Chapter 19 #2
They had not quarreled, but as the door closed, Caroline felt unease, all the same.
She had asked Mr. Yorke for distance.
Why, then, did she hate that he was giving her precisely that?
Oswald’s call had left her feeling dissatisfied and more uncertain than ever. She had hoped that distance from both him and Mr. Yorke would serve to clarify things, but in reality, it only made her increasingly impatient to see Mr. Yorke again.
She was beginning to wonder if she had imagined the way he had looked at her before the kiss or the things he had said about wanting her more, even, than the seat in Parliament.
Perhaps Oswald was right. Perhaps she was too stupid to see all of it for what it was, just as she was too stupid to know how ill-advised was reform.
And yet, her heart told her that was not the case.
Her heart told her that, whether or not reform was the silly hope of a foolish woman, she needed and wanted someone who would discuss it with her.
She called upon Eliza at her usual time, but Mr. Yorke was nowhere to be found on the path there. Whether that was because he was giving her space or because Eliza no longer needed his help carrying water to and from the stream, she did not know.
When she discovered Eliza had a basket of vegetables which needed delivering to one of the villagers, Caroline offered to take it for her. Eliza refused the kindness until Caroline insisted.
The relief her friend exhibited reassured Caroline and made her feel more justified in doing something that, if she was being entirely honest with herself, was an excuse in hopes of seeing Mr. Yorke while in the village.
When she reached it, her gaze flitted to The Silver Pilchard. Mr. Yorke was not in sight, which was to be expected; it was not as though he spent his days standing outside the inn, twiddling his thumbs.
She wished he would today, though.
The inn had the most conveniently placed mounting block, however, and she availed herself of it. She had only set two feet on the ground when Mrs. Tonkin’s nephew came running up.
“Good day, Jory,” she said with a smile.
“G’day, m’lady,” he replied dutifully, taking the reins.
“Would you see to it that my horse is watered? I have an errand but shan’t be above twenty minutes.”
The boy nodded and began to lead the horse into the yard.
“Jory.”
He looked back at her.
“Is Mr. Yorke here?”
“No, m’lady. ’E be out on ’is ’orse.”
Disappointment settled over her. “Thank you.”
Jory waited to ensure she had no other strange questions, then turned and led the horse to the inn yard.
Caroline let out her disappointment in a determined breath and made her way down the lane toward Ruan’s home.
She turned toward the small, narrow house where Ruan and his family lived and rapped on the door gently but firmly. Hoofbeats on cobbles sounded down the street, and she glanced in that direction. Her heart jolted at the sight of Mr. Yorke on his horse, disappearing into the inn yard.
He had not seen her.
The door opened and Ruan appeared there, the sound of children’s muffled voices behind him. He blinked at the sight of Caroline.
Pulling her thoughts to her task, she smiled. “Good day, Ruan. Forgive the interruption, but I have brought these on Mrs. Penrose’s behalf.” She held out the basket of vegetables.
Ruan hesitated, then took it. “Thank ’ee, m’lady. ’Tis kind of ’ee.”
“Not at all. The thanks belongs entirely to Mrs. Penrose. She has done the work of growing such beautiful vegetables.”
He smiled. “I wager that stile be helpin’ ’er a good deal.”
“It certainly is,” she said, slightly surprised he was aware of it. “Did Oswald ask you to help with its construction?”
His brows drew together. “Mr. Oswald? No, m’lady.”
It was Caroline’s turn to frown. “He did not ask for your help, then?”
“No, ’twas—” He cut himself off, then cleared his throat and broke his gaze away. “I oughtn’t to say more, m’lady. Thank ’ee for bringin’ these to we.” He held up the basket and began to turn away.
“Wait.”
He went still but took a moment before turning toward her. His gaze was wary—or guilty, even.
“Did you build the stile?” she asked.
He rubbed his lips together, puzzling her even further.
“You shan’t have any trouble, Ruan,” she reassured him. “I merely wish to understand.”
“I don’t wish to cause ’im any trouble, m’lady. Or me, o’course.”
“Cause who any trouble?”
“Mr. Yorke.”
Caroline stood in silence for a moment. “Why should it concern him?”
More hesitation.
“Please,” she said kindly. “Tell me what you mean.”
He grimaced. “’Twas Mr. Yorke who asked me to ’elp ’im build it. Didn’t want Mr. Oswald to know, as ’tis his land, and we’d no right to be there. We done it quiet-like. Afore dawn.”
Caroline’s vision flickered. Mr. Yorke and Ruan had built the stile?
That made no sense.
Eliza had said Oswald was responsible. Indeed, Caroline had thanked him for the stile, and he had accepted those thanks.
Her stomach twisted in a hundred small knots.
Or had he merely let them settle where they did not belong?
What was more, had Mr. Yorke not been with her when Eliza had first told them of it? He had said nothing.
“Are you quite certain, Ruan?” she asked.
Ruan’s mouth quirked up at one edge. “Aye, m’lady. Nearly ’ammered my thumb off, Mr. Yorke did.” He raised it, then his smile wavered. “But please…’e only meant to ’elp Mrs. Penrose. And if Mr. Oswald finds out ’twas us…”
Caroline shook her head, her thoughts in a jumble. “I shan’t tell him, Ruan. I am very grateful to both of you for what you did.” She smiled at him reassuringly.
He broke his gaze away modestly. “’Twas our pleasure, m’lady.”
“Good day, Ruan.” She turned away as the door closed, her gaze fixed on the ground as she tried to sort her thoughts.
Mr. Yorke was responsible for the stile. He had built it, along with Ruan.
It was to Mr. Yorke, not Oswald, that Eliza owed gratitude.
It was to him Caroline owed gratitude.
If it weren’t for him, Eliza might still be breaking her back, carrying bucket after bucket of water from downstream all the way to her house and garden.
Caroline looked up at The Silver Pilchard, her heart beating a quick, strong rhythm as she acknowledged something to herself: she no longer simply wanted to see Mr. Yorke; she needed to.