Impulsively, I took a step back, toward the wall. “I apologized to him. Please do not be angry.” My voice was steady, which I was quite proud of.
She lunged forward and gripped my upper arm so tightly I felt my pulse against her thick hand. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from crying out. “Control those little thieving scoundrels or I will do it my own way.”
Anger flushed my cheeks. “They are not scoundrels!” I jerked my arm from her grasp, daring myself to keep a lifted chin.
The look in her eyes brought the feeling of sore bruises to my mind, and wounds of fear that would never heal. She was silent for too long; I could hear my heart pounding in my ears. But before she could say another word, the sound of giggles and running footsteps split the air.
“Aunt Ruth’s underthings were on top of it!” Peter yelled with disgust as he ran out of the hall, bonnet in hand. The moment his eyes fell upon the scene, he froze. Charles ran up beside him, his giggles fading instantly. Their gazes jumped to me frantically. Fear and urgency flashed in their eyes.
I hurried around Aunt Ruth, taking their hands and pulling them behind me. I turned to face our aunt, resolute to keep my brothers safe. As I did, Charles buried his face in my skirts, hiding from the one person that ever managed to break his laughter.
Aunt Ruth stood fuming, clenching her fists at her sides. Her voice was chilling as she said, “I will be back in a moment.” She walked forward and stomped around us, moving with purpose in the direction of her bedchamber.
Releasing the breath I had been holding, I led my brothers across the room, closer to the door, where we could face her when she returned. I smoothed my hand over Peter’s hair and wrapped my arm around Charles. “It will be all right. Just keep quiet.” I didn’t have to look at their faces to know they understood.
After several minutes of waiting, Aunt Ruth was back, clutching a wrinkled paper in her hand. I saw the black curve of writing.
“I am finished with their behavior!” she seethed, waving the paper in the air in a violent fashion. “I wonder why I ever invested in the lot of you. In return I have received nothing. Nothing! Nothing but two maddening children and a pathetic, undignified girl that is growing into precisely the same sort of woman.” She stepped toward me and lifted her nose, examining my face through narrowed eyes. “One who has an obvious lack of charge for her complexion.”
My eyes flickered back to the parchment in her fist. Aunt Ruth noted it.
“Ah. You wonder at the meaning of this?” She lifted the folded paper and swiped it quickly and forcefully across my face. I felt the slice of the edge as it cut through the skin at the side of my face near my ear. I heard Charles squeal and felt him bury his face into the side of my skirts. Peter squeezed my left hand even as I lifted my right to the new cut on my cheek. It was small, but I could tell it ran fairly deep, considering that a sheet of paper was the weapon. I withdrew my fingers and stared at the two droplets of blood there.
“What is another blemish?” Aunt Ruth said dismissively. “What matters is that I will be rid of you soon and shall not be forced to look upon it.”
My stomach tightened. “What do you mean?”
“I’m sending you away, simpleton! If the boys do not return with significant improvement, then I will have no other choice but to punish them. And my punishments will be most … severe. Do you understand?”
“Punishments?” My heart pounded with dread.
“There is an orphanage in Scotland I believe will suit them quite well.”
I took a step back, dread pouring through me with a new sense of urgency. “No.” I was shaking my head. “You cannot do that.”
“I can, and I will if my requirements are not met.” Aunt Ruth held up the paper again, a short length of the edge now laced with my blood. She chuckled deeply. “You may calm yourself. I am not sending you to a hell as you may be imagining. I am sending the three of you to Kellaway Manor by an invitation of sorts. I trust you have heard of the place? Your parents were dashedly fond of the family.”
Kellaway Manor? The name rang in my ears with familiarity. I had been there once before. Kellaway Manor was in Dover, I remembered that much from my single visit there. I remembered how much Mama and Papa loved to visit the Kellaways. And it was the place my parents were returning from when they died.
My mind tugged me back to a time that I still hoped for things. A time that was awakened by the sound of those two words: Kellaway Manor. But that memory also brought back the day my parents didn’t return. It was the day that reminded me that hope is a very dangerous thing. Promises were made that day that mustn’t ever be broken, and my heart had been schooled to uphold them.
“Read the letter!” Aunt Ruth barked, pulling me from my thoughts. She threw the paper in my direction, letting it fall slowly to the ground. “I will order the carriage tomorrow morning. You will stay there for the remainder of the summer.” Then she marched from the room, mumbling very unladylike curses under her breath.
I didn’t waste a second, bending over to pick up the letter with shaky hands. The date inscribed at the top read nearly five years ago. The seal had already been broken, so smoothing the wrinkles from the parchment, I read to myself.
Dear Miss Downing,
I am deeply sorry to hear of the loss of your dear mother and father. I cannot imagine the grief you are inevitably feeling, and the new burdens that you must undertake. Your parents were among my closest friends and I was saddened profoundly to hear of their accident. I admit that I feel somewhat to blame. I invited them to visit my home, and had I not, I daresay they may still be alive. I am deeply sorry. I would like to express my utmost condolences and invite you, along with your brothers, to visit my home, Kellaway Manor, in Dover anytime you would like. I trust that your aunt will see to the arrangements. I hope to see you again soon.
Sincerely and with a heavy heart,
Mrs. Catherine Kellaway
My heart leapt within my chest, diminishing my unrest to a faint memory. Kellaway Manor. Something about clean, bright stone, and lush, green grounds flashed in my mind.
But the letter had been written five years ago. Surely Mrs. Kellaway was not even remotely expecting us now. How rude of Aunt Ruth not to inform her! What if she decided to turn us away? It had been years since the letter was sent! I held the paper close and reread it slowly.
My thoughts focused on one particular sentence: I admit that I feel somewhat to blame for the death of your parents. My heart sunk upon reading the words again. Mrs. Kellaway had felt that guilt for the past five years, and for no reason at all. I certainly did not blame her for their death. How could she blame herself?
I studied the letter a final time. She stated that we were welcome anytime, so surely she wouldn’t turn us away. Still, my conscience burned with unconformity. How embarrassing it would be to drop ourselves on her doorstep! I forced my whirlwind of thoughts to decelerate and took a deep breath, and then another, holding the letter to my heart. In less than one day’s time my brothers and I would be released from our tedious confines and free from our wretched aunt!
I folded the letter gently, surprised to see how tremulous my hands were. I turned to face my brothers, an eager smile pulling at my lips.
“What does it say?” Peter asked, attempting to pull the paper from my grasp.
I lifted the letter out of his reach and reiterated the contents to them briefly. As I did, I could see excitement shining in their eyes like little rays of sunshine that warmed my heart.
My rapturous spirits dropped as I recollected Aunt Ruth’s intentions for this visit. My brothers were required to become perfect little gentlemen, to return well-behaved or else be sent to Scotland. My heart ached at the thought. I could not break any promises now. Not ever.
But Peter and Charles did not even know what a gentleman was like! They had never had the example of a good man to influence them. The only man they ever interacted with was Mr. Coburn, and he was not a man in whose footst
eps I desired them to follow.
“You must be on your best behavior,” I told my brothers seriously. “I will not have you enduring Aunt Ruth’s horrid punishments. Do you understand? I will not have you sent away to an orphanage.”
They nodded with solemn expressions, but I could see smiles tugging at their lips. They were expecting an adventure. I squeezed Charles’s cheek affectionately and ruffled Peter’s hair. Then I took a deep breath and smiled. “Shall we go pack our things?”
A
The day was new and the sun was bright as I stood at the window of my bedchamber, staring out at the road beyond the hill where the coach was prepared to take us away. My heart skittered with something resembling excitement. The last time I had taken a carriage, or even left Maidstone, was years ago.
I threw the drapes back over the window. “Charles, Peter! It’s time to leave!” I yelled across the house as I grabbed my traveling trunk and ran to assist my brothers with theirs. By the time I found them, they were already standing at the front door, speaking excitedly in hushed tones.
With Aunt Ruth nearly pushing us out the door, we made our way across the path and down the hill leading out to the carriage. Peter and Charles had never ridden in a carriage before, nor to their memory had they been outside this town. No doubt that was why they appeared to be running as fast as their legs could carry them. A laugh bubbled within me, and I hoped for their sake that there would be a great deal of fun and adventure awaiting them. They were much deprived of both.
After stepping inside the carriage, I cringed as my eyes fell upon the interior. The cushions were pink. I sighed as I sat down, shunning the admiration I felt at seeing the color. Although it was a beautiful shade, I couldn’t allow myself to think such nonsensical things. Pink was just another thing that had changed in my eyes on the same day hope did.
My brothers giggled with anticipation as the carriage began to roll forward. I turned my gaze out my window, watching Oak Cottage until it was out of sight, assuring myself that it was true—that we were really leaving it behind. My brothers had their faces pressed against the glass of their windows, watching with awe at what lay ahead of us.
The ride was expected to be half a day’s journey, so I sat back and willed myself to relax. Worry over what Mrs. Kellaway would say when we arrived crept back into my mind, but I pushed it away. There was no need to fret about that just yet. I watched with amusement the complete thrill that my brothers were exhibiting. Apparently they were enjoying the ride every bit as much as I expected.
Satisfied, I slipped lower in my seat. My eyelids were heavy, as if my lashes weighed tons. My rest the previous night had not been near sufficient, so I lay my head back on the plush cushions and before long, I had fallen into a deep sleep.
A
I awoke to Peter shaking my arm urgently. “Annette! Annette!” A slight tone of panic raised his voice.
I sat up quickly, the steady sway of the ride reminding me of my location. How long had I slept? One hour? Two? More? My half-sleeping gaze darted around frantically, not finding the problem. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
Before Peter could answer my question, I saw Charles on the floor of the carriage just in front of me, looking quite green, on his hands and knees. He was leaning over a grotesque puddle of vomit.
Shocked, I jumped from my seat and knelt beside him. “Charles!”
He glanced up at me and a tear leaked from the corner of his eye. I placed a hand on his forehead, smoothing back his blond curls. His skin was cold and sweaty, and I could see his hands shaking as they pressed against the floor.
Dread and worry dropped in my stomach at once. “It must be the carriage,” I muttered, taking him by the arm. “Can you stand?”
“I don’t know.” His voice wavered, then turned into a choked sob.
“Let us try.”
He nodded and I pulled up on his arm gently, helping him to his feet. The moment he stood, his face turned a sickly yellow and he doubled over and vomited again, this time all over the front of my dress. He slumped back down to the floor, his chin quivering as it always did when he was in pain but trying to be strong. I sat down beside him, resting my back against the seats and holding his head in my lap.
“You will be just fine, Charles.” I stroked my fingers across his forehead. He closed his eyes, his face beginning to sweat profusely, his arms beginning to tremble. “You are being so brave,” I said in a whisper. And it was true. This little boy knew what it was to be afraid, to clutch onto his strength with firm hands. So that was why today, he did not cry. That was why everyday I did not cry.
Once I concluded that it was indeed the carriage that was making Charles ill, I alerted the coachman to stop driving. What Charles needed was fresh air and steady, motionless ground.
After we took several turns around the coach and through the meadow grass beside the road, we stepped back into the carriage. My gown and the floor were still painted in vomit when we started moving again, but what mattered was the pink flush returning to Charles’s cheeks. I hoped it would last.
In the hours that followed, Charles slowly lost color again, and whatever remained of his breakfast found a home on my boots. The road was awfully uneven, and it made me dread the ride back to Oak Cottage even more. Maybe a tiny part of me dared to wish that it would stay bumpy forever, perhaps even become too bumpy to travel by. I wished that we would never have to go back on that road that led to fear and painful memories.
“Is that it?” Peter asked from beside me, peering out the window with wide eyes.
I craned my neck to look over his shoulder. It was Kellaway Manor. I could see it now, rising ahead of us beside the road. Dozens of windows covered its golden facade, and the bright green grass ahead of it stretched wide and short and smooth. “Yes,” I answered with a smile.
It had been ten years since I had visited Kellaway Manor, but I remembered it as a beautiful place. I remembered the adventure and the smell of flowers and sunshine and secrets. My parents loved it there, so I did too. We had only stayed for a day or two, and everything had been perfect.
Well, except one thing, or person, rather …
The carriage slowed as it turned up the drive, coming to a gradual halt. Without waiting for assistance, I pulled Charles into my arms, stepped down, and moved my feet across the neatly trimmed lawn. My hair was in my face, and my hands were occupied with Charles, so I struggled to see through the thick strands covering my eyes. I placed Charles gently on his feet beside me and steadied him on my arm. As I did, a small gust of wind cleared the hair from my face as I approached the house, bringing its beauty into full, unobscured view. I stared in awe, lifting my hand to my head to keep my bonnet from tumbling.
It was surely more sizeable than I remembered, but the color of the stone was the same. It reminded me of a loaf of golden brown bread, fresh from the oven. It stood large and grand among the flourishing gardens surrounding it.
I felt a small bloom of excitement unfold within me as I gazed upon it, born from a childhood memory of walking to this very door on my father’s arm. Even so, there was an unmistakable flutter of nervousness in my stomach. The Kellaways would not recognize me. Mrs. Kellaway had likely forgotten about her letter a long time ago. And this was not a pleasure trip. The task of turning my brothers into perfectly behaved children was on the table, and it could not be ignored.
I walked up the front steps, taking a deep breath. My heart pounded. Before I could lose my nerve, I took hold of the brass knocker and hit it three times—much more forcefully than I intended—against the strike plate. I cringed at the large echo the sound created. Relax, I commanded myself. These were Mama and Papa’s friends. They will be welcoming.
We waited in stretched silence for several seconds, and when I heard the turn of a lock, my heart threatened to burst through my chest. Not a second later, the door swung open at the hands of the butler, who greeted us with a warm smile. That smile fell as he spotted Charles moaning in my arm
s. Then, as if from nowhere, a middle-aged woman appeared beside him, a confused look clouding her delicate features.
“Are you Mrs. Kellaway?” I stammered, even though I knew she was. Her hair was a striking, thick auburn, not easily forgotten. Her face had hardly aged in the ten years since I had met her.
“Yes,” she answered, smiling with question.
My words spilled out quickly. “I am very sorry, but our aunt just gave your letter to me yesterday. It was extremely rude of her not to inform you, but she sent us on your invitation from five years ago.” I watched carefully for her reaction. Her brow furrowed with consternation as her gaze settled on Charles.
“Oh! And Charles became ill on the drive here,” I added, looking again at her expression. She was still confused. How could I have been so foolish as to think that she wouldn’t be? After a moment of staring at her blinking eyes, I realized that I had not even given our introductions. Scolding myself for my stupidity and lack of manners, I said, “My name is Miss Annette Downing and these are my brothers, Peter and Charles.”
Her face instantly softened and she gasped, bringing a hand to her lips. “Heavens, is it really you?”
I nodded, uncomfortable under her searching gaze.
She shook her head in awe. “It is indeed you. I am glad you came! It has been so very long!” She laced her fingers together and her smile grew. I noticed how her top lip nearly disappeared when she smiled, and her nose wrinkled on the bridge. She had a very friendly face, the details of which I had forgotten. “Come in, come in! I will find my son to attend to Charles.”
“Thank you,” I said, feeling a deep weight of anxiety fall from my shoulders. Something about her genteel air seemed to make all my worry melt away.
“Here,” Mrs. Kellaway said, gesturing to the drawing room at the right, “have a seat and be comfortable. I shall return shortly.”
I stepped through the doorway and immediately felt myself shrink. The entry hall ceiling stretched up and up, ending in a dome. The floor was marble, and an intimidating spiral staircase stood just ahead. Several footmen, the butler, and the housekeeper discreetly stepped into position. They had obviously not been expecting guests.
Mischief and Manors Page 2