by Sophia James
Her grief for Papa had never left her. She had lived with the unrelenting darkness of it for two years. But since meeting Mr Beresford she had seen a glimmer of hope—the chance to feel joy again, to love and be loved.
It had been nothing but an illusion. And now the darkness in her spirit had returned with renewed strength, overwhelming her with emptiness and hopelessness.
I am no better than Miss Bridgeton.
Indeed, she was infinitely worse, for at least Miss Bridgeton had the sense to contain her heart. It had been clear to everyone that Miss Bridgeton’s fancy had been engaged, but she would suffer no lasting ill from Mr Beresford’s lack of interest. Nell, on the other hand, had given him her heart—on the strength of nothing more than two kisses and her own foolish reveries.
Nell had glanced at the ashes in the grate, avoiding Mama’s eye. She had realised that before long the household would begin to stir—the kitchen servants to wash last night’s dishes and begin the never-ending process of preparing yet more food, the housemaids to clean out and reset the downstairs fires, before beginning their rounds of the guest bedrooms.
Suddenly anxious to avoid even Sally’s well-meaning concern, Nell had slipped silently from the small front parlour. Donning her kid half-boots and cloak, she had tiptoed to the front hallway, opened the door, and stepped out into the darkness.
The snow had crunched under her feet with alarming volume, so she’d walked more slowly, placing each foot deliberately in front of the other. It had begun to snow again, and large flakes had filled in her footprints as she’d walked on. In a very short time, there would be no trail to show her direction, she had thought as she’d glanced back.
The house had been in darkness, save for a warm yellow light glowing from the chinks in the salon shutters.
That’ll be the Yule Log, still burning in the salon grate, she had thought. The very room where Mr Beresford had revealed his true nature. The cold-hearted, cruel, unfeeling fiend.
Dimly, she had been aware that her anger was particularly acute and that her judgement of Mr Beresford was coloured by her own sense of betrayal.
In truth, he had not promised her anything. It had been she, building delirious wishes in her own imagination, who had created an illusion. She was to blame, not he.
Now, as her eyes became accustomed to the starlight, she trudged on. Her steps automatically took her to the lane leading to the copse—the place where she and Papa had walked together in all seasons and weathers...the place where she had met Tom, and where they had kissed for the first time.
The falling snow had brought with it a silence so absolute it seemed to her as though the world held its breath. Nothing stirred—not a leaf, nor a bird. In all the world there was only Nell, and Nell was alone.
Mama, gone. Papa, gone. No-one in the world who loved her.
I could go into one of these fields right now, she thought, and lie down beneath a tree. The winter will claim me, and no-one will find me until it is too late. She dashed hot tears away from her face, vaguely aware that she had begun to shiver. The snow had soaked through her dress, which was now damp all the way down the front, and from the hem up to her knee.
She had not bothered to wrap her cloak around her—why should she? It mattered not.
Who will miss me? No-one. Not the servants, nor Beatrice, nor any of the guests.
A vague image of Lady Cecily came to her mind, but she brushed it away.
She will forget me. As will he.
Such thoughts were sinful, she knew, and yet sin held no meaning for her. The only reality was her need to keep walking.
She passed the copse, now shrouded in pale dawn light.
Here I met him, that first day.
Past the old cottages. On and on towards nowhere.
Her face, ears, nose...all ached in the chilly air, and her fingers and toes had begun to tingle with pins and needles.
Blessedly, now there was no more thought. No more anger. No more pain.
The morning sunshine glistening on white, white snow meant nothing.
She trudged on...
Chapter Ten
Tom was much more concerned than he had allowed the two women to see. He knew exactly how distressed Nell had been, how deep her wounds were. He knew because her pain was his pain. This distance between them, this coldness, division, was simply intolerable. He truly feared for her welfare.
The door closed behind him. Pausing for a moment, he lifted his lantern to search for any footprints that might give him some indication of her direction. Nothing. The snow was still falling thickly. He could see no trace of her.
Closing his eyes, as if his internal vision of her would somehow help him divine which way she had gone, he wilfully calmed his mind. Almost instantly the thought came to him. The copse lane! The place where they had first met and kissed. The place where she and her papa had loved to walk.
If you are wrong, an inner voice cautioned, you might miss the opportunity to find her.
What else could he do? His reasoning was no better nor worse than the alternatives. So he set off, trudging heavily down the frozen lane.
After ten minutes he realised he had set himself an impossible task. She could be anywhere! At each gate he passed he had to wonder if she had gone into that field. Although dawn would surely come soon, this darkness that surrounded him now was his enemy.
‘Hell, damn and blast it!’ He turned back, acknowledging what he should have admitted in the first place—he needed his horse.
He wasted quite ten minutes returning to the stables, and another five searching thoroughly in case Nell was there.
She was not.
Finally, he saddled his stallion, which was clearly confused by this unexpectedly early start. Dousing the lantern, Tom set it on the floor. Dawn was finally breaking—another reason why he had been better to turn back, even against the instinct that urged him to find her as quickly as he could. His pocket watch told him it was eight o’clock.
Thankfully, the snow began to ease as he rode down the lane, and it had stopped altogether by the time he reached the copse. There were still no footprints in the lane, but there had been no side roads since he had left Wyatt House.
Dismounting, he searched the copse, calling for her as he did so.
Nothing.
On he went, his heart sore with concern. The sun slowly crept above the horizon, illuminating an endless blue-white carpet with diamond-sharp clarity. On another day Tom might have stopped to savour the beauty of the landscape around him. Today, knowing that his Nell was out here somewhere, under threat from the freezing temperature and holding the belief that he felt nothing for her, he barely noticed the charming winter scene.
Finally he saw what he had been hoping for. He slowed, then leaned down to be sure. Yes! There was the merest trace of dainty footprints in the snow.
This, then, is where she was when the snow ceased.
His heart pounding with hope, he urged his stallion on, following the footprints.
It took another twenty minutes, but as he rounded a bend he saw up ahead a crumpled heap in the centre of the road.
No!
His heart pounding with fear, he urged the stallion to a breakneck gallop, snow or no snow.
‘Whoa!’ Barely had the horse slowed to a trot than Tom was sliding off, running the final few yards towards her. ‘Nell? Nell?’
She was on her back, her face relaxed as if she was asleep. Her skin was deathly white and her lips slightly blue. She did not move.
‘Nell!’
He reached for her, hauling her unresponsive body into his arms.
‘Nell!’
His voice cracked as the enormity of losing her began to sink in. Finally he had found a woman who had brought meaning to his life, and he might have killed her with his selfish cruelty.
E
nough!
The need to save Nell was more important than succumbing to his own distress. He forced himself to look at her properly and, leaning right down to her, he was relieved to sense a slight breath coming from her nose.
She is alive, then. For now.
Of course he had no way of knowing if she could yet be saved. The same snow that had created the beautiful scene all around them had cruelly taken her life’s warmth. Her clothes were drenched and sodden, the skin of her hands and beautiful face icy cold.
He had no time to waste. In this empty landscape, the nearest dwelling was Wyatt House. He must return with her as soon as possible.
Only a couple of minutes later, with the aid of a nearby tree-stump, he remounted the stallion. He had already placed Nell’s recumbent form across the horse’s withers, and now he was seated behind her. Gently, he shifted her into a vaguely upright position, with her back to him. He took the reins into his left hand while his right arm encircled Nell, holding her close. The cold from her damp clothes began to seep into him almost immediately.
Good, he told himself, trying to find reassurance somehow. That means some of my heat is being given to her.
The journey back was the longest of his life. Riding as quickly as he could, given his precious burden, he had not had the luxury of being able to check on her properly. He had, though, succeeded in warming up the parts of her that were pressed against him.
He himself was shivering a little now, and his arms and shoulders were aching, but there was definitely some warmth along his chest and torso and her back. He glanced at her again. Her head lay back against the hollow of his shoulder. Her eyes remained shut. Was that a hint of colour in her cheeks? He could not be sure.
They were almost at Wyatt House when he heard her moan slightly. He had never heard a more beautiful sound in his life. She moved a little, and he tightened the grip of his right arm around her.
‘Please live, Nell,’ he told her. ‘Please.’ His throat tightened and he could say no more.
The end of the lane was in sight. He risked going a little faster. Every moment mattered.
Someone was watching for him, for as he pulled up the front door opened. One of the footmen came running out, swiftly followed by Lady Cecily.
‘Oh, thank goodness you have found her!’ She looked decidedly pale. ‘I have been sick with worry! Bring her inside, quickly! She must be taken to her own chamber.’
She directed the footman, who took Nell as Tom carefully lowered her from the horse. Nell moaned again, and put a hand to her head. A groom had appeared from around the side of the building, so Tom simply abandoned his horse, his attention centred entirely on the woman he loved.
Reclaiming her from the footman, he carried her so that her head was once again resting in the hollow of his right shoulder.
Mrs Hussey, the housekeeper, was waiting inside, along with the butler. Both looked distressed.
‘I shall carry her upstairs,’ Tom said firmly, shifting his grip to ensure he would not drop her.
As he mounted the stairs she stirred and moaned again. Her eyes flickered open briefly.
‘All is well,’ he told her. ‘You are safe.’
Her eyelids closed again.
Nell!
The footman jumped in front of him to open the door to his chamber. Nell’s chamber. Tom laid her on the bed, then stood helplessly by as Sally, Lady Cecily and Mrs Hussey bustled into the room. They began rubbing Nell gently with warm towels and covering her in soft blankets. A bath had been placed before the fireplace, and a fire was burning brightly in the grate. Tom felt the warmth in the air and was glad of it.
‘Now, you men—out!’ Mrs Hussey flapped at Tom and the footman like a giant bird. ‘James, go and start bringing up the bath water. Not too hot, mind! We need her to warm slowly, otherwise it will be chilblains, frostnip, or worse! Go!’
The footman went.
‘And you too, sir!’ This was directed at Tom. ‘We need to get her out of these wet clothes.’
‘Of course!’ Talk of chilblains was reassuring. ‘You think she will—? I mean...’
Mrs Hussey’s face softened. ‘Time will tell. She’s bad, but at least we have her home. Now, you go downstairs and wait.’
Chapter Eleven
Tom was in an agony of mind. It had been nearly ten o’clock when they had sent him downstairs. It was now almost noon. How was she? Why had no-one come to reassure him?
He had made for the salon, where the servants had once again built up the fire. Divesting himself of his wet cloak, hat and boots, Tom had sat by the fire until his shivering had eased and his clothes had dried, knowing that all his other clothing was upstairs in Nell’s room.
James the footman had come to take away his boots for cleaning, and had provided him with suitable indoor footwear, but he’d had nothing to report on Nell’s condition.
‘We carried the bathwater upstairs, sir,’ he had confirmed. ‘Tepid, not hot, as Mrs Hussey wanted. But I do not know how she is for they are all still with her.’ He had paused. ‘I do know the groom has been sent to fetch Dr Pagenham.’
‘Thank you, James.’ Tom’s heart had sunk.
Of course they will send for the doctor. Why would they not? It does not mean she must be at death’s door.
Now, his ears straining for any sound from the hallway, Tom realised that the other guests were beginning to rise, emerging from their chambers to drift downstairs. Thankfully, they went directly to the morning-room, where breakfast was laid out, and they did not bother him. He himself could not stomach the thought of breakfast—although he had had nothing since supper the night before.
How can I eat and pretend all is well when Nell almost froze to death this day?
He swallowed, acknowledging the truth of it. She would have died. She would have died. Thankfully, he had found her—and hopefully in time—but he could take no satisfaction from it as he had been the cause of her flight in the first place. He with his thoughtless, selfish cruelty.
Unable to resist any longer, he rang for a servant. Within a few moments, a housemaid arrived.
‘Yes, sir?’
‘How is Miss Godwin?’
‘I do not know for sure, sir—though Sally might.’
‘Is Sally below stairs?’
The maid nodded. ‘She is having breakfast, sir.’
Breakfast. ‘Then do not disturb her.’
Sensing the dismissal in his tone, the maid left. Tom put his head in his hands. At least when he had come downstairs Nell had been in good hands. The women had been warming her up, and Nell herself had been beginning to come round. The fact that Sally had been released to have breakfast was encouraging.
Without any further thought he rose, left the salon, and swiftly mounted the stairs. Reaching the door of the bed chamber, he hesitated. From inside, he heard a wail of pain.
Nell!
He leaned his forehead against the door. Whatever was happening inside, his Nell was in great distress.
All my fault.
Eventually the sounds decreased, then ended altogether. Tom, who was now sitting on the landing, felt dead inside. Luckily no-one had seen him in this wretched state. Not that it mattered anyway.
Summoning strength from deep within himself, he stood, straightened his shoulders, and knocked on the door.
In response to a query from Mrs Hussey, he gave his name. A moment later, the door opened.
‘Mr Beresford.’ It was Lady Cecily, twitching like a cat hiding its kittens. ‘Is there something you need?’
‘Er...yes. I should like to change my clothes. And I would like to know how Miss Godwin is doing.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘I shall send for a footman to bring you some clothes. Mrs Hussey will discuss your sleeping arrangements with her mistress later and will have your belongings moved.’
> ‘Of course.’
They eyed each other. Lady Cecily’s hostility towards him was both clear and completely warranted. Their earlier truce had lasted only until he had successfully rescued Nell. Lady Cecily was now free to make her true feelings known.
‘And Miss Godwin?’ His eyes flicked over Lady Cecily’s shoulder, but all he could see was the foot of the bed and the window beyond.
‘The doctor has prescribed rest. She is to have no visitors.’
She would say no more.
He nodded and turned away.
I have no right to insist.
‘Wait!’
He heard it...the faintest of sounds.
‘Let him in.’ Nell’s voice was frail, but her message was unmistakeable.
‘But, Nell—’
‘I insist on this.’
‘Very well,’ Lady Cecily conceded. ‘But not yet.’ She turned back to Tom. ‘I will send for you when she is ready.’
He did not argue.
Nell was in agony. As her body slowly warmed the numbness gradually disappeared—to be replaced by searing pain throughout her body. Mrs Hussey and Cecily had made her bathe three times in a lukewarm bath, and treated her fingers and toes with salve.
Her stepmother had visited briefly, and seemed determined to criticise Nell for what she termed her ‘stupidity’. Thankfully the doctor, taking in the situation at a glance, had asked Mrs Godwin to leave, stating that he could see she was greatly distressed. He had asked the housekeeper to prepare a tisane for Mrs Godwin and she had gladly accepted this suggestion, declaring that he was the first person to have a care for the perturbation and anxiety she was going through.
Lady Cecily had stayed with her during the doctor’s examination. Nell had cried a little when he’d said her lungs were clear and he was hopeful she would recover fully. He’d prescribed laudanum, and continued baths, and confined her to bed. He had, as Lady Cecily had said, recommended no visitors, but Nell knew she would not rest until she had seen Tom again.