Chapter 11
" S he is trouble, I am telling you!"
Morgan was already growing weary of Mrs. Herrington telling him all of the ways in which his new wife was failing.
Each time he went to see Catherine, she stopped him to tell him something else his wife had done.
She had knocked into an expensive vase, which had not then fallen or smashed, but it was something to be wary of regardless.
She had created the menu for the week without consulting her, even though she did not know what Morgan liked to eat.
He had ignored every complaint, as he knew what it was about. His housekeeper was being replaced, and after a lifetime of being the most important servant in the household, and therefore the one that they all needed, she did not wish to lose the authority she had gained.
"Dorothy is harmless," he sighed. "I have given her work to do for herself so that she is out of your way. What could she possibly have done to vex you so?"
"She walked directly into the lake, Your Grace."
In very few words, his blood had run cold.
He hated the lake, and the memories that came to him every time he saw it, but he had never once considered having it removed.
It was only for his sake, and it was an expensive endeavor (one that Catherine would undoubtedly notice and question), and not one worth making when he could just as easily pretend that nothing had ever happened, and that the lake simply was not there.
Except, it was, and his wife had gone wandering into it. He shuddered at the thought of it.
"Why were you in the garden?" he asked. "You are supposed to be inside."
"I knew that she would be doing something wrong, and I was correct about it. You should be thanking me for telling you."
"Mrs. Herrington, all that I ask of you is that you do your duty. I understand that you feel a little lost without Catherine to tend to at all hours, but I can assure you that there is enough to do elsewhere. You need not watch the Duchess constantly."
"It appears that I do. Are you not going to admonish her for this?"
"No, but should you continue to burst into my study each and every time you have a qualm with her, I may have to admonish you. Am I clear?"
She fell silent and left the room in a quiet fury.
Morgan sat back, sighing. He hated that there was a tension between himself and his housekeeper, but he did what had to be done. She could not continue to be unfair to his wife, even if she felt that she was imperfect.
He clicked his tongue, thinking about how he was being unfair in a similar manner.
He had not yet told his niece the truth about the circumstances surrounding her birth, and he felt that the time had come.
The lake had been a frightening thing for him to contend with, and he knew that one day Catherine would discover the truth and have that same fear.
He had kept it from her so that she would not have to face it, to protect her, but he had been thinking for some time that he was only truly protecting himself from how she might react.
Tentatively, he approached her room.
She was wide awake and standing by the window, reading a book rather than resting. She coughed gently as she looked up.
"How are you feeling today?" he asked.
"Better," she said meekly. "I hope to recover completely soon, so that I may go outside."
"Catherine, you know how I feel about that."
"That it is dangerous, yes, but I would have you. I would be safe."
He grimaced, wishing he could tell her the truth; that she was not going to be accepted by society and therefore could not venture out into it at all.
They were in a household that hardly anyone ever passed, but if someone did and saw a small child there, questions would arise that he did not wish to answer.
"Catherine, there is something that I have been meaning to tell you. I should have told you long ago, but I wanted to wait until you were ready."
She looked at him with curiosity, closing her book and sitting on the edge of her bed. He joined her, placing an arm around her and trying to think of the best way to explain it.
"What do you remember about your mother?"
"She was nice. I do not remember much, as I was so small, but I remember that she was nice to me. She was a good mother."
"And did you know that she was unwell?"
"Like me?"
"No, not exactly. She… well, she was afraid of a lot of things, you see. She did not have a father for you."
"But I do have a father. I have you."
"Yes, but I am your uncle."
"Very well, then your brother was my father. I still have one."
He wished that she was a quieter child, so that she would make it easier for him to talk, but he was pleased all the same that she used her voice.
"Yes, but he was not with your mother. He preferred to do other things than raise a family."
"I see. Was I not good?"
"On the contrary, you have always been wonderful. I have no qualms about you at all, even if you eat all of my chocolates when you think that I am not looking."
She laughed softly, but then her face fell again.
He did not want her to think that she had ever been a burden.
Yes, the circumstances surrounding her birth had not been ideal, but that was no fault of hers.
It had been his brother doing ridiculous things and charming young ladies that did not know any better.
He wondered if Catherine's mother thought that Thomas loved her, and that the two of them would leave for Gretna Green and marry and live as a family.
He hoped that she did not, as it would have saved her so much heartache, but he knew what became of her.
He knew that she was hopelessly and foolishly in love, and when that had not been reciprocated…
"Your mother loved you very much, but she was alone. She did not know me, and did not know that I would have helped her. Instead, she took matters into her own hands."
"What do you mean?"
There it was, the question that would lead to him saying something that he could never take back. He did not know how she would react, if she would even understand, and he did not know quite how to comfort her.
"Your mother was frightened, Catherine, and so she did what she thought was best. She– she took your hand, and went for a swim."
"Swimming? I thought I came to you in the Winter."
"You did. The water was freezing, and when someone found the two of you they pulled you out of the water. Your mother, on the other hand, well, she refused to come out."
He could see her thinking, trying to piece everything together in a way that she understood. He hated that he had left it so long, as then she might have been able to talk about it, but he had kept it from her thinking that she would never understand.
"So she died, and it was her own fault?"
"No!" He said quickly. "No, she was unwell, like I told you. She was in a lot of pain, and she did something she thought would help."
"Like when I stand by the window?" she asked.
"In a sense, yes, though you do something that is safe."
He had not told her the entire truth, that her mother had planned to take Catherine with her entirely, but it was enough for a child of her age.
All that she had known was that her mother had died of an illness and nothing more, but Morgan knew that it was time he told her pieces of the truth so that she might one day understand.
"So she abandoned me," she whispered.
"No."
"But she did."
She looked up at him, and her eyes were filled with tears.
"She left me behind," she whimpered. "She decided that she would rather swim in freezing water than care for me. Am I truly that despicable?"
"Not at all. Catherine, you shall never know what joy you bring to all of us. Your mother loved you very much, but she did not know what else to do. She wanted you to be happy."
"I would have been happy with her!"
"Yes, but she did not think that. It is difficult to understand even for me, and so if you cannot comprehend it then it is perfectly fine, but know that she loved you. You will see that one day."
She was trembling under his arm, and he held her tightly. She rested her head against him and sighed deeply before escaping his grasp and going to her feet.
"So you only have me out of duty."
"Not at all."
"Yes, you do. My father did not want me and disappeared, my mother did not want me so she died, and you had to have me because nobody else would."
"Catherine, you know perfectly well that that is untrue. I took you in because the moment I saw you I knew you would be happy with me, and that I would love nothing more than a companion. That is what happened to us, is it not?"
She softened, the anger in her face leaving her. She was a child, and she was frightened and confused but Morgan loved her and he knew that would be enough to keep her happy.
"You are a good friend," she nodded slowly, "and a very good uncle."
"Then we are perfectly fine the way we are, yes?"
"I suppose," she said softly.
She remained still for a moment. Morgan wanted to reach out to her, but he did not want to distract her from whatever she was thinking. He hoped that, when she was ready, she would speak her mind.
"Is my mother buried?" she asked at last.
"Of course. As is your father."
"Where?"
Morgan had to think back as to what had become of her mother.
Thomas had been buried with the rest of his family, but her mother…
To his recollection, she had been cast out by her family and forced to live elsewhere in one of their old and abandoned estates.
He did not know where that was, but he was quite certain that he could find out.
"I know of your father's resting place, but your mother's escapes me. I will find it, though."
"All right. When you do, may I visit them?"
"Catherine, you know how I feel about you going outside."
"That it is forbidden, but this is important. I have to see them."
Her voice was rising again, and Morgan thought about how sound echoed in his household. He could not allow Dorothy to hear her.
"Very well," he said quickly, "I shall take you to see them once I learn where your mother is."
At last, she seemed content, and embraced him tightly before sitting beside him again.
"I am pleased that I am good enough for you," she said gently, "though I do wish that I was not so unwell."
"You will recover. You have come so far."
"It has been five years since I came to you. I should be better by now. When you have a cold, it lasts only a week."
"Yes, but you were only very small when you had yours. It might take a long time to rid yourself of it."
She huffed, but she was half-smiling. They had had the very same conversation many times, and she was always annoyed that she would not recover quickly but pleased that she could do most things.
They remained together until it was time for her to sleep, and when he went to leave, he heard her bedding rustle as she sat up.
"You will not leave me, will you?"
"Never," he promised, "although I must leave for a week if I am to find your mother."
"Very well. I suppose that a week will be all right."
He chuckled, leaving the room.
It had been a difficult conversation, but she had taken it well.
He had always been proud of how adaptable she was, but he had never thought that it would go as far as it did.
He hoped that she had believed him when he said her mother loved her, because he had never doubted that.
When she had walked into the lake, it was because she thought that she was saving herself and Catherin from a difficult, almost impossible life, and even though she was wrong he could not deny that he pitied the woman greatly.
He had missed having dinner with Dorothy again, but he tried not to think about it too much. He had been scarce since the beginning, and so in spite of their few meetings, she would not expect to see him often. That was what he hoped, at least.
As he left for his own bedchambers, however, he noticed the open balcony doors. They were only opened by a small amount, but he knew how his household was supposed to be, and that door was always firmly closed. He opened it, stepping out into the night air.
And there she was, looking at the moonlight. He cleared his throat, and she turned to him sharply, her face pale.
"What are you doing here?" she asked.