by Carla Kelly
“Indeed you are not,” murmured Emily's elder sister. They managed, by careful organization, to avoid association with each other.
And then Jack returned. Lady Blanding and Mrs. Towerby—they must have had Christian names, but after Onyx's bit of plain speaking, had never chosen to enlarge their acquaintance—had convinced their little sister to ride in their barouche around the estate. Onyx had finished cleaning up Lord Sherbourn and was moving him back onto the sheepskin when Jack's arms reached around her. “Let me help you.”
His face was right next to hers. He kissed her on the cheek. “I'll do it, Onyx,” he said. “Sit down a minute. You look like a ghost.”
She did as he said, watching him, holding her breath.
“Jack?”
“Yes, brother. I'm here. Sorry to be away so long. I had some rather serious business to attend to, but I think things are arranged to my liking now.”
Onyx could only stare at him. He looked so good, so changed from the desperate man in the library.
He glanced around at her. “Over there by the door, Onyx. There's a parcel. Bring it here and sit on the bed so Adrian can watch too.”
She did his bidding without question. The parcel was wrapped in ordinary, brown paper. She brought it to Adrian's bed. “Is it for Adrian?” she asked. “Should I open it for him?”
“It is for you, Onyx. A little token from some grateful brothers. I should have done this weeks ago, and goodness knows we owe you something for all your help.”
Mystified, she tore off the brown paper. It was yards and yards of silk, beautiful silk, silk worth hundreds of pounds more than the material she had mourned on the highway. She held her breath and traced her fingers over the design of butterflies.
“I found it in Leeds in the silk warehouse.”
She looked at Jack, who was sitting quite close to her, and then at Adrian. “You shouldn't have.” She smiled. “But I'm glad you did. It's certainly something to remember you by.”
“The proper answer, Onyx B,” he said. “Be careful, now. There's something cushioned inside the silk.”
She looked down at the silk in her hands again and lifted off the layers until she came to a hard object. She pulled aside the last of the silk to expose to view a vase.
It was Wedgwood, a lovely lavender-blue vase that would admit no more than a few narrow stems of the daintiest flowers. From its fluted opening to the perfectly formed base, it fit in the palm of her hand.
Jack took it from her hand and held it next to her eyes. He smiled and she found his smile intensely disturbing, even though it lifted her heart to see it again after the famine of the last four days.
“An exact match,” he murmured. “Don't you agree, Adrian?”
Adrian stretched his lips across his teeth in a smile.
“I never dreamed of anything so lovely,” said Onyx as she reached out to touch the vase.
“Nor I,” Jack replied as he watched her. He put the vase in her hand again, curling her fingers one at a time around it. “The shopkeeper told me something interesting about Wedgwood. He said it's a strong pottery, for all its delicate appearance. It lasts and lasts and never goes out of style. I … I think there is a lesson in that.”
She struggled to keep back the tears. Jack put his hand on her lips. “Don't you dare cry,” he warned. “If you do, I'll have to kiss you.” He leaned over to Adrian. “That will make her so mad she'll have to stop crying.”
Onyx burst into tears.
“If ever I saw an invitation,” murmured Adrian as his eyes closed.
Jack put his hands around her neck and drew her closer.
“Here's something else to remember me by.” She closed her eyes as he kissed her. Her heart that had been in her throat dropped to her stomach and glowed there.
“That's enough of that,” said Adrian, opening one eye.
Jack stopped. He winked at her.
She got up from Adrian's bed, wondering why there were little light sparkles around the edge of her vision and wishing there were some way to get to the door without having to walk there. She was sure she would stumble over every piece of furniture in the room. Her legs had turned to rubber.
“Onyx, give that silk to Emily. You probably don't know this about her, but that charming widgeon is a casehardened seamstress.”
“N-no, I … I … didn't,” she stuttered.
“Onyx, don't stammer,” Jack said. “You sound like I did.”
Emily began the dress the next morning, unfolding it on the floor of Adrian's parlor, walking around it, shears in hand, eyeing it from every angle like an artist with brush in hand.
“I think little puffed sleeves would be best and fairly low-cut across the bosom.” She regarded Onyx's breasts in a thoughtful manner. “You could wear something like that well, and you won't catch cold in summer.”
Onyx was only glad that Jack was off riding the estate and did not hear that remark.
“I think … a generous flounce that comes up to your knees would be quite the thing. It will give the silk such motion. Here I go, Onyx. Hand me the pins when I ask for them.”
They were basting the dress together when Jack returned late that evening. Onyx could hardly bring herself to look at him. She had replayed that kiss over and over in her mind, and she knew that he would only have to look at her and know what unruly tumult she was thinking.
He had the good grace to spend the little time Adrian was conscious visiting with his brother. They did nothing more than sit together, Adrian's hand in Jack's, while Emily chattered to her sisters, who also sewed, and Onyx kept her head bent over the fabric.
Jack nodded to Onyx before he left the room and spoke to Emily. “Emmy dear, if you need me in the next few days, just send one of the stableboys. Private Petrie and I are fair caught up in the first harvest.”
“Certainly, brother.” Emily held up the wedding dress. “It is exquisite!”
He was looking at Onyx when he replied. “Yes. So I always thought.”
Adrian harbored his strength in the next two days. Albert raised him up with several pillows so he could watch as Emily handed Onyx up onto a table and fitted the dress to her. She turned around obediently as Emily pinned and tucked, stood back, ripped out a seam here, supplemented one there, and pinned and hemmed. Her mind was busy with the dress, and Onyx was grateful. She blessed Jack Beresford for giving his sister-in-law something to do while her husband lay dying.
When Jack came in early that afternoon on the advice of Albert, the dress was finished. Emily had spread it out on the bed so he could see it. “And I have promised to lend Onyx my wedding veil,” she said.
“Will you be married out of Chalcott?” Jack asked.
“Yes,” she replied quietly. “I received a letter from Andrew this morning. The date is set for Wednesday next.”
If he was surprised, he did not show it. “We'll miss you,” he said.
Somehow that should have relieved her, but it did not.
He rose to go back to the fields.
“What … doing?” asked Adrian.
Jack bent close to his brother again. “This afternoon? The barley. Adrian, it is a wonderful crop. So is the wheat.”
“Tonight?”
“Yes, I'll be back for dinner.”
Jack went to the door. He looked back at Onyx and then held out his hand to her. “Come with me for a while, Onyx. You need to get out.”
She followed him into the hall. “We can take the gig. Emily's sisters have left it in the front. If you don't mind a walk back to Sherbourn, I want to show you the harvest before I go on.”
They drove in absolute silence. Onyx could think of nothing to say, and Jack kept his own counsel. He spoke to the horse, and they stopped at the top of a ridge overlooking Sherbourn. He helped her out, careful not to hold her too close.
“Over here. I just want you to see the view. And I have something to say to you. Something I think you'll be glad to hear.”
She sat down on
a rock and he sat beside her, leaning forward with his arms on his knees. “After the Battle of Badajoz, we were bivouacked in a little town near the Portuguese border. It was Holy Week, and there was a feria going on, a little fair.”
He looked over his shoulder at her. “You wonder where this is going? Be patient, Onyx, and quit squirming. There was a man at the fair, a curandero. I suppose we would call him a doctor—with all due apologies to the estimable Waldo Hutchins.
“There was such a crowd around him that I had to see what was going on. I went closer. An old man with the oddest growth over his eye lay there with his head in the curandero’s lap. The curandero took a knife, and before I had time to brace myself, he whisked that blade across the man's eye and lifted away that whole lump. It still makes me shudder.”
“What on earth?”
“It was amazing. The old man sat up and felt his face, and then he said, ‘ Yo veo! I can see!’ Oh, there was blood everywhere, but he just kept dabbing at it and exclaiming that he could see again.”
Jack stood up and put his hands in his pockets, looking out across the vast expanse toward the dale below. The wind ruffled his hair. “I feel that way, and I wanted you to know that you were absolutely right.”
“About … what?” she managed.
“About those little things you were forever rambling over when I met you. The little joys you get. That used to irritate me about you. I wanted you to stretch for bigger things. But in the final assessment, you were right.”
He turned back to her. “I just had a hard time seeing it, rather like that viejo in the curandero’s lap. My senses have been so sharpened in these last few days as I watch Adrian die, and I can only give you the credit. I'm grateful for every tiny moment with him. When he opens his eyes and tries to smile, I feel so good. When Emily laughs about something, I want to shout. The wind feels good; the rain feels good. When I lie down to sleep and the pillow is cool, I feel good. This was going to be the worst summer of my life. It has become the best.” He laughed. “You must think I'm even crazier than I was before.”
“No.” She smiled back.
He came to her then and took her in his arms. “I love you, and I always will, and nothing would make me happier than to marry you. You don't have to answer me right now. Walk back to Sherbourn and think about it.” He kissed her, and she clung to him, kissing him back with all the fervor in her heart.
He finally let go of her and held her at arm's length. He reached out his hand and touched her bosom, running his fingers across her breast, his fingers gentle. “You are so soft. I would never need a pillow again.”
She blushed and turned away. He patted her on the hip.
“Better start running, Onyx. We're much too alone up here. I'll talk to you tonight.”
She blew him a kiss and started down the hill toward Sherbourn. The air was cool with the coming of autumn. She whirled around, her arms out, and ran home.
The house was quiet when she walked in through the back entrance and stood still a moment to catch her breath. She heard voices in the library. She almost opened the door before she realized that the elder Tallent sisters were talking about her.
“Surely Major Beresford could not be contemplating what I think he is thinking,” said one.
“Well, that would be a mistake if ever I saw one,” said the other. “Can you imagine such a scandal? He would be laughed out of the House of Lords, if ever he tries to take up his seat.”
“Emily is quite taken with her,” said the first.
“Emily is without a brain,” said the other. “It's not our place to speak, but let us hope that Onyx Hamilton is not so dead to duty that she ruins someone's life.”
“And only think how the neighbors would regard their children!”
“Mongrels.”
“Curs.”
“I'm glad our husbands are so unexceptionable, even if Mr. Towerby does fall asleep each night over his cards. May the Almighty deliver respectable men from encroaching females.”
It was as if the curandero’s knife had whisked under her breast and cut out her heart, squeezed every drop of blood from it, and then stuffed it back in her chest. She felt her whole body sag as she leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. I am going to die right here in the hall, she thought.
The women began to talk of other things. Onyx tiptoed back to the door and found the servants stairway, moving silently to her room—Jack's mother's room—where she sat on the bed, holding herself together with her arms.
The beautiful wedding dress hung on the wardrobe door. She got up and took it down, folding it carefully, but leaving Emily's veil. She packed quickly, taking only a dress or two and her nightgown, knowing that Emily could be relied upon to send the rest of her clothing. In yesterday's letter, Andrew had enclosed enough money for her to return on the mail coach.
She went to Jack's bedroom, fed another worm to the birds, and took a deep breath of Jack's bay rum on his pillow, then closed the door behind her. She could hear Emily in her room, talking to her maid, but she did not pause there. She would write.
Down the stairs she went, knowing which ones squeaked and which ones didn't. Chalking watched her, the expression on his face betraying his mastery of the nonexistent butler's art. He shook his head, but she put her finger to her lips and he remained silent, even as he watched her.
She peeked in Adrian's parlor. His eyes were closed, sunken deep in his head, but she approached the bed and knelt beside it, taking his hand and holding it until his eyelids fluttered and he woke. She rested her cheek on his hand.
“I'm leaving, Adrian.”
“No. Jack told me …”
“It's best. I know it is.”
He tried to raise himself, but could not. “Come closer,” he said. He made an extraordinary effort to speak. “I wish … you would think about yourself. I have for years. Great fun.”
“Adrian, I can't. Jack would suffer far more if I married him.”
“That is a great hum,” he said. “Promise, nothing foolish. How is he to heal without you?”
She smiled. “It's already begun, Adrian. You'll see. Trust me.” She kissed him. “Oh, I do love you, Adrian. And Emily. You have meant so much to me.”
“No good-byes.”
“No.” She kissed him again and left the room, hurrying out the front door and onto the lawn. Chalking hurried after her. “But, Miss Hamilton, it is a long walk!”
“No, Chalking. There are hay wains driving by all the time. I won't have long to wait and will be at the crossing in time for the mail coach. Please give my best to Albert and the coachman. Oh, and the postboys too, and …” Her eyes filled with tears. “And you, Chalking. How I respect you.”
Chalking bowed but said nothing. He was the last person she saw from Sherbourn as she started walking down the lane, her eyes wide open, on her way to the mail coach.
NYX HAMILTON ARRIVED AT THE VICARAGE on Sunday evening in a drizzle. She had wrapped the wedding dress deep inside her valise, where she hoped it would remain dry. The little Wedgwood vase was tucked in the folds of the dress. There was a place for it on the mantelpiece in the vicarage.
She knocked on the door, and Daisy opened it, shrieked, and called for the Reverend Littletree. He came hurrying out of the parlor, pulling on his frock coat, his eyes wide.
“Onyx! Miss Hamilton!” he said, too surprised to strike any kind of pose.
“I have returned,” she said unnecessarily. “May I come in, Andrew?”
“Well, as to that, Miss Hamilton, I have taken up residence here. Step inside the front parlor, and I will get the umbrella.”
She went into the little parlor, her eyes searching for the piano-forte immediately. It was gone. Where it had been planted in all its carved splendor was a small table covered with books and papers. Onyx could only stare at the spot as her valise dropped from her hand.
“Oh, that,” Andrew said. “I could not imagine that you would have any time for such a bagatelle when w
e were married.” He smirked at her. “I fully intend to keep you quite, quite busy, my dear Miss Hamilton.”
“Oh.” Dear Miss Hamilton could think of nothing to do justice to the occasion. She felt herself sliding toward the hole that she had so recently climbed out of.
He rummaged in the closet and found the umbrella.
“Here, let us cross the lawn to Chalcott, and I will outline some of the pleasures you have in store here.”
“Yes.” She was reduced to monosyllables after less than five minutes in the Reverend Littletree's company.
By the time they reached the bookroom door to Chalcott, Onyx Hamilton had learned that the morning after her wedding she would be busy organizing the shire's first missionary society to the millions of heathens of India. “Oh, they are in such need of salvation, Miss Hamilton. And only think, it will be your responsibility!”
She also learned that it would be her happy task to transcribe all of the Reverend Littletree's notes from a summer of homiletics into a good round hand for future reference. “I took copious notes, Miss Hamilton. Never has my interest been so captured. You will have the pleasure of learning as you write. Think of it.”
She thought of it and wished herself with the heathens of India.
If Lady Bagshott was surprised to see her, she did not show it beyond a flicker of an eye and a slight drawing together of her eyebrows.
“You are dripping all over my carpet,” she scolded. “And you look cold. Littletree, that will be quite enough. You can take yourself off. I will summon a maid. Goodness knows they have little enough to do here and, as it is, eat me out of whatever fortune Lord Bagshott left me. Leave us, sir.”
Before a maid came to escort her into the upper reaches of the house, Lady Bagshott took her by the arm. “What of Adrian Beresford?”
“He is probably only a day or two from death, Lady Bagshott.”
“And you could not see it through to the end?”
“No,” Onyx replied simply. “I could not. Moreover, there are things that happened that I will not tell you, madam. They are all I have.”