“Are they? That’s wonderful,” said the one-time actress.
“Yes. I’m so pleased. We’ll be a family again.”
“That’s important.” Marguerite surveyed her face and narrowed her eyes. “You could have been on the stage, dearie. Those eyes and that figure.”
Audrey’s cheeks warmed. “I don’t think my mother and father would have allowed that.”
“Nonetheless, you could have been. You would have been a grand success!” She threw her arms out. “Those cheekbones alone—London would have been at your feet.”
“My cheekbones?” Audrey asked.
“Yes, and those lips. Gorgeous lips.”
She could feel Henry’s lips pressed against hers and his arms around her, and she cleared her throat. “Come, Marguerite. Stop teasing me. Tell me a story of long ago.”
“Long ago? You mean in ancient times when I was a young girl?” Marguerite wondered.
“Unless you were a young Roman girl who lived in Londinium, then no. Tell me one of your stories.”
“Ah. Smart girl. I like that.” She paused. “Very well. Since you plead with me to the point of exhaustion, I’ll tell you a story,” she agreed dramatically. “I was working at a small music hall where nobody ever went and nobody does still. I had been a musician’s assistant and chorus girl. And finally, I had my own song. I was so happy. I met a young man. He was an actor on the stage. A real actor. Shakespearean. Beautiful. Better cheekbones even than you.”
Marguerite sighed dreamily and continued. “That summer, we had coffee in small cafes, took long walks in Hyde Park, and fell in love. It was a good time.”
Audrey imagined a young, winsome Marguerite and a dashing young man at her side. “You married him?”
Marguerite looked at Audrey as if pitying her. “No, dearie. This story doesn’t have a happy ending. You asked for a story, not a happy ending.”
“Oh.” Audrey hadn’t expected that response.
“At the same time, I learned I was pregnant. I found out my sweetheart was married already,” she said. “With two children.”
“What did you do?” Audrey asked sadly.
Marguerite shrugged. “What could I do? I had my son and went on to another music hall.”
Audrey hadn’t known she had children. “How old is your son now?”
Marguerite had a strange look on her face. “He’s been gone many years. He died of the fever when he was a young boy. He never met his father.”
“That is a sad story,” Audrey said.
“Life doesn’t always have a happy ending, dearie. You’re too young to know that yet,” she told her.
“I’m not a child. I’ve had my share of unhappiness.” There was a defensive tone in her voice.
Marguerite patted her hand. “Yes. Your father. I recall.”
Audrey looked at the paper flowers that dotted the room and felt a sadness at Marguerite’s life.
“It’s getting late, dearie. Go on to bed. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Audrey stood. “Good night, Marguerite.”
Audrey stretched delicately as she walked down the long hallway. She had no wish to go back to her small little room after seeing the colorful Marguerite. She walked outside the workhouse building, passing the smaller buildings until she made her way to the cottage. She looked at it from afar. Soon her mother and Frances would be inside it, and they would be a family again.
She turned down the small path and stopped herself when she saw a figure ahead of her carrying a lantern and walking beyond the orchard. She frowned. Where was the person going? There was nothing out here except the cluster of cottages and the fruit trees.
She shivered in the night air. Why were they out and about at this late hour? She watched the dark figure for another minute before they walked out of view. What business would they—
Then she stopped. She remembered. On the other side of the vast orchard, there were two buildings they might be going to, but that made her shiver more.
The chapel…and the mortuary.
Audrey stepped inside the cottage and looked about the front room. It looked so cozy with the small sofa and chairs and the fresh coat of paint. She was excited to be able to bring her little family to join her, and they would be here soon enough. She went upstairs to check the rooms, and they were ready for Frances and Augusta.
She was about to come down the stairs when she heard a creak down below. She listened with wide eyes, and the creak came again. Someone was in the house. She felt a catch in her throat. The man with the lantern! She would ease down the stairs as quietly as possible and run to the front door to escape.
She took a step. Then another and closed her eyes when it creaked again. Another step. Then another. And when she had finally stepped off the landing, she took a deep breath. Before she was able to take another step, a strong arm pulled her back and pushed her into the wall.
“Who are you?” Henry asked, pressing her shoulders into the wall. Then he saw her. “Audrey,” he breathed out.
She swallowed, not daring to move. “Yes. It’s my cottage.”
“I saw movement inside the house from outside. I was concerned. I thought someone might be up to no good here,” he told her.
“I was looking at the cottage before my mother and sister arrive,” she said, moving away from him.
“I see.”
“Where is your lantern?” she asked.
He frowned. “I’ve no lantern.”
Henry looked down at her face and felt the urge to pull her into him and kiss her again. How many times had he dreamed of those lips and had wanted to do exactly as he had the night he thought she was a ghost?
“I’ve wanted to speak to you since that night, but I never got the chance,” he said, stepping back and letting her go.
“There’s absolutely no need to discuss that night,” Audrey said, her cheeks going red.
“No need?”
“I prefer to forget that night,” she told him, avoiding his gaze.
Forget? he wondered wildly. All he could remember was that night. When he was poring over ledgers and speaking with his clients, he saw her face and heard her moans in his ear. It was a sort of madness that had overtaken him.
“We can’t just pretend it never happened,” he asked.
Audrey crossed her arms across her chest. “Actually, that’s exactly what we do. As you were drunk that night, I suggest you also drop this conversation and we never discuss it again,” she said primly.
He frowned. “How do you know I was drunk?”
Audrey spoke without thinking. “I tasted it on your—”
Henry’s warm brown eyes were on hers. Several seconds ticked by.
“Yes?” he asked huskily. “You were saying?”
“I need to return to the workhouse,” she told him, trying to pass by him.
He blocked her path, desperately needing to know she felt the same. “So that’s that?”
She avoided his gaze. “Nothing has changed. I asked that you keep your distance. It was a mistake. That’s all. Let’s leave it that.”
He licked his lips. “And if I don’t want to?”
“You want me to think you’re a cad?” She finally met his gaze, and her eyes burned with fire. “That you have no manners?”
“I sincerely doubt any man would have acted differently had they been given the chance to hold you in their arms,” he said softly.
“Why do have to say such things?”
He shrugged. “I’m stating the obvious.”
“Well, don’t.” She moved past him this time and walked through the cottage to the small hallway.
He followed her outside, where the moon was low with very little light. He looked into her face and knew the conversation was going nowhere.
“If you wish to think that night was a mistake and pretend it didn’t happen, then I will bid you a good evening, Ms. Wakefield,” he said suddenly, and just as quickly as he had appeared, Henry was gone.
&n
bsp; Chapter Fourteen
Audrey waved to her family as her mother stepped off the train and onto the platform, followed by her little sister.
“Audrey,” she said and enveloped her in a warm embrace. The scent of roses filled Audrey’s nostrils.
Audrey hugged her tightly. “Mother! It seems forever since I’ve seen you, though it’s only been a few weeks.”
“The journey was so long. I thought we’d never arrive,” she said tiredly.
“Hello, Lambkin,” Audrey greeted her little sister, who hugged her about the neck.
“I’ve missed you ever so.” Frances sniffed. “I thought you’d forgotten about us.”
Audrey ruffled her hair. “Nonsense. Come. Let’s get a cab. I can’t wait for you to see our new home.”
Audrey had moved her belongings into the cottage the night before and had taken the back bedroom that overlooked the orchards. She was so proud to show off the new cottage, as she was sure her mother and sister would be happy there. She had placed a vase of wildflowers in the parlor and hummed as she worked.
When the cab stopped before the cottage, Frances scampered out and began running about the cottage while Augusta took a long look at the cottage with blank eyes.
“Well, Mother? What do you think?” Audrey asked, watching her reaction.
Augusta sniffed. “It’s very small.”
“It’s perfect for the three of us. Three bedrooms, a small parlor, a dining area, and look at the garden!” Audrey pointed it out. “You can plant those roses you love.”
“I don’t like it,” she said flatly.
Audrey’s heart sunk. “Mother, come inside. It’s been repainted and refurbished just for us. Look how warm and inviting it is.”
Her mother stepped into the cottage and surveyed the rooms. Just as Frances hopped about and jumped on the beds, Augusta sighed heavily. “This isn’t up to our standards.”
Disappointment filled Audrey. “We have no standards, Mother. I am staff at the workhouse, and they have graciously given us this cottage to live in.”
“Mmmm,” her mother said coolly.
“We should be grateful. I’m very grateful.”
Augusta turned her tired eyes to her daughter. “It’s so easy for you, Audrey. All of this is easy for you. You haven’t had your entire life turned upside down just when life should be easier.”
“I haven’t, huh?” Audrey said.
Augusta pursed her lips. “No, Audrey. You haven’t. You are young enough to recover from this and move on with your life.”
Audrey’s hope and excitement for her mother and sister’s return vanished. She felt heavy with her words. “You are right, Mother.”
She watched Augusta sit in the parlor, running her fingers along the table for dirt.
“I have a club meeting I must attend. I will return after supper,” she said tiredly. “There’s food in the pantry.”
As she left, she heard her mother tell Frances, “This won’t do at all.”
Audrey tried to smile throughout the club meeting, but she saw Theodocia looking at her often and felt the pinprick of tears behind her eyes. She wanted to sob and cry and have someone hold her and tell her it would be all right. Nothing of the sort would happen. When the meeting ended, the women dispersed while Audrey remained seated.
“Can you remain behind for a moment, Audrey?” Theodocia asked.
“Of course.” She watched the women leave one by one until only they remained. Often, she rushed home to avoid running into Henry, but today she had no energy to do anything but sit upon the plush sofa and face Theodocia, who sat down beside her.
“My dear, you don’t look at all yourself.”
“I don’t feel myself.” She tried to smile but it would not come. “I picked up my mother and sister from the train station today.”
“Oh, yes! That’s right. And?” Theodocia said brightly.
Audrey took a deep breath. “My mother isn’t pleased with the arrangements.”
“I see.”
“I don’t think she realizes how hard I’ve worked. How I came to a place that was unknown to me to try to make a life for us. I’m not feeling sorry for myself. But it’s been hard. And lonely. I was so excited to show off that little cottage. That stupid little cottage—” She felt the tears fall upon her cheeks, and she wiped them away.
“Audrey, your mother is of a different time. A different generation.” Theodocia squeezed her hands.
“She’s the same age as you and you’re nothing alike,” Audrey pointed out.
Theodocia gave her a sympathetic look. “I like to keep with the times. Change is good. It keeps you young. I expect your mother abhors change.”
Audrey sniffed. “My father’s death has been difficult. I don’t think I realized how hard. I’ve had to take action and do what I must. She’s just inside her head. Sitting there all day. Thinking.”
“You must be kind to her. She’s not strong like you,” Theodocia noted. “She hasn’t your intelligence. So instead of trying to find a solution as you did, she will lash out.”
They both heard the door open and close, and then Henry called out, “Mother?”
He stepped into the low gaslights of the room and was about to smile when he saw Audrey. His expression changed and shuttered. “Ms. Wakefield.”
“Mr. Ryland.”
“I should go,” she said, squeezing Theodocia’s hands. “Thank you for listening. For caring.”
“You are always welcome here, my dear,” she said kindly. “Always.”
Theodocia watched Audrey leave and then turned to her son. “That girl is worth ten of Della.”
“What does that mean?” Henry frowned. “She’s nothing to me. Merely staff at the workhouse.”
Theodocia touched her son’s shoulder lightly. “Of course, she is my dear.”
The next week, Augusta and Frances settled into their new life at the workhouse. Frances was very excited about her surroundings and went bouncing about the orchards, the long hallways, the laundry, and the bakery. She attended school with Audrey, and while the other children were still learning the basics, Frances read French primary books and studied geography. Audrey often saw her sister in the back of the room, working hard on her studies with her head bent in concentration.
Her mother was a different story entirely. Since they arrived at the cottage, she went out very little, socialized with no one, and Audrey couldn’t seem to make her happy about their surroundings. She tried to bring flowers from town to brighten the cottage and bought her a lovely new hat when she was out of mourning, but nothing seemed to please her.
One night after Frances had gone to bed, Audrey was drawing up lesson plans for the children across from her mother, who was rocking herself in the chair. She seemed to be at peace, and she hoped time would help them in this new little cottage.
“I saw the strangest thing, Audrey. So strange,” her mother said suddenly.
Audrey looked up and placed her pen aside. The gaslights threw shadows into the corners of the room. “What did you see?”
“I couldn’t sleep the other night. So, I warmed some milk and took it up to my room. I was looking out the window. It must have been past midnight. It was so quiet, and the sky was so black. And I saw someone moving about near those buildings past the orchard,” Augusta said as she continued rocking.
Audrey frowned. “What buildings?”
“What did you say those buildings were over there? I know you told me,” she asked.
“I’m not sure I know their names myself, Mother.” But Audrey knew she was speaking about the chapel and mortuary. Audrey shivered a little.
“The figure was carrying something. They headed towards that building over there and then disappeared from sight,” Augusta said.
“They must be working,” Audrey assured her.
“In the middle of the night?”
“Well, some things may need to take place at night,” Audrey said but even she felt the words were si
lly.
“Hmph.” The mantel clocked ticked, and Augusta sighed. “I don’t like this place. It’s unseemly that you should be teaching such riffraff.”
Audrey sighed. This was not the first time her mother had expressed such feelings.
“And I don’t approve of Frances being in the classroom with them,” Augusta said.
“Frances is perfectly fine in the classroom. She’s always with me, even at mealtimes.” Audrey told her.
Augusta looked across at Audrey and then into the small fireplace. “I have a bad feeling about this place. I don’t like it.”
Audrey placed her work to the side. “We must get used to it. This is our home now.”
She kissed her mother’s cheek and left the room. As she climbed the stairs, she heard her mother mumbling to herself.
The next evening, she went to visit Marguerite and found she was not her only visitor.
“Dearie, this is my gentleman caller, Alistair Hillby. Alistair, this is Audrey Wakefield. I told you about her. She’s the schoolmistress.”
The gentleman was dressed in his uniform with his clothes neatly pressed and his hair brushed back. He cut a neat and trim figure.
“Mr. Hillby,” she greeted him.
“We were speaking of the good old days, Audrey. Alistair used to work as a stagehand.” Marguerite beamed at both of them.
“You knew each other before the workhouse?” she asked.
“In passing,” Marguerite said.
“You couldn’t get near her, Ms. Wakefield. Marguerite was a figure to behold. Beautiful, talented. She had many admirers,” Alistair said in a lilting Irish accent.
Marguerite brushed him away with her hand. “Nonsense, Alistair,” she said, but Audrey could tell she was enjoying the moment.
“I used to have a picture of her from a magazine,” he said. “She was the toast of the music hall theater.”
Audrey tried to picture it. “I would have liked to have known her back then.”
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