Once Beloved

by Amara Royce

  “How are you, Gran?” she asked, when she could find her voice. She approached the bed hesitantly.

  “Ah, these days I am thus and so. Naught to say about my health,” Gran replied faintly. Awake, she looked slightly less frail and shrunken, but her skin was still pale. And, of course, Helena couldn’t forget what Gran had written in her letter.

  “We received your note. You wrote to say you were at death’s door, and Lizzie and I should hurry home, ananthers we should miss you. Your words, Gran. Matters were urgent, aye?”

  Gran frowned and shook her head at the floor, her confusion evident. Helena couldn’t keep her distance any longer. So many years had passed. She knelt by the bed and covered her grandmother’s hand with her own, trying not to notice how the skin hung off her delicate bones. “Was it you who wrote to us?”

  She saw the tears welling in her grandmother’s eyes, even as her own vision began to blur again. A delicate hand touched her cheek.

  “Honestly, I don’t recall, my sweet Lena. I must’ve, for here you are.” Gran’s wan voice stretched as she struggled for breath. “You always were such a bonny lass. Is this your daughter, then?” she said, peering at Vanessa.

  “No, Gran, this is Elizabeth’s eldest daughter, Vanessa. She’s here in her mother’s stead.”

  “Lizzie couldn’t get here herself?” Gran’s face fell, but a spark flared in her eye. “What’s that girl about? Your parents raised you girls better than that. Family comes first.”

  “But, Mrs. Thorton,” Vanessa interrupted, moving to the edge of the bed, “my mother is home with my young sisters and cousins. She would be here if she could, I assure you, but she sent me because it was the only way.”

  Gran stared at her for a few long, tense moments. “You look like your mother, child, pretty and docile. But I sense you have a wild streak in you. Lena, you need to keep a close watch on this one.”

  Vanessa blushed deep red, the color Helena recognized as a warning sign. The poor girl was deeply embarrassed and on the verge of lashing out.

  “Don’t mind her,” she whispered in her niece’s ear. “Let’s get our things unpacked and then see about making ourselves useful.” To Gran, she said in a normal tone, “We’ll let you rest now, Gran. We’ll see you closer to suppertime.”

  “You go on, but I would like Miss Vanessa’s company for a bit longer.”

  Even after all these years, she could hear the command in Gran’s unsteady voice. And even now, she could not dare think of disobeying. She nodded but pulled Vanessa aside to say, “Don’t let her upset you. It’s been a long time, and she seems a bit confused. Be kind. I’ll come get you in a quarter hour.”

  “She can’t be that confused if she’s already found my wild streak.” To her credit, Vanessa didn’t pout or flounce. In fact, she added, with a wide smile, “Mother said much the same thing to me when she convinced me to come with you. I’m sure we’ll get along famously.”

  Not for the first time, Helena was impressed by her niece’s newfound aplomb. She gave the girl a pat on the cheek and went to find Mrs. Weathers.

  In the room that had once belonged to Helena and her sister, the housekeeper clucked apologies for the condition of the bedrooms and moved to uncover the furniture. Helena wondered if Mrs. Weathers had already decided they weren’t worth the hospitality. Her slow motions were not those of the brisk, hardy woman Helena knew from childhood. Then she caught the old woman grimacing as she stretched up to pull the covering off the wardrobe. For shame, Helena. Whether or not she resents you, you cannot let her do all this for you.

  “My niece and I shall see to the rooms, ma’am. There’s no need to trouble yourself on our account. We mean to help, not to be an added burden to anyone.”

  The housekeeper’s relief was undeniable as she straightened her spine and rubbed the back of her neck.

  “It’s been quite some time since these rooms have been used. I’m not as young as I once was, Miss Helena.”

  “None of us are, Mrs. Weathers. Please don’t let me keep you from your other duties.” She added, quietly, “It’s Mrs. Martin. I haven’t been Miss Helena for a long while.”

  The housekeeper made a noncommittal noise and then met her gaze. “How long do you plan to stay, Mrs. Martin?”

  “I don’t yet know. I wish to speak with Gran’s physician about her illness.” As she helped uncover the furniture, she continued, “And about the possibility of relocating her to London, where Elizabeth and I can both see to her care.” Only when the other woman gasped did Helena realize what she’d said. She should have been more circumspect, waited until she saw the situation more fully. But the strain of travel had loosened her tongue.

  Mrs. Weathers looked shocked, and even perhaps offended, at the idea. “She won’t go, you know.”

  “She might not have a choice, depending on what’s best for her health.”

  “For those of us who know the meaning of home and family, leaving isn’t a choice.”

  Well, now she knew where the old housekeeper stood.

  Helena sighed and said, “I would hazard a guess that my niece and I shall be here a month, at the most.” No longer than that. God help her, she wouldn’t put up with this for more than a month. If Gran were willing, travel arrangements could surely be made quickly and the estate settled within that time. If Gran wouldn’t go . . . well, they’d have to make things up as they went. “When is the physician due to check on her condition?”

  The housekeeper’s confused expression set her nerves on edge. “I don’t—that is, she doesn’t wish—that is, I can’t really say.”

  She let out an even heavier sigh. Saints preserve us. They hadn’t even called a physician! Who knew what ailments Gran suffered and how they might be eased? What if a simple remedy existed? “Please send for one immediately!”

  “You’ll have to speak with her about that. She’s not comfortable with the nearest physician’s impertinent hands, she says.”

  “Oh, I’ll speak with her. There must be someone who can see to her medical care properly.”

  Mrs. Weathers looked for a moment as if she’d been force-fed a bushel of lemons. “She won’t like it.”

  “My grandmother requested that I come see her in her hour of need. Here I am, and I shall see that she receives the best possible care.”

  The lemons must have multiplied, because the woman’s face screwed up even more tightly, as she said, “If you think our care’s been inadequate or abusive, I wish you’d come out and say so. I’ve done my best to tend to the Grand-dame’s needs, and it isn’t an easy task. My husband and I have been in her service for over thirty years now, and we love her as if she were my own sister. If you want to accuse me of mistreatment, at least be direct about it.”

  Helena recoiled from the defensive outburst. Taking a step back, she responded, “Oh, no, Mrs. Weathers. Honestly, I meant nothing of the sort! You’ve always taken excellent care of Gran and seen to her every need. And I remember well her distrust of people outside of our family. But there have been medical advancements, and someone well-trained in modern medicine could make all the difference in her condition.”

  “Well, as I said, you’ll have to discuss all that with her,” Mrs. Weathers responded, mollified but clearly not completely convinced.

  “Indeed, I shall. Believe me, I have no desire to upset the apple cart here. But new approaches do sometimes improve upon older ones.”

  “Yes, you would think so. Do as you see fit. I’m sure that’s your plan in any case.” With that astoundingly impertinent remark, the old woman swept out the room, shutting the door behind her. Helena could hear her mumbling down the hallway about having to start cooking dinner earlier with more mouths to feed.

  She hadn’t expected a warm welcome, but she couldn’t help being distressed by the harsh reality.

  The sun was setting as Daniel finally approached his home, dark and solitary. A tall, reedy figure on horseback stood in silhouette against the barn doors. He’d kn
own village gossip traveled quickly, but here was incontrovertible proof. He couldn’t see his brother’s expression, but his presence didn’t bode well. Gordon didn’t normally welcome him home. That wasn’t their way. They always met at dawn at the Lanfield main barn for work. When was the last time Gordon had set foot on his homestead? And Ruth would have his hide—well, both their hides—if her husband was late for supper.

  When he pulled up to the doors, Gordon dismounted and moved to begin unbuckling the cart’s harness.

  “Heard you were back,” Gordon said, his tone gruff and laconic, as usual.

  “Aye.”

  They continued the work of getting Talos unhitched. The only noise for a while was the dull clang of buckles and slaps of leather as they went about their task. Daniel wasn’t in any mood to volunteer information. When he turned to lead his tired horse into the barn, Gordon spoke.

  “Heard you had passengers with you.” Others might misinterpret the flat statement as casual conversation, but Gordon rarely spoke without purpose and direction. This was him being canny.

  “Oh, aye.” Daniel stopped and looked back at his brother. He cocked his head as he waited patiently for the next comment.

  “A mother and daughter, some have guessed.”

  “You’ve heard a lot. Since when are you one to go gammering?” When his brother simply waved away his question, he decided there was no point in drawing out the inevitable revelations. Gordon probably already knew their identities, although a do-dance like this wasn’t his brother’s way. If he had a question, he would normally just ask directly. So maybe Gordon hadn’t learned whom he’d brought back. Maybe Marksby didn’t know, and the women were still a mystery. But everyone would find the truth of her identity soon; even if she stayed at the Thorton house, her presence couldn’t stay hidden for long. “Niece, not daughter. And, in case you haven’t yet heard, it was Helena Thorton, though now she’s Mrs. Helena Martin. The girl, her niece, is Miss Elizabeth’s bairn, nearly grown.”

  As if he’d mumped his sibling or slammed him in the stomach unawares, Gordon went slack-jawed. He knew the feeling well himself, especially as it related to Mrs. Martin. He nodded in sympathy as his brother began imitating a fish out of water, his mouth gaping, wavering, grasping at words instead of air. Finally, Gordon spoke, his voice hoarse, as if he had to push the words out. “What do you mean? Miss Helena? Returned?”

  “For all the world, brother, I wish it weren’t so, but I met her by chance in London. When she received a letter from Grand-dame Thorton, she set herself to returning. What do you know of their grandmother’s illness?”

  “Word is she’s near death’s door,” Gordon said, looking serious, almost reverent. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

  “She has the heart of an ox, Mrs. Thorton does.”

  “No doubt,” Gordon agreed, gruffly, “but I was talking about that strumpet, Miss Helena. Never thought she’d be so brazen as to show her face here again.” His voice held a strange mix of anger and wonder, shot through with bitterness. “Maybe just after she ran off, realizing her mistake, or maybe when her mum passed . . . but it’s been so long. Never would’ve thought to see her again.”

  “You needn’t see her,” Daniel replied. It would be best if Gordon didn’t, if his shock was any indication. He knew his brother had been devastated by her betrayal, but they hadn’t spoken of the woman in years. Gordon’s rancor now was palpable. Best for both he and Helena that they pretend she wasn’t near. “She’s here to care for the Grand-dame, that’s all. I already warned her to avoid the village.”

  “Why did you bring her?” Gordon asked accusingly.

  “If you’d told me when I left that I would come back with the likes of her and her kin, I’d have said you were cracked. I still don’t gaum how it happened. When her Gran sent for her, she couldn’t refuse. She needs to be here. As to why I drove them, I was there when the decision was made. She has very determined, very persuasive friends who said she and the lass wouldn’t be safe traveling by rail.” He hesitated and decided instantly that Gordon didn’t need to know about Mrs. Martin’s fears and fainting spells. He summarized, “They were in need, and it seemed only right to bring them when I was traveling to the very place they needed to go. I couldn’t turn my back on them.”

  “Sure, you could,” Gordon said firmly. “If that—if she were so determined, she could’ve made her way on her own. If she had trouble, why, it might’ve convinced her not to bother.”

  He considered telling his brother that was exactly what he’d intended. But it wasn’t what he’d done in the end so it wasn’t worth rehashing. Mrs. Martin was here now, for good or ill. He could only hope the woman would be judicious enough not to draw attention to herself.

  “Best keep your distance from the Thortons while they’re here,” Gordon proclaimed as he stood in the stance Daniel had come to recognize when they were much younger. His brother was laying down the law or at least trying to. He never took Gordon’s imperious orders well.

  “Think I don’t already know that?” he responded, matching his tone to his brother’s. “What need have I to seek their company again? You know me better than that.”

  “Aye, I do know you. And that’s exactly why I said it. Does she know about your homestead? About the property line?”

  He cringed inwardly. Anyone with eyes could have seen how Mrs. Martin had reeled from the changes she’d seen here.

  “Nay. I haven’t said anything. She’s here to care for her Gran, not the Thorton lands. The knowledge of the land transfer would only bring her pain. And there’s naught she could do to change it now.”

  “That bodes well,” his brother said, his voice heavy with sarcasm. “You should have convinced her to stay in London. She doesn’t belong here.”

  “Gordon, be calm. What’s done is done, and she won’t be here long.”

  “Easy for you to say, brother. Just stay away from her.”

  “That’s my plan.”

  Chapter 10

  After confirming with Mrs. Weathers that the post office was where she remembered and that the path there was the same, Helena rushed out after breakfast, leaving Vanessa to help the housekeeper clean up and see to Gran’s morning needs. Anxious to assure Elizabeth and the children that they’d arrived safely, Helena penned a letter to them the night before. She’d have to be prudent about sending missives in light of her limited funds and her grandmother’s need of medical attention, but this letter should go as soon as possible to reassure everyone at home. She’d chosen her words carefully, not wanting to alarm her sister about Gran’s severe condition but needing to vent some of her shock at the changes she’d encountered.

  So alarmed was she by her grandmother’s difficult breathing that she’d spent the night in the rocker by her bed, dozing lightly and awakened by every cough. It reminded her of nights she’d kept vigil over the boys when they caught sniffles. That same post-vigil fatigue had settled into her bones, and every step felt like she was weighed down with stones.

  Traversing the fields, she had that same sense of time slippage, as if she were in her youth again. Only occasionally did small changes strike her consciousness as odd, and even then she wasn’t sure if they were new or simply not remembered. The small stone bridge arched over the beck where she expected it to be, but it looked and felt a bit different than she recalled. Farther along, on a slight rise, she encountered a low wall she was sure hadn’t been there before. Then, as she stepped over the stile, she saw a compact house framed by a grove of trees. A barn sat a few yards beyond it. She was absolutely certain these structures were new, and she looked around in confusion. This was Thorton property, was it not? Who could be living there? She would have to ask Mrs. Weathers about this new occupant.

  These new surprising features lent her imagination convenient fodder, distracting her from her body’s morning aches and twinges. With each step toward the village, she pictured the stone wall and imagined building it higher and wider and t
hicker. In her mind, it could withstand any onslaught, any criticism, any insult lobbed at her. This mental exercise had served her well for many years with but a few exceptions. Whatever derision or enmity she encountered in her former hometown, it would not change who she was and what she valued. It wouldn’t change the love she’d found and the life she’d built.

  When she entered Marksby, brimming with confidence and resolve, the lane through the village was quiet, no man nor beast in sight. As she approached the shop where the post was run, some women exited laden with packages. They stared at her as if she were some kind of museum exhibit, so she greeted them pleasantly and proceeded into the building. She remembered that too, the wariness with which Marksbians viewed strangers in their midst. Isaiah had noted it during his stay long ago, claiming that what made the Thorton household so particularly appealing was their ready hospitality in an area so forbidding. From today’s fleeting encounter, she didn’t recognize the women, and she was sure they didn’t recognize her or else there would have been more explosive reactions, at least according to Mr. Lanfield. But then, she still suspected he’d been exaggerating for effect.

  Her interaction with the postmaster was likewise mundane. When he inquired about her business in Marksby, she explained her grandmother’s situation, and his reaction was neutral and polite as he wished Mrs. Thorton well. Surely, Mr. Lanfield’s perceptions of the village’s condemnation must have been clouded by his own animosity.

  Just before she left the shop, she heard a low female voice whispering furiously thorough a heavy curtain behind the counter. The postmaster pushed through the divider, saying “Now, now, dear . . .” She couldn’t discern the trouble, but she refused to believe that it had anything to do with her. Shopkeepers had many concerns.