by Carla Kelly
Her outburst shocked her. “What am I saying?” she whispered.
Major Beresford tried to struggle to a sitting position.
“Onyx, Onyx, come here,” he said, holding out his hand.
Onyx ran from the room, slamming the door behind her. She leaned against it and covered her face with her hands. I should have left yesterday. Just left, she thought. Abandoned him. Let Mrs. Millstead think what she would. I can't stay here.
She heard Jack stirring around in the room, and the floorboards creaking. He had no business being out of bed.
She put her cheek against the door panel. “You had better not be out of that bed,” she said, swallowing her tears.
“I am,” he said, “and I'm coming out that door.” His voice sounded faint, and she knew he would do himself injury if she did not go back. “Please, Jack, lie down,” she pleaded.
He was silent for a moment. “On one condition,” he said. “You come back in here right now.”
She said nothing.
“If you do not, I will wrap this sheet around me and follow you.”
She knew that he would. She struggled to gain control of her feelings, and when she had them in order again, she spoke. “Very well. Lie down, Major. I will come back in.”
She waited until she heard the bed creak again and opened the door.
His movements had caused his arm to bleed again. With a cry of vexation, she hurried to his side and held a gauze pad against the wound until it stopped bleeding. “This won't do,” she said severely.
“No, it won't,” he agreed. “We're going to talk.”
Her hands began to shake. “No!”
With unspeakable relief, Onyx heard heavy footsteps on the stairs, followed by the doctor's voice. She almost ran to the door to let him in.
“Mrs. Beresford, you look a bit hagged,” the doctor said, handing his hat and cane to Mrs. Millstead, who had followed him up the stairs. “And how is our patient?”
“Stubborn,” she replied.
The doctor smiled beatifically, as if she had uttered the magic phrase. “Ah, good. That means he will get well. The stubborn ones never fail me.” He adjusted his glasses and began to probe around in his black bag. “Well, sir, shall we get on with it?”
Jack sighed. “I suppose.” He looked at Onyx, who stood by the door. “My dear, this time I think you would be better off somewhere else.”
Wordlessly she turned and fled down the stairs. Jack called to her several times, and she cringed at the alarm in his voice, but she ran into the farmyard and did not stop until she was deep in the barn, wedged up tight against the back wall and the feed bin. She covered her ears with her hands and made herself small in the corner, gritting her teeth against the sound of Major Beresford's screams as the doctor stitched the open wound.
She did not move from the corner, even when all was quiet again, until the afternoon shadows gave way to twilight. Alice had been looking for her. Onyx heard her companion calling to her, the voice drifting in and around the barn and then fading away.
She knew that if she returned to Major Beresford's room, and if he began to talk to her about Gerald, she would disgrace herself further. Since that dreadful day when Sir Matthew had forbidden her to cry, she had not dared mourn Gerald. To spare the sensitivities of Lady Daggett, to avoid troubling Sir Matthew, to maintain her shadowy place in their world, she had been forced to surrender all memories of Gerald. It was as though he did not exist except in the shabby remnants of his effects sent from Spain.
And now suddenly, after two years of slamming the door shut on her brother, the pretense was over. She knew that when she walked into Major Beresford's room, as she knew she must, her great grief would be exposed. It was ill-bred and unmannerly, but she knew it would be so. The game she had been forced to play was over, and she was not certain of the new rules.
NYX KNEW THAT MAJOR BERESFORD WOULD be awake when she returned to the room. Some instinct she had never been conscious of before told her that he would be waiting.
She had lived a well-regulated life; nothing had ever happened to Onyx Hamilton before. Every action, down to the smallest nuance, was carefully planned, if not by her, then by Reverend Hamilton, and then the Daggetts, in their reluctance. Nothing was ever left to chance. The smallest details were thoughtfully planned and dutifully executed. Everything in her life, even Gerald's death, had been tidy and bloodless. Until now.
It was as though the delicate stream of her life had suddenly tumbled into a river in flood, with each twist and turn of the bank adding new currents to the stream that bubbled and frothed. The clear water was muddier now, and no longer was it possible to see downstream so easily. Anything could happen. The uncertainty of that both vexed and thrilled her.
I can't go in there, she thought as she quietly climbed the stairs in the darkened house. At the top step she sat down and rested her chin in her palms. I am a wondrous coward, she thought.
“Onyx?”
She raised her head. Gracious, but the man's hearing is acute. And I was so quiet. She looked toward the closed door, sighed, and stood up.
Moonlight filled the little room and threw a wide band of brightness across the blanket that covered Major Beresford. His hands were resting on top of the blanket in that moonlit space and were the only part of him that she could see.
“Onyx.”
It wasn't so much a question this time, or even just her name. It was an entire sentence—subject, verb, and direct object.
She sat down on the end of the bed, careful not to jiggle the mattress, mindful of the need to spare him any further pain. She felt an absurd desire to reach for his hands; instead, she twined her arms around the bedpost.
The silence unnerved her. “I am so sorry I ran away like that,” she said.
“Don't be. I … I seem to recall requesting that you leave.”
His voice sounded tired, but that edge of pain was gone from it.
“You did ask me to leave,” she agreed, “but I don't think you meant it.”
He chuckled, as if she had caught him by surprise. “You are right. How … how is it that we understand each other so well? Our acquaintance is so … precipitously brief.”
She walked right into the opening he created. “Not really, sir. You knew Gerald. He and I were very much alike.”
A long silence followed. The hands on the bed covering moved out of the moonlight then, and a moment later returned, this time palms-up, in a gesture of supplication.
“C-could you fetch me that pitcher of water? I've been eyeing it this last hour and more, but it's so far away.”
Her guilt at abandoning him in his time of great need gnawed at her, but she did not apologize for it. Without a word she poured him a glass of water, raised his head, and cushioned him against her so he could drink it.
“Thank you.”
She arranged his pillows, and he settled himself again. At some point during the long afternoon he had acquired a nightshirt, so she was spared the sight of his bandaged arm.
“I feel like a pincushion,” he said, as if following her thoughts, something he did with disconcerting regularity. “I'm all done up right and tight with black thread.”
She said nothing.
“Who begins?” said Major Beresford when the silence threatened to stretch out. “It should be ladies first, if I have not completely forgotten my good English manners.”
Onyx sat down again, regaining her comforting grip on the bedpost.
“You look rather like a figurehead sitting there,” the major commented.
She scarcely heard him. “I know nothing of Gerald's death. Nothing.”
“Did you not receive a letter from his colonel? From Colonel March?” He sounded surprised.
“Yes. The post brought it to Lady Daggett. She read it, screamed, and fainted.” Onyx turned toward the major and sat cross-legged with her skirts tucked around her. The major's eyes were on her face.
“I ran to her room.” She paused
and her voice caught. “That was when Sir Matthew grabbed me and told me … about Gerald's death.” Onyx felt her heart grow numb again, as it had on that day. “I started to cry. He shook me hard and ordered me to stop it.” Her voice broke. “He said he would … would take a stick to me if I caused Lady Daggett any more grief.”
“Blast him,” said the major.
“Gerald was never spoken of again.” Onyx leaned against the bedpost. “I don't understand … how that could help …” She faltered. “Was it to spare the Daggetts pain by not ever mentioning him again? As if he hadn't even existed? Oh, surely not! But there was … no one to talk to me about it.”
She was speaking too loud. She sat still a moment until she had regained her composure. Major Beresford had never taken his eyes from her face. Ordinarily such scrutiny would have sent her into transports of embarrassment, but she knew only a feeling of protection, something she had not felt since the Reverend Hamilton's death, and it gave her courage to continue.
“I … I wanted to find out what happened. I needed to find out. Once, when they were gone, I went into Mama's … Lady Daggett's room and found the letter from Colonel March.”
“And?” he prompted when she was silent.
She leaned closer so she could see his face better. “It said something about an honorable quick death on the field of battle.” Onyx noted how Major Beresford's eyes wavered for a moment. “I thought it was all a hum. It sounded so … rehearsed.”
“It was a hum,” he said. There was pain in his voice then, coupled with resignation. “I've written those letters myself. It was what we thought you families in England wanted to hear.”
“Can you tell me how he died?”
There. I have said it, she thought.
The major settled himself a little lower in the bed. “Yes, I can. I … I remember it quite well.”
“Then tell me.”
He sighed, and again she felt a chill ruffle up and down her spine. “I d-don't even remember the name of the town we had taken. Something small and dirty. It was winter. Gerald got too close to the charcoal brazier in his tent and set himself on fire.”
“Oh mercy,” she breathed, her hands to her face.
“Come to me, Onyx,” urged the major, reaching for her.
She shook her head. With an effort that caused him to suck in his breath, he sat up and took her by the arm, pulling her closer to him.
“I wasn't there when it happened. None of us were. We heard him, though. We heard him.”
She was crying. “Was he dead?”
“No, and more's the pity,” Beresford said with another sigh. “He was so badly burned that I honestly don't think there was any feeling left in his body. Anyway, the light artillery was pulling out first, and they had to leave him with us.”
He looked away from her then and absently rubbed his chest. “Marshal Soult was coming on a quick march. We knew we had to retreat, and right smartly too, but we could not leave Gerald. Shame on us, I remember us wishing he would die.”
“And … did you? Leave him, I mean,” she asked, wiping her eyes on her dress.
“Oh, no. We officers sent most of the men ahead and stayed with him. He told us to send his good uniform and sword to his family.” Beresford ran his hand up and down her arm. “It gave me a start this morning to see that uniform on your lap.”
She could think of nothing to say.
Beresford leaned his head back on the pillow, exhausted from the effort of speaking. “And do you know, Onyx, now that I think of it, he mentioned you. It was almost the last thing he said.”
“You're not telling me another tale, are you?” she asked, the numbness overtaking her again.
“No! I would not!” His voice was harsh at first, but then that innate understanding of his seemed to take over and he spoke more softly. “I could not lie to you. He was hard to understand. His face was … so swollen. But, oh, those blue eyes! So bright. Like yours. He said, ‘I wish,’ and then he said, ‘Onyx.’ ”Beresford looked at Onyx, his face close to hers. “I was about as far away from him as I am from you right now. I know he said ‘Onyx,’ but at the time, it made no sense. Onyx, none of us knew him well enough to know your name. “
“An odd name,” she said softly. “Remember, my father was a romantic.”
“And you are not.”
“No,” she agreed. “I am supposed to be sensible and mindful always of others.”
“How tedious for you,” he murmured, his face still close to hers. She slid away from him.
“That is almost all,” he continued. “We took his body with us when we retreated over the mountains to Portugal. It was winter and cold. We thought to turn the body over to Colonel March.” He paused then, as if wondering what he should say next, hesitating until honesty won out. “We assumed that the family would claim the body, and it would be shipped to England. But no one ever did.”
Onyx sat up. Again the cold rippled down her back, followed by a feeling of great shame. “I begged Sir Matthew to retrieve Gerald, but he would not. He said the expense was too great and I was not to discuss it.”
“Well, we wondered. I saw to it that your brother was buried in the little church cemetery in Resende. It's a village not far from Oporto.”
For two years she had wondered where Gerald was, and now the answer was before her. “I wish I could see his grave,” she said, her voice heavy with tears waiting to be shed.
“Perhaps someday you shall, Onyx, when conditions are different there. And now, will you cry? You'll feel better.”
She did as he said, tucking her skirts under her and sobbing until her dress front was soaked. Through her muffled tears she vaguely heard Major Beresford murmuring something to her. The last thing she remembered before she fell into exhausted sleep was his hand on her hair.
She woke early, before the sun had cleared the newly sowed fields. The room was cloaked in shadow. She was still curled in a comfortable ball, her head resting on Major Beresford's legs. Onyx sat up slowly. Major Beresford did not stir. She did not wish to wake him, so she climbed off the end of the bed.
Onyx wondered what Lady Daggett would think, or Alice, if they had known how she spent the night. As she brushed at the wrinkles of her dress, she made the womanly decision that some things were no one's business but her own. The thought pleased her, as nothing else had in many days. She was smiling as she looked at Major Beresford, made sure he continued to slumber, and left the room on tiptoe.
After changing into a fresh dress, she paused on the landing to look in the mirror, turning her face this way and that, regarding her inelegant nose, her firm chin, and her dimples with more understanding and less criticism. It was her face; it would not change, and for the first time in many a critical year, Onyx decided that she did not want it to. It was Gerald's face too.
Her eyes were blue, as blue as Gerald's. She touched the mirror, thinking of him, but not thinking of him in sorrow anymore, but in a recollection so fond that she closed her eyes against the sheer delight of it.
Onyx looked back at Major Beresford's room. She wanted to tell him how she felt, knowing that he would understand. Good sense took over. She continued down the stairs, leaving him in peace.
Mrs. Millstead presided over the kitchen and over Alice Banner. They looked up from their breakfast as she entered, Alice with relief in her eyes. The relief was soon replaced by a militant gleam that warned Onyx of a rare trimming to come from her unexplained absence of yesterday.
Mrs. Millstead pulled out a chair, poured a large mug of tea, and offered her toast. Onyx sipped the tea, wondering why it was that everything seemed so fresh and new to her this morning.
“How is our dear Major Beresford this morning?” the farmer's wife asked as Onyx nibbled on the toast.
“Much better,” Onyx replied, stung again by the deception—well intentioned or not—that she and the dear major were working on Mrs. Millstead. “He seems almost himself,” she finished, not looking at Alice.
/> How on earth was she to know what Jack Beresford would be like when he was himself? She had known him four days, four days that even the most relentless adventurer would have to call exceptionable. What was Jack Beresford like when he was in good health? She had no idea.
She ate in silence and then excused herself and went outside, walking alongside the kitchen garden and into the shrubbery that gave onto the haying meadow. The air smelled of cows and grass and wildflowers. She took a deep breath.
“You worried all of us, Onyx.”
It was Alice. Her companion had followed her, as Onyx had known she would. Better to spill the budget away from the house and not disturb any of its inmates.
“I'm sorry. I just couldn't face anybody.” Onyx had planned to tell Alice all that had happened that night, but when confronted with the prospect in the light of day, knew that she would not. Some things were for treasuring personally, especially since soon there would be no more such diversions. Jack Beresford would heal and go on his way. She was headed to Chalcott and marriage. She sighed and could not look her dear Alice in the face.
“You're becoming quite missish, Madam Prevaricator,” scolded Alice, plumping herself down on the rustic bench that Mrs. Millstead used as a shelf for her gardening tools.
“I suppose I am, Alice,” Onyx replied quite calmly. “I am sure it will pass.”
She said nothing more. She did not join her companion but went into the house again and up the stairs to Major Beresford.
He was awake and looking around when she opened the door. He smiled at her, and she smiled back, noting with some personal confusion his openness of expression and the way his eyes lighted up as she came toward him. He reached out his hand to her, and she took it, much against her better judgment.
“You're … you're much cooler,” she said, shy again.
“I'm also about ready to gnaw the bedclothes,” he said. “Do you think you could find me something more substantial than the everlasting gruel and porter I am offered around here?”