Little White Lies

by Sara Ackerman

  “So instead of risking my anger, you’d rather make yourself sick?”

  Amelia rose and walked over to a hydrangea bush to bury her nose in a fragrant bloom before she nodded, still refusing to meet Tavis’s eye. She’d rather not talk about this particular aspect of her curse; she had hoped it would never come up.

  Tavis followed and wrapped her in his embrace. “You don’t have to worry about telling the truth, lass. I won’t run away if you tell me something you think I won’t like.” She flinched at his words, knowing his perceptive eyes missed nothing. He’d found the truth behind her evasive actions.

  “That’s what you say now,” she said, pulling away from his arms. She sidled to the other side of the bush to keep some distance between her and Tavis, using it as a shield to protect her fragile and exposed emotions. “Everyone thinks they want the truth until confronted with it.”

  Swallowing hard, Amelia’s eyes skittered away from her husband’s face, knowing if she looked there she would feel compelled to promise him something she wasn’t sure she was capable of giving.

  “I’m not like everyone else, Amelia. If you make me angry with your truth, I won’t take offense and leave you to yourself. It must have been lonely for you, all those years, telling a truth no one wanted to hear. I can imagine people didn’t take too kindly to your candor, did they?”

  Tears filled her eyes because everything Tavis said was true. It was a lonely life being the voice of truth.

  “You never have to be alone again, lass, not as long as I am with you. I’m begging you, please, tell me the truth. I don’t know that I’m strong enough to watch you become ill. I was never so scared as I was when I watched you fall to the floor unconscious.” He looked haggard and pale, almost as if he were reliving the events of yesterday as they spoke. “Please, Amelia, trust me to care for you and your curse. I promise I won’t let you down.”

  Several silent moments passed as Amelia mulled over Tavis’s words and his plea for her to trust him. She had asked him as much the other night. Now it was her turn to decide whether to trust her new husband with the enormity of her curse and all of its consequences.

  Amelia turned her gaze back to Tavis, and what she saw staring back at her made her catch her breath. Tavis, the man who shied away from tender emotions like love, was looking at her with such earnest devotion she knew in that instant she could trust him with any of her burdens.

  “Mother always said my curse was the easiest to bear. I could speak, unlike Evie, who was mostly mute, and every other word out of my mouth wasn’t a lie, like Bea’s. Mother said telling the truth was refreshing, and it would endear me to those in my acquaintance.”

  “It must have been hard not to have anyone who understood.”

  “Bea and Evie did, to an extent. We were always close, but after that day we became even closer. We learned to cope, but it never became any easier.” Amelia looked up from the flowers she had been staring at, tears streaming down her face. “She was wrong, you know. People don’t want the truth. They want to hear a version of the truth that fits with their narrow view of the world. I found this to be true early on, when my light revealed the ugliness in people’s souls. People prefer the dark, Tavis, because coming out into the light hurts too much.”

  Tavis engulfed Amelia’s stiff body into the sure solidity of his embrace and held on, a steady rock in the swirling waters of her emotions. “I wish I could make you believe me, Amelia, but only time will prove my words are sincere. I promise to never take offense and run away when you tell me the truth.”

  She allowed him to hold her, letting his strength bolster her confidence and lay her fears to rest. Amelia wanted to believe Tavis, she truly did, but more than that, she wanted Tavis to believe in her. She wanted to be the one Tavis confided in, the one he turned to with his secrets and his thoughts. Until her curse was broken, though, how could she ask him to trust her when she didn’t even trust herself?

  Chapter 17

  Over the next several days, Amelia became acquainted with her new home under the watchful eye of Mrs. Tuddle, the housekeeper. A short, gray-haired woman of indeterminate age, Mrs. Tuddle had run the estate for years, hired on to the staff when Tavis’s mother was a new bride. She was loyal to the former Lady Stanton, and those loyalties extended over time to include Tavis’s deceased brother John and now to Tavis himself.

  It soon became clear Mrs. Tuddle had been in full charge of the household for the last several years as John and Mary’s health worsened and the two died. Mrs. Tuddle was efficient and organized, a fact Amelia appreciated; she learned more with Mrs. Tuddle in two days about running a household as large as Ballywith than she had ever learned from her mother in all the years she had instructed the girls on managing a large estate.

  The household was efficient, and there was not much for Amelia to do but approve expenses and oversee the care of the servants and the tenants. Mrs. Tuddle was also blunt in her honesty with Amelia and informed her that without a large influx of money the estate would be operating with a deficit by the end of the year. Throughout the morning, the two women pored over the household ledgers to find some way to squeeze any extra funds from existing resources.

  Between the two of them, they came up with several ways to further slash expenses, though Mrs. Tuddle was reluctant to cut so deeply. Amelia had little desire to do so either, but something needed to be done to rectify the bleakness of the situation at Ballywith. Mrs. Tuddle explained the various expenses that had cropped up over the years and how they had depleted the resources of the estate. Ballywith was definitely in dire financial straits, and Amelia knew something that might help their situation.

  As she went down the hallway to her husband’s study, Gerard, the butler, stopped her. When informed Tavis was in the stables, Amelia went to her room to gather her shawl, as the days still remained cool, something she hadn’t quite grown accustomed to.

  Amelia had otherwise settled into her new home, loving the raw power of the rugged landscape of Ballywith and the surrounding land. Towering peaks still dusted with the last remnants of winter reached proudly to the sky, while the deep valleys around those peaks burst forth with the first hardy shoots of pale green, spring grass interspersed with the faint violet of the heather soon to carpet the valleys with its rich, vibrant hues. Spring had arrived—Amelia had only to look outside at the bowers of blossoms on the trees dotting the grounds or at the triumphant flowers bursting through the ground over the course of these past weeks to know it. She just wished it weren’t so cold!

  Wrapping up in her warm woolen shawl, Amelia left her room to find Tavis in the stables and to have this particular piece of business past her. No matter how idyllic and content she had been this past month, her elopement and the way she had disappeared without a word to her parents made her uncomfortable. She needed to see her parents, if only to explain to them what had happened to her. While there, she would talk to her father about her dowry, a source of much needed funds to help restore the estate. It wouldn’t be an easy trip down to London and back via carriage, she considered, but it was important she go to secure the necessary resources for Ballywith. In all, it was a well-thought-out plan.

  Amelia chewed on her lower lip, thinking how she was going to convince her husband to let her go. Ever since the incident with Jane, Tavis had been cautious about her safety. Though he claimed to have found nothing out of the ordinary amongst the grove of trees, his actions indicated otherwise. He wanted to know where she was at all times and insisted on escorting her if she ventured outdoors. In fact, she was surprised he hadn’t arranged for one of the footmen to walk her to the stables to meet him. Maybe he thought she couldn’t get into too much trouble on the path from the house to the stables.

  Pausing on the landing, she spied the young footman William, her constant shadow when Tavis was unavailable, waiting for her at the front entrance. She sighed. “Then again maybe not.”

  “Lady Stanton?” William looked up to Amelia as she
stood on the first-floor landing. “Might I accompany you to his lordship?”

  Stifling the urge to curse, she smiled at the boy. “But of course, William. I would appreciate the escort.”

  Really, she fumed, but she reminded herself it wasn’t his fault. Young William was following orders, and he took his role as guardian seriously. Over the past several days William had been always present whenever she decided to take a walk around the grounds or sit in the gardens outside the kitchen. He was always polite, never once insisting he accompany her. Instead, he asked her for permission to attend her should a need arise. When stated in such a manner, how could she refuse? It would look churlish and ill-mannered to decline such gentlemanly solicitousness, especially when it was for her benefit.

  Somehow she needed to convince her husband to either confide in her his worries or to allow her more latitude in her movements. But how to convince him?

  “My lady?” William’s worried voice brought her to attention, and she realized she had been staring at William for several minutes while she considered her predicament.

  Amelia hurried down the stairs and took William’s arm. “Before you escort me to his lordship, William, I’d like to stop by the kitchens and see the cook.”

  The kitchen, Amelia had learned, was one of the only remaining structures of the castle from the original edifice erected several hundred years ago. Built into the side of a large rock formation, the kitchen was a sturdy room. It had survived through war, the vagaries of the weather, and several fires which had plagued the castle over the centuries. Constructed of sturdy stone, it preserved the warmth during the long, cold days of winter, and it kept the room cool in those rare hot days of summer. Only two narrow windows had been built into the original foundation, both of which faced south to catch any feeble rays of sun brave enough to shine in the dead of winter. Down that same small hallway to the rear of the huge fireplace, there was a sturdy wooden door for servants to enter and exit into the walled kitchen garden and courtyard.

  Despite its age, it was an efficient, well-lit room run under the watchful eye of Mrs. Dowling, the robust cook who had served the family since she herself was a young girl hired on to be a kitchen maid.

  “Mrs. Dowling?” Amelia inquired as she descended the remaining steps into the warm kitchen. “Are you here, Mrs. Dowling?” She peered around the open door with caution. The last time she’d made an unscheduled visit to the kitchen, the woman nearly ripped her in two at the intrusion during one of her busiest times. Upon learning it was the new mistress, the cook apologized but was no less irritated by the unwelcome visit. Amelia was advised the next time she visited she needed to give warning or call down ahead.

  Since no one answered her, Amelia walked into the kitchen with William close behind. The fire blazed in the fireplace, and there was evidence on the table that staff was busy preparing the next meal, yet there was no one about.

  “That’s odd,” she reflected as she took in the empty kitchen. “William, do you know where everyone is?”

  “No, my lady, I do not.”

  She moved down the small hallway to peer out the two windows. Squinting through the murky glass, her eyes widened at the sight of a familiar green shawl.

  “Jane,” she whispered. Turning, she spied William watching her. He must have noted her odd behavior, because a frown marred his smooth face.

  Calm down, Amelia! He’ll never let you out that door if you keep acting like this.

  In her best Lady Stanton voice, she looked down her nose at William (difficult to do when he towered over her) and said, “I’d like to go outside, William. See if Mrs. Dowling is about.”

  “My lady…” William began, “his lordship is waiting for you. I need to take you to him.”

  “No,” Amelia insisted, resisting the urge to peer out the window again in hopes of spying Jane. “I need to find Mrs. Dowling.” She only prayed Jane was still out there when she got out. If I get out.

  “I should go with you, my lady.” William shifted from foot to foot. “Or at least, tell me what you wish from Mrs. Dowling, and I will give her your message later.”

  She scurried to the main room of the kitchen and pulled out a stool, dragged it down the hall, and placed it by the door.

  “Here.” She pointed. “You sit on this stool with the door ajar, and I will go and find Mrs. Dowling and speak to her myself.”

  At William’s continued doubtful expression, she crossed her arms and tapped her foot. “William Douglas, I didn’t want to do this, but if you don’t sit here and allow me to speak with Mrs. Dowling privately, I will tell his lordship what I saw you and Katy Ferguson doing the other day when she was supposed to be cleaning the downstairs and you were supposed to be watching the front door.” Amelia glared at him, upset she had to use the one advantage she had over William to go out to the gardens, but it had to be done.

  Poor William whitened to the color of new milk and gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “You saw that, my lady?”

  “Yes, I did, and if you want to keep it secret, you’ll let me leave right now.” She pushed him onto the stool.

  William sat and swallowed even harder. “He’ll kill me, my lady, if something were to happen to you, and I weren’t there to stop it.”

  She huffed out an impatient breath, afraid with every passing minute Jane would be gone by the time she convinced William to let her enter the garden unattended. “What could happen to me in the garden? It’s walled, for goodness’ sake, and you’ll be watching from here and can rush to my aid if anything goes wrong.”

  “You promise you’ll turn back if something isn’t right?”

  “Yes, yes. I promise. Now will you let me go?” The sound of her foot tapping on the hard stones of the floor echoed like thunder throughout the small hallway.

  He nodded and opened the door. Amelia rushed out into the garden and glanced around for the sight of Jane’s vivid green shawl. Rushing between the rows of newly planted seeds, she thought she spied who she was looking for toward the rear of the garden where several clinging ivies had started to climb up the walls.

  “Jane!” she yelled as she raced toward the wall. “Wait!” But by the time she reached the wall, the only sight greeting her was the fluttering green of an old, ragged cloth someone had tied to a stake to ditract birds from destroying the garden. As Amelia looked up and down the garden, she noticed similar flutterings of differently colored cloths interspersed throughout the garden. Jane had never been here after all.

  Heedless of the damage to her gown, she sank onto the ground next to the stake responsible for her hurried flight out into the garden in the first place. She knew she had seen a figure in the garden, not just the color of Jane’s shawl. Hadn’t she? Amelia rubbed her forehead and tried to think. Maybe Jane really was all in her imagination as Tavis had suggested. It felt so real. Jane was more than a figment of her imagination—wasn’t she? She was so deep in concentration Mrs. Dowling approached unnoticed.

  “My lady?” Concern was etched into the round features of her portly cook. “Young William said you wanted to speak with me?”

  “I…I did. Yes, I do.” Amelia glanced around in confusion and spied William disappearing behind the heavy wooden door.

  “Let me help you up, my lady,” the cook said as she offered her outstretched arm to Amelia. Grasping it, Amelia rose and looked around the garden. “I came to see you but couldn’t find you, Mrs. Dowling.”

  “That’s because I was working in a sheltered spot just over there,” she explained, pointing to a location off in the distance. “I keep my herbs over there. Some of them need a bit more coddling than others, so they get a special spot near the kitchen where they can absorb some of the heat from the stones. William knew where to find me, though.”

  Amelia sent a silent thanks to the amorous William for his intervention. Had he not found Mrs. Dowling when he did, Amelia might still be sitting on the ground questioning her sanity. The cook’s arrival brought a welcome reprieve f
rom her distracted thoughts. “You know a lot about plants and herbs, Mrs. Dowling?”

  “I should say so.” Her stout chest puffed with pride. “The local healer uses many of my herbs for her remedies. Says as how I can grow the plants that will grow for no one else.”

  “Will you show me?” As mistress, she wanted to become more acquainted with the servants and their interests. Mrs. Dowling’s interest happened to coincide with one of her own.

  At the wall backing against the huge Ben Ballywith, Amelia examined the section Mrs. Dowling claimed to have been working behind. It extended straight out from the corner where the kitchen wall and the mountain met to a distance of some fifty feet beyond the kitchen. On closer inspection, Amelia saw a sort of double wall was formed, where a shorter wall protruded from the side of the kitchen and butted out in front of the longer expanse that wrapped around the entire back courtyard. The two walls blended perfectly with one another, making it nearly impossible to see the two distinct sections. It was behind this shorter one where Mrs. Dowling took Amelia.

  “Here’s where I keep my medicinal herbs. It’s these who need the extra care throughout the year.” She named several of the herbs she was planting, and Amelia recognized one or two.

  “What’s that one over there?” Amelia asked, pointing to a group of small plants closest to the kitchen walls.

  “That is belladonna, sometimes called the Devil’s Berries because if used incorrectly it can cause death.” Mrs. Dowling bent down and started to pick up her gardening tools from where she’d left them lying about.

  “How fascinating.” Amelia looked at the innocuous little plant growing in the shelter of the garden. What is my cook doing growing a poisonous plant amongst the other medicinal herbs?

  “One of nature’s great deceivers, it is.”

  Amelia regarded the little cook at her curious choice of words. She didn’t think she had ever heard a plant referred to as a deceiver. “What do you mean?”