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The pain and unbearable loneliness Kyrah dealt with daily in Ritcherd’s absence was quickly added upon. The same fate that had delivered good fortune into her father’s hands just as quickly took it away. The estate that Stephen Payne had won by careful stratagem in a game of cards was confiscated nine years later by the same methods.
Kyrah knew that to Stephen, being able to provide his wife and daughter with this elegant home was a dream come true. Sarah had grown up in a cottage on the estate, where Stephen had courted her and they’d fallen in love. Coming back had been a thrill for Sarah, and for this reason, the estate meant everything to Stephen.
There were no warnings, no gradual easing into the changes. It all happened in one day. When a knock sounded at the door, Kyrah happened to be nearby and went to answer it with her usual lack of enthusiasm. She knew it wasn’t Ritcherd, but she was surprised to see two glum-looking men who introduced themselves as solicitors, solemnly asking if they might speak with her mother.
When she and Sarah were seated in the drawing room with their visitors, Kyrah felt suddenly tense.
“Mrs. Payne,” the larger man said, “I’m afraid that, well . . .” He glanced toward his partner, as if for reassurance.
“You see,” the other one took over, “it is regarding this estate. And I’m afraid, as far as you are concerned, it is not good news.”
“We don’t wish to be the bearer of bad tidings, Mrs. Payne,” the large one said. Kyrah held her breath while she watched her mother closely. “But it’s . . .”
“Perhaps you should discuss this with my husband,” Sarah said when he paused too long. “He’s out of town at the moment, but should return very soon and—”
“I’m certain your husband already knows about this,” came the reply, and Sarah met Kyrah’s eyes with a glance of fear.
“Please get to the point, sir,” she insisted.
The large man took a deep breath, fingered the hat in his hands uneasily and said, “We are representing a Mr. Peter Westman.” Sarah showed no recognition of the name. “And this estate, with all its properties and the like, is now under his rightful ownership.”
Sarah laughed uneasily. “I don’t understand. We’ve been here for years. I’m certain there’s been a mistake.”
“There is no mistake, Mrs. Payne,” he said with a certain amount of compassion.
“But how . . .” she said breathlessly. “Why?”
Again the solicitors exchanged a rueful glance, then they both turned to Sarah. The one who wasn’t so large cleared his throat and said, “Mr. Westman has come by this estate through, er . . . a game of cards.”
“What!?” Sarah stood abruptly, but Kyrah thought she looked more hurt than angry. “Stephen wouldn’t do that. I know it! This is a mistake.”
Dazed and confused, Kyrah hardly took in the rest of their required discourse, which was stated quickly as the two men stood to leave. “We will have the papers sent out right away, and you can be assured that it is all very legal and proper. You must be out of the house in two weeks’ time, and . . .”
“Two weeks!” Sarah exclaimed softly.
“And Mr. Westman will be happy to assist you in any way he can.”
Sarah opened her mouth to speak again, but the solicitors donned their hats abruptly and left the room without waiting to be shown the way out.
Silently Kyrah watched her mother, waiting for a reaction. Kyrah herself could hardly think what to say. She felt numb and incapable of reacting.
Sarah’s hand went to her heart as she sat down. She was obviously upset, but she did well in remaining unemotional. Kyrah could see that she was fighting to come to her senses and think reasonably, and then she was able to speak.
“Everything will be fine,” she said with strength. “Your father would not have done it without good reason. If it’s a mistake, he’ll take care of it. If it’s not, we’ll move someplace else and manage just fine. There,” she smiled toward Kyrah, “when your father gets back, he’ll set things straight for us. He’s always taken very good care of us. Everything will be fine when he comes home.”
The bit of assurance Kyrah felt from her mother’s words was squelched only hours later, when the local constable came with news that made the earlier disclosure seem like good tidings. “Mrs. Payne,” he said, standing in the entryway, fidgeting with a pencil, “I fear I’ve come with bad news. The very worst possible news.”
Kyrah heard her heart pound audibly. She saw her mother turn pale as she waited silently to hear what the constable had to say. He cleared his throat and rocked on his heels. The tension in the air seemed unbearable. Drawing back his shoulders, he stopped rocking and said, “Your husband is dead.”
Kyrah felt a painful sob catch in her throat, and she bit into the back of her hand to keep it from escaping. Her eyes went to her mother, and through the mist she could see her swallow hard as both hands went to her face, trembling.
The constable went on quickly, avoiding Sarah’s weak gaze. “He was found in a London hotel room. The body and all of his belongings will be sent here right away.”
With despair in her eyes, Sarah looked expectantly to the constable, waiting for an explanation. Kyrah was aware of what was said in those moments, but it wasn’t until she was alone with her mother, who fell apart immediately, that the reality sank in.
Stephen Payne had committed suicide.
Kyrah cried. She cried sleeplessly through the night and far into the next day, while her mother murmured over and over that it couldn’t be true. He couldn’t be gone. He wouldn’t have done it. It didn’t make sense.
Kyrah was only able to get hold of herself when a fresh reality struck, and her grief was overshadowed by an ominous dread. Sarah showed little response when Kyrah told her they had received the official papers and needed to move. For the first time in her life, Kyrah felt completely alone.
The following days went by in a painful blur. Knowing that it had to be done, and needing to keep herself busy in order to avoid the pain, Kyrah began packing their things, with no idea of where to go or what to do. She was hardly aware that she reached the age of sixteen during the course of all this. And when her father’s body arrived from London, the pain renewed itself.
It might have been difficult to believe that he was really gone, since the casket arrived sealed and remained that way, due to the irreparable gunshot damage. But the letter that accompanied Stephen on his final journey home made the reality undeniable.
Sarah insisted that Kyrah read it aloud to her, and it took all of her strength to complete the message without falling apart all over again.
My darling Sarah, I will not ask you to forgive me, and I will not try to explain what has happened, for it makes no difference now. Instead I will ask you to remember, my darling, back to the time when we were young and our love was new. Try hard to recall the things I told you, the insignificant thoughts that were only a feeble effort to let you know how very much I cared. Look to the written evidence of my feelings, recall how we carved our love in the place where we came to return, and you will know that I did not leave you with nothing. Tell Kyrah that I love her, and know how very much I love you. With all my heart, Stephen.
Sarah was so caught up in her emotion over the letter that she completely missed the hidden meaning Kyrah was certain he’d intended. She tried repeatedly to get her mother to figure out what he was trying to say, but Sarah insisted she didn’t know. She accused Kyrah of grasping at something that wasn’t there, but Kyrah tore the house apart, knowing that he’d left money hidden somewhere. He wouldn’t leave them destitute. He wouldn’t, just as he’d said. But she found nothing.
The cry of a bird startled Kyrah, and she looked up to see the flapping of wings as it flew away from one of the high windows of the church ruins. The present flooded back into her with a painful burst and she wrapped her arms around her middle, groaning at the reality. She’d lost all sense of time as she’d sat among the churc
h ruins, lost in her memories. Now she felt suddenly very cold as she hurried quickly home, fearing that Sarah might have become distraught in her absence.
Kyrah found evidence that her mother had gotten something to eat and had returned to bed. It was becoming increasingly evident that Sarah would not be capable of solving their problems. Kyrah forced back a fresh tide of emotion and tried to focus on the future.
The days passed all too quickly. With a mounting sense of desperation, she kept her mother cared for, got all of their things packed and ready to go, and worried constantly over where they would go when their time ran out. There were no relatives to speak of, and if there was money, Kyrah couldn’t find it.
Three days before the two-week deadline, Mr. Westman’s solicitors returned to see that the details were taken care of, and Kyrah stated her problem directly.
“You must tell this Mr. Westman that he has not given us adequate time. We have nowhere to go, and very little money to speak of, and—”
“I suspected that was the case,” the large one said. “In fact, Miss Payne, we have taken this into consideration and have discussed it with Mr. Westman. There is a cottage on the estate, and he insists that this is where you must stay.”
Kyrah didn’t feel the least bit appreciative of Mr. Westman’s apparent kindness, despite its taking a great deal of worry from her mind. She hadn’t met the man, but already she hated him. He had taken everything from them.
Her next thought was that she would have to find work somewhere to support her and her mother. But as if her mind had been read, the solicitor added, “Mr. Westman also offers the suggestion that you might be able to work for him, as he will be needing to acquire servants. If this is agreeable to you, then everything should be taken care of.”
Kyrah said nothing. It seemed that everything was well taken care of indeed. Two days later, she and her mother were residing in the small cottage where Sarah had grown up, and Mr. Peter Westman came personally to call. He sauntered into the tiny entry hall of the cottage to face her silent, expressionless stare. She was glad her mother was asleep.
“Good afternoon.” He smiled, and Kyrah wanted to slap him as he glanced around easily and added, “This isn’t such a bad little place.”
He introduced himself arrogantly, then rambled on for a moment about how nice it was to have a home of his own. Kyrah scrutinized him closely, and thought that perhaps some might consider him handsome. But to her, his dark, slick hair and glassy eyes were revolting.
“State your business please,” Kyrah said at last, interrupting his ongoing prattle.
He looked at her with a sharp smirk, then said in a tone to clearly indicate her new status, “I assume you’re in need of work. If you want to stay here, you’re going to have to earn your keep. I’ll expect you at the big house early tomorrow.”
“My mother is ill,” Kyrah said quickly. Lifting her chin, she added, “But I will be there.”
“Good,” he said, and left Kyrah to her fate.
She quickly got their things in order and searched the cottage thoroughly, hoping to find what she was certain Stephen had left for them. Accepting at last that he’d been mistaken, or that it would simply never be found, Kyrah and her mother settled into a way of life that was utterly distasteful, simply because of the means that had brought it about and the emptiness that resulted.
Through the entire nightmare of dealing with her father’s death, adjusting to life as a servant, and seeing her mother’s health quickly deteriorate from the pain of the entire drama, Kyrah told herself over and over: If only Ritcherd were here.
Despite her constant anxieties, Ritcherd was always in her thoughts, and she ached for him. In order to cope, her mind became more and more preoccupied with the memories they had shared. As the months slipped by, she couldn’t help recalling the countless times he had spared her from the harshness of the world. And Kyrah was certain that if he were not off in the colonies, this whole ordeal would not have gone so far. Ritcherd would have found a way to spare her and her mother from having to suffer through all of this humiliation and degradation.
She received letters from Ritcherd, usually in bunches and very rarely, since the passage of ships was infrequent. But Kyrah thrived on those letters and the tender things he had written, with vague references to their future. Although she wrote back, she couldn’t be certain that he would receive all, if any, of her letters. Still, she wrote nothing about the circumstances she and her mother were enduring. She simply couldn’t bring herself to write down the reality of what had happened in a letter that she doubted would ever make it to him. Besides, it would have been far too humiliating to tell Ritcherd that she was now spending several hours each day cleaning the home in which she had once lived so graciously. How could she tell him she had no choice but to cook and do laundry for this wretched man who had taken it all away from them, just to keep a roof over their heads and food on the table? How could she ever define in a letter the uneasiness she felt when Peter Westman was in a room with her? Ritcherd could do nothing about it from where he was, she reasoned, so there was no point in distressing him over it. When he came back, everything would be all right.
A loud knocking at the door aroused Kyrah from her typical train of thought, and she begrudgingly rose from her scrubbing to answer it, wiping her hands on her apron. She was pushing a stray wisp of hair away with the back of her hand when she pulled the door open to face the stern expression of Jeanette Buchanan. What does she want? Kyrah snarled inwardly.
She felt herself being smugly appraised from head to toe, then Ritcherd’s mother curtly asked, “Is Mr. Westman in?”
“No,” she stated. “He’ll be gone until the end of the week.”
“Will you tell him I called,” she stated coldly. Jeanette surveyed Kyrah once more, then turned and walked back to the elegant carriage waiting in the drive, while Kyrah wondered what on earth would make this woman suddenly associate with Peter Westman. He’d lived in this house nearly two years, and she’d never come around before.
Kyrah closed the door and leaned against it, feeling almost weak. She had always hoped that time would allow Jeanette to accept her. But now the situation was far worse than Kyrah had ever imagined, and she knew it would never happen.
Knowing that daydreaming would not get the work done, Kyrah forced herself back to reality and kept far too busy to contemplate how much had changed in Ritcherd’s absence, and how these changes would affect her when he did come home.
The Captain of Her Heart Page 3