Mr. Watkins packed everything up in his case and flashed me a rueful smile. “The pain should subside very soon. Not to worry.” His thick spectacles were sliding down his nose. “I will return tomorrow night.”
I gave a stiff nod and watched him go through the door. James was standing in the corner of the room, arms crossed. His forehead was creased as he watched me. It struck me that it was evening, and he was still here. Had he been here the entire day? Each time I had awakened he had been present. It puzzled me.
“I will be going now,” he said to Mrs. Abbot, as if reading my thoughts.
She smiled at him. “You have been of wonderful assistance to our Charlotte. We cannot offer our thanks enough.”
Her phrase, our Charlotte, stuck out in my mind. So she had not forsaken me yet.
James glanced at me one more time, and I gave him a weak smile, hoping he knew I was grateful. Then he turned and left the room with long strides.
I sat up straighter and turned to Clara, desperate to turn the attention to someone else. I was drowning in four gazes, and I needed to escape them. “How did you enjoy Sophia’s company?” I didn’t want to mention or think about Lord Trowbridge right now.
“She is a wonderful little girl.” Clara’s eyes lit brightly. “She wondered where you had gone.”
I gave a soft smile. “She will adore you.”
“Did you give her the crown made of twine?”
I nodded and my grin widened.
“She will not take it off.” Clara shook her head and laughed.
Releasing a deep sigh, I sat up straighter, preparing to stand. Mrs. Abbot rushed forward, stopping me. “Where do you think you are going?”
“I would like to return home.” I looked up at her, eyes wide. I was feeling much less faint and had already trespassed on her hospitality the entire day. And I needed to distance myself from the looming pianoforte that I knew I could never play again. Our cottage didn’t have one, so I could coach myself to forget.
“Nonsense. The walk will likely exhaust you. Spend the night here, and Clara will go to tend to your grandmother. Won’t you, dear?”
Clara’s eyes met mine first before she nodded. Guilt stabbed at my conscience with unfamiliar strength. Mrs. Abbot still didn’t know the truth about why we had come here. She deserved to know every word. She had proven to me that she could be trusted, so why had I still kept the truth from her? I released my breath slowly, realizing it was because I was ashamed. I didn’t want her to think any less of me than she already did. I couldn’t afford it.
Clara was about to leave, and my eyelids were growing heavier by the minute. Mrs. Abbot was right. I needed to stay.
Mrs. Abbot moved around the sofa to stand beside Clara. “Lucy and Rachel will accompany you on your walk. It is darkening outside and I should hate for you to be afraid or lost.” Clara smiled as Lucy and Rachel willingly linked their arms through both of my sister’s.
“I will see you tomorrow evening, then,” Clara said to me as she moved toward the door.
I mustered up a small smile and said, “Thank you.” I was sure I had uttered those words more today than I had in my entire life. It was not as difficult as I had always imagined. I had always been strong, and I had always thought that thanking others would made me weaker somehow, submissive. But now, I was weak, and speaking those two words, thank you, was strengthening in a profound and strange way that I didn’t understand.
Clara looked surprised, her gaze lingering on me just a little longer before she turned around and walked out the door.
“I have a room prepared for you upstairs.” Mrs. Abbot gripped my elbow and helped me stand. “I believe you will be comfortable there. I have assigned a maid to help you get cleaned and dressed for bed.”
We reached the top of the stairs and Mrs. Abbot retreated to the main floor. A young lady’s maid, likely the one Lucy and Rachel shared, helped me wash and dress and darken the candles in my room. I had assumed my rest during the day would have been sufficient to keep me awake later, but my eyelids drooped as I climbed into bed. My hand throbbed with every beat of my heart, because today, both had been broken together.
The maid turned to leave and I uttered one last thank you before fading into sleep.
Chapter 11
“Love me or hate me, both are in my favor.
If you love me, I’ll always be in you heart …
If you hate me, I’ll always be in your mind.”
Mr. Watkins changed my bandages in the morning and I still didn’t look. When he left, Mrs. Abbot joined me in the sitting room. I was on the sofa, facing the pianoforte. I traced my gaze over the wooden, cracked edges and the sheets of music perched on top. Nothing moved but my eyes as I evaluated every inch of the instrument. Despite my inability to empty my emotions through my music, I felt an unmistakable void within me. I was an empty, battered shell, swept up from a sea of unknown emotions and heartache. I could feel Mrs. Abbot’s gaze on me but I didn’t look away from the pianoforte until she spoke.
“I am so sorry, Charlotte. I know how much the instrument meant to you.” She draped her arm over my shoulder and squeezed my arm. “But all will be well. You will find happiness.”
I glanced warily at her honey eyes and warm smile. Her face was wrinkled in different places than Mama’s, though they seemed to be the same age. Mama had deep wrinkles between her eyes from frowning. Mrs. Abbot had tiny wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and curved ones by her mouth from smiling and laughing. The difference was striking.
“How will I?” It seemed impossible now.
“Make the choice. Choose to be happy through every circumstance, fortunate or not.”
I sighed. “How can it be that simple?”
Her head tipped to the side and she sighed too. “It isn’t simple. But what you must do is find all the good, all the kindness within yourself and use it. Helping others find their happiness is the best path to finding your own.”
I squeezed my eyes shut with shame as I remembered that I had not been good to Mrs. Abbot. She did not deserve to be deceived. Unable to keep up my pretenses any longer, I said, “I must confess something.”
She sat back, her hazel eyes wide in anticipation. “What is it, dear?”
I took a deep breath. “I did not come here with my grandmother. In fact, I never had the opportunity to meet either of my grandmothers. It was all a lie.” I bit my lip, waiting for her reply.
She gave a small smile and paused for several seconds. “Clara has already informed me of that.”
My eyes widened. “When?”
“Just yesterday. She begged me not to tell you until you confessed it yourself. She knew you would. But please, provide me an answer to this: What are you trying to hide from me?”
I swallowed. “We had agreed not to tell anyone the true reason we were sent here, Clara and I. So I came up with a story that seemed plausible, but I cannot continue to lie to you. You have been much too kind.” I paused. “But I must ask that you keep what I am about to tell you a secret between us. I trust you are not keen on town gossip.”
She watched my face closely and didn’t hesitate. “Of course. What you tell me in confidence will be safe, I assure you.”
“Thank you.” I breathed deeply, trying to decide if this was a wise idea. It was too late now. I had to tell her. Speaking far too quickly, I relayed to her every detail. Papa’s gambling, how Mama sent us here alone, and how she expected one of us to make a beneficial match to save the family from ruin. Mrs. Abbot listened in silence and her focus didn’t stray for a moment.
When I finished talking, she gave me a soft smile—nothing disapproving and unkind. No disdain or anger. It surprised me.
“You should have told me before. I would have kept your secret safe.”
I breathed out slowly and looked away from her face. “But you do not understand, do you?”
She patted my arm. “I would never ask so much of my daughters. And since your mother is not here,
though I suspect she would advise you differently, I will say this: Do not do something you will regret. Don’t sacrifice happiness for the sake of something like a tarnished name. Don’t enter into a marriage where you will be alone and unhappy for the rest of your life. Wealth and prestige are not everything.”
“But my mother demands it of me.” I looked down at my hand. “Although I cannot see how a man could overlook a flaw such as this.”
She smiled. “The right man will. He will see all the other things that outshine it.”
I wanted to roll my eyes, but her words were so genuine I couldn’t do it. Even if I didn’t believe her. “I hope you are right.” I said.
Feeling weary, I leaned my head on her shoulder. She was such a kind woman, caring and selfless. How did she accept me after all I had done and said? It was something I didn’t know how to understand.
I didn’t know when or how, but I fell asleep there, feeling comfort and safety like I never remembered feeling. Mama would have complained of my face wrinkling her sleeve. But Mrs. Abbot never did.
z
Winter was coming, and the temperature was dropping consistently. I had been home for several hours before Clara came through the door with a basket of groceries. Her dark hair was swept over her eyes from the wind and the door slammed loudly behind her, pulled by tendrils of chilled air.
She set the basket down near the door and smiled, her cheeks flushed from cold. “Charlotte! How are you feeling?” She hung her cloak up in the small entryway and joined me on the ragged sofa.
“Better. I’m not so tired as before, but the pain is still intense.” I sighed, seeing the joy in her eyes. I wondered if I would ever see it in my own again. “You look happy.”
Her smile dropped in tiny increments. “I am sorry, I really shouldn’t be, what with your condition, but I just cannot help it. Today was wonderful. Sophia has such a natural talent for reading! We have only been helping her for three days and already she is much improved. And Lord Trowbridge joined us for my lesson on a proper tea.” Her grin returned to its full size.
“And that makes you smile?” I asked. “Did you not find him very … severe?”
She stopped. “You had nothing but good things to say of him before. I find him very agreeable. And I base none of my opinion on his wealth or title.” The words were hard, but she quickly put on an apologetic expression. “I’m sorry, Charlotte. You may like to know that Sophia would like to visit you soon. I gave her a poem to memorize and told her once she could recite it, then she would be allowed to come see you. It is serving as effective motivation.” She offered a small smile.
My lips turned up at the corners. At least now I had something to look forward to. “She is such an adorable little girl.”
Clara nodded. “She is.”
Then silence hung in the air between us. After several seconds, Clara grinned again. “Mr. Wortham was there today. He plans to stop by tonight to see how you are feeling. Very thoughtful of him, don’t you think?”
I jerked upright. “He cannot come here.”
She shrugged. “I have already invited him. And why not?”
“He is going to rummage through our things until he finds his love letter. He warned me of it before. He might have been teasing, but I find it hard to tell.” I frowned, worry pulsing within me.
“Based on all you have learned of his character, you still assume he would do such a thing?” Clara raised a speculative eyebrow.
I considered her words. It was true. He had proven himself worthy of trust. He was safe. And why did I need the letter anyway? It was pointless to keep it now. My conscience would not allow me to use it against him, not after all he had done for me. But he did not know that. He could still view me as a threat, as a terrible, selfish person. The thought made my stomach turn. I did not want him to think badly of me. I halted my thoughts as quickly as they came. Why did I care so much?
“I suppose you’re right.” I sighed, straightening my skirts over my lap. I thought of the note hiding in my room on the second floor. I could easily return it to him tonight, but curiosity was climbing steadily over me. What did the letter say? Who was the woman he had loved before? He must have loved her very much—enough to have his heart broken when she chose a man of wealth rather than him. But how could he blame her for making a decision like that? It was the only sensible option. Any woman of sense would have chosen the same path.
I moved my gaze to the stairs, itching to climb them and read the words he wrote to her. But I couldn’t do it. I would keep the letter, yes, but I wouldn’t send it or read it. I wouldn’t send it because it would ruin him. I wouldn’t read it because surely James wouldn’t have me trespassing on such a personal thing. But I would keep it because … I didn’t know why.
Clara recalled my attention by moving toward the kitchen. “After dinner, Mr. Wortham and the surgeon will be coming by. I would have invited Mr. Wortham to dine with us, but for now we can only afford food for the two of us. But we will be paid soon by Lord Trowbridge.” She smiled again and stepped into the kitchen.
I couldn’t see her anymore but I could hear her humming as she worked. I sat on the sofa, confused by her jovial mood. Although my head ached, I welcomed it as a distraction from the pain in my hand. Listening hard to the tune Clara was humming, I leaned my head back and strained my ears to hear every familiar note.
I recognized the tune as one our cook used to sing at home. The words played over and over in my head, coming back to my memory one at a time, until I remembered the entire song. Cook only sang it when we were young, and never when anyone else was around. I never knew if she intended for us to hear, but she sang it while she worked and while we waited in the back corners of the kitchen for the opportune moment to steal leftover cakes or dough.
As Clara repeated humming the verse, I sang the words softly, barely a whisper so she wouldn’t hear.
The sun arising after me
Flowers growing in the land
While dirt and flour stain my hand
’Tis the place I am to be.
Care and thought in preparing tea
As life demands work for wage
Inside a cruel and bitter cage
There is a place I’d rather be.
On the edge of a peaceful sea
Where feast comes a daily sport
Every gentleman I may court
’Tis a place where I am free.
But through the ashes I soon see
Happiness indeed is found
Within a soft and humble sound
There is no place I’d rather be.
The words ended, but Clara had stopped humming before the final verse. I hadn’t thought of that song for so many years. I bathed in the silence that followed, contemplating the meaning of the words I had never considered before. Cook must have written the song herself, singing it in secret, perhaps singing it to cheer herself up. She had hated working in our home but something changed her mind. Something had given her the ability to be happy there. But how? I thought of the line, Inside a cruel and bitter cage. How can one be happy in confinement? How could I ever come to be happy here in Northumberland? It was not my choice to be here and it was not my choice to be happy.
After dinner, I returned to my place in the tiny sitting room, closing my eyes against the humiliation of presenting the dirty, unfashionable house to guests. Surely Mr. Wortham would be disgusted. Even his quaint home was much more presentable than ours.
It wasn’t long before a firm knock sounded at the door and I rose to answer it. I didn’t want to appear incapable of performing such a simple task.
Mr. Watkins stood on the other side of the door, eyes round and scolding. “You must be resting!” He scurried through the doorway. I poked my head outside, scanning the area for James. He wasn’t here yet.
“Miss Lyons. What is the degree of pain … ?” he began with all his questions, but I only half-listened, answering only when required. I kept my eyes firmly on th
e door as the surgeon changed the wrappings on my hand, still not daring to look at the injury. I was watching for James’s arrival.
When the new bandages were in place, a second knock came from outside the door. I tensed, nearly jumping from my chair to block the door, but thought better of it. Clara stood and swung the door open, bringing a burst of icy air into the house. I shivered.
James tipped his head, ducking below the squat frame. His eyes fell on mine and he smiled, just a slight lift of his lips and the corners of his eyes. I shivered again.
“I see I have missed the excitement.” He walked farther into the room and stood behind Mr. Watkins. “How’s the patient faring?”
“Quite well, quite well.” Mr. Watkins stood and began gathering his things, seemingly in a hurry. “My work is complete.” The small man was gone before any other words had been spoken.
James came to stand beside where I was sitting. He tipped his head down to look at me, a shade of guilt hovering over his eyes. “Are you truly well?” His voice was soft, and it brought a telltale quiver to my lip. I locked my jaw firmly, refusing to cry in front of him again. I focused instead on the question that had been bothering me. “Why are you here?”
I looked away from him as Clara melted into the dining area, leaving us alone. A mischievous smile twitched on the corners of her lips.
James sat down beside me and I scooted to a distance that allowed me to breathe normally. I did not like the way he affected me. Not at all. He leaned his elbows onto his knees and turned his head so he faced me.
I maintained his gaze with effort, willing myself not to notice the shade of blue his eyes looked tonight, and how the edge of gray was overriding the usual green. I noticed anyway.
“You may end the charade, Charlotte. We are alone.” He winked, smiling more with the left of his mouth.
I raised my brows. “What charade?”
He chuckled softly. “Don’t think I didn’t notice that cold stare. I haven’t yet forgotten your secret.”
Lies and Letters Page 11