by Regina Scott
“You didn’t leave Lord Brentfield alone with her?” Daphne accused.
“Return to your post at once!” Lady Emily ordered.
“Ladies, please!” He held up his hands as if in surrender. “I am not neglecting my duties, I assure you. I left Lord Brentfield in the fine care of Dr. Praxton.”
Their anger melted. Hannah took a deep breath and forced herself to relax.
“How is Lord Brentfield?” Ariadne asked.
“Dr. Praxton feels there is reason to hope. Aside from the scrapes on his face, his lordship’s external injuries appear to be minor.”
Hannah let out her breath. “Is he awake?” she asked hopefully.
“Not yet. That is the one area of concern. The longer he remains unconscious, the more likely there are internal injuries. Dr. Praxton says he must be monitored until he awakens. We thought he was coming around for a moment, but he lapsed back into unconsciousness.” He paused, eyeing Hannah. “He spoke your name, Miss Alexander.”
Her heart leaped, and she clasped her hands tightly together to keep them from shaking. Again she fought the desire to run to his side. First she had to tell Asheram of their fears about Lady Brentfield.
He listened patiently while she explained, the girls chiming in to reinforce or clarify the information. When she finished, his face was tight with obvious anger.
“I suspected as much,” he told them. “Unfortunately, we have no proof. Lady Brentfield is influential in Society. We cannot simply accuse her and expect anyone to take us seriously. But don’t worry. I promise she won’t come near David again without someone there to stop her.”
Hannah put her hand on his arm. “You do not know how long you will have to hold vigil. The servants fear her, so you cannot leave the work to them. Let me help you.”
“Let us all help you!” Priscilla insisted, and her friends chorused their willingness as well.
Mr. Asheram shook his head. “I appreciate the offer, ladies, but I must think of your safety. As you noted, she has already lashed out at Miss Alexander. I cannot take the chance that she might attack you as well.”
“Surely she would not attack me,” Priscilla protested.
“Surely you would not want to be in a position to find out,” Hannah countered. “I agree with Mr. Asheram. The four of you should remain as far out of this as possible.” She turned back to the steward. “Mr. Asheram, may I have a word with you, alone?”
Priscilla stuck her nose in the air and flounced to the other side of the room. With an apologetic smile to Hannah, Ariadne and Daphne moved to join her. Lady Emily squeezed Hannah’s hand.
“Be careful,” she murmured before going to her friends. Mr. Asheram eyed Hannah expectantly.
“You must know I would do anything for him,” Hannah told him. “I feel as if I failed him. Please, won’t you let me help you keep watch?”
His face softened. “Miss Alexander, I understand your worries. I’m afraid they are blinding you to the circumstances. You are neither related to Lord Brentfield nor his servant. You should not be left alone with him in his bedchamber.”
“These are hardly normal circumstances,” Hannah protested. “Surely no one would judge me for caring for an injured man!”
“Lady Brentfield would judge you. And she would see your reputation ruined. You could lose your post, your commissions.”
“I don’t care!” Hannah cried, then bit her lip as the girls glanced at her. She swallowed before continuing with a lowered voice. “None of that matters, sir. What matters is that David recovers. Her ladyship will leave the room eventually. Let me watch when she’s asleep.”
“If you’re seen,” he started.
“I won’t be,” she promised. “I’ll come and go through the secret passage.”
He narrowed his eyes. “It just might work. Truth be told, I wasn’t sure I could stay awake longer than she could. I’ll send someone to fetch you when she leaves for the night. You’re right--I can’t see her ladyship inconveniencing herself, even to finish her nasty job. You’ll see to the girls until they retire?”
“They’ll be safe with me,” Hannah promised.
And so it was settled. The girls kept at her for a time, but she maintained a severity that ultimately defeated them. This time she did not vacillate. For once, she had no doubts as to how a chaperone, or a teacher, should act.
It was a long afternoon, but somehow they made it to dinner and through dinner until it was bedtime. By the time she had made sure each of the girls was in bed, there was still no change in David’s condition. Dr. Praxton had visited again before retiring to his own home. He had confirmed David’s unconscious state. All they could do was wait.
Hannah knew she should rest so that she could take Mr. Asheram’s place later, but when she lay fully clothed on the bed, sleep refused to come. She tried praying again, but after a while she realized she was repeating the same pleas over and over and stopped. God had surely heard her and would respond as He saw fit. Belaboring the issue wasn’t helping anyone.
She thought about drawing and went to fetch her sketch book. One look at the half-finished picture of David, however, and she found she could not put charcoal to paper. His eyes gazed back at her lovingly. She ran her hand down his cheek. A tear threatened, and she snapped the book shut before the drawing could be damaged.
A tap on the door jerked her upright, and she realized she had fallen asleep in the chair. The maid Clare poked her head in. “Mr. Asheram wanted you to know that Lady Brentfield has retired.”
Hannah thanked her for her trouble. The minute the maid closed the door, Hannah was moving toward the secret passage. Opening the panel, she took the already-lit candle from the bedside table and stepped inside the passage. She climbed the stair carefully, thinking of the fire only a few days ago. When she reached the corner, she took a deep breath and plunged down the eastern corridor.
Darkness wrapped around her, her candle a tiny circle of light. Funny that she had never noticed how deathly silent the passages could be. When she had been with David, he had been teasing or explaining, and she had seldom felt afraid. Now she began to hear other noises in the darkness, furtive rustlings and creaks. She told herself it was only the house settling, until a squeak directly in front of her assured her she was not alone. She continued resolutely forward, and whatever it was scuttled away into the darkness.
By her reckoning, she was crossing behind the grand staircase when an even worse sound assailed her. A gurgling moaning came from overhead, rising and falling. It sent a shudder through her, and goose flesh pimpled her arms. Could Brentfield be haunted? She had a vision of a hideous ghost dropping from the ceiling to confront her--The Banshee of Ancient Eire. Just when she would have faltered, she heard a muffled, “Keep it down in there!” and the sound shut off with a swallowed grumble. She had been passing under a snoring servant! With a nervous laugh, she continued on.
As David had told her, the descending stair led her to his bedchamber. She paused to wonder whether it was appropriate to just appear and decided to knock. Mr. Asheram opened the panel and let her in.
Her first sight of David wrung a cry from her. He lay on his back in the center of a great box bed, so pale and still that for a moment she thought he had indeed passed on. Then she saw the steady rise and fall of the emerald comforter, ever so slight, and knew he was still alive. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“He hasn’t stirred,” Mr. Asheram explained, leading her to an armchair beside the bed. “I won’t leave you for long. I just need a few moments to close my eyes.” He shrugged his shoulders as if to loosen cramped muscles. “It’s times like these when I realize I’m not young anymore. Are you sure you’ll be all right?”
“I’ll be fine. What should I do to help?” She could barely take her eyes off David. The scrape down the side of his face was puffy and raw, but at least it was scabbing. His long thick lashes fanned his ashen cheeks. Someone had removed his clothing and put him in a white lawn
nightshirt with an open neck. It made him look all the more pale and vulnerable.
“Just stay with him,” Mr. Asheram told her. “You don’t even have to stoke the fire. Dr. Praxton thought the room might be too close, so we’ll let the fire burn down. Send Weimers for me if David awakens.” He paused, and she could feel him watching her. “You should know that Dr. Praxton says there may be some damage to his mind.”
“D-d-damage?” Hannah faltered, facing him. “What kind of damage?”
Mr. Asheram’s face was sad. “He may not remember the accident. He may not remember us. He may not even know himself. In extreme cases, Dr. Praxton tells me, the victim becomes like a little child.”
“But it’s momentary?” Hannah could hear the pleading tone in her voice. “He’ll recover?”
“Perhaps, perhaps not. He’s young and strong, Miss Alexander. Most likely he’ll be fine. It’s simply best to be prepared.” He eyed David for a moment, and a slow smile spread over his face. “There’s not much will keep this one down. Did he tell you we met on the boat over from America?”
“Yes. And he said you were descended from the King of Ethiopia.” She hoped she did not sound skeptical.
He chuckled. “A family legend. We are English through and through. There has been an Asheram tutoring members of Parliament since the first parliament was formed. We teach them how to walk and how to talk, how to display a gentlemanly bearing, how to win a debate. My last client, the Duke of Kent, was sufficiently grateful for my services that I was able to retire and tour the world as I’ve always dreamed. I have friends on every continent, in shockingly high places.” He chuckled again. “Imagine my surprise when on a trip home from America, the captain asked me to give up my place to a solicitor from London who was fetching the new Earl of Brentfield home. Of course I refused. Bumptious fellow. But the new earl intrigued me. He was so different from the gentlemen I had tutored. I found it rather discomposing, and rather refreshing.”
“And now David is your client,” she concluded.
“Oh, no, Miss Alexander,” he corrected her. “David is not my client. David is my friend. I’m staying on only long enough to see him become acclimated. He’ll make a marvelous earl.” He winked at Hannah. “But don’t tell him I admitted that. Take good care of him, my dear. I’ll return shortly.”
She nodded, and the door closed as she took her seat at the bedside.
She watched David in silence for a time. Her fingers twitched in her lap, and she wished she’d brought her sketch book. His face was so serene, his lips slightly open as if he were about to speak. His dark hair curled damply about his face. Now would have been a perfect time to capture him; she doubted she’d ever get him to sit still otherwise. Yet she felt something was wrong. It was the same something that was wrong in her current drawing--his smile.
The need to pray tugged at her again. Her grandfather had always insisted that nothing was accomplished without prayer. He had also insisted that King James had misinterpreted a portion of the Bible.
“I don’t care what he says about charity,” the old man had told her once when he had visited. “I’ve read the Greek. First Corinthians 13:13 should read ‘There are but three things that last--faith, hope, and love. And the greatest of these is love.’”
She wondered for a moment why she had remembered that now. Certainly, she was finding it difficult to have faith in David’s recovery. She wasn’t very hopeful of the future with him either. Then she realized that it was the final issue, the most important thing, that was the crux of the problem--she was afraid to rely on love.
The realization stunned her. She had always considered herself a loving person. But the more she thought about it, the more the idea seemed plausible. Perhaps it had started as early as her father’s death. She remembered feeling so lost for a time afterward, fending off kindnesses from her mother, grandfather, and friends. Her isolation had only continued when her mother and grandfather had been unable to understand her passion for painting. Teaching at the Barnsley School had further alienated her from those around her as she struggled with how to work with her students. Yet she saw with clarity that if she had simply reached out in love, she might have overcome all those difficulties.
In fact, when she had reached out to the girls in love and understanding, they had responded more positively than she had ever imagined. After today, she could honestly say that they respected her. And she no longer dreaded having to be alone with them. In fact, the idea of having children of her own was no longer so troubling. She might not be the best disciplinarian, she might not have the answers to all their questions, but she could love them.
And then there was David. She had been afraid to be his countess, but even that might be overcome if she were willing to give herself over to her love of him. What did that passage her grandfather was so fond of say about love? “Beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.” Surely if she let love triumph, she and David could find a way after all.
Watching him now, she felt the courage to try one last prayer. “Please, God,” she murmured, clasping her hands tightly together. “Give me another chance to show that I can love. Let David live so I can tell him how much I love him.”
In the bed, David stirred. Hannah caught her breath.
“David?” she ventured. “David, can you hear me?”
His hand moved up to grip the edge of the covers, and he moaned.
Hannah rose to her feet, feeling hope flood through her. “David? Oh, please, David! If you can hear me, wake up.”
He tossed onto his side, and his face contorted in pain. Alarmed, she bent over him. His breath came in ragged gasps as if he’d just run a race.
“Hannah!” he cried out and curled tighter as if the effort hurt.
“I’m here!” she assured him. “I’m right here. Please, David, come back to me. I need you.”
He stiffened, eyes squeezing in a grimace, and moaned again. “Hannah, don’t go! I love you!”
She choked back a sob, catching up his hand. It was hot in her grip, and she feared for him. Was she too late after all? “I’m here. I haven’t gone. I’ll never go. I love you too. Wake up and let me show you.”
Her touch seemed to quiet him. He relaxed back against the pillow, although his lips moved. Bending low, she strained to hear the words.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Lady Brentfield demanded from the doorway.
Hannah straightened, clinging to David’s hand. She had been so intent on him she had not heard the door open or close. That Lady Brentfield had entered so easily only confirmed Hannah’s fears about the servants.
Lady Brentfield stood in her wrapper, a pink muslin affair with lace encrusting the hem, long sleeves, and deep bodice. Her golden hair was unbound and cascading past her shoulders. She should have looked soft and feminine. The anger in her eyes made her look lethal.
“I am not accustomed to repeating myself,” she said. “You have no business in this room, not when you caused his injuries.”
Hannah knew exactly who was to blame for David’s condition, but she could not confront the woman while David lay at her mercy. “I’m merely watching his lordship while Mr. Asheram takes a short nap.”
“Do you think I believe that?” The woman laughed, moving closer to the bed. Hannah released David’s hand to intercept her. Lady Brentfield glared.
“You are here to see yourself compromised,” she accused Hannah. “Admit it! You followed those secret passages from your own room to his, and I’m certain it’s not the first time.”
A hot retort sprang to Hannah’s tongue, but she swallowed it down. “You may think what you like, Lady Brentfield. I am merely doing my duty.”
“Your duty,” she sneered. “That’s your excuse for getting your own way, isn’t it? Well, that nonsense stops now. I am the mistress of Brentfield, not that black-skinned prig, not that weakling in the bed. I rule here. Go back to your room and pack your things. I want you ou
t of this house by dawn.”
Hannah stiffened, but she knew she could not give in. “No, Lady Brentfield. I am staying until David dismisses me. You are the one who will leave this room. Go now, or I’ll scream.”
“Scream?” Lady Brentfield laughed. “You wouldn’t dare. I’m a witness to your pathetic attempt to catch yourself a titled husband. You scream, and I’ll tell them all what you tried to do. Your reputation will be in tatters. Miss Martingale will never take you back.”
“You have until the count of three,” Hannah replied, holding on to her fragile faith for strength. “One . . .”
“You’re bluffing. You cannot win with the hand you have been dealt.”
“Two . . .”
“I warn you, you are only hurting your own reputation.”
“Three . . .”
Lady Brentfield crossed her arms over her chest and dared her.
Hannah screamed.
The door burst open, and the young footman dashed in only to skid to a stop as he beheld the tableau. “Lady Brentfield, what . . . Miss Alexander, what are you doing here?”
“Lady Brentfield,” Hannah told him, “needs to see Mr. Asheram. She would like to lodge a complaint about my services. I suggest you escort her on her way.”
“This woman,” Lady Brentfield countered, “is attempting to seduce his lordship. I insist you remove her at once.”
The young man licked his lips, glancing nervously between the two determined women and the still figure on the bed. “Mr. Haversham never mentioned anything about you being here, Miss Alexander.”
“He asked me personally,” Hannah assured him, head high. Her heart began to pound, and she took a deep breath to calm herself. “I will not leave this room without his orders.”
He swallowed and turned his gaze to Lady Brentfield. “Your ladyship?” he asked hopefully.
“Oh, don’t be a fool,” Lady Brentfield snapped, throwing up her hands. “Return to your post. I’ll find Haversham myself.” She stomped from the room. With a puzzled look at Hannah, the footman closed the door once more.