Lies and Letters

by Ashtyn Newbold

  “Now, I will keep it wrapped for another fortnight, then you may begin to use it again,” Mr. Watkins interrupted my thoughts. “The skin will be healed enough at that point in time to bend the joints without tearing. The full recovery should come over the course of two months.”

  I numbly offered my thanks and showed him to the door. I bit back my tears and leaned against the doorframe once he was gone, the disgrace and shame all catching up to me.

  My hand was a true monstrosity. It was hideous. Why had I allowed myself to think of love for even one moment? As much as I hated to admit it, I had wondered what it would have been like if I could love. If someone could love me. But it was clear to me now that it was impossible.

  z

  Thankfully, I didn’t see James for the rest of the week. I taught my mind to forget the little things I had come to enjoy about him. I even taught myself to only think of him twice a day rather than twice a minute. Instead of sitting around our little cottage, dreaming about all the things I could never have, I set to work cleaning, moving slowly and favoring my left hand. Now that Clara had worked so long as Sophia’s governess, we had thought it best that I remain at home and she remain employed. Besides, she never once complained of her time spent with Lord Trowbridge.

  When we had first moved here to Craster, Clara had spent a few hours making the home a little less horrid. She had removed the most obvious cobwebs and dusted the tops of shelves and the corners of the room that had been home to insects and inch-thick dust. But there was still much work to be done, and I found that if I was busy, I didn’t think so much about all the things that hurt. But also as I worked, I hummed the song Cook used to sing early in the mornings.

  I felt guilty for how I had acted toward so many people. I had hurt so much. I had cared only for myself and my own happiness. So shrouded in all my pretty things—a grand house and admired family—I had failed to care about anything else. So flattered by Mama, I had not seen how low I truly was. I was vile, manipulative, and careless. I spit the words out as I tried to squeeze the water from a towel using one hand. Slapping it against the wall, I wiped away dirt.

  I remembered the young woman at Kellaway Manor in the summer, the one Dr. Owen Kellaway had chosen over me. The whole ordeal played out in my mind as if it were a painting, covered in a sheet that only now was lifted. Of course he had loved her more. She was kind, selfless, and good-hearted. I was nothing. I had been nothing but a golden shell, pretty and valued without, but hopelessly empty and dull within. The revelation stabbed at me with shame, and I scrubbed harder.

  I did not want to be that woman anymore. But still, I missed the old life I had enjoyed. The elegance and refinement and parties. I missed my home, bright sunshine, and Mama’s approval. I missed it all so much my heart and soul ached for it. But I did not miss the wicked person I had once been. Looking at the wall I had just washed, I took a deep breath and ran my hand over the surface, smooth and clean. Smooth and clean. Kind and selfless. Honest and thoughtful. Trustworthy and caring. Happy.

  Day after day, I watched Clara and Lord Trowbridge as he brought her home. Although he lived right down the road, he always walked with her. Surely he would have sent her in a carriage if she had let him. He treated her as if she was nothing short of a princess. I was filled with joy as I saw them together, and Clara and I always chatted for hours about her day when she returned, and how he had looked at her as he bid farewell, and the compliments he had offered. It would be only a short time before he proposed marriage, I was sure of it.

  Mrs. Abbot’s cook taught me how to bake a set of my favorite cakes, and Mrs. Abbot even sent me home with some of their extra ingredients. I failed the first few batches I attempted, struggling with lighting the fire on my own, and mixing the ingredients in the proper order, but eventually I made a batch I was quite proud of. My injured hand was hardly a nuisance anymore, and I was learning to function quite well without all the fingers.

  By the end of the fortnight, as Mr. Watkins had promised, he removed the bandages, instructing me to use my hand carefully, but frequently. I hadn’t imagined it possible, but I missed the bandages. Now there was no way to hide the sight of my deformed hand from myself. Or anyone else. I still hadn’t seen James.

  I wandered into the village one morning despite the cold, eager to do something other than cook and clean. With Clara working as Sophia’s governess, we were earning more than enough money to keep us alive with food. So I decided it was acceptable for me to make one small purchase for myself. Wrapping up in my warmest cloak and shawl, I stepped out the door into the chilly air.

  It was not snowing today, but the air was crisp, and the sun shone gently over my head, cutting through the cold with an unexpected warmth. Old snow crunched under my boots as I walked along the path to the village. When people came into view, I slipped my hand out of sight under my cloak. I carried with me a small pouch of coins, but held those also concealed, desperately hoping the past would not be repeated with a strange, burly man stealing my money. I shook off the worry, but walked faster between the narrow shop streets.

  I scanned the faces I passed, secretly hoping to see James’s among them. The last time I had seen him was when we had played music together, and the fortnight that followed had been the longest of my life. I still worried that I had done something to upset him, and I hoped to see him, if only to ask—or even guess—at his behavior. Had he been offended, or was he truly disgusted by me as I thought?

  My eyes drifted to the steps of a tiny house, and the image struck my mind with familiarity. A young girl sat on the lap of a man—I assumed he was her father. The girl was shivering, face smudged in dirt, clad in a torn brown dress. My heart ached keenly at the sight, and then her eyes raised to meet mine. They were large and brown and wet with tears.

  The first morning Clara and I had been here, I had seen this same girl and her father, sitting on the same steps, wearing the same clothes. James had tried to offer the man money, and he had refused. But he could not refuse anything for his daughter.

  I stopped in front of the girl and knelt down, not caring that the dirty snow would soak through my gown and freeze my knees. My eyes flickered to the man, and he watched me through narrowed eyes. I moved my gaze to the face of the little girl. “What is your name?”

  “Caroline,” she said in a quiet voice.

  “Are you very cold, Miss Caroline?”

  She nodded, shivering yet again in her thin layer of clothing. I had come equipped with two shawls and a cloak, so I took off the softer, warmer of the two shawls and extended it to her. As I did, the cloak slipped away from my injured hand and she saw it, but she didn’t stare. I draped the pale blue shawl over her shoulders and she quickly wrapped it tightly around herself.

  I covered my hand again and watched her face. She was so young and shy, lost in the world and a stranger to everything I had known as a child. I had been so very fortunate, and the realization of the life I could have had—the life this girl had—that fate had let me escape brought tears to my eyes. Even my life here in the cold, wet, gray North was tenfold more fortunate than the life of this young girl.

  “This is very pretty,” Caroline’s voice was rasped and quiet. I followed her gaze to the necklace I wore. It was one of the few expensive pieces of jewelry I still owned.

  “Do you like it?” I smiled at her as she nodded. “Would you like to have it?”

  The man interrupted. “No, no, miss. We can’t accept anything else from you.”

  I quickly reached behind my head and unclasped the necklace. I let it fall gently into her outstretched hand. Her eyes were wide as she watched the light reflect off the tiny gems. “It is nothing.” I gave the man a reassuring smile and stood, brushing snow off my skirts.

  I felt warm despite the cold, humbled by my heightened understanding of everything I had. This poor girl had nothing. Little food, little clothing, little shelter. All I lacked was a few fingers. Suddenly it didn’t seem so very bad.

>   The shop I had come to the village for was right down the road from here, so I offered the little girl and her father one more smile before heading in the shop’s direction.

  When I walked through the door I was greeted by the smell of clean fabric and dye. The shopkeeper greeted me and was able to point out the selection of gloves I would have to choose from. I settled on a pair of smooth black gloves lined in fur. I tried the gloves on, but the right side was still noticeably different, especially where my fifth finger should have been. Looking at the limp, empty areas of the glove, I had an idea. Using strips of fabric from the half-destroyed curtains in our cottage, I could stuff the empty areas of the glove and my hand would appear completely ordinary.

  I made the purchase quickly, then wore the gloves as I exited the store. A cold blast of air stole my breath as I opened the door, and my eyes met a pair of handsome, seawater ones.

  I jerked back, almost slamming the door on my foot. Calm yourself, I whispered instructions to my heart. I ran through my list in my mind. Never admire the color of his eyes. I recovered from the shock of seeing James here and stepped out of the shop with my chin held high. My gaze flickered to his face. One, two, three. I looked away. Never look at his face for more than three seconds.

  I cleared my throat. “James—er—Mr. Wortham. What brings you here?” I brushed my hair from my eyes, trying very hard not to think about the moment he had done the same for me.

  He looked confused—and somewhat amused—by my behavior. His expression smoothed over and he smiled. “I came with the singular and determined purpose of seeing you.”

  My eyes widened and I felt my cheeks tingle with heat against my will. Do not let him make me blush. Drat. I had already broken three of my rules in a matter of seconds.

  He laughed, but stepped forward and offered me his arm. “But of course you assume that isn’t true.”

  I tentatively took his arm, grateful he had offered me the side of my undamaged hand. I kept my gaze forward and my expression neutral. “Do you not worry that everyone in the village will stare? They may think it odd that we are walking together … like this.”

  “Why would I ever object to being seen with a lady on my arm?” I could hear the smile in his voice. “Especially one so lovely.” I tried my very hardest not to visibly react. At least I was almost positive he couldn’t hear my heart beating.

  We walked slowly, in no hurry and bound for no specific direction. I didn’t speak for several seconds, and the only noises I heard were the sounds of people as they rushed past—small segments of conversations that didn’t make sense, a cool breeze ruffling my hair, costermongers shouting, and in the distance, those blasted fishing traps being hauled out of the water, scraping against the frozen sand.

  “Why are you acting so strangely?” James asked. I gave myself three seconds to look at his expression. He was still smiling, but he also looked confused.

  “I am not acting any more strangely than you acted before leaving me at the Abbots’ a fortnight ago.” My voice was clipped and hard. I hadn’t meant to sound so hurt, but I was.

  I heard him release a slow breath—a sigh. “I had forgotten the time …”

  “No. You simply wanted to be rid of me.” My eyes flicked to his. “Why?”

  “That is not true.” He stopped walking near the doors of a milliner’s shop. “Not in the slightest.” I let go of his arm and turned to face him. He crossed his arms in front of him. “I have other responsibilities here I can’t abandon. Surely you understand. My men and I are responsible for bringing in a dozen crates of fish each day. I manage our stand in the market every now and again. I need to make a living somehow, Charlotte, and I was not doing anything for myself when I was at the Abbots’. I was there doing a favor for you.”

  His words stung somewhere deep inside me. “That is all? And you didn’t care to see me these past weeks because you have paid me enough favors?”

  James shook his head and stepped away but moved back again, this time closer. He looked as if he was about to say something, but stopped the words.

  “Mr. Watkins removed the stitches from my hand,” I said abruptly. “Would you like to see it? Perhaps the sight will keep you away longer this time.” I spit the words out, tugging at my glove through the familiar blur of tears.

  “Charlotte. Charlotte, stop—” James reached out just as I pulled the glove away from my hand.

  He touched it, softly, with a gentleness comparable to a breath of wind. My heart quickened even though I told it not to. He took my mangled, disgusting hand in both of his, turning it over. He slid his thumb gently over the back of it, over the healing cuts and pink skin. His gaze lifted to mine, but he didn’t let go of my hand. Something reflecting torment flashed in his eyes. “It is all my fault,” he said in a hushed voice. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  I stopped him. “It is my fault. Not yours. I was stubborn and impulsive and daft to do such a thing.”

  His eyes flickered downward. I couldn’t tell if he believed me, but he shifted my hand in his once again, and my heart picked up speed. “Don’t be ashamed of this. Please.”

  I couldn’t find the strength to pull my hand away. “But I have everything to be ashamed of. The place I live, the disgrace of my father, the cruel person I am.” I turned my gaze to the ground and tightened my jaw against an onslaught of emotion. “I hate it. My deformed hand is just another thing I cannot escape.”

  He was quiet for a long moment before speaking in a soft voice, “I saw what you did today for that young child. That was not the deed of a cruel person.”

  My eyes flew up to his.

  He looked down at me, all sincerity and kindness, and it made my heart skip. “If you must be ashamed of the person you once were, then bury her. Start again, here, in this dreaded place of yours, and you can forget shame.” He looked at my hand in his, and I followed his gaze, watching for any clues that he was disgusted by it too, but saw nothing. “I am sorry this happened to you, but let it make you stronger. You were determined enough to try to pull in those traps by yourself, and you were determined enough to reclaim music when you nearly abandoned it. Now be determined enough to love your flaws as much as your beauty. And be determined enough to approach the flaws you are capable of changing, and do it. Be a person you can love.”

  The power of his words settled deep inside me and I clung to them with a tight and desperate grip. I wanted so badly to believe it. “I fear I am not capable of that.” I lowered my hand and replaced my glove.

  “You have changed so much already—”

  “No, I mean I am not capable of love.” I looked away from the intensity of his eyes and took a step away from him.

  “Hate is too heavy a burden to carry, Charlotte. Leave it behind you.”

  I gave a shaky smile, hoping to lighten the mood by increments. “I suppose I will just settle for something in between, then.” My reference to our previous joke brought a smile to his face too, but it was dull and lifeless compared to the way he usually smiled.

  “Try to be happy here. Despite everything.” He looked at me through sincere eyes that looked oddly gray to match the sky. I had been staring at his face for far too long. I quickly moved my gaze to the ground. What he did next was decidedly unexpected. He reached forward and lifted my face to look at his, nudging his fingers under my chin. I was trapped in his gaze again, and his touch on my face was too much. My cheeks tingled with heat and my heart pounded. His fingertips brushed against my jaw as he dropped his hand, but I still couldn’t look away.

  He was about to say something more, but I spoke first, without thinking. “I haven’t forgotten your kindness to me. Although at times you are terribly confusing. But I wish to repay you somehow.”

  His eyebrow twitched and he was smiling again. “How so?”

  He was so close. I could smell the fresh sea air on him, the masculine scent I couldn’t describe, and something that reminded me of home—rolling hills and bright sunshine, although
there were none to be found here. His eyes were locked on mine, there was a faint line of stubble on his jaw, his lips were quirked in a smile, and for the first time I noticed the creases in his cheeks that begged to be called dimples. My gaze locked on his smile, and I had to shake myself to look away. I took a deep breath and recited my rules in my head. Never think about kissing him. Never. Never. Never.

  But it was nearly impossible to obey when he was standing so close to me and smiling in that way and looking at me through those eyes. The only way to focus was to step away, and once I did, I could finally speak again.

  “I wish to tell you why I came here. The truth. But in exchange, I want you to tell me about the woman that broke your heart.”

  “If I must tell you something in exchange, then it isn’t much of a favor.” He chuckled.

  “Fine. We’ll call it a trade.”

  He stared at me for a long moment, surprised by my proposition. I waited, half expecting him to refuse, but finally he nodded. “Very well. But it is awfully cold out here. I know the perfect place for a proper tête-à-tête.” A faint smile touched his lips and he pulled off his coat, draping it over my shoulders before I could refuse.

  “Where are we going?” I asked, taking his arm hesitantly.

  “That is just another secret to add to the books.”

  Chapter 16

  “No legacy is so rich as honesty.”

  I didn’t know why I had offered to tell James the truth, but the thought of it was filling me with more and more dread as we walked to the unknown destination James had in mind. I scolded myself silently for breaking all but one of my rules, then realized my last rule was about to be broken. Never spend time alone with him. There had been so many people before, sliding past us in the road, but now it would just be the two of us, in a quiet place with only dirty snow as a chaperone.