by Martha Keyes
Susan sat on the edge of her chair, hands folded in her lap, eyes cast down.
Edith’s lips drew into a thin line. The girl looked like she could use a kind word. Edith only wished her own skill wasn’t so undeniably for unkind words.
She turned her eyes to the window. The vista outside presented a very gloomy picture indeed. It was little wonder that the bridge had flooded. Outside, little rivulets of water on the ground fed into larger ones, snaking through the yard of the inn and pooling in large, murky puddles. It couldn’t persist like this for too long, though. Surely there was only so much rain in the skies?
Yet another carriage pulled into the yard, and Edith straightened. Matthew?
No. Even through the blurry window, Edith could tell that this was a stage coach—and coming from the opposite direction as Shipton House. She brushed off the panic that began to bubble inside. It was but three o’clock. There was still time before her father’s return.
Soon, more people would be in the coffee room, despite there being just two empty seats left.
Edith motioned to Susan, who rose and followed her out. Elias could come at his leisure. His presence at the inn occasioned far less curiosity than Edith’s did. She glanced at the doors in the nearest corridor and passed by the one with the words Oak Room engraved over the top in favor of the second door, labeled The Cedar Room.
She pushed the door open and stepped in, glancing quickly around the room. There was no one. Susan closed the door behind them, and Edith took a seat near the fire. She wasn’t feeling terribly cold, but the dreary prospect outdoors made the light of the fire appealing.
She surveyed the room again, looking for any indication that someone had been there, but found none. Perhaps he had decided to give up use of the private parlor altogether.
The door opened, and she rotated in her chair, freezing at the sight before her.
John Stratton stopped abruptly in the doorway, frowning. “Miss Donne!”
Her heart beat wildly in her chest. No, no, no. It was too unkind—too much like a bad dream, where the most unlikely misfortunes were forever plaguing one.
But this was no dream. The rain slapped against the roof of the inn, and the room brightened momentarily with a flash of lightning outside.
“Mr. Stratton.” She cleared her throat and rose from the chair.
He didn’t move, and the look of confusion on his face intensified.
Her mind scrambled. The story she and Elias had contrived wouldn’t do. Mr. Stratton was well aware that she was unmarried—only recently, they had spoken in passing. But how much did he know of her family? Would he bat an eye if she claimed that Elias was her brother? She feared he would. Her father made it his business to know everything he could discover about Stratton, and she imagined the reverse was true as well.
“I requested use of this parlor,” he said, leaning back and glancing at the engraving above it as if to ensure he hadn’t entered the wrong room. Seemingly satisfied that it was indeed the correct room, he took a step in.
She forced a smile and rose, directing a speaking glance at her maid, who followed suit. “Of course. I apologize—the fire was so inviting, and the quiet, too, that I couldn’t resist stepping inside when I saw it was vacant. But I am quite warm now, and I shall leave you in peace.” She snatched her bonnet from the sofa and moved to leave.
Footsteps sounded, and Mr. Stratton moved out of the way.
“Ah, there you are, darling.” Elias’s mouth was stretched into a full smile, while every muscle in Edith’s body tensed. “I didn’t see you leave the coffee room.” Eyes wide, Edith gave an infinitesimal shake of her head.
Mr. Stratton’s eyes darted between her and Elias. “Mr. Cherriman?”
Edith tried valiantly to issue a stronger wordless warning to Elias, but he wasn’t looking at her.
“Yes,” he said, dipping his head in acknowledgment. “And I see you have met my wife.”
Edith shut her eyes in consternation. Devil fly away with Elias!
“Your wife?” Mr. Stratton’s eyes were fixed on Edith. “Am I to felicitate you, Miss Donne?”
Elias seemed to finally realize that there was more to the situation than he had anticipated, and his smile faded slightly. “You are already acquainted?”
“Yes,” Edith said, her jaw tight. “Mr. Stratton represents Kingsbridge in the House of Commons alongside my father.”
Mr. Stratton bowed. A curious glint had come into his eyes, and his mouth drew into a smile. Edith recognized it instantly—the hint of victory in it.
“Excuse me,” Edith said. “I think I heard the arrival of another coach, and I should like to see whether my brother Matthew has arrived.” Without waiting for any acknowledgment from either man, she brushed past them—allowing her elbow to jostle Elias roughly as she swept by.
She indicated with a nod to Susan to close the door behind them, and as soon as it was shut, she rushed toward the coffee room. It didn’t matter who saw her now. Anyone—anyone—would be preferable to Mr. Stratton. It couldn’t possibly be any worse than it already was. She hurried to the window, clenching her eyes shut at the unchanged view of the raging storm outside.
Why had she been such a fool?
Footsteps sounded behind her, and she felt a hand on her arm.
“What in heaven’s name, Edith?”
She turned toward Elias, her nostrils flared, and her teeth clenched so tightly that her jaw ached.
“Who is Stratton?”
She blew a frustrated puff of air through her nose, pulling her arm from his grasp. “I thought you knew him—he was at the Haynes’ ball.”
“Yes, he and a hundred other people!”
She clenched her teeth harder, hardly believing her bad fortune. “He is my father’s political rival.”
Elias stared at her, dismay gathering on his face. His eyes searched hers, and he muttered an oath.
“Just so,” she said, turning her head to look through the window.
“Forgive me,” he said. “I shouldn’t speak so.”
“That is hardly in the realm of our current concerns.” She closed her eyes and let her head fall back. “Why must you needs barge into an unfamiliar room speaking of your wife?”
He rubbed his forehead harshly. “I thought you would be pleased with my convincing act.”
She said nothing, the feeling of dread closing in around her. She knew it wasn’t Elias’s fault, but it felt good to direct her anger somewhere when she felt the walls closing in on her—and no one to blame but herself.
“Besides, this” —he motioned to the room around them with a hand— “was hardly my idea in the first place. I believe I expressed my hesitations on more than one occasion.”
He was right, of course. And she hated him for it. And even more, she hated how she couldn’t look at him without smelling the soap on his face and feeling the traces of his hands around her waist.
Soft sniffling sounded behind them, and Edith turned toward it and then back to Elias.
His mouth twisted to the side, and his brown eyes grew somber. “Miss Susanna Perry. She is traveling to her brother’s funeral at Ivybridge and very concerned at the thought she might miss it.”
Edith let out a hmph.
“What?” Elias asked.
“It is not as if she can attend the service or the committal.”
“No, but surely she wishes to participate in the other rituals.”
Edith shrugged lightly. “I should think it might be a relief to miss it.”
Elias’s eyebrows snapped together, and she felt the need to explain herself. Her eyes roved to Miss Perry. “Do you not find funerals to be a bit…hollow?”
He gave a chuckle that held incredulity. “What, honoring someone’s life?”
“What good is honoring someone when they are not there to hear any of the praise? If we really cared about the person, I imagine we would express those things while they were still alive.”
His brows p
ulled together. “That is certainly a noble idea. But it doesn’t follow that there is no value at all in commemorating a person—particularly if you believe that we continue to exist even after death.”
“Do you believe that?” It was strange, but even after knowing Elias so many years, there was so much she didn’t know about him.
He shifted in his seat. “I think so. I hope it.”
She gave a little shrug. The idea of life continuing after death was one she had always struggled with, but she didn’t particularly wish to delve into the topic. “It just seems like more pretense at times than anything—more for the benefit of those still living than for the person who has died.”
“Can it not be both?” There was a touch of impatience in his tone. Or perhaps it was annoyance. “Do you expect life to go on as if nothing had happened after a person dies? There is a purpose to mourning and remembering someone. Death leaves wounds that need healing and a void that deserves to be understood.”
Edith swallowed, suddenly feeling self-conscious, as though her words had lowered Elias’s opinion of her.
What did she care, though? She wasn’t obliged to explain herself to anyone.
Elias was still regarding her through puzzled eyes, as though he didn’t know what to make of her. “I assure you there will be a great deal of mourning when your time comes.”
Her cheeks flamed, betraying her. She forced a laugh to diffuse the discomfort she felt at his serious tone and intent gaze. “Well, I shall never know, shall I? Unless, of course, you are right about it all, in which case, I shall be watching very carefully from above to see just who appears at my funeral and what false praise people manage to give in my honor.” She tilted her head. “Or perhaps I shall be watching it all from below.”
Her words achieved only the vestige of a smile from Elias, but it was forced—more disturbed than anything—and she hurried to change the conversation.
She indicated Miss Perry with a nod of the head. “When is the funeral?”
“The day after tomorrow, I believe.”
Edith looked at him aghast. “And she despairs of making it in time? Surely we will not still be here the day after tomorrow—or tomorrow even! The rain cannot continue like this. And we cannot stay the night here.”
Elias bared a mouth full of clenched teeth, lifting a shoulder. “Whether it can or not, we must certainly hope that it doesn’t.”
The young woman glanced up at them, and her ears, covered partially by a bonnet with black ribbon, grew red.
Elias beckoned to her. “Come, Miss Perry. I would like to introduce you to”—he hesitated, glancing at Edith.
“His wife,” Edith said, pulling out the chair beside her to make room for Miss Perry. “Edith Cherriman.”
The girl summoned a pathetic smile, framed as it was with red eyes and her sorrowful brow. “Susanna Perry, ma’am.”
Ma’am. That was certainly something Edith was unaccustomed to. “My husband” —she avoided Elias’s eye— “has been kind enough to inform me of your situation. I am very sorry to meet you under such sad circumstances.”
“Thank you,” Miss Perry replied. “It is very kind of you to invite me to sit with you, but I am afraid I am very poor company, and I have no wish to cast my gloom upon you.”
Elias shook his head. “I quite understand, but you needn’t worry about such a thing. My wife is of a somber temperament by nature, so your mood will suit her quite well.” His mouth twitched ever so slightly at the corner. “And I am the last person to reproach you in such circumstances,” he said. “A loss like the one you’ve sustained cannot merely be brushed aside for the sake of civility. And we certainly don’t expect such a thing.”
She raised her eyes to him, and her hand fiddled with the silver pendant on the necklace she wore. “Have you ever lost someone near to you?”
Elias seemed to hesitate a moment, his eyes flicking to Edith as though he didn’t wish to answer in her presence. All traces of humor had disappeared from his face. “My father. And a younger sister.” The words were tight.
Edith averted her eyes, feeling as though she was eavesdropping.
Miss Perry’s brow furrowed even more deeply. “I am terribly sorry.”
Elias cleared his throat, and offered a quick, polite smile. “Thank you.”
She lowered her head, and her eyes squeezed shut tightly, forcing out a tear. “How did you bear it?”
Elias’s throat bobbed, and Edith knew an impulse to take his hand. Miss Perry wouldn’t think anything of it, surely—a wife comforting her husband.
But she felt suddenly stiff—immobilized. Whether by fear or pride, she didn’t know.
Elias cleared his throat. “Though it sounds impossible right now—the weight of grief can be crushing—time does provide healing.”
“But…but…” Miss Perry’s chin trembled, and her eyes traveled to the window as she brought her sagging handkerchief to her nose. “It is too cruel that I should be deprived of saying goodbye in both life and death.”
Edith looked to Elias, waiting for him to comfort the young woman with his experience, for she had none to offer.
But he was staring into the fire, his brows drawn together, and an unfocused look in his eyes that told Edith his thoughts were far away—far away and unhappy. She knew one desire to stare and another to look away, for the sight was in such contrast to the man she knew—the jester who never came into a room without a ready laugh and a stinging retort on his tongue. That man she could tease and provoke, prodding him with the assurance that his armor of wit was nearly impenetrable.
But the man before her now? He seemed fragile and out of her reach. And of no help with Miss Perry.
She cleared her throat lightly. “You were very close, then, with your brother?”
Miss Perry gave a jerking nod, her fingers moving again to the simple pendant that lay just below her neck. “He is but eleven months older than I and the very dearest of brothers. Or he was.”
Edith put her hand over Miss Perry’s. “Whether you attend the funeral in person or are cooped up in this inn with us, your efforts to be there are not in vain, my dear. I imagine that your brother—what is his name?”
“Robert.”
Edith squeezed her hand. “I imagine Robert is aware of your desires where he is now” — her conscience pricked her for saying something she wasn’t sure she believed— “and that he would not wish for you to berate yourself for circumstances so far outside your control.”
Miss Perry’s shoulders shook, and Edith scooted closer to her, wrapping an arm around the girl’s slight frame in a gesture that felt as right as it felt uncomfortable.
Miss Perry sniffed softly. “If the flooding does not clear, I shall be the only one absent in my family—I who loved Robert best of all.” She lifted her shoulders in a helpless gesture. “Perhaps I should just return to school. It is too painful to be so close and yet so helpless.”
Edith sighed. She couldn’t help feeling that Miss Perry’s despair was premature—there was still plenty of time for the weather to clear up, and Ivybridge was only ten miles distant. More likely than not, she could be on her way within a matter of hours—muddy though the roads would certainly be. “It is very unjust, to be sure. But surely your family will wish to see you, whether the flooding has receded in time for the service or not. I cannot lay claim to any personal experience with a loss so near as yours, but I imagine that you would be missed terribly if you chose not to return home at all. I doubt Robert would wish you to mourn on your own.”
Elias turned his head away, a hand gripping at his mouth—the first sign that he was conscious of the conversation happening around him.
Edith hadn’t any idea whether what she was saying was true or utter fiction, but she was encouraged to see Miss Perry’s sorrowful expression lighten slightly.
Ominous thunder clapped outside, drawing their gazes to the windows. The dreary, colorless vista made it difficult to say for certain, but the skies
seemed to be darkening further, and with no sign of the rain stopping—or even slowing. Even if it did stop within a few hours, driving on dark, muddy roads would be dangerous.
It was looking less and less likely that anyone was coming from Shipton House or that Edith and Elias would be able to journey back until the morrow. A wave of nausea washed through her at the thought of what her father would say.
Mr. Drew stepped into the coffee room and, seeing the three of them together, strode over.
“Excuse my intrusion,” he said, bowing deeply. He looked deeply frazzled, with cheeks as red as autumn apples and an erratic quality to his movements. “I merely wished to discover whether you intended to pass the night here or not? I fear we may have more guests than we can house.”
Edith’s brows went up. This was all they needed—to be stuck at an inn, pretending to be married, with nowhere to sleep.
Mr. Drew seemed to notice her reaction and rushed on. “Naturally, I wished to give preference to you and Mr. Cherriman, for you were the first to arrive today, and so I took the liberty of setting aside the large room upstairs.”
Edith swallowed, panic rising from her stomach and into her throat. No doubt Elias would think it a fine joke indeed—much as he had taken joy in her discomfiture in the library.
But when she looked at him, there was no amusement in his face, only dismay—it would have been comical had the stakes not been so high.
“I am afraid that Mr. Cherriman and I require separate rooms,” Edith said, summoning a pained look. “He snores as loudly as thunder, the dear thing.”
Elias held her eyes for a moment with a promise of vengeance before saying, “Inherited the tendency from my mother, I fear.” He shook his head regretfully.
Mr. Drew nodded. “I quite understand. Mrs. Drew suffers from the same malady. Might I suggest adding an extra pillow to prop up your head at night, Mr. Cherriman?”
Elias accepted the suggestion with a humble nodding of the head and a stilted “thank you.”
Mr. Drew frowned. “Mr. Stratton must of course have his regular room, and then the two others have since been reserved.” He counted the rooms on his fingers, then brought his head up so that his gaze rested on Miss Perry. He hesitated. “I am afraid, miss, that it leaves no place for you.”