Under The Wishing Star

by Farr, Diane

  It was a painful scene, and Malcolm could not bear to see his wife suffer. He put his arm around her and held her strongly, heedless of their audience. Something dreadful hung in the air; this was no joyous reunion. He wished he could protect her from what she was learning today.

  Derek clearly felt compassion for Natalie’s pain and confusion as well. He placed a hand on her knee, his eyes as sad and pleading as a puppy’s. “Natalie, I—I don’t know how to tell you this.”

  “Just say it,” said Malcolm. He knew what was coming.

  “Mother’s brain was damaged.” Derek’s voice was unexpectedly gentle. “In a sense, our mother is dead. She won’t know you, Natalie. She doesn’t speak. She’s not suffering, but she’s not herself.”

  Mrs. Gilford patted Natalie’s hand. “That’s right, my lady. Don’t go thinking they lied to you deliberately, for it’s entirely possible they didn’t. I daresay your papa meant well. Nobody expected her to live.” She looked modestly down. “If I do say it as shouldn’t, physicians underestimate what competent nursing can do.”

  “Mrs. Gilford has been taking care of her all these years.” Derek shot a grateful look at the pink-cheeked old lady. “We owe her a debt we can never repay.”

  “Oh, well, sir, you needn’t say that. I’ve been well paid for my trouble,” said Mrs. Gilford, fluttering with embarrassment. “I’ve no complaint to make on that score. Your papa made all the arrangements early on, and never a payment has been missed. But I’d no idea that her children were told she had died, or I promise you, I would have handled this matter differently.”

  “What matter?” asked Malcolm.

  Mrs. Gilford’s embarrassment increased. “Well, my lord, as I say, no one expected Mrs. Whittaker to live. My task was simply to make her as comfortable as I could until she died. But, as you see, she hasn’t died, so my commission has continued all these years. She’s quite healthy, but I’m getting on in years now and haven’t the stamina I once had. I’m afraid the time is nearing when other arrangements must be made. I had been specifically told that I mustn’t communicate with her children—although I never dreamed the reason why—but what else could I do? Mr. Whittaker has passed on. There was no one else to turn to.” She sighed. “Dear me! I had no notion that everyone believed the poor lady was dead.”

  Natalie shivered. “How could you think we knew?” Her low voice throbbed with anguish. “All these years, we never visited her…we never wrote…did you think us monsters?” She shook off the various hands that were touching her and rose shakily to her feet. “I must see her.”

  “I’ll go with you,” said Derek gently. He placed one hand at Natalie’s elbow in a protective gesture and walked with her across the room. Malcolm did not move to accompany them. This was a private moment for brother and sister.

  As he watched them approach her, he was struck again by the resemblance they bore to each other—and, he now saw, to the lady in the chair. Her hair was graying beneath her cap, but the thick waves that framed her face reminded him of Derek’s. And her face was Natalie’s face, thinner and chiseled but still appealing, despite her vacant expression.

  Natalie sank onto the floor at her mother’s feet. The expression on her face was heartbreaking. She took the lady’s thin hands in hers. “Mama,” she said softly. “Mama, it’s Natalie. Do you remember Natalie?”

  Mrs. Whittaker’s empty eyes traveled briefly to Natalie’s face, but her vague smile did not alter. No emotion registered on her features. No recognition lit her eyes. She was plainly a hollow vessel, sleepwalking through her days. Still, just seeing her again was obviously a miracle to Natalie; she touched her mother’s face with shaking hands, squeezed her shoulders, laid her head in her lap. “Mama,” she whispered. “Oh, I can’t believe it. Mama.” She closed her eyes. Tears slipped down her cheeks.

  This scene should not be witnessed by so many eyes, thought Malcolm. He walked over to Derek and touched his sleeve. “Come,” he said gruffly. “Let us leave them alone for a few minutes. Mrs. Gilford will look after them.” He shot a questioning look at the elderly nurse, and she nodded a placid acceptance from her place on the sofa. Malcolm led Derek from the room.

  “Step into my study, where we can be private,” said Malcolm curtly.

  Derek silently followed him in and Malcolm closed the door behind them. He walked to the windows and threw back the curtains. Light flooded the room. He turned and saw Derek standing just inside the door, regarding him gravely. The corners of Derek’s mouth were set in grim lines, and his gaze was steady.

  Malcolm’s former impression of Derek as an engaging, boyish rattle underwent a sudden revision. This was a young man with a head on his shoulders. This was a young man who took responsibility seriously, whether to his sister, to Lord Stokesdown, or to his newly-found mother. Malcolm already liked his new brother-in-law very well. It was a pleasant discovery to realize that he might respect him, too.

  “Natalie has not thought through the implications of this,” said Malcolm softly.

  “Naturally not. There has not been time.”

  “I’d be curious to hear your thoughts on the matter. Mrs. Gilford’s assessment of your father’s motives seems, to me, a bit…optimistic.”

  Derek uttered a short, mirthless laugh. “Oh, that’s occurred to you, has it? I wonder who is buried in my mother’s grave? I daresay it’s an empty coffin.” He shook his head in grim revulsion. “I wish I could believe that my father’s actions twenty years ago were benign. But it’s all too obvious they weren’t.”

  “I agree.”

  Derek shot a troubled glance at Malcolm. “We can’t keep that from her, you know. Natalie’s too needle-witted. She will eventually come to the same conclusion you and I have reached. Our father deliberately lied. Not only to us, but to the entire community.”

  Malcolm walked slowly behind his desk, thinking. “There is another implication that Natalie has not yet realized,” he said. He shot a keen glance at Derek, and raised an eyebrow.

  Derek gave a brief nod, a curt acknowledgment of what they were both thinking. There was a strange light in his eyes, and a half-smile on his face. A flash of understanding seemed to knit the two men in an instant meeting of the minds. A huge truth loomed large in the room, a truth that both of them had seen and recognized.

  Derek took a deep breath. He was standing ramrod-straight, yet perfectly relaxed, like a young warrior girding his loins for battle. And then he spoke it aloud.

  “Hector is illegitimate,” said Derek softly. “I am the master of Crosby Hall.”

  Chapter 23

  “The question is, my young friend, what are you going to do about it?”

  Derek frowned. “There’s no question at all. Crosby Hall is mine. Hector can dashed well take Mabel back to London and live on her dowry; she’s a woman of means. Or he can do something useful in future and get paid for it, as I have done. Or he can move his family in with Lucille. Her flat is spacious enough.”

  “Ah. It was my impression that your stepmother’s flat was purchased with family money.”

  An arrested expression crossed Derek’s face. Then he shook his head. “No. I mean, it was, of course, but I shan’t turn her out on the street. I’ll deed the flat to her outright.”

  “Good.” Malcolm waved Derek toward a chair and sat, himself, behind the desk. “You have every right to make things ugly. On the whole, however, I’m glad that your impulse is toward generosity.”

  Derek sat, still frowning thoughtfully. “I see no point in taking revenge on Lucille. She’s never been fond of Natalie and me, and she’s done her best to make life hard for us at times. But I’ve no reason to believe she was an accomplice in this. My father may have kept her in the dark as well.”

  “Possibly,” agreed Malcolm. He thought it unlikely, but approved of Derek’s determination to give others the benefit of the doubt.

  A smile flitted briefly across Derek’s features. “And besides, I’ve no taste for scandal. The less d
ust is kicked up about all this, the better.”

  “Very true. The quickest way to cause a riot is to boot your stepmother out of her flat. But you will, of course, need to boot Hector out of Crosby Hall.”

  Derek’s expression turned grim again. “Immediately. Will you come with me?”

  Malcolm’s brows flew upward. “Today?”

  “Absolutely.” Derek’s voice was clipped and sure. “This news will spread like wildfire. I daresay the servants are already gossiping about it belowstairs—since it seems you have employed the old Whittaker family retainers! If Hector gets wind of my mother’s reappearance, he’ll put two and two together as quick as winking. I’d rather take him by surprise.”

  “I see.” Malcolm tapped his fingers meditatively against his chin. “I think you are right. Prompt action is called for.” He sighed. “One hates to think ill of one’s relations, but I formed my opinion of Hector’s character before I married your sister. And, frankly, I’ve no doubt that he will make matters difficult if he can. Best to give him no chance to come up with a plan.”

  Derek grinned. “Why, so I think. Natalie told me I would like you, by the way. I’m inclined to believe she’s done me a great favor by marrying you.”

  Malcolm hid a smile. “She’s certainly done me a great favor by marrying me. Come! Let us think this matter through before we act. Who is the local magistrate? Squire Farnsworth?”

  Derek nodded. “I suppose. He is justice of the peace. Why?”

  “It seems to me that we should have an impartial witness when we confront your brother. And the best witness to have would be one with some official capacity.”

  Derek shifted restlessly in his chair. “Blast it all,” he muttered at last. “I’m afraid you’re right.” He lifted troubled eyes to Malcolm’s face. “You don’t think Hector would offer us violence, do you?”

  Malcolm shrugged. “He is bound to become a trifle…excited, shall we say? He’s only human. But what I was fearing more was that he might actually refuse to leave. What would we do in such a case? Since—as you have just pointed out—he has replaced all the family retainers with his own people, I can’t think who would come to our aid, did we try to evict him by force.”

  “What a pretty picture you paint,” said Derek dryly. “I can see it now: you and I unceremoniously kicked out the door by Hector and his merry men, and a protracted battle in the courts before I take what’s mine.”

  Malcolm spread his hands in an apologetic gesture. “I don’t mean to rain on your picnic. But we’d do well to consider our response to that scenario, and foil him before he acts. Rather than wait for him to act, and then fight an uphill battle.”

  “Oh, you’re right. You’re right.” Derek waved a hand. “Carry on.”

  “Possession being nine tenths of the law, I think we should do what we can to put you in possession of the house. You should sleep there tonight, in fact. I doubt if Hector will start a court fight. He hasn’t a leg to stand on. But it occurs to me that he might—er—remove a few favorite items, if left to pack his bags in his own sweet time.”

  A muscle jumped in Derek’s jaw. “You’re right again, confound it. That’s exactly what he would do. Steal from me. That, or break things. He’s always been a spiteful little blighter.” He sighed, then nodded. “Jasper Farnsworth,” he said, concurring with Malcolm. “We’ll wait for the squire before proceeding.”

  Malcolm reached for the bell pull. “I’ll send a message by my fastest rider.”

  When the two men left Malcolm’s study, the sound of muffled weeping led them back to the library. There they found Mrs. Bigalow, quite overcome with tears, rocking the unresponsive Mrs. Whittaker in her arms. Natalie and Mrs. Gilford stood by, patting and soothing the distraught nurse.

  Derek immediately walked over to the huddled group and thumped his old nurse on the back. She turned away from her former mistress, gasped, and buried her face in his shoulder for a moment. Derek hugged her with one arm. “There, then, Nurse,” he said, his voice suspiciously thick. “There, then. How many times have you told me not to waste tears on what can’t be mended?”

  Mrs. Bigalow scrubbed her face vigorously with the edge of her apron. She took a deep, shuddering breath and emerged from Derek’s embrace. “That’s true, that’s true,” she said, pulling herself together. “It did come as a shock, that’s all. To see my poor mistress again, which I never thought—” She broke off, gulped, and shook her head. “Ah, well. What’s done is done.”

  “It has been a shock for us all,” said Natalie. She looked calm, but pale. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have called you down—”

  “Oh! No, now, none o’that,” said Mrs. Bigalow, regaining some of her customary briskness. “I’m glad you did, Natalie. Or Lady Malcolm, I should say. I’m glad you did.” She whipped out a handkerchief and fiercely blew her nose. “I shall be myself again in a moment.”

  Malcolm had joined the group by now. He felt he couldn’t go one more minute without touching Natalie. He drew her to his side and placed his hand at her waist. She looked up, seeming glad of his touch, then leaned lightly against him as if to confirm it. His heart swelled with protectiveness. “Are you feeling better?” he asked her quietly.

  She nodded, giving him a tiny smile. “My life is moving much too fast for me,” she confessed. The group’s conversation had moved on without them, so she took the opportunity to whisper: “Malcolm, I’m so glad you’re here.”

  He almost chuckled. “I live here, sweetheart.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  He could not resist touching her cheek. Her face was soft and warm. “Yes, Natalie,” he said softly. “I think I do.”

  Her eyes were gorgeous. How could eyes as dark and warm as hers be so full of light? A man couldn’t help smiling, when handed such a tremendous stroke of luck. He would be able to drink his fill of her, eyes and all, for the rest of his life.

  “Ahem!” said Derek loudly, recalling Malcolm and Natalie to the here and now. “Any chance our hostess will remember her duties? Or must her long-suffering brother remind her?”

  “Oh!” said Natalie, turning a little pink. “I’m so sorry! In all the excitement—Nurse, will you ring the bell for me? Thank you. I’ll have tea and sandwiches sent up, shall I?”

  “Better have them make a few extra,” suggested Derek, sprawling in one of Malcolm’s wing chairs. “Send up a ham, too, if you’ve got it. I’m devilish hungry. And you’re liable to have Jasper Farnsworth descend on you before too long.”

  She looked startled. “Squire Farnsworth? Why?”

  “Because Malcolm sent for him, that’s why.”

  Natalie turned to her husband, eyes wide with questions. The two nurses, fortunately, had fallen into conversation while helping Mrs. Whittaker back into her chair. They seemed thoroughly absorbed, so Malcolm and Derek went apart with Natalie, drew three chairs close together, and, in carefully lowered voices, gave her the gist of their earlier discussion.

  As she took it all in, her eyes grew larger and darker, and her face lost the color it had regained. At the end of their tale, she sat nervelessly back against her chair and covered her eyes with one hand. The men waited in sympathetic silence for her to digest the information.

  “I see,” she said at last. Her voice was low and tremulous. “So Hector will be gone, and Derek and I will be neighbors. It is rather terrible, isn’t it…to secretly wish for the impossible, and then have your wish come true.” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “The world is not supposed to work this way. One isn’t meant to receive so many of one’s heart’s desires, one after the other. There’s something frightening about it.”

  Malcolm frowned. He took her hand in a sustaining clasp. “Natalie, love, you are talking nonsense.”

  “No, I know what she means.” Derek gave him a twisted smile. “I feel it, too. But, unlike Natalie, I’ve had some time to think about it.” His voice slowed and softened. “The thing is, none of it is up to us. Sometimes we must s
uffer a disproportionate portion of slings and arrows. And sometimes, apparently, we must accept a disproportionate portion of God’s bounty. What we are called upon to do is to accept what we’re sent, with as good a grace as we can.”

  Natalie removed her hand from her eyes and gave a shaky little laugh. “Well, then, I’m being a ninnyhammer, aren’t I? Anyone might complain about ill luck, but to weep over good luck is—”

  “Idiotic. And ungrateful.” Derek reached across the space between them and gave his sister’s knee a friendly shake. “Lord knows, you and I have tried to accept our lot in life with good grace up to now. We’ll just have to accept this as well.” He grinned. “And while you’re busy accepting it, don’t bother feeling sorry for Hector. The one to pity is Lord Stokesdown.”

  That made Natalie laugh. Really, the more Malcolm saw of Derek Whittaker, the better he liked him. He gave his new brother-in-law an approving nod and patted his wife’s hand. Natalie smiled up at him like the sun breaking through clouds, and Malcolm felt his heart ease.

  When Jasper Farnsworth arrived, his astonishment over the day’s revelations quickly transformed into resolve. He shook his head over the concerns that Hector Whittaker might do something ungentlemanly, warning Malcolm and Derek that they must not jump to unwarranted conclusions. On the other hand, however, he agreed that they had done the correct thing in summoning him. “I’ll be glad to go with you to Crosby Hall to break the news,” he said, glancing keenly at first Malcolm, then Derek. “And I’ll stay until I’m satisfied that Mr. Hector understands his obligations under the law.”

  In the end, it was deemed best that Hector be shown the proof of his illegitimacy at once, to forestall any argument. Hector would not be able to accuse his siblings of foisting an imposter upon him if the squire were there to confirm her identity. The party would, therefore, remove to Crosby Hall and present the unfortunate Hector with a fait accompli.

  Natalie supported her mother on one side, with Mrs. Gilford on the other, and they walked the short distance to Crosby Hall. Their progress was slow, to accommodate Mrs. Whittaker’s halting steps. Natalie’s eyes often fixed on her mother’s face with a painful earnestness, as if hoping against hope that returning to her home might trigger some response in her, but as far as Malcolm could tell, it did not. Mrs. Whittaker’s expression never changed.