But now she had to walk away from such irrational thoughts with a new determination. She loved him, she would always love him, and he couldn't stop her from loving him. But she would learn to move on to a new stage of her life, one that didn't contain such romantic thoughts.
Over the subsequent weeks, she threw herself into her estate work, was an attentive neighbour and was more benevolent than ever to the poor and needy. At night, whenever she was on her own, she sat reading books that would improve her mind, as well as novels and poetry. Jane's letters came fast and frequently, but she wrote little of her brother, and when she did mention him, Louise trained her mind not to dwell on the words.
The workroom she had desecrated was left standing despite her previous vow to have it knocked down. She entered it again and tidied it. She would not let Mr Lucas or My Boyd stop her from pursuing her most favourite pasttime.
It wasn't many weeks before she received the letter she had expected from her friend Lucy Potts.
My dearest Miss Thomas,
I cannot contain myself, I'm happy beyond words. I think you will guess when I say what has caused such delight. I'm engaged! Mr Francis visited me yesterday most unexpectedly, saying that you of all people had told him to do so. I'm so happy I could burst! I must thank you from the bottom of my heart.
It all happened so quickly. I was busy helping my mother rearrange her chamber furniture when the maid came in and said that Mr Francis was waiting for me downstairs.
Of course, at first I didn't believe her, but she assured me it was him.
I composed myself as best I could and we sat having tea with Mother and Father, until a little later he asked if I would like to walk out to show him the village. Well, I was more than happy to, and before we had even walked five minutes he asked! It was so romantic. He said that he had wanted to propose before but couldn't face asking my father without securing a position. Afterwards he went straight to speak to him, and he gave his permission.
He is still here, staying at the inn in the village, but alas, he must leave in two days' time for Manchester. We haven't yet fixed a date, but Mr Francis said that he hoped we could be wed within six months.
I should so like it if you would attend our wedding, but I understand if you cannot. Please write back soon and let me have your congratulations. I'm longing to be called Mrs Francis.
Yours, etc.
Lucy Potts
P.S. He told me all about his dinner with you and the engineers. You're too kind for words to invite him, but it's so like you.
Louise smiled to herself. She was pleased Lucy had found happiness, but she wouldn't attend the wedding. She didn't plan to leave Devon within the six months Lucy stated and Bedfordshire was such an awkward distance that she couldn't travel for only one day. No, she was sure it was unlikely she could go. Only a few days earlier, Jane had entreated her to come to London; but again, she had had to disappoint her. Her diversions so far had worked and she was sure that, given time, she would conquer all feelings for her love.
She was interrupted by her assistant coming in with a large parcel.
“I opened it of course,” he said, handing her a box. Inside was some odd looking equipment: a piece of metal, a tube and a round solid base, a sort of plate and some pipe.
There was a slip of paper inside with the name of the contraption as well as written instructions. It read,
Mr Bunsen's natural gas burner, for the use in chemical experiments to heat liquids to very high temperatures. Patent pending and due for completion 1855.
She stared at her assistant.
“I didn't order any such an item. Who sent it?”
“There was no note, but the postmark was Plymouth,” the assistant replied.
There was no doubt. It had to be from Mr Boyd, by way of apology. Mr Lucas had obviously spoken to him and since Mr Lucas had been, by Jane's account, back in London for a good few weeks, she deduced it couldn't possibly be from him.
She sighed. She was still angry at Mr Boyd. She didn't know whether she should be pleased or not. But she admitted the equipment would come in useful for her experiments. She took it to the workroom herself.
. . .
A month later and Charles, back in London, was awoken in the early hours by his sister knocking loudly at his bedroom door.
“Charles. Charles, please come quick.”
He got up, put on his robe and opened the door. Jane's face was white and she was shaking. “It's Mother, they cannot wake her. I think she may be d-dead.”
They quickly entered their mother's bedchamber. He went straight to her and it only took a moment for him to see that she was indeed dead.
He looked at Jane, who, seeing his grave expression and shake of the head, slumped onto the floor. He held her as she sobbed uncontrollably for many minutes. It was only when the doctor arrived that she would move away.
. . .
It was a cold October evening and Charles returned from work to find his sister alone. Now, three months since their mother died, their period of mourning was drawing to a close.
“Charles, is that you?”
“Yes Jane,” he said as he entered the room and saw her standing near the fire.
“It's a cold night, there will be frost. I have asked for a fire in both our chambers.”
“Thank you.”
Charles stood next to his sister and warmed himself. She held a letter. He looked at it with an inquisitive gaze.
“I have just been re-reading a letter I received from Miss Thomas this morning.”
“Oh?” her brother replied. It was only a few minutes since he had thought of her.
“Yes. She has been most helpful in her advice in overcoming grief. It has been quite enlightening.”
“Really?” he said, trying to sound nonchalant, but was more than curious about what Miss Thomas had to say.
“Shall I read to you what she advises?”
Charles consented and Jane sat down to read an extract from the letter she held.
“It took years for me to get over the death of my father. I do not wish to make you sad or worry you about your own state of mind, but you must accept that it will take you a long time to get over the death of a dear parent. I tell you this because I believe it best to be honest. In those early days, I found myself frequently crying, and dreaded attending any event, informal or formal, without my father. But I got through each one, and I think that, once I accepted he was gone, the healing began. Remember though, retreat and grieve in private if that is what you need to do. Do not suppress the thought of her, or the wish that she was still alive. I still on occasion find my mind wandering to those precious times my father and I shared, and wishing he was still there to help me and guide me. Above all, I like to think that he is watching over me, and I remember that he is with our great Saviour now, and therefore must be happy and free from those worldly burdens we still have. I promise you, one day you will wake up and the pain will be less than the day before.”
Jane placed the letter down and looked at her brother.
“It's helpful, is it not?”
“Yes. Very.” He replied in a quiet voice, but the thought of Louise suffering did nothing to relieve him.
“She must have had a much more difficult time than us,” Jane said in a sad tone.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, only that I have you and Edward as support, but she had no-one. How lonely she must have been.”
He suddenly stood up and walked to the table to get a drink. “Yes, I suppose you're right. Any loneliness we feel must pale in comparison to hers.”
He then sat in an armchair by the fireplace, lost in thought, his drink untouched at his side. The reality of such isolation for any person must be a heavy weight indeed. He felt sorry that it was she of all people who had to bear such a state. A deep feeling of compassion welled up inside him. He couldn't think why he felt uneasy. Perhaps it was the chill of the night, or his own deep melancholy at the loss of
his mother. But when he examined his feelings more deeply, he realised that his mother wasn't the reason.
He woke with a start a few hours later to find himself alone, with a blanket over him, the fire almost burnt out. He must have been more fatigued than usual by the day’s activities.
He made his way to his bedchamber, but saw a light glowing inside his mother's room.
“Jane?” he pushed the door open.
He found his sister sat on the bed surrounded by a pile of letters. She looked up, her eyes brimming with tears. “I came in here because I missed her and found this box of letters in her cupboard.”
“Who are they from?”
“Father. Most of them are dated before they were married.”
He sat next to his sister on the bed and picked up a few. He scanned the contents. “Are they interesting?”
“It seems most were written when they were engaged and Father had to go and work in Scotland for a few months. They didn't allow the distance to quell their love for one another,” she said.
“Oh?”
“There are several letters from Father, where he speaks of such love for her it's beautiful. No wonder she kept them. Here, read this one.”
Jane handed him a letter and he read its contents.
After, he looked up at Jane, his expression inscrutable. “They really loved one another, didn't they?”
“Yes. And they are together again now.” She swallowed a sob.
“Do you think we shall ever love anyone in that way?” he asked.
Jane hesitated.
“What is it?”
“I . . . I do love someone that way, Charles.”
“Boyd?” He breathed out.
Jane dipped her head a little.
“It's no great surprise,” Charles said. “I see I shall have to have words with him. When will he ask you to marry him?”
“He already has. We are engaged. We have been for the last few months. He asked me the night before mother died, and of course, during this time of mourning he couldn't speak to you to ask your permission, even if it's only a formality.”
“He has done the right thing. He honours mother by not speaking to me before now.”
“When shall I tell him to speak to you?”
“Tell him to come tomorrow. But I'm not sure I shall give my permission,” he said with a smile. “I shall have to find out if his work prospects are good enough for you.”
This small attempt at humour lifted the previous heaviness they shared and shortly afterwards they left their mother's room. But before they parted to go to their respective chambers, Jane suddenly said, “Mother always denied it but you were her favourite. She always had high hopes for you.”
“I think I exceeded her expectations with the work I have done.”
“Not just that, she hoped you would marry well too.”
A querying look made Jane continue. “She said once that she hoped you would marry Miss Thomas. But we both know that will never happen. Well, good night.”
“Good night,” he said, closing the door to his bedroom and sitting on the bed.
Jane's words explained much of his mother's behaviour on the few occasions they had all been together with Miss Thomas. His mother had often tried to pull him into conversations she was having with her, and then there was the time at the assembly. He had noticed them talking and looking at him and, though he couldn't hear what they said, he wondered if his mother had encouraged Miss Thomas in her affections. Or led her to believe that he felt something for her in return.
No. It was absurd. His mother would never interfere in that way. All the time leading up to their argument, he had stated many times to his mother that he didn't like Miss Thomas in that way. He was sure he had.
But now, after all this time, he found he didn't dislike her. He would be happy to see her again when she was next in town. He wondered why she didn't come. She corresponded with Jane frequently, yet Jane didn't ask to visit her in Devon.
His earlier slumber in front of the fire had refreshed him and he no longer found himself able to sleep. He had been troubled by some of the words written in the letter by his father. “You're all I think of,” it had said. Well, if thinking of someone all the time meant you were in love, then he was most assuredly in love. He denied it, suppressed it, his mother's death delayed his admission. But Louise's words read out by Jane had touched him. He could imagine her voice speaking them. The crumbs that Jane provided only served to make him want to know more of what she wrote. Had she mentioned him? Was she well? When was she next to visit London? He started off downstairs intending to see if Jane had left the letter there, but then halfway down stopped and scolded himself for even thinking about reading someone else's letter. He returned to his room. The woman was making him act in an irrational way.
Sitting alone, he now realised he couldn't bear to go through life without her. So, this was what it was like to love, to passionately love someone. He wished Jane and Boyd well. She deserved happiness. Could he have his own?
But all he could think of now were her words that night at dinner: “If I ever fell in love and was rejected thus, I would quickly forget the gentleman and look to the future with the support of true friends.”
And any hope that she still loved him was utterly and completely extinguished.
Chapter 18
News of the engagement between Jane and Boyd reached Devon quickly. Jane hadn't told anyone of her betrothal before now. She thought it inappropriate to tell even her closest friends until Charles had been spoken to. But with her brother’s permission, she announced it to all her friends and acquaintances. Louise, although not surprised at the match, decided she must forgive Mr Boyd for any previous offence for Jane's sake. They would make a handsome pair. Besides, Mr Boyd was still occasionally sending her anonymous gifts to make up for his error. That was admirable.
Edward was happy to see his sister suitably matched, and welcomed his future brother-in-law into the family. Jane didn't want to wait any longer than necessary for the marriage to take place. She was painfully aware, amidst all of the fuss that inevitably surrounded such an event, of Charles's sadness at parting with his sister so soon after the loss of his mother. However, she was mistaken that her brother's recent melancholy was due to her departure to another household. For although he would miss his sister, there was another reason. One he didn't speak about to anyone.
In the two months that led up to the wedding, he had fallen more in love with Louise Thomas than he would have ever thought possible, and all without seeing her once. His silent moods and sometimes fractious temperament had been sparked by the frustration of knowing not only that he had squandered the chance of marrying the woman he now loved so dearly, but that he had caused her so much pain.
He often found himself thinking about the time he had spoken so offensively, and the pain only subsided when he thought about those few seconds during which she took his hand in hers and declared her love. Then how forgiving she was afterwards. How he wanted to turn the clock back and have that time over again; how differently he would behave now!
He only wished there was a way he could make amends for everything he had said. His only prospect was that she was to attend Jane's wedding. All his hopes must hang on the short time he would have then. To do what, he didn't know. For he wasn't the sort of man who knew how to court a lady's attention. Famous engineer that he was, underneath that skill was just a man who couldn't fathom the opposite sex.
Any time that he found himself in a social situation, he would watch and listen to how gentlemen spoke to and courted ladies. Several times he observed suave, smooth speaking men as they deftly complimented their female companions. The response was usually fluttering eyelashes and giggles. But he wondered how he could ever contrive to say such things. It just wasn't in his nature.
Would Miss Thomas respond like that? No, she was more subtle and sensible. But he would hope he could provoke some sort of response from her.
&
nbsp; . . .
Louise looked across the table at Mr Brunel. They were seated in the lounge area of the Institution of Civil Engineers. There was no one about, it being the weekend. Louise perched on the edge of her chair. Brunel sat back, relaxed and totally at ease. He removed the cigar from his mouth.
“It's clear to me you must replace your tenants’ roofs with lead instead of thatch. That will stop the fires, or at least stop many of them. There are other materials available, but they are more expensive than lead -”
Louise interrupted him. “I'm assured that the walls of most of the houses will not take the weight of the lead. But more importantly, the master thatchers will get very upset.”
Brunel shook his head. “Of course they don't want their livelihood taken away. Understandable. But change comes and they must learn to adapt. You're their mistress, they are your tenants. They are your houses. You must do what you consider to be best and they must live with it.”
“It seems to be an impossible situation.”
Brunel put the cigar back in his mouth and raised his eyebrows. “Indeed.”
They said nothing for a few moments until Louise broke the silence. “Thank you for seeing me today, I shall think about your advice and do what I can to follow it.”
He nodded. “Write to me again if you need further help.”
“I will. You know me well enough to know I will.”
Louise heard footsteps on the polished wooden floor behind but took no notice. Then she heard someone call her name.
“Miss Thomas?”
They both looked up. A familiar face looked back at her. He wore an inquisitive frown on his face. With her back to the entrance, she hadn't seen him arrive.
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