by Laura Martin
Only when she was occupied, preferably doing something physically demanding, did her mind take a break from brooding over the events of earlier in the week. So she’d decided to attack the flowerbeds, thinking Edward would be pleased to see some part of the estate tidy and thriving.
Amelia kicked at a pebble on the path, taking her frustration out on the small stone. She wanted to be angry with Edward for speaking to her in such a tone, but part of her wondered what had fuelled the outburst. There was something deeper going on at Beechwood Manor, something she didn’t quite understand yet. Edward was a damaged soul—no one shut themselves away from the world like he did without a good reason. She rather suspected he had lost someone close to him and that loss had prevented him from moving on with his life.
Ever since she had first arrived Amelia had felt the grief and heartache emanating from Edward, but she had felt something else as well. There was a power there, a sense of authority that made Amelia wish he would just fold her in his arms and keep her safe from the world.
Pausing, Amelia flopped down on a bench and closed her eyes. Here she went again, jumping to conclusions about people before she really knew them. With McNair she had been taken in by his good looks and easy charm. She’d fallen for him within ten minutes of meeting him and declared her undying love less than a week later. Her judgement when it came to men couldn’t be trusted. She didn’t know Edward, not really, and she wouldn’t allow herself to ever fall victim to a man ever again. From now on she wouldn’t pin her hopes on anyone but herself.
‘Good afternoon, miss.’
A voice startled Amelia from her reverie. She sprang to her feet, ready to flee if the need arose, and was confronted by a stout, portly man in his sixties. Slowly Amelia relaxed. If he did pose a threat she rather thought she would outpace him with nothing more than a brisk walk.
Forcing her racing pulse to slow, Amelia smiled warily at the newcomer.
‘Tobias Guthry at your service, miss, and what a pleasure it is to meet you.’
Amelia took his proffered hand, allowing his podgy fingers to enclose hers briefly.
‘I am Sir Edward’s steward, been summoned by the master himself. Sorry if I startled you at all.’
Mr Guthry was looking increasingly anxious and Amelia decided he was most likely harmless.
‘You must forgive me, Mr Guthry, I was miles away and I wasn’t expecting anyone.’
‘You gave me quite a surprise yourself, miss. In the past three years I’ve been working for the master I’ve not seen a single other person about the grounds.’
‘Yes, I understand Sir Edward is a very private person,’ Amelia said, wondering if this amiable little man might be willing to tell her any more about her host.
‘Oh, very private, miss, the most private a man could be.’
‘Tell me, has he always been this way?’
Mr Guthry gave her a sidelong look and his already pink complexion turned beetroot.
‘I wouldn’t like to speculate, miss, I’ve only known him since after the...er...the incident.’
He glanced at the fire-damaged portion of the building as he spoke.
So the fire had been the turning point in Edward’s life. She wondered if he’d been injured in it, or whether he’d lost someone he loved as she had first suspected. A slither of guilt slid into Amelia’s consciousness. After all he was doing for her she ought to know more about him and the reasons behind his peculiar choice of lifestyle. The worst thing was he’d probably dropped hints, even alluded to whatever terrible event had affected him so badly, but she had been too caught up in her own world to notice.
‘Do you come to see Sir Edward often?’ Amelia asked, changing tack.
‘Only every couple of months.’
She was surprised at this. Edward seemed the sort of man who liked to be in charge of things, completely in control. True, to manage an estate such as this, which must encompass land outside the boundaries of Beechwood Manor with tenants and farmers and livestock, you would have to not live in such reclusive circumstances, but all the same she couldn’t picture him giving up complete control.
‘Sir Edward must trust you very much, Mr Guthry.’
The portly man visibly swelled with pride at Amelia’s words.
‘Come inside and please make yourself comfortable, I will let Sir Edward know you are here.’
Amelia ushered him into the sitting room she’d entered the night before. It was the only room in the main part of the house vaguely suitable for guests. At least the chairs were no longer covered in dust sheets, but still there was rather a ghostly feel to the room.
She left Mr Guthry wiggling his ample backside into one of the armchairs and set off in search of Edward.
Cautiously she knocked on the door to his set of rooms in the West Wing, and when there was no answer after a few seconds she took a few steps inside. Edward’s sketches were scattered across the desk, with an open pad of paper resting on the windowsill, but there was no sign of Edward. Amelia knew he wasn’t outside or in the main portion of the house, which only left the fire-damaged East Wing.
Quickly Amelia padded along the landing, feeling like a rebellious child for even thinking about venturing into the East Wing. His warning never to enter that part of the house was ringing in her ears, but she couldn’t exactly leave Mr Guthry waiting indefinitely.
At the end of the landing another long corridor swept off at an angle to the main house, identical upstairs and down. Amelia paused before stepping over the threshold, a shiver travelling down her spine and making her glance back over her shoulder to check she was alone.
She took a step and then another. Already the fire damage was evident: blackened walls, the faint smell of smoke, damaged paintings hanging over the peeling wallpaper.
‘I told you not to enter the East Wing.’ Edward’s voice made Amelia jump with fright.
He emerged from the shadows like a phantom, taking Amelia firmly by the arm and guiding her quickly back to the main section of the house.
‘You are never to enter the East Wing.’
Amelia was about to protest, about to question why, but she saw the haunted look in Edward’s eyes and decided for once to keep her mouth securely shut. She waited for him to reprimand her further but he just continued to lead her away from the fire damaged corridor.
‘There’s a Mr Guthry waiting to see you,’ she said, once her heart had stopped pounding and she’d caught her breath.
The normality of her response, or the familiarity of Mr Guthry’s name, seemed to pull Edward back from whatever precipice he was teetering over. Slowly he regained his focus and Amelia was relieved to see the haunted look fade from his eyes.
‘Good,’ he grunted as they descended the main staircase, ‘He can find the proof all this murder business is nonsense and then you can be on your way.’
Normally Amelia would have bristled at his tone and his dismissive attitude towards her plight, but even she could recognise a man who had just confronted some past demon and deserved a little forgiveness for his sharp manner, so instead of making a withering retort she led Edward calmly to Mr Guthry, all the time wondering what it was in the East Wing that Edward didn’t want her to see.
* * *
With Edward and Mr Guthry ensconced in the sitting room Amelia wandered the house for a few minutes before finding herself back in the homely West Wing. Safe in the knowledge that Edward would be busy for at least the next half an hour Amelia ventured into his bedroom, the room they had both shared the night before, and made her way to the desk. Trying her hardest not to pry any further through his personal documents, she sat and rummaged through the drawers until she found a blank sheet of paper and a pen.
Amelia was not a keen writer of letters. Sitting and constructing beautifully worded, descriptive prose was not in her cha
racter, she much preferred to be outside doing something. Nevertheless today she would grit her teeth and get on with her task.
Dearest Lizzie,
How long it seems since I left you in London and how much has happened during that time. I hope you are faring better than I, and that my aunt has not discovered our deception and is treating you well.
Amelia paused, sucking on the end of the pen as she wondered how best to word the description of what had happened over the past few weeks. She did not want to trouble her cousin more than was necessary, but Lizzie was currently masquerading as Amelia Eastway and, if Edward was right and there was a chance McNair had survived, her cousin could become a target.
A hundred times I have wished for you to be by my side these past few days. I have been sorely in need of your calm words and sensible cautions. As you had suspected, McNair was not the man I had hoped and ever since I tracked him down in Brighton
a series of unspeakable events have occurred.
I cannot go into detail on paper, but I hope we will be reunited soon and I will tell you everything then.
The most important thing, dearest Lizzie, is for you to be vigilant. I fear I am being hunted, most likely by a magistrate or one of his officers, but also possibly by McNair. As you are currently going by the name Amelia Eastway I urge you to be careful. I could never forgive myself if something happened to you because of my foolishness.
I will write again soon, hopefully with a solution to this predicament rather than all these concerns, but until then know that I am safe. A gentleman has given me shelter in his old dilapidated house for a few days until things have settled down. I feel peculiarly safe here.
All my love,
Amelia
Chapter Six
Edward wanted some privacy, but with Amelia hovering outside the door he knew he wasn’t going to get much time to himself.
‘Come in, Amelia,’ he bellowed after she’d strolled past the open door for the twelfth time.
‘Am I disturbing you?’ she asked innocently.
‘Yes.’
‘Oh.’ She looked taken aback. ‘I can leave.’
She turned back towards the door and Edward sighed, knowing she would just pace up and down until he agreed to listen to whatever it was she had to say.
‘Stay,’ he said more softly.
Hesitantly Amelia perched on the edge of one of the sofas, sitting primly as no doubt her governess taught her all society ladies sat.
Edward waited, knowing she would come out and tell him what she wanted eventually.
‘How did it go with Mr Guthry?’ she asked.
Under her poised veneer Edward could detect a hint of nervousness. She nibbled on her lower lip in that distracted manner of hers and one of her legs was fidgeting up and down under her skirts.
‘He’s a very sensible man, Amelia, you have nothing to worry about.’
She nodded. ‘But he could be linked back to you and then the magistrate would know exactly where to find me.’
‘Mr Guthry will be discreet in his enquiries.’
Again Amelia nodded, but Edward could tell she wasn’t convinced. He wanted to reach out and place a hand on her knee to stop the constant jittering, but instead leaned back in his chair.
‘Someone might wonder why he is asking questions.’
‘We need to know what the situation is,’ Edward said a tad impatiently.
Amelia fell silent and Edward wondered if it would be unforgivably rude to usher her out so he could get the privacy he was so in need of. His head was in a spin, memories of the night of the fire sparring with regrets of letting the estate fall into such disrepair.
‘It’s getting late,’ Amelia said after a few minutes, ‘I was just wondering where I would sleep tonight.’
The memory of her soft body pressed up against his sprang uninvited to Edward’s mind. He felt the hot flash of desire, a primal urge encouraging him to sweep Amelia up and hold her close to him again. It lasted only a moment, but it was enough to trigger a cascade of guilt and self-loathing.
‘Of course, there are plenty of bedrooms. You may take your pick.’ He paused, but chivalry made him continue, ‘Unless of course you would prefer my bedroom and I will find another.’
‘No, I’m sure I will find a suitable room.’
He expected her to stand and go off in search of a room to call her own for the next few days, but she remained perched on the edge of the sofa.
‘Was there something else?’ he asked.
Most people would understand the comment to mean he wanted to be left in peace, but Amelia cocked her head and smiled.
‘Come and help me choose a room,’ she said.
Edward looked down at the papers scattered across his desk and wondered how offended she would be if he just said no.
‘Ten minutes,’ Amelia pressed. ‘And then you can go back to ignoring me for the rest of the day.’
Years ago Edward had known how to play the generous host. He had entertained and amused his guests and ensured they were never left feeling uncomfortable in his home. He supposed that was why he felt a little uneasy at leaving Amelia to amuse herself whilst he continued with his life as if nothing had changed, but it wasn’t as though she were an invited guest.
‘You can spare me ten minutes,’ Amelia said. ‘Just grit your teeth and show me the bedrooms.’
Edward felt the beginnings of a smile start to form on his lips and quickly suppressed it. In a world where people tiptoed around others it was refreshing to have someone speak quite so bluntly.
He stood, stretched, and then offered her his arm, feeling the unfamiliar wave of contentment as she slipped her delicate fingers into the crook of his elbow. He’d forgotten what it felt like to have a woman’s hand rest trustingly on his forearm.
‘The house has sixteen bedrooms,’ Edward said, ‘but four are in the East Wing. There’s two in the West Wing, one of which is mine, and ten in the main part of the house.’
As they walked up the stairs he tried to remember the last time any of the rooms were occupied. There had been a garden party a couple of months before the fire, family and friends had gathered to celebrate some occasion or other and as they’d stayed long into the balmy evening his wife had offered most of their guests a room for the night. Edward doubted anyone had set foot in many of the bedrooms since then. He certainly hadn’t.
Amelia poked her head into each of the bedrooms Edward indicated, glancing around for a few moments before returning to him in the corridor. In one room she hesitated for a little longer and Edward found himself stepping in after her.
He had to reach out and hold on to the door frame for support as he crossed the threshold.
‘Edward?’ Amelia’s voice seemed to come from a long way away even though she was standing right in front of him.
As if in a trance he moved further into the room, trailing his fingers across the faded wallpaper and feeling his feet sink into the plush carpet. He hadn’t stepped into this room since the fire, hadn’t been able to face the memories of the chamber he’d shared with his wife for their four years of marriage. Unlike many couples they hadn’t kept separate rooms, preferring instead to come together at the end of the day, and this had been their meeting place. A place where they had shared their hopes and fears and their love for each other.
With a heavy heart Edward sat down on the bed, placing a hand on the embroidered covers and remembering the last night they had spent together.
‘Please, leave me,’ Edward said, his voice coming out as a hoarse croak.
Instead of following his orders, Amelia sat down beside him, her petite form perched on the edge of the mattress. Gently she took his hand and without a word folded it in her own.
His memories were private and still raw, his grief
was overwhelming at times, and he knew that over the past three years he had coped by hiding from the pain rather than confronting it.
They sat side by side, hand in hand for a good long time and slowly Edward felt the grief begin to subside and the pull of reality build. Standing, he began to look around the room, allowing different objects and pictures to spark fond memories and even pausing before the small portrait of his late wife he used to keep on his bedside table. Gently he ran his fingers over her face, tracing the lines that had once been so familiar.
‘I would rather you didn’t choose this room to make your own,’ he said.
‘Of course.’
With one final glance behind him Edward led Amelia from the bedroom, closing the door firmly after her.
‘We could—’ Amelia began to say, but Edward cut her off with a shake of his head.
He didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to share his memories.
‘Let’s find you a bedroom,’ Edward said resolutely.
He led Amelia through the house to the West Wing. His current bedroom and sitting room were in this part of the house and he had a feeling Amelia subconsciously wanted the security of being close to him at night. Although maybe not as close as they had been the previous night.
‘This room is quite small,’ he said, opening the door to the only other bedroom in the West Wing.
It was small but beautiful. Two large windows let in bright streams of sunlight and a four-poster bed dominated the room. Dainty furniture was squeezed into the rest of the space and the whole room had a definite feminine feel to it.
‘I love it,’ Amelia declared, walking over to the bed and perching on the edge. Carefully she inspected the bedcovers and when all was to her satisfaction she smiled with pleasure. ‘It’s just perfect.’
And only a door away from his room. Probably too close for comfort, but at least there were two heavy wooden door separating them.
With the sunlight reflecting off the golden highlights in her hair and the smile lighting up her face Amelia looked like some goddess from mythology.