She took a clean corner of the bed sheet and pressed it to his side. He grimaced, but made no sound. Who was this man, and what on earth had happened to him? He had clearly been attacked—this was no self-inflicted wound—but who had done it, and why?
Her suspicions immediately flew to Mr. Edwards, but just as quickly, she dismissed the thought. He could be gruff, but she couldn’t picture him being this violent. She also couldn’t recall seeing any blood on his shirt or cuffs, and whoever had attacked Mr. Halifax surely must have come away with some sort of stain.
She pulled more of the sheet closer and pressed it against the wound as well, creating two layers of absorption. The blood seeped through at an alarming rate, and she prayed the doctor would arrive soon. Where did he live? If he had to come all the way from Newark, they were in for quite a wait.
“Miss . . .”
Hope looked down at her patient. “We’re not supposed to speak to each other,” she whispered, although she wasn’t sure who would overhear them.
“I know. But I must say thank you.”
She gave one nod, and he closed his eyes.
Several minutes went by. The blood continued to seep, and she wished she had any skills that would help. The doctor was clearly needed, if he would only come.
Then she heard it again—that laughing sound. This time, it seemed very close, and the fine hairs on her arms rose. She put another layer of fabric against the wound and then stood, following the sound. It led her to the wall, where a thick tapestry hung. Hesitating for just a moment, she lifted the edge of the tapestry and looked behind. A heavy wooden door hid there, padlocked with a thick iron chain. Did Ann do her sewing locked up behind this barricade? Hope shuddered. Yet another unanswered question.
Ten more minutes went by before Mr. Edwards returned with the doctor. The man immediately went to work with needle and thread, suturing the long gash. Mr. Halifax bit down on the leather strap he’d been given. It seemed that the brandy he’d taken before the procedure had done little to ease his pain. Hope stood in the back of the room, curious and yet appalled at the same time. Must the human body suffer so much?
At last, the wound was closed. Hope could see through the window that dawn was on the horizon, casting pink streaks across the sky. Perhaps they would actually get sunshine that day. Odd to be having those thoughts after the night she’d just had, but exhaustion did make her mind run in strange circles.
“You must take this man away in your carriage and see him safely on the next train home,” Mr. Edwards told the doctor. He fished in his pocket and pulled out a folded note. “For your trouble and your discretion.”
The doctor nodded and put the money in his bag. Then he helped Mr. Halifax sit up. Once it was determined that the patient could walk, he was escorted from the room, and Mr. Edwards motioned for Hope to come with him. She was too tired to care that she wore her nightclothes still—it was early enough that no one would be awake to see her.
He led her to the side garden, the one she loved so much. “This was my mother’s garden,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back as he walked. “She would spend the entire winter planning what to plant the following spring. The gardener was never allowed to do it for her—she would plant every last seed herself. It was her greatest joy.”
“And what grows here now that your mother is gone?” Hope asked.
“Nothing. It is wild and barren.”
“I would like to take over for your mother. There’s something about this spot that speaks to me.”
“Then I give it to you willingly. It needs the caress of a woman’s hand to thrive again.” Mr. Edwards stopped and turned to Hope. The fierce lines around his eyes had seemed to soften somewhat. “Miss Middleton—Hope—you have seen things tonight that no young lady should ever see. I beg of you to put them from your mind. I cannot explain what happened, although I badly wish I could. Please trust me yet a little longer. Do not let this taint your mind.”
Hope contemplated him. “I ask just one question, sir.”
“And perhaps I may answer just one.”
“Did you hurt that man?”
His answer came quick and resolute. “I did not. That I promise you. He’s not in danger from me, and neither are you. I’m not a violent man.”
Hope nodded slowly. She believed she could trust him, even though the situation was strange and frightening.
“Was it Ann?”
“You said you would only ask me one question. You have now asked two.” He studied her eyes. “You are in no danger from Ann. She is harmless, one of my most trusted servants. Please, Hope, try to forget this night. You are safe. There is nothing more I can say, but you must trust me on that count.”
Hope took a deep breath. She wanted to believe him—she wanted it so very badly. “Very well. I will put this from my mind as best as I can and trust that you are a man of your word. I’ll also trust that if you are ever able to tell me, you will, without holding anything back.”
He reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Thank you, Hope. Your name is very fitting, for that is what you have given me—hope. Your confidence means a great deal to me. A great deal indeed.”
“And you shall always have it unless a day comes when you no longer deserve it.”
He now took her hand, pressing it between his own. “And I shall endeavor to make sure that day never comes. Now look what I’ve done—it’s cold, and I’ve made you come out here before the sun is even full up. Another night’s sleep has been interrupted for you. Back to bed, Miss Middleton, and don’t let me see you up and about before noon.”
“Thank you, sir.” Hope pulled her hand away and returned to the house, glad to be back in the warmth, and yet wishing she could have stayed out there with him in the garden forever. She was becoming attached, more so than she had ever thought she could to a man she met through a newspaper.
Chapter Eight
Hope found Mrs. Green in the kitchen that afternoon. The housekeeper was going over the menu with the cook, so Hope stayed in the background until they were finished. Then she spoke.
“Mrs. Green, I wonder if any of the guests were disturbed by sounds in the night. It seems that Ann was having trouble staying quiet again.” She could mention that without bringing up Mr. Halifax, certainly.
“None of them mentioned it this morning at breakfast. I do hope they slept well. I didn’t hear anything, but then, my rooms are here on the first floor, so I rarely hear anything from above. One of the blessings of living in an old house, I suppose.” Mrs. Green laughed, then sobered again. “I will speak to Ann yet again. I don’t know why Mr. Edwards keeps her on, but he’s insistent that she is not to be displaced.”
“I’m certain he has his reasons.”
“That is certainly true. Mr. Edwards isn’t given to nonsense—I’m sure there’s a purpose behind it.”
Hope smiled, remembering his gypsy disguise. Was that a rare moment of nonsense, or was he using his disguise to learn things about his guests—and her—that he might not have learned any other way? Hope remained where she was and watched Mrs. Green bustle off on her next task, her mind returning to the curious events of the night before. She’d promised Mr. Edwards to put it all behind her, and yet, the questions still lingered. How had Mr. Halifax been so badly injured, and why would a maid do her sewing behind a locked door?
***
The day before Thanksgiving brought Hope a tremendous surprise—a letter from Roberta, the manager at the textile mill. She took the envelope out into the garden and sat on the stone bench, her fingers trembling as she opened it. Seeing Roberta’s familiar handwriting was almost like getting a hug.
Dear Hope,
I pray that you are doing well in New Jersey. I've arrived in Wisconsin, and found something I never meant or intended to find: love. I expected to come here and be a cook and a housekeeper for my new husband, Jakob, and his two sons, Konrad and Lukas. Things didn't work out that way.
The boys ar
e sweet, and though they were wary at first, we've come to bond with one another over the most unexpected of things—a lost puppy found in the snow. Who would have thought my love for animals would help me to bond with my stepsons!
My one complaint here is that there isn't enough to do. I have cleaned the entire house, mended all of my family's clothing, and run out of things to do. Thankfully, Jakob runs his own business and needed help with the books, but that only takes one morning a week now that I'm caught up.
So I've started my own little business. I make shirts for the loggers in the area, and I sell them at the local general store. At first, my husband and the storeowner both thought I was crazy because we don't need the money at all. Now they understand that I just need to do something or else I'll lose my mind. I think I'm going to donate the profits to a local orphanage or something. Then I'm keeping busy and helping others at the same time.
I'd love to hear from you again, and hope your life is everything you've dreamed it could be.
Miss you,
Roberta
Hope’s eyes swam with tears. Oh, she missed Roberta so much. She’d needed someone to confide in when she first came to the mill, and Roberta had been the first to reach out and welcome her. Then she’d bonded with Lilly, Tabitha, Trinity, and Isabella, then later Sarah. She prayed they were all as happy as Roberta seemed to be.
Not wanting to delay her reply, she folded up her letter and went to her room, taking out her paper and pen.
Dear Roberta,
Your letter was most welcome. I can’t believe how much I miss our days at the mill. The work was hard, but the friendships were precious to me, and I think about you and the others often.
My new home here in New Jersey isn’t at all what I expected. I had planned for a small, modest home with a flower bed and maybe a cow. Instead, Hazelbrook is a sprawling estate, spread over several acres. I go on walks nearly every afternoon and still haven’t seen all of it.
Mr. Edwards, the man I’m to marry, is a curious sort. At times, he’s serious, and at others, he shows a good sense of humor. I’m not sure what to make of him most of the time. We aren’t married yet because he says he wants to be sure I’m truly happy here first. He seems to doubt that I could actually be happy here, but that’s quite silly. It’s a lovely home, and I have no doubt that we’ll get along.
The child I care for, Addie, is a dear little thing, bright and full of curiosity. Her education has been neglected, mismanaged by governesses who thought her stupid, but we’ll soon get that set to rights.
I’ll write again when I know my wedding date. I’m so glad for you—you always have been talented at business, and I know you’ll be successful in whatever endeavor you undertake.
Yours,
Hope
It was so tempting to confide in Roberta, to tell her about the strange goings-on at the estate. Surely her friend would know what to do, or at least have some words of wisdom for her. But she had promised Mr. Edwards she wouldn’t say a thing to anyone, and she would keep that promise. After waiting for the ink to dry, she folded up the letter, content for now with what she had written. Perhaps later, if things were to become even more mysterious, she would share them with her friend.
She tucked Roberta’s letter away with the others she had received. They would be her treasures for years to come.
***
“And we shall eat a turkey, and the cook has made ever so many pies,” Addie said, her eyes shining.
“You’ve been down to visit the kitchen before the feast, have you?” Hope asked, a smile on her lips.
“I have. It smells so wonderful, I can hardly wait to eat.” Addie clasped her hands, a dreamy look on her face as though she could still smell all the foods in question.
“It won’t be time for another hour. Come now, and let’s finish your book while we wait. The ladies and gentlemen are eager to hear the story as part of the day’s entertainment.”
Hope had asked Mr. Edwards what his houseguests had thought about the ruckus two nights previous, but he assured her that he had smoothed things over by telling them that one of the maids had a nightmare. Everyone took the explanation as truth, and the holiday plans had commenced. Now Thanksgiving was here, and Mr. Edwards had requested a day of entertainment.
Mrs. Faber had promised to sing. Mr. Faber would perform a magic show. Addie was to present her story, and Hope had been talked into playing the pianoforte. She didn’t know why Mr. Edwards wanted such a thing. He hadn’t been impressed with her skills the night they first met, but he had asked her so politely, she had found it impossible to turn him down. It would be a day of merriment indeed, if only she didn’t miss her friends so badly.
Mrs. Green and the other members of the household staff did a wonderful job with dinner. Hope felt like a servant sneaking into the dining room to snatch tidbits off the table, but no, she really did belong there. Everything had been decorated with fall leaves, berries, small pumpkins, and squashes—she’d never seen anything so beautiful, not even at her aunt’s home so many years before. Addie practically bounced up and down in her seat at Hope’s side, and while Hope put a hand on the child’s knee to calm her down, she had to admit to feeling the same excitement herself.
Dinner conversation focused, as it always did, on business, and Mr. Edwards and the other men bantered back and forth easily while they ate. Hope stopped listening—business wasn’t something that interested her in the slightest. During a rare lull in the conversation, the topic turned to women’s education, and Hope immediately became interested again. Finally, something she could discuss with some measure of experience.
“My daughter is being educated in all the finer arts—needlework, French, etiquette. She’ll be quite accomplished by the time she’s done,” Mrs. Faber said to Mrs. Andrews, who sat at her left.
“My daughter’s school has spent quite a lot of time instructing her in mathematics,” Mrs. Andrews replied. “I don’t see the need, personally.”
“Neither do I,” said her husband. “But she’s happy there, so I pay them regularly and let them teach what they will.”
“I’m curious as to why you consider mathematics an odd thing to teach a young lady.” Hope leaned forward a little, unable to hold her tongue. “We’re about to enter a new century. Shouldn’t our girls be prepared for whatever might face them in the years to come?”
“Surely you’re not one of those progressives, Miss Middleton,” Mr. Faber said with a chuckle. “Of what use is mathematics to the lady of a fine estate such as this? We want our daughters married well to men who can take care of them without the need for all this additional education. How has mathematics served you in your life?”
“It’s interesting that you should ask,” Hope said. She glanced at Mr. Edwards, praying that she wasn’t offending him, but he seemed interested and amused. She pulled in a deep breath. “You may believe that a deeper education will not benefit your daughters, but I was not always as you see me now. No, I had a life’s journey to take before that. In order to earn my keep, I worked as a teacher in a girls’ boarding school, and then I took a job at a textile mill. In fact, it was my education that secured me a place here at Hazelbrook—Mr. Edwards primarily wanted a wife who could educate Addie. If I were lacking in my education, I might not be here today, sitting in this fine estate and tasting this delicious meal. So, Mr. Faber, to answer your question, I would have to say that mathematics has served me very well indeed, and I believe that as we enter the new century, more and more young women will be called upon to learn it.”
She glanced around. No one seemed ready to interrupt her, so she continued. “You realize there are countless female doctors graduating from medical school every year—that occupation requires mathematics and science and every sort of study that used to be sought out solely by men. Times are changing around us, and if we don’t stay abreast of those changes, the world will sweep by without us. We are no longer living in the seventeen hundreds, and it would be fool
ish of us to behave as if we are.”
Mrs. Faber gave a generous chuckle. “I imagine you’re right, dear, and we’re so glad Roscoe found you. His life, and young Addie’s, will certainly be blessed for it. Now, I thought I heard tell of dessert.”
With that, the subject was changed. Hope didn’t know whether to be incensed or grateful. It could be that Mrs. Faber had just tactfully averted a war of words at the dinner table, but Hope felt slighted, told to be still by a strict nanny.
After the meal, the entertainment commenced. Everyone expressed their admiration for Addie’s story, both the pictures and the words, and the child beamed under all the attention. Then it was Hope’s turn. With trembling fingers, she began the first notes of her chosen piece, the pianoforte responding to her touch as though it had waited all its life for her. She’d never used an instrument so nice, with a tone so true. The nerves she’d felt the first time she touched it were gone, and now she felt as though she and it were made for each other.
When she began, she was acutely aware of everyone else in the room, their eyes boring into her. She imagined the Fabers were waiting for her to make some sort of mistake so they could continue their diatribe on the importance of a classic education for females. As she played, however, she soon lost herself in the music, and all else faded away. It was just her and the instrument and the pictures she saw in her imagination. When she reached the last notes, it was almost a shock to descend back to earth and find herself in the Hazelbrook parlor.
“Bravo!” Mr. Edwards was on his feet in a flash, clapping wildly. “Well done, Miss Middleton!” Addie jumped up and down at his side.
Everyone else clapped politely as Hope stood and gave a slight curtsy. Mr. Edwards’ praise meant more to her than she’d imagined it would—her cheeks felt warm under his admiration. Had she improved since she first played for him, or did coming to know her better make him enjoy her performance more? Addie’s enthusiasm was always a joy, and she decided that the approval of these two people, the ones who would become her family, meant far more to her than the polite condescension of these strangers.
Hope: Bride of New Jersey (American Mail-Order Brides 3) Page 6