize you were out tonight. I needed fresh air. I do hope that it is okay.”

  It was more than okay. She had given me exactly what I had sought. Time with her alone, again. This afternoon had been much too brief.

  “I want you to be comfortable here. You may do as you please. There is never any reason to ask,” I assured her.

  Her head tilted to the side and long red hair spilled over one shoulder. “Did you also need some fresh country air?” she asked.

  I nodded once. “Indeed. It is hard to ignore the gentle call of the night whilst in the countryside.”

  “I thought the gardens were lovely in the daylight, but there is something magical about them tonight with only the full moon to illuminate their beauty.”

  Today I had led her to the gardens on our walk to continue our conversation I had hoped to deepen. Miriam was so taken with the flowers she had been distracted and I had, in return, enjoyed watching her enjoyment.

  “I am told my mother loved these gardens. After her death, they remained the same. My father never had them changed. My stepmother hated it out here, however.” I stopped then. This was not information that I needed to share with Miriam. Perhaps my future wife but Miriam was not that just yet.

  “They must be very special to you,” she said simply.

  “They are the thing I love most about this place,” I replied. For that was the truth. Here was something that had been my mother’s. Something my father hadn’t changed.

  Miriam was silent, staring off into the darkness for a moment, and I watched her. The delicate line of her chin and soft plump form of her lips were quite near perfect. Did she realize that? She didn’t seem the sort of female that understood her physical beauty and the power it wielded. Or was that an act? There was so much I didn’t know about Miriam Bathurst.

  “What was your childhood like?” I asked her, thinking of how differently her life must have been. Not because of the difference in wealth and title but because of the fact she had both her parents. I understood from her earlier words that she wasn’t close to her mother but what of her father? Was her relationship with her mother strained only because she was sent off to marry a wealthy man to save her family from poverty? There were so many things I did not know and the more I was around Miriam, the more I craved to know her.

  I saw her shoulders drop just a touch, but it was enough to give her away. Then she looked at me. “The truth? It was difficult. Whitney made life bright and happy. The rest of it wasn’t a story one wants to share,” she said. I remembered her words earlier today about her sister bringing love and joy into her life. I had hoped she hadn’t meant her childhood had been difficult, but it appeared it must have been.

  “How is that?” I asked, not wanting her to stop there but fearing I was pushing too hard for information she wasn’t ready to give.

  “I wasn’t a boy,” she said halting my thoughts, and I stared at her confused by her words. “My father wanted a boy and I wasn’t a boy. My twin brother was the boy he wanted and he didn’t live past three days old. I was the child that he wished had died instead.” Her words were almost a whisper.

  I remained silent. More from the horror of what I had just heard than anything else. Did she truly feel that her father had wanted her to die? My struggles with my father paled in comparison. How could someone as bright, witty, and beautiful feel as if they were unwanted by their own parent? My father had made me feel as if I were a disappointment, but I had never believed he wished me dead. No child should grow up believing something so horrible.

  “What of Whitney? Did he want her?” I asked, needing to find a small fact that would clear away this belief that she was unwanted. The idea of Miriam living with that kind of horror bothered me deeply.

  She shrugged then. “He didn’t much care for her either. She wasn’t a boy. However, he ignored her and that was a blessing. I was thankful for that. She’s gentle and sweet. Her spirit couldn’t have handled it if he had chosen to acknowledge her.”

  There was a darkness in Miriam’s voice that warned me I didn’t want to know more. I wasn’t sure she meant to warn me, but it was there. A smart man would stop asking questions and lighten the mood. Wanting to get to know Miriam meant knowing all of her and this was obviously a very large part of who she was. A hate for a dead man began to burn in my gut and I felt helpless to do anything about it. How could I fix damage caused such as this? Knowing I needed to stop asking questions for the answers would only haunt me, I couldn’t seem to do as my head screamed I must.

  “He didn’t ignore you?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “No,” she said as she stared off into the darkness. “He reminded me every day that I wasn’t the child who should have lived. I wasn’t the son he deserved. My life was a curse.” Her voice broke as she said the last word and I closed the space between us.

  I wrapped an arm around her and pulled her to my chest. She didn’t cling to me and cry the way I expected her to do. Women normally broke down that way. I had experienced it more than once. Instead, she simply let me hold her. There were no tears or dramatic sobs. Just the silence of the night surrounding us. The part inside me that had twisted into an ugly hatred of a dead man needed her to cry in my arms so that I could help mend her. Nothing I could do would heal her past, yet I needed to do something.

  “He was wrong,” I told her. I might not know Miriam Bathurst well, but what I did know was she was a loving niece who accepted her aunt no matter her faults and she would do anything for her sister. Even give up her own chance at happiness. Those two attributes were why we were here this weekend. The man who had raised her knew nothing of her. He had lived a bitter life and died without knowing the beauty his oldest daughter was. It was his loss and one he so rightly deserved. Yet as I held her, I knew none of these things mattered for there was a little girl inside who had just wanted to be loved.

  She pulled back from my embrace and looked up at me. Her eyes were damp with unshed tears and she smiled sadly. “I know that now. I didn’t for a very long time, but my father wasn’t a well man. His addictions were a sickness that attacked his mind and eventually his body. I know he never loved me, but I no longer need his love to feel loved.”

  Miriam Bathurst was many things and the more layers I managed to peel back, the more true beauty I found. She hadn’t allowed her childhood to defeat her nor had she let it make her cruel or selfish. She had become strong because of it. She was loyal and she was exactly the kind of mother I wanted for Emma.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Miriam Bathurst

  In the morning light, I was truly embarrassed by my emotional outburst last night in the garden. I had never shared my father’s disdain or perhaps hatred for me with anyone. Yet, somehow, in the safety net of the darkness, it had all come tumbling out. While Lord Ashington, had been truly wonderful about it all, I still felt ridiculous for sharing such intimate details of my life.

  He had been the one asking me questions, but then I was usually very gifted at evading answers. Last night that gift had failed me as I had blurted out all the horrid details of my youth. When I had gone out to the gardens, I expected to be alone. His arrival had caught me unaware and perhaps I had been somewhat vulnerable.

  Whatever the case, I should apologize to our host today. He did not invite us here so that he could counsel me on my troubled childhood. I watched as the lady’s maid, Gertrude, that had been assigned to me finished styling my hair in a loose g
athering on my head with several loose curls, framing my face before standing up.

  “Could you remind me where I am to be for breakfast?” I asked Gertrude.

  She grinned and two dimples flashed in her cheeks, making her appear much younger than I had first assumed. “Yes, Miss. Come I’ll show you the way,” she said and for that I was grateful. This place was so easy to get lost in.

  “When you first began working here, did you get lost often?” I asked Gertrude.

  She chuckled. “Yes, Miss. Once I was found in the east wing crying because I couldn’t find my way to the kitchen,” she recalled.

  I smiled at her story and she closed the door behind me then waved a hand for me to follow her as she started down the long hallway. I glanced up at paintings along the way and wished I had more time to study them and decide who they were. One was of two young boys and I knew it must be Ashington and Nicholas. I wanted to come back and spend more time looking at that one soon.

  Gertrude moved quickly and I had to keep up. I knew we were drawing closer after we descended the stairs and headed left. Two large doors stood open and inside was the long dining table we had enjoyed a delicious dinner at last night. Gertrude turned to me then curtsied and scurried away behind a door.

  I noticed Uncle Alfred was already at the table with a paper in hand and a cup of tea. Aunt Harriet was beside him, buttering a biscuit. I entered the room and glanced down at the end of the long table to see Ashington also with a paper and a cup of tea in front of him. Aunt Harriet was the first to notice me. Her gaze met mine and she smiled brightly.

  “Good morning, Miriam. You will be pleased to know Lord Ashington has plenty biscuits, jam and hot chocolate,” she announced.

  “Yes, I am sure the girl has come down here concerned over the state of Lord Ashington’s breakfast offerings,” Uncle Alfred drawled and rolled his eyes.

  I glanced over at Ashington, and he was grinning behind his cup of tea or what I assumed was tea. Perhaps he was a coffee drinker. Some gentlemen preferred coffee in the morning, although it was an oddity I did not understand.

  “I am sure anything he has will be splendid,” I replied and took my seat to the right of Ashington and across from my aunt.

  “Of course,” Aunt Harriet agreed then winked at me, holding up a buttered biscuit before taking a bite. I struggled not to laugh at her antics. I wasn’t sure how Lord Ashington would handle such behavior at his breakfast table.

  “You forgot the jam,” Uncle Alfred told her and I did laugh then. Covering my mouth, I hoped it wasn’t too loud. Uncle Alfred looked at me and raised his eyebrows. “She was rather enthused about the jam, was she not?” he asked.

  I nodded and dropped my hand back to my lap. “Yes, I do believe she was,” I agreed.

  Aunt Harriet finished the bite in her mouth. “I am going to try the jam. I just needed to taste the biscuit without it first.”

  “Are we a connoisseur of biscuits?” Uncle Alfred asked.

  I bit my bottom lip to keep from laughing again.

  “Is it always this lively in the mornings at your breakfast table?” Ashington asked then.

  I felt my face heat up as I took a quick peek in his direction.

  “More so, I am afraid,” Uncle Alfred replied dryly.

  Aunt Harriet giggled then and I couldn’t help but smile. Turning my attention to Ashington, I lifted the corner of my mouth in a smirk. “Oft times Uncle Alfred will wake up early enough to take his breakfast without us. Rude as it may be,” I told him.

  Ashington grinned. “Is that so,” he drawled.

  “I am sure Lord Ashington will understand that choice after our morning meal,” Uncle Alfred replied.

  “I find a quiet meal boring,” Aunt Harriet informed Lord Ashington. “I grew up with seven siblings and there was never a moment of peace in our house. I don’t think I could eat if it was silent.”

  “Or if you hadn’t any jam,” Uncle Alfred added.

  I covered my mouth to giggle into my napkin.

  “Conversation and jam do make for a more appealing meal time,” Lord Ashington agreed.

  “They do!” Aunt Harriet agreed readily.

  “There is much to be said for a moment of peace with one’s coffee,” Uncle Alfred said, cutting his eyes at his wife.

  Aunt Harriet lifted her right shoulder with a shrug. “Difference of opinion,” she replied.

  The subject needed to be changed and I was thinking of something to say to do just that when a loud commotion came from somewhere not too far away. I didn’t know the house well enough to know where the noise was coming from, but there was yelling, some squealing perhaps, and it sounded almost like a… child was also present?

  Everyone’s head had turned toward the door when a lady appeared suddenly looking rather wide-eyed and alarmed. “Lord Ashington,” she began, but he was already standing and making his way out of the room to check on the situation.

  I looked across the table at my aunt and uncle.

  “Did that woman have leaves in her hair?” Aunt Harriet asked, still staring at the doorway.

  “And a twig of sorts, I believe,” Uncle Alfred added.

  “Perhaps I could be of some help,” Aunt Harriet said, placing her napkin on the table as if she were about to stand up.

  Uncle Alfred put a hand on her shoulder before that could happen. “No, you stay here. Whatever is happening, it isn’t our business. Lord Ashington does not require your assistance.”

  Aunt Harriet chewed on her bottom a lip a moment. “I think I heard a child. Did you hear a child?” She was looking at me now.

  I had heard a child. A girl perhaps, but I wasn’t going to confirm that. Keeping Aunt Harriet in this room was the most important thing at the moment. Uncle Alfred was correct. Ashington did not need her help nor would he appreciate it.

  “I believe whatever happened, the high squeal of one of the maids, perhaps a young one, sounded a bit childish,” I said for not only Aunt Harriet’s benefit but my own. For I too was struggling with the fact I had heard the voice of a child rather clearly.

  Aunt Harriet didn’t seem appeased.

  “Eat the biscuits and jam, dear,” my uncle told her.

  She frowned at him then grudgingly picked up a biscuit and proceeded to put jam on it.

  Another loud clamor caused us all to jump and a shriek followed. We made eye contact but said nothing. Aunt Harriet took a bite of her biscuit with wide eyes. Uncle Alfred ignored the sounds as if there were nothing happening at all. Eventually, it quieted and I drank my hot chocolate, although it was now cold and not nice and warm.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Earl of Ashington

  Feathers were flying around the kitchen as the staff ran in circles with their arms held open in an attempt to catch the chicken that was clucking, desperate to be free of the madness. Alice stood wide-eyed, watching from the far side of the room, but Emma was not beside her. Emma was in the center of it all calling out the name “Drusilla!” as she too made strides to capture the chicken, wreaking havoc on the kitchen.

  I need not ask how the chicken came to be in the kitchen for I already knew who had freed the bird. What I did not know was why. I was sure the answer would be very thorough and colorful indeed. Most days I would be entertained by such antics, but today was not that day. How was I to explain this to my guests? Emma’s voice was ringing very clearly down the halls as she called out for the chicken she had named Drusilla.

  “I HAVE IT!” Mrs. Barton called out with triumph.

  “Don’t hurt her!” Emma pleaded as she rushed to her side.

  “Emma, it is but a chicken. Come here at once,” Alice ordered, walking toward Emma with a stern expression that I felt was well-deserved.

  “Ashington, tell her not to hurt Drusilla. She is frightened! I tried to rescue her from her near doom, but she ran in here.” Emma threw out her hands in frustration. “The place she needed rescuing from. She’s not a very bright chicken.”

&n
bsp; “Indeed it appears she is not,” I agreed. Although I was sure the chicken had been perfectly fine until Emma had let it free.

  “I am sorry, my lord. I was simply taking Miss Emma for a morning walk and she saw the chicken,” Alice began explaining, but I held up my hand to stop her.

  “It is alright, Alice,” I assured her. It wasn’t the governess’ fault that Emma was so head strong. That would be the Compton blood in her veins. “If you will take Emma back to the cottage, Mrs. Barton will bring biscuits and jam. I shall come for a visit later this morning.”

  Emma ran over to me and clutched my hand tightly in both her small ones. “But what of the chicken?”

  “Do you want me to have Mrs. Barton feed it biscuits and jam?” I asked teasingly.

  She frowned up at me. “No, Ashington. Chickens don’t eat jam.”

  “Well then, I believe there is no cause for concern then.”

  She pointed toward the door leading outside. “But it was in a cage. What are the plans for Drusilla? Are we to eat her?”

  I glanced up at the cook then back down at Emma. There was no point lying to the child. I did not believe lying was a healthy habit, even if it was to protect their innocence. Not with something like this. “Yes, I do believe Drusilla was on this evening’s menu.”

  Emma covered her mouth with both her hands and gasped loudly.

  “However, it seems you have taken a liking to… Drusilla, so I see no reason why we can’t change the main course for the evening and allow Drusilla another chance at life.”

  “Oh, thank you, Ashington. I promise Drusilla will be an excellent pet.”

  “Chickens are not pets, Emma,” Alice informed her as she came over to take the child’s hand. I was grateful for her interruption because I had not intended for Emma to assume Drusilla was to become a pet. Just that we would refrain from making her our meal, tonight. I wasn’t sure on how to proceed with the future of the animal after that point.