Chapter 11
As the door opened, Ralph’s keen eye detected the traces of tears on Helena’s cheeks, and he saw that her face was already wan and worn. Unfortunately, the news he had for her could not wait.
“How was your time in the village?” He took Helena’s muff and assisted her in removing her black pelisse. Her shoulders tensed as his fingers grazed them and then gradually relaxed as she let out a deep breath.
“Excellent.” Helena would not quite meet his eye. “The dressmaker seems skilled, and I think the gowns will be satisfactory. I’m a little tired though, so perhaps I will take a rest before tea.”
“I’m afraid there’s someone you must see first,” said Ralph. Placing a hand on the small of her back, he guided her towards the door that opened into the parlor.
Perched on the edge of the emerald green sofa was Finch, clad in sturdy walking boots, wearing a travel-stained pelisse, and fingering the handle of a well-worn valise.
“Why, Finch, what has happened?” asked Helena, her voice filling with alarm. Ralph refrained from removing his hand, in case she should need support. He felt her slender back tense beneath his touch.
“Begging your pardon, my lady,” said Finch, remaining seated while her mistress stood, “but I’m giving my notice. I’ve taken another position in London. Mr. Aldine’s been kind enough to settle up my wages, and as soon as I’ve said good-bye, I’ll be on my way to London by the earliest coach.”
“Y-your notice?” Helena was so stunned that she barely seemed to notice as Ralph guided her toward one of the armchairs and slowly seated her.
“Yes, my lady.” Finch frowned. “This position has been untenable for some time. I directed some letters to friends of mine shortly after we arrived here, and I found out today there is an immediate vacancy with a lady of quality in Mayfair. I must travel at once if I don’t wish to lose the new position. ”
“But Mrs. Jenkins has left, has she not?” said Helena.
Ralph could see that she was grasping at straws and clutching at the arms of the wingback chair like a drowning child.
“I know there have been many...changes in circumstance here, but I’m certain that things will improve once a new cook is installed. ”
“That’s as may be. The meals are only a small part of it.
A lady’s maid must be doing, mustn’t she?
And there’s nothing for me to do here with you keeping out of society.
If you’ll beg my pardon, my lady, there’s no pride in lacing you up in a day dress each morning and pinning your hair up for no one to see. ”
Surely, Finch did not mean to be unkind, but Ralph knew that her bluntness could not help but deal a harsh blow to Helena’s fragile psyche. She swallowed convulsively. Ralph sensed that it was taking every fiber of her self-control not to burst into tears in front of her former servant.
“Very well, then,” Helena said at last. “As you’ve already secured another place, you’ve no need for a letter of reference. And as Mr. Aldine has remitted your wages, there can be nothing further keeping you here. Goodbye, Finch. I wish you the best.”
“Good-bye, my lady,” said Finch impassively. Rising from the emerald sofa, she hefted her valise and disappeared out the front door. Ralph had the uncharitable hope that she would be drenched to the skin before she reached Carham—those black clouds could not keep pent up much longer.
As soon as the door shut, Helena sank against the back of the chair. She closed her eyes. “Perhaps we should ring for tea now.” There was no reply.
Helena leaned forward and gazed around the side of the chair.
“Ralph?” He had disappeared as well. Helena felt utterly forlorn and abandoned.
Her head ached unbearably, and she removed the pins that held her hair in place, letting the curls cascade over her shoulders.
Shuddering, she leaned forward with difficulty and untied her half boots.
Then she pulled her feet up onto the chair, hugging her knees to herself.
How long she sat like that, it was hard to say, but it was probably no longer than it takes to boil water, for in just that amount of time, Ralph returned, bearing an ebony tea tray, and laid it on the table.
“It needs to brew a moment longer,” he said, pressing a knuckle against the warm teapot to confirm the temperature, “but here is a bun.”
“I suppose Polly is gone to the village for her day off,” said Helena, understanding dawning. She lowered her knees, conscious that she was wearing no slippers on her stockinged feet and took the sweet roll on a little flowered saucer.
“Indeed,” said Ralph, “and with Mrs. Jenkins and Finch absconding, we have the guest house all to ourselves.”
Helena stared. For the first time, she was truly and utterly alone with her husband. There were no servants to interrupt them, no lady’s maid to intrude. She stared at the teapot, unwilling to meet his eye.
Not at all disconcerted, he grasped the teapot by its handle and filled her cup in one fluid motion. “Here you are.”
Helena took hold of the cup and set it atop the saucer her left hand was already holding. “It is very good tea.” She let its warm spice fill her nostrils and relax the tension in her shoulders. “The best I’ve had since coming to Carham. Thank you.”
“I am prodigiously good at boiling water.” Ralph’s eyes had a spark of mischief in them. “Perhaps there’s no need then to replace Mrs. Jenkins. We shall have proper tea for once in the afternoons and omelets for every meal.”
“Is that what you’re planning to make for dinner tonight, Chef?” Despite her anxieties, Helena was getting into the spirit of the thing.
“I wish I could promise you a chicken fricassée but, alas, I know my limitations.” He caught her eye with that, and despite herself, she smiled. The only other thing to do was cry, and she would not give in to those feelings.
No sooner had they begun their tea than the thunderstorm broke. Sheets of rain spilled over the roof, running down the windows and coating them like glaze on a cake. Jagged bolts of lightning split the horizon and illuminated the whole of the parlor with their white light.
The first ominous peal of thunder made Helena jump. Her cup teetered on her saucer, and she gave a little squeak.
“Come over to the sofa,” said Ralph, patting the cushioned seat next to him.
Helena obliged, setting her dishes down on the table and taking a seat demurely on the edge of the sofa.
Surely, it was no great thing to sit on a sofa a foot away from a gentleman, but Helena felt her heart palpitating wildly.
Ralph made no attempt to move nearer, but it was Helena who jumped in his direction, uttering another squeak as a particularly violent explosion of thunder shook the house.
“Lean your head on me,” he whispered. She felt a protective arm wrap around the back of her own shoulders.
Hesitantly, Helena laid her head in the crook of his shoulder, feeling his strength envelop her as she settled into place.
They sat there for some time, Helena’s gold curls trailing down across Ralph’s dark blue waistcoat, staring into the fire in silence while the elements raged outside their windows.
During a particularly long flash of lightning, Helena tilted her face upward to stare at the face so near to her own.
The neatly clipped sideburns lent an air of gravity to Ralph’s cheekbones.
His dark brown hair had a slight wave to it.
His features were regular and what some might even call handsome.
She looked up into his eyes and saw the firelight reflected there against his rich brown pupils.
He was so close to her she could feel his chest rise as he breathed.
Helena sucked in a breath of her own, realizing that this was the first time she had looked—really looked—at her husband’s face. Many a woman would count themselves lucky to wake up beside such a man.
Ralph rose briefly to lay another log on the fire, and she instantly regretted the loss of his warmth.
A moment later he returned to the sofa. She re-settled herself against his shoulder and felt him take hold of her fingers with his other hand.
They sat there for some time, Ralph’s thumb tracing circles over the back of her hand.
Gradually, the lightning ceased and the thunder quieted, although the rain, if anything, increased in power.
Again, Helena glanced surreptitiously up at Ralph’s face and saw that he was observing her. His lips parted to speak, and a blush rose to her cheeks. “What shall we do for dinner?” she asked hastily, unsure what the look in his eyes portended.
“Well, my dear, if we are to survive this deluge, I suppose I must teach you how to make an omelet.”
“With mushrooms please.”
“I make no promises about what the larder holds, but with mushrooms, yes, if God is on our side.”
He stood and offered a hand to help her rise.
Together, they entered the kitchen and proceeded towards the soot-covered stove that glowed from inside with a smoldering fire.
Ralph worked his magic in stoking the coals.
He disappeared into the larder momentarily and then handed Helena a handful of herbs and a kitchen knife.
“Careful of your fingers,” he admonished, cracking eggs with one hand into a small bowl and beating them with vigor.
“This kitchen seems ancient.” Helena rocked the knife back and forth over the dried green leaves.
“Yes, I do believe Lady Compton missed this room when she renovated the guest house.” Ralph took a pinch of the parsley and instructed Helena to chop it finer.
He set an iron pan upon the top of the stove, letting the sooty smoke heat the metal for a few minutes while he finished compiling his egg batter.