Chapter 6
Rosalind spent much of the next week confined to her bedroom and lolling in the murky embrace of the pain tonic that Mae provided.
It was an admitted relief, to take her away from memories of what had brought her into that bed in the first place and why she was in pain.
She tried not to remember the incident itself, nor the snickering of the congregants at the church the day after.
She tried not to remember a boy mimicking her limp as she’d left the parish that day to come home.
She’d tried to ignore all of it.
In between her many naps, she tried to read and occasionally attempted to look out the window and enjoy London’s slow fade from summer to autumn.
Oddly, the sidewalks seemed very crowded of late, and she got the oddest feeling every time she peered out her window that the people down below were peering right back up at her.
Sometimes, they even pointed.
She knew she was likely being silly, but the nauseated, uneasy feeling in her stomach was not helping her heal one way or the other, and so she resolved to stop her window gazing because the crowds never did seem to disperse.
Otherwise, she waited in the hopes of entertaining visitors, of which she was lucky enough to have many. Everyone who came to see her had different tasks and endeavors to occupy her mind while she was otherwise prevented from seeking the outside world.
Vix arrived first to inform Rosalind that she would be taking over the tally classes at the clinic in Rosalind’s absence.
“I need only to know your general lesson plan and where you’ve left off,” she said briskly, “and of course who the troublemakers are.”
“They are adults, Vix,” Rosalind had replied with a frown.
“Yes?” Vix had answered, also frowning. “Which ones?”
At the end of her visit, she had stood by Rosalind’s mirror for an extended period of time, furrowing her brow as she beheld herself in profile, pulling her dress this way and that against her form.
“It is a lovely dress,” Rosalind had said, bemused, from her perch in the bed.
“Oh? Yes, I know,” said Vix. “Speaking of which, I shall be taking your ruined one to the modiste to have a replacement made. You’ll need something new for your wedding. Teddy is seeing to poor Matthew’s outfitting.”
“That isn’t necess—” Rosalind had attempted.
“Also, I am with child,” Vix had said, turning to pull her reticule from the windowsill. “You shall be the godmother. Where is the dress?”
“Vix!”
She sighed as though the outburst pained her. “Let us not have a scene,” she said impatiently. “I’ve got things to do today. Don’t tell Mae.”
Next, of course, Mae herself had arrived, and Rosalind had been forced to bite her tongue several times throughout the course of her visit.
“I’ve brought you two very inappropriate books to occupy your time,” Mae said cheerfully. “You finished Zofloya?”
“I did,” said Rosalind, blinking. “It was …”
“Yes, I agree,” said Mae, grinning. “This one has a glowing library and a lot of mirrors,” she said, holding up one book, “and the other sent the author to prison for libel. It’s delicious. Be sure to read in good lighting. Now, let’s take a look at that leg.”
Rosalind started with the glowing library, on merit of being unable to resist such a visual. Once again, the devil played a rather large part in the story, though this time, no one was making love to him.
She wondered at why that disappointed her.
Hannah arrived in the evening on the third day, looking a bit weary and worn, and sighed as she flopped onto the foot of Rosalind’s bed and lay on her back for a while, simply staring up at the ceiling.
“Is all well?” Rosalind had endeavored to ask after a moment.
Hannah frowned and turned her head to look at Rosalind. “I’m not supposed to tell you,” she said. “Millie and Abe will have me flogged.”
“Oh,” said Rosalind, glancing at her window, where the curtains rippled ominously, as though beckoning her to come and check if people were still standing on the sidewalk below. “Perhaps you can simply hint at it and if I guess, you have not betrayed their trust.”
Hannah sighed and squeezed her eyes shut. “No. You finish recovering and we will tell you all the tiresome news when you can walk again. Speaking of which, I’ve been told by Mae I must take you for a turn around the room. Come along, let’s get you up.”
“I do not want to,” Rosalind said, but got up anyway.
It was unpleasant.
“Vix is pregnant,” she said, because she was only forbidden from telling Mae.
“Is she?” said Hannah, blinking. “I think I might be too.”
And then she left as well.
Millie came to play games with cards from time to time. Abe came to frown at the books. Little Heather sometimes came just to crawl into bed with Rosalind and stare into her face for a while and then make observations about how she looked awful before toddling back off again.
On the sixth day, Matthew Everly came.
She heard him before she saw him.
“You didn’t let me in before,” he said to her brother. “It has been almost a week. I insist on speaking to her.”
“I won’t have you distressing her on her sickbed,” Abe returned, gruff and stubborn.
“She’s got a bruised leg, not the cholera,” Matthew snapped back. “She deserves to know. And I would like to get to know the woman I’m going to marry, thank you very much.”
“Abe,” Millie’s voice came in, softly. “Let him in.”
At this point, Rosalind was scrambling upright and trying to tuck her tangled, loose hair into order before anyone could breach the threshold of her bedroom door, looking wildly at her pale, sunken face and rumpled visage in the mirror across the room.
She made a helpless little sound of distress as the knob turned and dropped her hands into her lap, holding her breath.
The door opened, revealing Abe first, who stepped in and told her, quite unnecessarily, that she had a visitor and who it was.
Then came the vicar.
He was, Rosalind realized, quite handsome.
His brown curls were still tousled today, but soft and springy, and his green eyes were kind when they fell on her, despite her disarray.
He crossed the room and sat on the chair opposite her bed, giving her a halting little smile, like he wasn’t certain if she was happy to see him, and she likely gave him one back that was very much the same.
“Good afternoon, Miss Murphy,” he said, and then gave a short, dry little chuckle. “This is a little strange, isn’t it?”
“It is,” she agreed, blinking at him. “It is very strange. But I am ever so glad you came.”
He hesitated and then broke into a true smile, his shoulders seeming to ease. “Are you? Well, then I’m glad I did too.”
“You ought to call me Rosalind,” she said, trying to stay upright against the pillows as she shifted her weight. Her leg was suddenly throbbing again, a dull ache clanging against his presence like it remembered his part in its origin. “I’d like it if you did.”
“I would like that too,” he answered softly. “And you must call me Matthew. I’ve brought you something.”
“Oh?” she said, watching him proffer a small paper bag that he’d carried in. “What is it?”
“A lemon curd posset,” he said with a bashful little shrug as he handed it to her. “They didn’t have pie. I recalled that you said you were fond of the flavor, anyhow.”
She gasped, surprised at the immediate well of tears that came to her eyes as she put her hands to her cheeks. “Oh, you didn’t!” she said, hiccuping back the urge to show an untoward and entirely unnecessary burst of emotion. “Oh, thank you! How very thoughtful!”
“It really is nothing,” he said, appearing to redden a little under the fervor of her reaction. “I will feed you possets every day if you enjoy them this much.”
She sniffled, turning her face away, and pushed the heel of her hand to her eye, trying to get herself under control. “You must forgive me, Mr. Ev—Matthew,” she said. “I think I am worn a bit thin from my confinement, is all.”
“I understand,” he said, his voice even and deep as though he truly did. “And I do not wish to distress you further, but there has been a development in our predicament that I feel you should be made aware of.”
She bit down on her lip and took two deep breaths, turning back to him with a nod. She blinked away any further moisture, knowing she likely had turned quite red. “I really am all right,” she assured him. “Just tired. What has happened?”
He did not look as though he wanted to say, his lips parting over clenched teeth and his hands bunching in the fabric of his trousers.
“Oh,” she said, realizing as she ran her eyes over him. “You are not wearing your vestments today.”
He paused, his eyebrows rising a fraction. “I’m not,” he agreed. “Sometimes I prefer not to draw attention on the street. I also was doing a bit of gardening this morning and they got dirty. Do not tell the congregation, please.”
She stifled a giggle, touching her lips. “Is it scandalous?” she asked. “To go out in regular clothing like that?”
He sighed and nodded. “Everything is scandalous, I think.”
She actually did giggle that time. “I hope not,” she said. “I truly hope not.”
He released a little breath, smiling back at her like she’d stunned him a bit. “Scandal,” he said, “is terribly inconvenient. But maybe it will leave us with the passing of time.”
“That is what you wanted to talk to me about?” she asked, plucking at the coverlet on her lap. “The statue scandal? Or … or the ice … incident?”
He held her eye, that little smile sliding away. “Yes. Both, actually. Remember the newspaperman who was at the picnic? The one who asked you about your classes at the clinic?”
She nodded.
“He ran an illustration of the statue falling,” he said. “You are featured and named. It caused a bit of a stir, I’m afraid, as it focused rather heavily on the erm … fig leaf … removal.”
“Oh,” she said, frowning. “Oh, dear.”
“Yes,” he said, wincing. “And then, I’m afraid word got out about what happened after with the ice and then the subsequent announcement of our impending nuptials.
There have been two more columns run about it since.
I’m afraid there’s a bit of a fascination around you and the whole mess.
London thinks you are in hiding, even though a great deal of people observed you sustaining serious injury.
I am doing what I can to dispel rumor, but I’m afraid it is a bit of a losing cause. ”
“Fascination?” she repeated, disbelief sitting cold and slimy in her chest. “Around me?”
He nodded. “They call you Miss Manners. It was the original headline. Miss Manners Gives a Fig and Takes a Fig.”
“Oh,” she said quietly. “Oh, no.”
He reached out to take her hand over the coverlet, stopping it from picking at the threads. “I am so sorry,” he said, as though he had been the one to write that headline and publish it. “So very, very sorry.”
“It wasn’t your doing,” she said, her voice gone very small. “And it sounds like they’re writing about you too.”
He grimaced and nodded. “They are,” he said. “My Wednesday-night service was so well attended that people were standing outside. One might almost think they were in search of redemption.”
She stared down at his hand, releasing a little breath at the irreverence of his observation, and shook her head. “Maybe they are.”
He chuckled. “Yes,” he said. “Maybe they are.”
She twisted her lips together, trying to think clearly as a thousand different threads and images clashed together in her mind. “Should I come on Sunday?” she asked, helpless to fight the muddle. “Would that make things better, or worse?”
He squeezed her hand, his fingers warm and steady. “You should focus on recovering, Rosalind,” he said. “When you are well enough, I will always be happy to see you, but there is no need to rush on my behalf.”
“Our behalf,” she corrected, turning her hand over so that she could hold him in return. “We are in this together now, are we not?”
He took a shaky, surprised little breath, blinking his heavy lashes and nodding. “Yes,” he said, as though it shocked him. “Yes, I suppose we are. Rosalind, I hate that this is how things are unfolding. I wish I had time to court you properly. You deserve that.”
“Well,” she said, tilting her head to the side. “I suppose there’s no rule that says a couple can’t court after the wedding. Is there?”
He paused, that same stunned expression settling over his face as he watched her. “No,” he said after a moment. “I suppose there isn’t.”
“I don’t expect it of you, of course,” she said quickly. “I know this is a necessity, not a desire. But if you wish to, I would not mind it.”
He watched her for a moment, not speaking. He continued to hold her hand. And then he took a breath and released it, glancing up at the ceiling before releasing her and stepping backward.
“I must go,” he said. “May I visit you again tomorrow?”
“Yes, of course,” she said. “You do not need to ask.”
He smiled, giving her a slight bow. “I likely will anyway,” he told her. “For some time. If you do not mind continuing to say yes, just for the sake of my own pleasure.”
“All right, Matthew,” she said, smiling back. “Yes.”