Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
“Now is the winter of our discontent.”
At dinner, I was brought a tray of all my favorite foods.
Clara must have told the Abbots. It wasn’t the usual meal foods, but lemon tea cakes, grape juice, and treacle pudding.
I had loved all of these things before moving to Craster, and Clara must have spent a great deal of time having them prepared.
I drew a deep breath of unexpected gratitude and looked upward at the face that brought them to me.
Lucy smiled down at me. “Hopefully this will help you recover some of your strength.” She placed the tray on my lap, and her eyes flickered to my wrapped hand. She swallowed.
“Did you see it?” I asked, my voice trembling.
Lucy averted her eyes and stepped around the sofa to sit beside me. Her large eyes shone bright and beautiful in the candlelight. I could only imagine how unbecoming I must have looked. The fingers of my undamaged hand touched the ends of my hair.
“Yes,” Lucy answered. Her voice had softened, as if sharing a deep secret.
“When Mr. Wortham carried you in here, I thought you had died. You were so very pale, and there was so much blood…” My stomach sickened and Lucy’s eyes focused on something in the distance.
“I didn’t know what had happened until I saw that Mr. Wortham was holding his jacket tightly around your hand.
When he placed you here, the surgeon arrived shortly after, and so did your sister and Miss Bentford.
I was sent to retrieve water, and when I returned, your hand was exposed. ”
My heart pounded, quick and weak. “How terrible is it, truly?”
“Mr. Watkins was able to stitch most of the skin back in place, but there will be scars. And the fingers…” Her gaze fell.
I already knew. My lips pressed together and I choked on a sob.
I was pathetic, sitting here sobbing about something that couldn’t be reversed.
At first, being sent here, I had thought my dreams were gone, every hope of happiness erased.
But I had still felt a small shred of hope.
There had still been a future with Lord Trowbridge I could have chased.
I could have made Mama proud and lived in comfort all of my life.
But now there was nothing left for me. No man would ever see past the crippled, disfigured hand I now bore.
I had lost my beauty and I had even lost my music.
My heart filled with so much aching despair that I felt it would burst. How was I to release it now?
It would be impossible to play the pianoforte, to send everything that made me hurt away and into the sky where it could no longer touch me.
Instead, it was resigned to fester in my heart until it destroyed me.
“Where is Clara?” I choked.
“She is meeting with Lord Trowbridge and his daughter. She insisted that she cover the position of governess so the two of you should not lose your income.”
I released a shaky breath, drying my tears.
Of course Clara was there. She had risen to a duty without questioning it.
She never hesitated to step up and help me, even when I was so terrible to her.
And she was not the only one. Mr. Wortham had rescued me, even when I had threatened to ruin his life by sending his letter to Lucy and had mocked him for being in love.
I had manipulated him, and yet he still continued to show me kindness.
“Thank you, Lucy.” It was all I could say. She nodded tentatively, as if she didn’t know what else she could do. After a moment, she stood and left the room.
I looked down at my tray. Everything looked delicious, and I hadn’t eaten anything that day. But I couldn’t bring myself to take a single bite. The pain in my hand was far too distracting. My arm shook as I lifted it close to my face.
I was unbearably curious.
There was a piece of me that wouldn’t be able to believe what had happened until I saw it with my own eyes. I took a deep breath, trying to move each of my fingers inside the wrappings. I stifled a cry as a circle of blood appeared, soaking through the thinnest layer. My stomach lurched in disgust.
Unable to sit still any longer, I summoned all my strength and lifted the tray off my lap, biting my lower lip against the pain.
The dishes rattled against each other as the tray landed harder than I had anticipated on the table.
But at least my head was feeling clearer by the minute, so I sat up straight and eased my way to the edge of the cushion.
Pushing up with my good hand, I planted my feet on the ground and stood.
The room spun for a few seconds, but I stabilized myself on the arm of the sofa.
When I felt in control, I walked slowly toward the pianoforte.
I sat on the bench. Tears clouded my vision, blurring the black and white of the keys together into a murky grey.
And then I placed my left hand on the keys and plinked out a plain melody.
I closed my eyes and tried to feel the music, to let it heal me, but nothing happened.
Without both hands playing in unison, the song was bleak.
I pressed harder on the keys, pounding, as sudden anger coursed through my veins.
My hand tensed into a fist, and I hit the keys three more times, until my knuckles were red.
Then I dropped my face down to my arm and sobbed.
The door to the room opened, and I heard someone enter. I lifted my eyes, squinting through angry, hot tears.
My eyes immediately widened when I saw Mr. Wortham. He stopped beside the pianoforte, brows drawn together with concern. I straightened my posture and breathed deeply. The pain in my hand sliced through the ache in my heart, and I was relieved that I could stop feeling it for a moment.
Mr. Wortham was silent, standing above me. He looked like he was about to say something, but I spoke first.
“Why did you do it?” My voice was a hoarse croak, almost a whisper.
He looked confused. “What?”
I leaned my arm against the keys, creating an ugly sound of mismatched notes.
I cringed. Why did he make me so nervous?
My heart thrummed fast. “Why did you rescue me from the docks? Why would you help me after how I have…behaved toward you?” Admitting my mistakes had never come easily to me. I swallowed hard.
Mr. Wortham rubbed the back of his neck and gestured at the bench.
I scowled in confusion, but realized he was asking to sit.
Pushing my dress out of the way, I moved over, and he sat beside me.
His jacket grazed my elbow—a mere jacket—yet I felt every hair stand on end across my arm.
Glancing at the door, I breathed a sigh of relief.
It was wide open. At least something was bordering on proper.
Mr. Wortham turned his eyes on me, and I could hardly look at them.
Why did he have to sit so close? There was something so very disarming about his gaze—the green of his eyes and the softness behind them.
He confused me. That was the only reason he affected me at all. Even so, my heart beat a little faster.
“I would never leave a person in your situation, Charlotte. Not even my greatest enemy.”
I sneaked a look at his face. He was sincere. Surprisingly, I didn’t feel the least bit inclined to correct his use of my Christian name. I would allow it since he had come to my rescue…but only for that reason. I cleared my throat. “Am I your greatest enemy then?”
A smile touched his lips. “Only if you wish to be.”
I moved my gaze to the lump of white bandages around my hand. Everything about this day was so very confusing, and all of it terrifying. So I couldn’t blame myself for thinking, in that moment, that no, I didn’t wish to be his enemy. But I would never admit to it, of course.
When I didn’t reply, Mr. Wortham stood and offered his arm. “You really should be resting. Watkins will be stopping by soon to assist with your bandages.”
I looked up at him and back at the keys of the pianoforte. Every inch of me ached knowing I could never play the same again. The accident that morning had stolen my beauty and my greatest talent. I was nothing now. I had nothing left.
I stood slowly and wrapped my good hand around Mr. Wortham’s arm. We stepped up to the sofa and I sat down, keeping my posture straight until he moved to leave the room.
“Mr. Wortham—” I stopped when he turned around. “I—er…” I tried to collect my thoughts, unsure of what I meant to say. Had I ever stumbled so badly over my words before now? I felt completely ridiculous.
“Call me James,” he said in the silence.
I shook my head fast. “I could not.”
“I insist.”
I locked eyes with him again, my throat suddenly dry. “Very well.”
He seemed somewhat amused by my hesitation as he awaited the words I didn’t know I meant to say.
Finally, I managed to speak. “I wish to thank you for what you did today. It was the way of a gentleman, and I am…sorry that I ever thought you otherwise. And please—please do not blame yourself for the events of this morning. You did challenge me to it, but it was still my decision.” My voice came out soft and weak.
It was humiliating and pathetic that I had even tried to carry out his challenge.
Surely he never expected that I would. “I could never repay you for your kindness.”
He stood there, a shadow of surprise crossing his expression. “But are you willing to try?” There was a hint of teasing in his voice.
I scowled. “If you are going to ask for another secret…”
He laughed. “How did you know?”
“You are quite greedy when it comes to those.”
He laughed again, and this time it brought a smile to my face. “I only wish to understand you, Charlotte.”
“If that is so, then we might have a cordial conversation rather than a constant exchange of debts and threats.” I raised an eyebrow. “If you wish to understand me, ask me my favorite color, or flower, or how I take my tea.”