A Stranger at Fellsworth

by Sarah E. Ladd

  “Annabelle’s mother, my sister, was a headstrong, willful thing. She made poor decisions—decisions for which she paid dearly. Let us hope her daughter does not follow in her footsteps.”

  “Is your sister living?”

  “No, she succumbed to winter fever more than ten years ago. It’s not shocking to hear my nephew would be in trouble of some sort. If he is anything like his father, there is truth in what you’ve heard.”

  Owen stiffened at Edmund’s harsh words. “I have encountered Mr. Thorley on several different hunting parties at Bancroft Park. I’ve no wish to cast judgment on a man I do not know, but his behavior was always eccentric. Last night was no different. I can see why Miss Thorley thought herself in danger, especially under his guardianship.”

  “And what of the woman accompanying Annabelle? What do you know of her?”

  “Very little, other than she is Miss Thorley’s companion.”

  Langsby stood and moved to the window, and Owen stood and fidgeted with his hat. He had done what he promised and eased his conscience: he delivered the women to a place of safety. But unrest plagued his innermost thoughts. For what was to come of Miss Thorley?

  The floorboard above him groaned, and the muffled sound of feminine footsteps crossed the space. He glanced up at the ceiling. A part of him wanted to remain and make certain all was well, but another matter called to him. “They are safe, then. I should like to see Hannah before I leave.”

  “Of course. I have work to tend to in my study at the school, so I shall walk you there myself.”

  Owen followed Langsby down the narrow corridor and back out into the hot sunshine. He savored a deep breath of beloved country air and exhaled. Normally, seeing his daughter was the bright moment of his day. But his chest felt unusually tight and his heart thumped.

  Even though he knew Miss Thorley was safe with Langsby, his mind’s eye could not erase the sight of her bruised cheek. It called to mind another horrific act of violence against a woman—one he had been unable to prevent and that resulted in his wife’s death.

  It had not been his fault, but he would carry the guilt until his dying day.

  Miss Thorley’s injury also had not been his fault, but he would never forgive himself until he saw that she was, without any question, safe.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The cloudy looking glass did not lie. Annabelle touched her fingertips to her cheek as she assessed her reflection.

  Mr. Locke had been right. Her face was bruised and her cheek swollen. It was no wonder that her skin throbbed and her head ached. She straightened her posture. Anger at her brother raged afresh.

  Never again.

  Never again would she allow herself to be in a situation where she could be treated as such. It may have taken giving up everything she knew, but at least for today she was safe.

  Aunt Lydia had ushered them up a narrow, uneven wooden staircase to a room where the maid had already placed their things. It was the same room she and her mother had occupied when they were guests here, and everything was just as she remembered it: a single narrow bed with a wooden frame pushed against the papered wall and a painted rocking chair next to the room’s only window. A tall chest of drawers stood opposite the bed, and a washbasin was tucked in the corner.

  Her plain surroundings were a stark reminder of the price she was paying for her newfound freedom.

  Aunt Lydia pushed open the window, and instantly a cooling breeze swirled into the small chamber. “This room has not been used since my sister visited us last spring.” She fussed with the rough linen curtains at the window. “You two can share this room until other arrangements can be made.”

  Annabelle turned away from the mirror. She was too tired to consider what the “other arrangements” might be. “It is very kind of you to make space in your home for us on such short notice.”

  “Think nothing of it.” Aunt Lydia propped her hand on her plump hip. “It has always pained my husband that he lost touch with your family.”

  Annabelle sighed. “It has been a long time, hasn’t it?”

  The older woman stepped from the window and took Annabelle’s hands in her own warm ones. “It has been far too long. Such a beautiful woman you’ve become. You look so much like your mother did at your age, with the exception of your hair, of course. She had the blondest hair I’d ever seen.”

  Her aunt’s words of family probed at a section of her soul Annabelle kept carefully guarded. Not since Samuel had someone called her beautiful. And the references to her mother made her homesick for a life she had years ago.

  Refusing to allow her emotions to rule her thoughts, Annabelle gave a little sniff. She reached out and looped her arm through Crosley’s and forced a smile. “Aunt Lydia, I have not yet had the opportunity to properly introduce you to Miss Margaret Crosley.”

  Crosley dipped a curtsy.

  “You are welcome in our home, Miss Crosley. Any friend of Annabelle’s is accepted under our roof.”

  Annabelle removed her arm. She was hesitant about sharing too much about her relationship with Crosley, and at this point, it was best for everyone to think of her as Annabelle’s friend. “I have known Miss Crosley for many years, and she has been kind enough to travel with me so I wouldn’t have to brave traveling alone.”

  “Indeed. I was quite interested to learn that Mr. Locke had accompanied you from London, but not surprised. He is a thoughtful man. How extraordinary that you should know one another.”

  Annabelle studied the woven rug beneath her feet. How could she ever explain that she had approached a strange man and so boldly asked him such a personal favor? Perhaps Mr. Locke wouldn’t expose her faults. She had made so many reckless decisions over the past day that the magnitude of them threatened to overwhelm her.

  If Aunt Lydia noticed any hesitation in Annabelle, she gave no indication of such. “Mr. Locke is a favorite around Fellsworth, and a friend of the school particularly. His talents as a gamekeeper and his knowledge of the outdoor world are quite well known. In fact, for the past several years he has been good enough to teach the older boys the foundation of trapping and hunting. He is quite indispensable.”

  Annabelle’s interest was piqued. “He did not mention his connection to the school, but he said that his daughter was a student.”

  Aunt Lydia nodded, her blue eyes wide. “Hannah is her name. Such a sweet little girl, even if a bit of a handful. And she is the very likeness of her dear mother, God rest her soul.”

  Annabelle lifted her head at the mention of the child’s mother’s demise. It would not be proper to inquire about what happened to the wife of a man she barely knew.

  Aunt Lydia waved her hand. “I’m eager to catch up on all of your news, but I’ll wager that you want some rest after the journey. Traveling always makes one so weary.”

  Just the mere mention of rest brought a yawn, and Annabelle held her hand to her mouth to hide the discourteous action. “I do believe I am in need of a little sleep.”

  Aunt Lydia stepped close to Annabelle and rubbed her arm with motherly affection. “It does my soul good to see you, child. I wish you were here under happier circumstances, but whatever the reason, your presence brings joy to both your uncle and me.”

  With that, Aunt Lydia quit the room. Neither Annabelle nor Crosley moved until the sound of her retreating footsteps faded. Crosley hurried to the window and looked to the grounds below. “I can’t believe I’m here. I have never been outside of London before. It is so beautiful! Look at all the trees.”

  Annabelle looked past her companion to see the school, a giant U-shaped limestone structure with paned windows and a slate roof. Several smaller buildings were positioned around it, and a web of paths and walkways connected them all. The scene was alive with activity: somberly clad children played in a grassy area across from the main building, and a carriage pulled to a stop outside one of the entrances.

  Crosley whirled from the window, stifled a yawn, and dropped to the bed. “I c
an’t wait to explore the grounds, but it will have to wait. I want to sleep for hours and hours.”

  Annabelle wished she could share the other woman’s enthusiasm, but uncertainty still plagued her. Undoubtedly a nice rest would help her see the situation more clearly. She had not slept since the previous night, and her eyes cried for rest. Before she could nap, however, she needed to remove her gown. She could sleep in her chemise, but she would be much more comfortable once she was free from her gown and stays.

  Annabelle turned toward Crosley. “Can you help me with these buttons?”

  Crosley rolled to her side and propped herself up. Normally, Annabelle would not even have to ask the question. Crosley stared at her for several moments before she pushed up to a standing position.

  Even though they had left London mere hours ago, the dynamic was already starting to shift. Crosley’s actions were making it clear that she was not acting as lady’s maid anymore. Crosley wordlessly helped Annabelle disrobe, and Annabelle moved to the fresh basin of water. She washed her arms and hands, then took great care as she pressed the linen towel to her face so as not to agitate the bruising.

  She glanced back at Crosley, who had freed herself from her own gown and already dressed in a chemise. Her hair was loose about her shoulders. Come to think of it, Annabelle had never seen Crosley with her hair down or in any other attire besides the gray gown she wore nearly every day.

  “You seem happy,” said Annabelle.

  “I am.” Crosley shook out her dress and hung it on a hook next to the door. “I have never in my life been a guest anywhere, and now I am in a room suited for important guests and someone else will bring me tea. Can you imagine?”

  Annabelle could only stare. She was struggling to convince herself that she could function in a world without servants, while Crosley was embarking on an entirely new, exciting journey.

  “Do you need help, then, getting that sleeping gown on?” Crosley asked, almost as an afterthought.

  “No, thank you.” She could manage this garment, although her other intricate gowns were not so simple and would require assistance. The thought vexed her.

  Annabelle tugged it over her head and smoothed the lace along the neckline, pausing to watch Crosley as she retrieved a hairbrush and brushed her own hair.

  With a sigh, Annabelle lifted her soiled gown. She probably would not have many opportunities to wear it anymore, but she could not leave it as it was. Had they still been in London, Crosley would have removed every speck and stain from the delicate silk fabric and returned her evening gown to a pristine state.

  But they were no longer in London.

  Not entirely sure what to do, Annabelle dipped the cloth in the washbasin and dabbed at the dried mud.

  “What are you doing?” Crosley called across the room.

  Annabelle thought it was apparent. “Cleaning my gown.”

  “Not like that. If you rub it, you will set the stain. See? Look how it is smearing.”

  Frustrated with her own incompetence, Annabelle let her hands drop to her side. “Then what am I to do?”

  “Rubbing it with salt should do the trick.” Crosley closed the space between them and snatched the garment from Annabelle’s hand. “I’ll see to it.”

  “Perhaps you can show me then. I will need to learn these things for myself.”

  Crosley gave a little laugh and shook her head. “Oh, Miss Thorley, you are going to have a great many things that are more important to learn than cleaning a gown. I fear you are in for quite a shock.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Owen waited on the bench outside the study of Mrs. Brathay, the headmistress. The daylight hours were ticking by, and he needed to return to London before Treadwell noticed his absence, but he could not quit Fellsworth without seeing Hannah.

  He was one of the fortunate parents. He saw his child at least every week. Most of the children who attended Fellsworth School had no relatives in the county. Many of them had gone months or even years without seeing their families. Hannah was one of the few local students who could return home when the need arose.

  As grateful as he was for all the school offered Hannah, he was torn. In a perfect world, his wife would be raising their daughter in their home, teaching her and instilling in her faith and discipline.

  After his wife’s death he did his best to raise Hannah on his own, but when Mr. Langsby offered to make an exception to allow her to attend school at a younger age than generally accepted, Owen had to agree. What did he know about teaching and raising a girl? If only he could give his daughter another mother, another woman who would invest in her.

  The beautiful Miss Thorley crossed his mind. For just a moment he allowed his thoughts to linger on the brightness of her eyes and the soft curve of her cheek. But it would only be that—a fleeting thought. He had learned his lesson about setting his sights on a woman beyond his social status, and he had paid a dear price for doing so. He was a gamekeeper. His life was spent in the outdoors, not with courting. And with the shocking circumstances surrounding his wife’s death, what woman would willingly step into the gamekeeper’s cottage?

  “Papa!”

  Owen jerked his head up as his daughter’s cheery voice echoed in the paneled corridor. He smiled. The sight of his daughter running toward him made the trip to Fellsworth worth it.

  He stood and extended his arms, and the child jumped toward him. “You’re home!”

  He lifted her from the ground and squeezed her in a tight embrace before he placed her back on the ground. “There now, poppet. Let me have a look at you.”

  She giggled and gave a little curtsy. Hannah was clothed in the black gown she wore to school every day. A white cap covered most of her fair hair. Her rosy cheeks boasted a healthy glow, and her bright-blue eyes danced with mirth.

  “Have you grown taller?” he teased and held his hand out in front of him as if making a measurement. “When I left, you were but this high, and now look at you.”

  “Papa, you are being silly.” Hannah giggled again. “People don’t grow that fast.”

  “Then how do you explain it?”

  “Well, maybe I am bigger. Did you get any new puppies on your journey? Please say that you did!”

  Owen nodded. “We will have two new puppies in the kennel, a black one and a brown one, and I think they’re going to be quite a handful. I’ve never seen such wiggly dogs in all my life.”

  “Boys or girls?”

  “Two girls.”

  “Where are they? Did you bring them with you?”

  “No. They are still in London. I’ll go back for them, but then I should be home for good in a couple of days.”

  A pout turned Hannah’s lips. “But you are home now! Why do you need to leave again?”

  She leaned in toward him, and he put his arm around her narrow shoulders. She was tiny for nine, and even though at times she seemed quite grown up, other times she seemed so young and vulnerable.

  “It cannot be helped, but do not be sad. I won’t be gone nearly so long this time. So now tell me. How have you been?”

  She gave a little shrug. “Fine, I suppose.”

  “You suppose? Don’t you know?”

  She didn’t respond. She only shrugged again.

  He motioned for her to sit on the bench next to him. “What are you learning in your studies?”

  She did so, then leaned her head against his shoulder. “Miss Tendall is teaching us new arithmetic. I don’t like it one bit.”

  “But it’s important for you to know these things. How will you help me keep track of the hunting logs if you don’t know your sums?”

  “I know.” She swung her legs and then stretched the toes of her boots to touch the wooden floor. She suddenly whirled to face him. “When you get back, can I go fishing with you?”

  “Of course you can. You and me.”

  “And Drake.” She smiled.

  “We would never go without him.”

  She seemed satisfie
d with his answer for several seconds. “Henrietta says that fishing is for the boys and that we girls should work on our sewing instead.”

  Owen feigned shock. “What? And who says that?”

  “Henrietta Smith. One of the other girls here. She laughed at my sewing and said that if I spent more time doing things like all the other girls did, my embroidery would not be so dreadful.”

  “Does she know what an excellent fisherwoman you are?”

  Hannah hung her head. “Nobody cares about that, though.”

  “I care about it. Doesn’t my opinion matter?”

  She smiled under his praise. “My embroidery isn’t very pretty.”

  “I am sure your embroidery is not nearly as bad as you think it is.”

  She nodded her blonde head.

  “And in the meantime, you work hard on that arithmetic and embroidery. You’ll master both, mark my words. Now, you’d best rejoin your classmates. We don’t want Mrs. Brathay getting upset with me for keeping you from your studies.”

  Hannah jumped to her feet, kissed him on his cheek, and trotted back down the hall. She paused at the end, looked back in his direction, and raised her hand in farewell. Her smile faded, and her eyes lingered on him a bit longer than usual.

  He frowned as she disappeared around the corner. Her cheery greeting had warmed him, but the somber undertones of her words concerned him. He left Fellsworth with the happiness and safety of two ladies weighing heavily on his mind.

  By the time Owen arrived back to Wilhurst House via a mail coach, London’s evening mists had returned, and ominous fog shrouded all.

  He had spent a large part of the ride thinking of a way to explain his absence. He did not want to betray Miss Thorley’s trust, but he would never mislead his friend by lying, either. But when he arrived at the mews, Treadwell was nowhere to be found. A cluster of servants had gathered in the courtyard at the back of the house near the servants’ entrance.

  He recognized one of the men as Randall, who had driven the carriage home from the Baldwin ball. Two of the men held torches to bring brightness to the day’s fading light, and the heated tones and sharp words piqued Owen’s interest.