Apathy and Vigor

by Faye Hall

  He walked along the back of the house, his direction the workers’ shed. He had no real need to check on anything, but he thought he might take one of the horses for a ride out to one of the far paddocks.

  “Why will you not receive me?” he heard a familiar female voice ask behind him just as he was about to go around the corner.

  It was Amalie. The sound of her voice made him stop dead in his tracks.

  “Tell me why you sent your employee to tell me you were indisposed, when I can see quite clearly that you aren’t.”

  He stalled, his hand clenching subconsciously as he prepared himself for the rejection he would receive as soon as Amalie saw his face. Sighing heavily, he cautiously turned around, his stare going to hers. His heart thudded in his chest as he looked back into her dark blue eyes.

  “Why are you here, Amalie?”

  He waited for her response, expecting her to run away in horror as soon as she saw his scarred face. She didn’t flee though. Instead, she stood firm, her hands fidgeting with her skirt, her gaze joined directly to his. Never had he seen her look more afraid than she looked right now. But to his surprise, not once did her gaze shift to the hideous scars on his cheek.

  “I need your help, Tristen,” she uttered softly, the words sounding as if they were being dragged from her by force.

  This wasn’t the woman he thought to see. He expected fear and anger, not the timid creature before him, too fearful to even utter a few words. His brow furrowed, confusion filling him. This didn’t make any sense. What happened to the Amalie he remembered and fell in love with, her strong will and pride obvious to anyone who met her? The same woman who had the strength to refuse him, his letters returned unopened, any personal visits refused on the threat of a bullet. That was the Amalie he remembered. This woman standing before him now was barely a shadow of that woman.

  Something was terribly wrong; he could see it in her face. Whatever sent her there was not of her free will. So why was she there? And who could have sent her?

  “Please, Tristen,” she pleaded, taking a single step toward him. “I have nowhere else to go.”

  Silence surrounded them, his gaze studying her. Though he was still suspicious as to her reasons for being there, he had no doubt she was in fact in some kind of trouble. He knew from his informants that Amalie was still a suspect in the death of Albert Heather. He also knew there were few estates willing to employ her now, especially after the rumors currently circulating about her personal involvement with several of her previous employers. There was every chance she had nowhere else to go, but he suspected that wasn’t the only reason she was back in his life. Looking at the sadness that filled her eyes, he knew whatever brought her there, she needed his help.

  “I can give you a room until you can find a better place to stay,” he finally offered, knowing that he couldn’t turn her away.

  “I didn’t come here expecting your charity, Tristen,” she insisted, looking slightly uneasy with his offer. “I heard you are low on servants and thought you might have some work for me.”

  He shook his head. “I won’t allow you to work for me. You are not a servant, nor shall you become mine now, regardless of your situation. I will help you as you need it, but that is all.”

  “I didn’t come here expecting your pity.”

  “Nor was I offering it,” he said sternly. “I am helping you because I want to.”

  She looked confused. “But why?”

  He didn’t answer her. He couldn’t. The last thing she needed to hear now was his heartfelt confessions. “If you will follow me, I shall show you to your room.”

  “I need more than just a roof over my head,” she explained, her words stopping him. “I have no money for clothes or food. That’s why I asked for work.”

  He nodded. “I understand. I shall see what I can find for you, but I can’t promise anything. Servitude is hard on a woman, and that is a life I don’t want to subject you to if I can avoid it.”

  “Why are you being so kind to me?” she asked.

  He lowered his gaze from hers. She was still such a beautiful woman, and it hurt to know he could no longer touch her soft curves or smell her long, auburn hair. “Your room,” he muttered, turning away from her and walking toward the rear door of the house.

  Stopping in the entrance, he opened the door wider. She followed him, and stepping into the house, she went to walk past him. Drawing level with him, she stopped, her gaze shifting to him, and he could feel her studying him.

  “I assure you, I shan’t go out of my way to make you feel any more uncomfortable than you already are. Considering I rarely leave my study, there is little chance we shall cross paths often during your stay.”

  He walked away from her then, unable to listen to her disgust at what he had become, or see the look of horror in her eyes. He knew what he was in the eyes of a woman. He didn’t need to hear it from Amalie. To do so would break his heart all over again.

  Walking up the stairs, he hurried along the hall to the room he was offering to her. His hand rested on the handle.

  “I was told you became a monster after the fire,” she uttered, stopping beside him.

  He turned to face her, his brow raised. “And aren’t I?” He expected to hear her say yes. He prepared himself for it.

  “No,” she said softly. “You are no monster.”

  He held her stare, his heart thudding heavily. That wasn’t what he’d expected to hear from her. Not now. Not ever. He didn’t know what to do or say, too fearful that even the simplest familiar gesture would scare her away. Dragging his gaze away from her, he turned the handle and slowly opened the door.

  “This will be your room for the duration of your stay.”

  “My room?” she asked, sounding confused. “I thought to be staying in the servants’ quarters with the others.”

  He shook his head. “You are no servant, nor should you be expected to share lodgings with them. Despite your reason for coming here, for tonight at least, you shall be my guest.”

  Stepping forward, she glanced inside. “I can’t stay here, Tristen. This is your room.”

  He let go of the handle and stepped back away from her to give her room to enter. “This hasn’t been my room in almost a year. After my father died, I took up residence in the main bedroom and study.”

  He went to turn away from her, his heart aching with having her so near to him again.

  “I shall leave you now. I’m sure you would like to get settled and maybe rest after your journey.”

  “And in which room do your mistresses stay?” he heard her ask when he had barely taken a step toward the stairs.

  Stopping in his departure, he slowly turned back to face her. “What did you say?” he asked.

  Her lips pursed, her hands gripping in her skirts until her knuckles turned white. “I was told you practically had your own harem living here with you.”

  His stare narrowed. “And is that why you’re here now?” he asked. “Did you come to meet these apparent women?”

  She glanced away from him. “I told you I need work and an allowance to live off.”

  He eyed her intently, knowing for certain that if she were avoiding his gaze, she was hiding something from him. Whatever sent her there definitely wasn’t employment. He would have to wait and see what it could have been. Until then, he would play this game of hers if he must.

  “I can offer you a job in the house. I need someone to bring my meals to me and anything else I call for. I will try not to be too demanding, but as I rarely leave my study, and I have few house servants, it isn’t something I can guarantee.”

  Amalie had a puzzled look on her face. “It makes no sense that a station as large as this would have hardly any staff,” she remarked. “I remember your father had a full house of servants working for him.”

  “It makes perfect sense considering my disfiguration,” he explained. “Unlike when my father was alive, few female staff members can even bear to look at me.
Fewer still can stomach working for me longer than a couple of days.”

  Silence fell between them, and he could feel her stare running over his scars. It wasn’t a feeling he was comfortable with.

  “Do you want me to start work immediately?” she asked.

  He slowly shook his head. “What I require is for you to try to get yourself settled in and rest for the night. I will have a meal brought up for you if you wish. You can come to my study first thing in the morning and I’ll run through your duties and we can discuss your allowance.”

  Before she could argue with him, he turned and walked off in the direction of his study. His steps were quick, and his heart thudded heavily in his chest. It had been so very long since he had been near her, and now that she was there and within his reach, he couldn’t ignore the tender emotions she still ignited in him. Her beauty was still without question, but it was the way she spoke, her words washing over him, that made him ache to feel the softness of her skin against him once more.

  Hearing the door to her room shut behind him, he called himself a fool. Amalie wasn’t there to rediscover lost emotions, nor to rekindle their love affair. She was there simply because she claimed she had nowhere else to go.

  A small ounce of hope filled him as he thought maybe he could use her desperation to his advantage. If he could get her to stay with him long enough, he might be able to finally make her listen to his explanation about what happened the night Jacob died. He needed her to believe that he had nothing to do with the death of her brother or Amanda. Maybe then she could see him as something more than a monster.

  Walking past the sideboard mirror in the hall near the entrance to his study, Tristen’s brief hope died. There was no way she could ever see him as anything other than what he had become—a monster. No one as beautiful as Amalie could ever want a man who looked like him, regardless of the romantic past they shared. It wasn’t just that though. He knew that too much had happened between them—the lies that had been told—for them to just pick up where they left off almost a year ago. But he didn’t blame her for deserting him. How could he when he still loved her so much?

  He stepped into his study and quickly shut the door behind him. Leaning against it, he tried to bring order to his emotions. Despite the raw feelings Amalie reignited in him this evening, he couldn’t risk acting on any of them. It destroyed him the first time she turned away from him. He couldn’t bear to watch her do it again. It would kill him.

  Walking toward his desk, he thought if he could just find out why she had finally come to him asking for help, he might have a better idea of how to deal with her and her intentions. Reaching for his book of contacts from his top drawer, he knew of only one person who might know why Amalie was there—it was the same person he never wanted to have to see again. The address clear in his mind, he shut the book and dropped it on his desk.

  Leaving the study, he stopped at the kitchen and requested that a plate of food be taken up to Amalie’s room, before he went to find his driver.

  “Take me to see Bastian Tanner,” he ordered.

  Chapter 9

  The carriage came to a stop in front of the Anabranch Hotel, and Tristen stepped out. He had been given this address a few months ago by Douglas. It did come as somewhat of a surprise when he was told of Bastian’s new living quarters, but he also knew there was probably little other choice. After the death of his father, Bastian had nothing left and no one to live off of. If he were to make himself any kind of a living, he would have to work for it—a concept totally foreign to him.

  Stepping inside the building, Tristen walked over to the bartender. “I’m looking for Bastian Tanner.”

  The man behind the bar pointed to a table at the rear of the establishment.

  Tristen nodded his thanks, then walked over to the table and cleared his throat loudly.

  “To what do I owe the pleasure?” Bastian asked without looking up. “It’s not often the hermit leaves his abode.”

  “Amalie is at my station seeking work,” Tristen said. “I thought you might know why.”

  Finally, Bastian looked up at him. “And why would you make that assumption?”

  “You were engaged to the woman, Bastian. It stands to reason you would keep track of her actions.”

  “That may be your assumption, but I assure you that isn’t the case.”

  Tristen eyed him curiously. “So you have no idea why, after almost a year, Amalie has come to see me?”

  Bastian shrugged. “Maybe she intends to make you suffer for taking her brother away from her.”

  Tristen scoffed at his remark. “I guarantee you I have paid for whatever sins I’ve been guilty of more than twice over. There is little else anyone can do to make me suffer.”

  “If she has come seeking revenge, you could hardly blame her. After all, it is because of you her brother is dead.”

  Tristen clenched his jaw. He knew this man was baiting him, and he wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing him lose his temper. “Both Jacob and I heard Amanda scream from inside that building that night. We both went in to save her.”

  Bastian nodded. “Yet it was only you who walked out unscathed. Convenient really.”

  “Unscathed?” Tristen asked, forcing himself to stay calm and not indulge him. “Since you appear to know so much about what happened that night, can you tell me why Amanda was out in the workers’ cottage in the first place?” he asked, redirecting the conversation.

  “I was told she’d been meeting with a woman in secret,” Bastian replied.

  “Define meeting.”

  Bastian sat back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. “They were lovers, or so it was rumored. There was a witness who supposedly saw a woman running from the back of the workers’ cottage the night of the fire.”

  Tristen thought about that for a moment. He wasn’t surprised to hear of the apparent relationship, knowing that such a thing was far more common than most thought. Remembering Jacob’s confession to him that night though, he was slightly confused. Wasn’t his best friend the one having an affair with Amanda? Maybe if he could find the identity of Amanda’s suspected lover, she could shine some light on what actually happened that night and who Amanda had really been in a relationship with before her death.

  “Did this witness get a close enough look to give some kind of a description of the escaping woman?” he finally asked.

  Bastian unfolded his arms, reaching forward, his fingers running along the rim of the empty glass sitting before him on the table. “It’s said she was a little over five feet in height and had a curvaceous build. Her hair was thought to be brown the way it was in contrast to her pink dress.”

  Tristen stared at the man sitting in front of him, certain he was trying to get a rise out of him. He wasn’t ignorant to the similarity of the witness’s apparent description to that of Amalie. Even the dress color was the same. Deciding Bastian was only playing some cruel trick on him, Tristen turned away from him. It was time he returned home.

  “I thought it odd that the woman described sounded exactly like Amalie,” he heard Bastian say behind him. “Wasn’t she wearing a pink dress that night?”

  Tristen didn’t stop to answer him. He just kept walking out of the hotel and back to his waiting carriage. Though he tried to push Bastian’s words from his mind, he couldn’t. What if there really had been a witness that night? If there had been, and she in fact saw Amalie running from the workers’ cottage, then maybe his lost love knew far more about that night than he had been led to believe. He would have to find out for certain, and with her back in his life, this may well be his last chance.

  Stepping into the carriage and ordering his driver to take him home, Tristen sat back in his seat. He would have to aim his questions at Amalie carefully when he confronted her though, for fear he could push her away again. It had to be clear that he wasn’t accusing her of being responsible for the fire that night, but that maybe she had suppressed some memory of what o
r who she saw out near the cottage.

  Glancing out of the window, he saw his house just up ahead, his heartbeat quickening as he thought about the woman who now resided there. He wanted nothing more than to hold her in his arms and tell her that he would make everything all right again. It was a promise he couldn’t honestly make though. Before he could offer her anything, he needed to know what, if anything, she saw the night her brother died, as well as what had brought her there to him.

  The carriage pulled up to the house, and he stepped out. What if her reason for being there was directly related to the night of the fire? Walking up to the front entrance, he knew there was only one way he would ever find out for certain.

  * * * *

  Amalie placed the plate of half-eaten food on her bedside table. She hadn’t eaten properly in ages, and she should have been starving, but her heart ached too much to care about food. It had been so long since she’d seen Bastian, and now that she had—and had seen the pain on his face—she wanted nothing more than to reach out to him and engulf him in her arms.

  Standing from her seat, she walked over to her suitcase and, opening it, started to unpack her few belongings. As she moved around the room, putting her clothing away, she couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to the strong, confident man she had fallen in love with so long ago. This man who invited her to stay with him was barely a shadow of who she remembered he used to be. He certainly didn’t resemble the heartless, cold monster she’d been told he had become.

  In fact, nothing about the entire house matched the story she’d been told about his womanizing and constant greed. There was hardly anyone there, and there were less than half of the decorations she remembered used to adorn this station house. Everything was so sparse and basic, not something expected from a greed-driven, wealthy station owner.