by Judith James
Her husband was a tyrant. He’d given orders she was not to leave her bed until he said so, but he’d hardly visited her over the past three days other than to poke his head in her room and leave. She had a vague recol ection of him staying by her side the day she was injured, and even tel ing her a poem late in the night, but she was beginning to think she had imagined it. It had been about Robin Hood after al , and everyone knew laudanum could make people imagine some very strange things.
It surprised her how easily she had come to think of him as husband, and she supposed she was lucky as far as those things went. He was a taciturn man, not easy to know, but he was young and handsome and honorable, it seemed. It was a trait much mocked at court, yet an important one to her. But it was not going to keep her in bed. No husband was going to rule her. It was her face that was injured, not her legs. She could surely walk.
Her determination withered as soon as Rose brought her a mirror. Her face was no longer black and blue. It was black and purple and a sickly green and yel ow, and though her eye could open it was stil swol en and misshapen. She let out a low moan. “Sweet Jesus, Rose! Why didn’t you tel me? What did he do to me? I look like a monster. I can’t leave the room looking like this.”
“A little face powder, my lady, would make a world of difference and—”
They both looked up to see the captain standing in the door. Rose glared at him, her eyes flashing, while Hope unconsciously put her hand up to hide her face.
“Ladies.” Red-faced and stiff, he bowed and then left.
“Robert, wait! I didn’t mean to…” Her voice trailed off. He was already gone.
“Rose, I look awful. No wonder he can’t bear to see me this way.”
“More like he can’t bear to see his own handiwork,” the maid replied with a disdainful sniff.
“Oh, dear. You might be right. But it’s not what you think. I’ve told you several times that—”
“That you run into his fist, ma’am. That’s what my ma used to say, too.”
“Wel , I’m sorry for your mother, Rose, if that was the case.
But I assure you the captain is not that way. He is a gentleman. And it wasn’t his fist. I ran into his elbow. I don’t want to have to explain it again.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Rose left the room with a handful of sewing and a mutinous tilt to her chin.
TWO DAYS LATER H OPE LEFT her room. The swel ing was down considerably, it hardly hurt at al , and she could see. She did stoop to using face powder, which almost made her more uncomfortable and self-conscious than the bruising did, but she was determined to get outside. It was a beautiful midsummer day. Roses, heavy with bees and perfume, spil ed over the garden gates and wended their way, lush and colorful, over long abandoned pergola and broken trel ises, and up red brick wal s.
She walked across the park to the river path, and rambled along its edge. It was a study in contrasts. Lofty branches made a shady canopy overhead, while the sun reflected diamond bright from off the river in a lovely dance of shadow and light. Moving past flowing eddies and around a narrow bend, she came to a place where the water widened and calmed to a slow and lazy flow. She settled on a smal hil ock, with her back resting against a stately yew.
It was early stil and she could hear the gentle plop and see the tiny ripples as here and there a fish would rise. She flung her line into the glistening waters. Oakes had told her the river teemed with bream and pike and gudgeon, but fishing was just an excuse to enjoy a day by the river, and she flipped her line from the water before a long dark shadow could make its strike.
I love it here. I like the people. This man fascinates me and I think of little else. But Charles is married and might summon me soon. What in God’s name am I supposed to do?
Relax and enjoy yourself, a voice seemed to answer, and she determined that as long as she might that was exactly what she’d do.
She had just dozed off to the quiet shushing of the river when a panicked Irish brogue woke her from her sleep.
“My lady! My lady! You are wanted at the house! You must come at once. The king’s messenger is here.” Her heart seized in her chest. No! She wasn’t ready. She didn’t want to see him. She had no wish to go.
The visitor, dressed very smartly in Stuart livery, waited in the drawing room with Robert. His eyes looked startled when he saw her and he perused her up and down. “My Lady Newport?”
“Yes, sir. And you are?” She was acutely aware of her black eye, bruised face and disheveled appearance. What in God’s name was the man to think?
“John Carpenter, at your service, madam.” He removed his brightly plumed hat to perform a deep bow. “I come with gifts, for your kitchen, and a message from His Majesty.
Might we speak in private?”
Hope glanced at her glowering husband, sitting in the corner with his arms folded and his long legs stretched in front of him, his booted feet crossed. “Whatever you have to say, you can say in front of my husband, Mr. Carpenter.” Robert gave her a quick look, but she couldn’t read his expression.
“Very wel ! His Majesty has sent you ten barrels of Rhenish and a fine haunch of venison to celebrate your wedding and his own marital bliss. He wishes you to know that he thinks of you often and hopes that you are wel .” He turned to stare at Robert as if he were some species of insect. Robert straightened suddenly as if he were about to get up and she hurried over to stand beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder. His glower worsened but he grunted and settled back down.
Not to be intimidated, the messenger continued, though his voice was pitched a little higher and his eye seemed to have developed a nervous twitch. “His Majesty is most concerned that he hasn’t heard from you. He has sent you several letters but received no reply.”
He stared at Robert as he spoke, as if accusing him, and now Robert was staring at her with a look of surprise. “I—I have received His Majesty’s letters, of course. I had not thought they required an answer. I…” I threw them away without even looking. Has he ordered me back to court before now?
“His Majesty simply wishes to know that you are wel . He has asked me to report back on it, madam.”
“Oh. Oh! Oh, this. The bruises. You need not concern yourself with that, Mr. Carpenter. His Majesty is wel aware of what a fumble-heels I am. I came around a corner mounting a staircase, not paying attention with a book in hand. My husband was coming down in too great a hurry at exactly the same time. I was almost upon him when we noticed each other. I gave a spring to the side to avoid him and he did the very same. Unfortunately we both jumped to the same side. It wil be an amusing story once the bruises fade,” she added rueful y.
“Indeed, madam. And where are your husband’s bruises?”
“My husband’s? Why would he have any? He was coming down as I was going up and he is already much tal er than me. I assure you, sir, I am not some cowed and meek—”
“Enough!” The captain stood. He towered over the messenger by several inches. “The man is simply doing his job, Hope. See he gets a meal and a bed if he wants it.
And you, Carpenter. Your message is delivered. You have asked your questions and my wife has answered. As you can see she is stil recovering from her ordeal. The questions are done now. Once you’ve rested you’l be on your way. I know you’re here to see my wife, but please be sure to thank His Majesty from me for all his gifts.” Robert didn’t know why the messenger’s visit had made him so angry but there was no doubt it had struck a nerve.
The king had invaded his home, his privacy. To check on her. To remind them both to whom she belonged. And what if the messenger had come to summon her back to the palace? It was just the kind of thing he had feared when he’d first agreed to this scheme. But he’d grown to care for her more than he’d expected. He’d come to think of her as his since then. How much worse now? Was this to be his future? To see his wife at the beck and cal of another man?
She said not. She said she was done with him. And she hadn’t answered his
letters. But she knew as wel as he did that one day the summons would come. What then?
HOPE HAD FELT HIS WITHDRAWAL at dinner. He had barely spoken to her except to say goodnight. She’d been so afraid the messenger had come to cal her back to London, but Robert had offered no comfort, no reassurance. Now, alone in her room, she couldn’t help but wonder at how quick she was to look to him expecting such things.
A gust of wind scattered her bed curtains and she crossed to the window to look outside. The moon was high and distant tonight, the clouds formless black shadows scudding by. There was no hint of thunder, and no taste of rain. Just a harrying wind whipping moon-washed trees that shimmered silver-grey in the pal id light. She heard what sounded like a sigh behind her, and whirled, heart pounding, but there was nothing there. She picked up Daisy from her nest among the pil ows, comforted by her silky warmth and lusty purr. Why does the wind always blow when we argue? And why did the house sometimes seem to breathe?
There was a rustling sound from the corner. She scrambled for a candlestick and backed from the room, waving it al around her, Daisy clutched to her chest. I love this house, but I’m not at all sure that it loves me. Braving shadowed hal ways and echoing floors, she headed for the room where she always felt comfortable. The quaint little cabinet off the north wing. It was too warm for a fire, so she lit several candles for light. Even this little room, her haven, seemed off somehow tonight. Above or below the mournful howl of the wind, she thought she heard someone scream.
“It’s al right, Daisy. There’s naught to be afraid of.” A floorboard squeaked behind her and she gave a smal scream.
Robert grinned as he took in the scene. The kitten was hidden behind her back, he assumed for its own protection, and she wielded her candlestick like a weapon, held over her head, ready to throw or strike.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. What are you doing down here at this hour, Hope?”
“I couldn’t sleep. I told you before I’m often up at night.” He walked over to her and gently pried the candlestick from her hands, replacing it with a glass of brandy. “So am I,” he said with a weary sigh. “There are few who brave this part of the house in daylight, let alone at night.” She gave him a sharp glance. “Real y?”
“Indeed.” He guided her to an armchair, released Daisy from her grip and sat her down. “Why not read a book, nice and safe in your room?” He settled himself in the chair beside hers and rested his feet on an expensive-looking marquetry table.
“Sometimes, I hear things in my room. Like…a woman crying, or somebody screaming, or footsteps and such. It…
it is such an old house. There are many odd noises.”
“Yes. Have you been speaking with the servants while I was away?”
“Why?”
“Because they wil fil your head with nonsense. Banshees and faeries and ghosts and such.”
The brandy warmed her somewhat, and his presence warmed her more. “They say…”
“The house is haunted. Yes. It’s not. What you hear are only night birds, cal ing to their mates. There are many that live in these parts. Tawny owls can sound like mournful cal ing, and a barn owl’s cry sounds very much like a scream.
Mockingbirds can mimic many sounds, such as squeaky gates, barking dogs and even people whistling. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
“Just because you are not afraid, it doesn’t mean there’s nothing to fear. Mrs. Overton herself told me about the Fair Maid of Clifton who married a richer man when her betrothed was gone. ’Tis said he was driven wild with grief and drowned himself in the river. This river. Near here.”
“Yes, I’ve heard the story…. ‘Then al was stil , the wave was rough no more, the river swept as sweetly as before.’
Except it happened a good ten miles from here.”
“Did it real y?” Her eyes shone with excitement.
“Yes. But that’s not al . When Margaret Clifton heard of the fate of her lover, seized by guilt she joined her moldering paramour in his watery grave.” The last was spoke in a eerie whisper.
“You don’t believe in ghosts, do you, Robert?” The kitten had climbed up his legs and settled on his chest and he scratched its head absently. “No. No, I don’t.” There was a sadness to his voice and she wanted to ask him more.
“If anything haunts you here, elf, it’s of your own making.”
“And what is it that haunts you, Captain?” He groaned and poured another drink. “Something worse than ghosts or demons.”
“What can be worse than that?” Her apprehension showed in her voice.
“Memories,” he answered after a long pause. “Memories haunt me, Hope.”
“Ah, yes.” She nodded. “I have those, too.” She wished she could reach out to touch him without it being misconstrued.
His eyes were far away, somewhere else, but he gifted her with a tired smile. “The gardens were my sister’s favorite place,” he offered after several minutes of silence.
She looked at him, startled. She’d come to accept that certain topics were closed to her. She knew he was an intensely private man. “The girl in the miniature?” she asked careful y.
“Yes. Caroline. She died several years ago. I apologize.
You have worked so hard, al of you have, to restore the house. I real y was very pleased with the results. I didn’t mean to shout, it’s just…”
“You didn’t want me intruding.”
“Yes… No… It’s not you. No one has touched it in years.
She had special places there. The secret garden and such.
We…” He gave a painful sigh. “I just prefer to leave them untouched. It’s like holding on to the last piece of her. There are the orchards, though, and the old conservatory, though it is much run-down. I’ve been thinking you might occupy yourself with those.” He made a fluid motion with his hands and fingers. “Perhaps you can conjure pineapples.” She grinned. “Perhaps I can.”
“If you don’t go back to London. You didn’t answer his letters?”
“No. I didn’t even read them. I’m not even angry with him anymore. I just…have no interest. I was afraid today…” He looked at her careful y. “Afraid that he’d summoned you home?”
“I’ve never had a real home, Robert. Not one that was mine.
The closest thing I have to home is here. I was afraid you’d let me go without a backward glance.”
He laughed at that and took her hand in his. “Look at me, Hope.” His eyes were warm and his voice compel ing.
“How would that be possible? Cressly has come to life since you’ve been here. She was alone and empty and you’ve infused her with your soul. You do have a home.
You’re sitting in it. Whatever might happen, she’l always await you, and you’l always be welcome here.” She was furiously blinking back tears, but one escaped and rol ed down her cheek. He brushed it gently with his thumb.
“If he summons me to London, would you come with me?
To stand as my husband and bring me back home?”
“Yes. If that’s what you want. Now…do you think that we might start over again?”
“How do you mean?” Her eyes were luminous. She wasn’t certain that he real y meant it. It might al change the next time they had a fight. She’d been given a house to use before, but it was the first time she’d ever been offered a home.
“As if I’d just come home. Before I snarled at you and chased you from the gardens or sent you tumbling down the stairs.”
She gave him a bright smile. “Of course we can. I’m so pleased to see you back safe, Captain. How was your business in London?”
He hadn’t real y been expecting that question, but he answered as best as he could. “I have a powerful enemy I have to deal with, Lady Nichols, who attacks from hiding after many years away. The trip proved unfruitful. The matter remains unsettled. That’s al I can tel you at this time.”
“I see.” She blinked several times, somewhat taken aback, but she ha
d never lacked for persistence. “Are you or Cressly in any immediate danger?”
“No. I’ve an unlikely al y in London who watches my back.
Now if you please, let’s talk of something else.”
“Very wel . Did you real y tel me a tale of Robin Hood?”
“I did. I felt obliged after bashing you in the face.”
“I told you then, I tel you now, you make too much of it, but I am pleased to know you’ve come round to a more sympathetic point of view.”
“I haven’t,” he said with a rueful chuckle. “One should never argue with someone whose head might be addled. I was simply humoring you. Speaking of which, you should real y be warm in your bed.”
“Would you escort me back and see me settled? My room makes me rather nervous this night.” She looked at him from beneath lowered lashes, a mischievous smile on her face, but the tension in her voice was real.
He helped her up and handed her Daisy, then wrapped an arm around her waist and drew her close. She was trembling and he gave her a quick hug before starting down the hal . “I assure you, wife, these days there is nothing that walks Cressly more dangerous than me.”
Hope was surprised when they reached her room. The atmosphere felt peaceful, brighter. The tension and heaviness were gone. It was very late and when he bundled her into her bed, he flopped down beside her.
“Captain Robert Nichols at your service, madam.
Household patrol and, ah…spectral night watch. I guarantee you a peaceful sleep.” He reached for a coverlet and tucked it around her shoulders, noting as he did the glass swan on her bedside table. His lips quirked in a smile.
“Did I thank you, Robert, for the lovely room? I meant to.”
“You mean the one that is crowded with ghosts?” He wrapped her in a warm embrace and she settled close against him. “Sleep now. After a knock on the head you need it. You’re safe here with me.”