Chapter 21
D orothy had to wear long sleeves for the rest of the week.
Her fall had been incredibly painful, and it had resulted in a nasty purple hue that spread down her hip and thigh as well as another bruise down her right forearm. She was fortunate that nothing more had happened, but that did not make the pain she was in any more manageable.
"They shall be green soon," Francine said encouragingly. "You prefer that color, at least."
Dorothy laughed softly. It had been an odd week. The household had been easy enough to run, but there was something that nobody could ignore.
Catherine had grown withdrawn.
She did not wish to speak to anyone, not even Morgan or her governess or Mrs. Herrington.
She had shut herself in her room and only left to eat, which she did in silence.
The governess had assured Dorothy that it had happened before, and that she would return to normal eventually, but Dorothy did not like it.
She was a friendly little girl, and the idea of her being anything but placid seemed wrong.
And so, that afternoon after they had lunch, she went to Catherine's room. She knocked, but there was no response.
"Can I come in?" she called.
"I wish to be alone," the little girl's voice came from the other side of the door.
"I shall only be a moment," she promised. "I am concerned for you."
"You should not be," she said sharply. "You are not my mother."
She was rather taken aback by Catherine's words. They all understood who Dorothy was to her, and nobody had suggested that change. Puzzled, she took a breath to steady herself.
"I know," she replied. "But I am your friend. I am not here to demand anything from you, only that I see you for a moment."
There was silence, and then the door creaked open.
"Come in," Catherine said quietly.
Dorothy entered, and when she looked upon the little girl all she could do was gasp. She was a sickly child, but she looked worse than ever. Her skin was almost gray, and her eyes were sunken. She had to fight herself not to immediately send for the doctor.
"My word," she whispered. "Catherine, what has happened? Do I need to send for your uncle?"
"No!" she yelped. "Please, I cannot face him right now."
As if instinctively, she ran to the corner and crouched to the floor, burying her face in her knees.
"Catherine, nobody is angry with you if that is what you are worried about. We all want to help you."
"I do not deserve help. I am a horrid little girl and I should be sent away."
She began to cry, and Dorothy was frozen in alarm.
This was not the sweet-natured child that she had met.
Something had to have happened, and she needed to know what, but Catherine was hysterical.
Not knowing what else to do, Dorothy reached out and took the girl in an embrace.
The little girl gasped, the crying stopped, and then she clung on hard.
"You are not horrid," she promised. "We all care for you so much, and we do not want you to feel this way. Please let us help you."
"I have done something bad," she whispered. "Very, very bad."
"You do not have that in you."
"I do."
Catherine pulled away, and Dorothy gently cleaned her face with a handkerchief.
"If it truly is so terrible, then you ought to tell me."
"You will all learn of it soon enough."
As if on cue, they suddenly heard an almighty battle downstairs. Dorothy had turned to look out at it, and when she turned back to Catherine her eyes were wide and her mouth was open.
"Catherine," Dorothy asked in a startled tone, "what have you done, exactly?"
"I thought it was a good idea," she whimpered. "It was only when it was done that I realized how wrong I was."
Knowing that she would not receive an explanation, Dorothy had to think quickly. She took Catherine's hand and lifted her to her feet.
"I know you are frightened," she explained, "but we can fix this, whatever you have done. To do that, however, you must admit what you did."
"Please do not take me to my uncle," she pleaded. "I cannot look at him, not after I– oh, Dorothy, please."
"Your uncle will not be angry with you. Even if he is, he will forgive you. He adores you, Catherine. Come, we will have this settled before you know it."
The child pulled back again, but she seemed to realize that the result of whatever she had done was there, and she had to face it whether she liked it or not.
They quickly made their way to the stairs, but then Dorothy stopped, pulling Catherine back.
There, at the bottom of the stairs, stood a lady that bore a remarkable resemblance to Catherine.
She walked the hallway as if she had been there a hundred times before, and the staff seemed to recognize her even if they did not seem too pleased that she was there.
"There she is," Catherine whispered, smiling in spite of everything. "My aunt."
Dorothy turned her attentions back to the lady, her heart pounding.
"Catherine, what did you do?"
But the little girl was already running to the lady, her fear replaced by an innate joy.
"Aunt Annabelle!" She beamed, leaping into her arms.
"Oh, my beautiful niece," Lady Annabelle said softly. "How wonderful to finally see you!"
Dorothy remained at the top of the stairs, unable to move. She did not dare follow after Catherine and greet the lady, not when she knew so much about her.
"I told you, Lady Annabelle," Morgan stormed as he entered the room, "I do not know what brought you here, but you are not welcome."
"Our niece did," she snapped. "She wrote to me, telling me how desperately she wished to meet her mother's family. I know how you feel about me, but surely you can set that aside for the girl's sake?"
"If I am, as you proclaimed, a bear, then I would do no such thing."
"Oh, Morgan," she said, softening and placing a hand on his arm, "that was so long ago now. I am not the young lady you met, especially after my sister's loss."
Dorothy listened from afar, but more than anything she watched Lady Annabelle.
She was beautiful, and of similar age to Morgan.
She truly did look exactly like Catherine, and when the three of them stood together they looked like a family.
There was a strange feeling in her stomach, one that made her feel quite unwell.
Morgan, however, did not soften even at the mention of Catherine.
"You," he said bluntly to the girl, "I will speak to later. Go to your governess."
"But, Uncle Morgan, I–"
"Now, please, Catherine. I am not angry with you, but this must be settled without you."
The child left reluctantly, her smile gone. As she and her governess reached the stairs, however, they all noticed Dorothy standing there. She wished to hide, but there was no doing that.
"Dorothy, you may join us," Morgan called. "If anything, that is my preference."
She nodded, descending the staircase. She cowered under Lady Annabelle's gaze, knowing perfectly well that a single word from her would be enough to make her crumble.
"This is my wife, the Duchess of Ulverston" he said pointedly, which Dorothy had to admit helped.
"It is a pleasure, Your Grace," Lady Annabelle greeted with a sickeningly sweet smile. "I am so pleased that His Grace has found someone so… pleasant to be his wife."
Her tone was pointed, but Dorothy tried to ignore it; Lady Annabelle had a history with her husband, and though she did not like it there was nothing that she could do about it. The best thing for her to do was to remain polite until she left, which she hoped would be soon.
"Your Grace," she continued, turning back to Morgan, "I did not come here in search of trouble. All that I wish to do is see my niece. I have as much right to her as you, after all."
"Be that as it may, my wife and I have her here with us because it is her home. She is happy here, and though she has apparently asked to see you I will not have you here if you cannot abide by my rules about her."
"I have no intention of overstepping. I only wish to spend time with her. When I lost my sister, I… my apologies, but I would prefer to discuss this with you in private."
She looked pointedly at Dorothy, which made her feel ill at ease. She did not want to leave her husband with a lady he knew so personally, but she was intimidated by her. She was tall and slim with pointed features and she looked down at Dorothy as though she were Catherine's age.
"That will not be happening," Morgan explained bluntly. "Anything that you tell me can also be heard by my wife. I shall only tell her myself, in any case."
She grumbled, but Dorothy hardly noticed. Instead, she felt a great deal of admiration for her husband. She had not expected Morgan to defend her, given that he wished to have his answers.
"Very well," Lady Annabelle sighed. "When I lost my sister, I was forced into a life that I could not even begin to explain.
It is something you can only explain to those who have suffered such loss, which of course you have with your brother.
I have been searching for a way to continue her memory, and I had almost given up hope when I received our niece's letter.
This is precisely what I have longed for for years, and in spite of how you feel about me I know that it is what you want, too. "
Morgan was quiet, and Dorothy truly did not know what he would say.
He looked as though he wanted to send her away, but Dorothy knew that he could not do that to Catherine.
He was yet to discuss the matter with the girl, and ask what she had done, but he did not punish her.
It was not in his nature to upset his niece, and Dorothy knew that that remained unchanged.
"You may see her for the afternoon," he said quietly, "but nothing more. I also expect you to allow the governess to stay with you. I shall speak to her first, too."
"Oh, Your Grace, thank you!" she sighed happily, throwing her arms around him in a most unbecoming manner.
Dorothy hated the way she felt about it.
"I almost forgot," she said brightly, handing Dorothy a letter. "This is what Catherine wrote. You may find it of interest."
She turned from Dorothy again and returned to embracing Morgan, who quickly pushed her back and kept his distance. Unsettled, Dorothy unraveled the letter.
"Dear Lady Annabelle,
I do not know how to begin this. You do not know who I am, and until yesterday I did not know you either. You might not want to read this at all, but I hope that you do.
My name is Catherine Lockheart, and I am your niece. I am eight years of age and the daughter of your sister. I live with my uncle, the Duke of Ulverston, and it is my hope that you may visit me sometime soon.
I will not keep you. You may come and see me anytime, and I hope that we can know one another well, and that you have stories to tell me about my mother.
Sincerely,
Catherine Lockheart"
Dorothy's heart ached.