Chapter Twenty
WHEN THE HACK STOPPED OUTSIDE Longview, Nora could hardly believe they’d already arrived.
Between Mr. Beaumont’s heartbreaking explanation of his mum’s illness and then learning about the operetta, the hour-long ride had flown by.
She couldn’t wait to hear what he’d composed so far, even though the remaining pieces left her uncertain.
He’d saved the songs of growing attraction and declarations of love between the princess and insurrectionist for last. It was far too fitting if she were to cast herself as the princess, for Mr. Beaumont was indeed encouraging her to join an insurrection against the law that had long defined her life: no music.
Although, hadn’t she been leading quiet rebellions on her own?
Sneaking upstairs to Mum’s trunk. Singing in the shadows of Father’s absence.
Taking lessons in an asylum. And now she was forming an attachment to a man Father would be unswervingly opposed to.
Oh yes, composing songs of love and rebellion together was certain to be a mistake.
And yet . . .
Mr. Beaumont took Tristan from her and held her hand as she stepped down from the hack.
Gloves separated their touch, but the contact spread warmth to her belly.
What fires would he ignite if he held her in his arms?
Of course, he’d held her when the hack wrecked, but she hadn’t appreciated his protection and care then. What a difference a single week made.
Mr. Beaumont studied her, and the longer he did so, the happier he appeared. He brushed a corner of her mouth, his voice quiet and tender. “I like it when you smile. Whatever thoughts put it there, you should think on them more often.”
Oh heavens, was she smiling while thinking of him holding her? Heat climbed her neck. May he never discover the reason for that rogue thing appearing.
The driver cleared his throat.
Good grief. They were standing on the lawn of an insane asylum about to visit their mothers, and she’d just allowed Mr. Beaumont to caress her face like he were her intended. If the Guardians ever found out, she’d never hear the end of it.
Mr. Beaumont paid the driver, then walked alongside her to the portico. “What do you think? Will we find our mothers much recovered this week?”
“I hope so.” As much for herself as for Mum. But when they entered, Nurse Abbott’s thinned lips squashed all optimism.
“Good afternoon, Miss Davis, Mr. Beaumont. I’m afraid I need a private word with each of you.”
Mr. Beaumont addressed Nora. “Which would be the more gentlemanly thing? Normally, I would say ladies first, but I’m uncertain in this situation.”
Nurse Abbott cast Nora a worried look, then faced Mr. Beaumont. “It will be easier and quicker to speak with you first.”
Nora’s stomach knotted. She took the basket from Mr. Beaumont under the guise of freeing him for the discussion, but really it was so she could find comfort in petting Tristan.
She didn’t even mind the beast nipped and swatted her fingers as she slid them between the lid and basket.
Rather than allow her mind to run through endless possibilities of what she would be told, Nora eavesdropped on the quiet conversation taking place a handful of feet away.
With the silence of the large rotunda and the way it echoed, she had no problem listening.
“Your mother made another attempt.”
Nora closed her eyes, grief hitting her unexpectedly. Poor Mrs. Beaumont. What state must she be in to think death the best option for her life, for her son? Disappointment and grief slumped his shoulders and bent his head. How Nora wanted to come alongside and comfort him.
If an attempted suicide was the easier news to hear, what horror am I about to hear?
Her lungs froze. Touch Tristan. Don’t let fear win. She shoved her hand further into the basket, finding the cat’s head, then back. Tristan growled but calmed when she found a spot he liked.
“She caused herself no harm, but she’s been moved to a more stringent ward where she is closely monitored.”
“Is there anything I can do? How do I make her happy?” Mr. Beaumont’s words came out choked and broken.
“You can’t make anyone happy. Pray for her soul. Don’t shame her for her struggles. Love and encourage her. We can do all the right things and it still not bring healing.” Nurse Abbott glanced toward Nora, their eyes connecting as she finished. “It is no one’s fault.”
Oh, God in heaven. Whatever she tells me, help me survive it.
Tristan bumped against her still hand, and she resumed petting. By the time Nurse Abbott and Mr. Beaumont rejoined her, Nora’s nerves made it impossible to remain impassive.
Mr. Beaumont reclaimed Tristan’s basket, deep concern etched at the corners of his eyes and mouth. “Do you want me to stay with you?”
She wanted to say yes, to have his hand hold hers and his presence calm her like it had at church, but he had enough to bear. He didn’t need her burden as well. “I’ll be fine.”
He nodded, but his frown deepened.
Belatedly, she remembered their discussion about yokes and sharing burdens, but there was nothing for it. She’d given her answer.
“Take that beast to the reception room. I’ll be around with your mother after I’ve finished with Miss Davis.
” Nurse Abbott waited until Ezekiel and Tristan disappeared from view, then she took Nora’s hand.
“I’m afraid your mother has experienced a setback in her recovery, and Dr. Chalfant has rescinded visitor privileges.
He believes your visits have contributed to her decline. ”
The announcement came like a physical blow. Nora didn’t know what she had expected, but it wasn’t this. “Are you saying I can’t see her? For how long?”
Nurse Abbott patted her hand. “Not until she’s healed.”
In other words, never. The weight of a lifetime without Mum crushed like an elephant sitting on her chest.
“I’ve done my best, but Dr. Chalfant refused to change his mind. This will be your last visit, and a shortened one at that. It was all I could convince him to allow.”
How she wanted to deny Dr. Chalfant’s power to refuse access to Mum, but the horrid truth was Mum’s long-ago attack on that innocent man had made her a ward of the state.
Father paid for better treatment, but for all intents and purposes, Dr. Chalfant was Mum’s warden.
Until he declared her healed and sane, not even Father could have her released or transferred elsewhere.
“What has Mum done to bring about such punishment?”
“Life as Constanza Brisbane isn’t enough. She’s now claiming to be Katherine Yates, an English opera singer and thief.”
Katherine Yates? The woman from the libretto? The woman Winston and Ursula claimed was Nora’s mum?
Nora backed up until the wall supported her. Was Katherine Yates real? And was Mum really her? Or had Mum truly descended into madness? Which was worse—the questions surrounding Katherine Yates, or the news that Nora had been denied a future with Mum?
“I knew you’d take it badly.” Nurse Abbott’s arm came around her waist. “Come, let’s get you to a chair before you faint away.”
Nora wasn’t in danger of fainting, but she allowed the support as they shuffled to the reception room. Her mind was too awhirl not to. Which horrible announcement could she even begin to sort through? It was all too much.
The resounding gong of no more visits won out.
After every choice she’d made, every dream she’d squashed, every secret she’d kept to preserve her family, it had all been for naught.
The hope of a reunited family had always been more fantasy than reality, but now there was finality to it.
A death without hope of resurrection. There would never be talks with Mum of everyday things, laughter over the oddities of life, shared mourning for the hurts incurred by others, lessons on managing a household or doing her hair, and no advice for what made a man a worthy suitor and husband.
She still had Father, but a mum understood things a father never could.
Mr. Beaumont must have been waiting for her, because as soon as she walked through the door, he was at her side.
After one sweeping glance, he enfolded her in his strong arms and held her securely against his chest. His strength was the only reason she remained on her feet.
One quiet shush that all would be well, and she burst into racking sobs.
He was wrong. Death would be easier than this parting, this knowing Mum was alive but forever out of reach.
And what about the questions surrounding Mum’s identity?
Who was Katherine Yates? Was Mum the real-life heroine of the tragic opera she’d penned, or was Katherine a figment of her imagination?
Was Winston a former criminal partner, or had the kidnapper been a jealous colleague as Father claimed?
How would she find the answers when she would never again see or speak to Mum?
“Calm yourself, child, or I cannot allow you to see your mother. Dr. Chalfant is already against this meeting. If you’re not calm, neither will she be.” Nurse Abbott’s words did little to achieve the desired effect.
“Could you give us a few minutes alone?” Mr. Beaumont’s deep rumbling against her cheek carried a wealth of concern and care.
“That is highly improper.”
“She’s my fiancée, which provides us a little leniency in the rules of propriety.”
It was a bold lie, but Nora didn’t care. As wrong as it was, she couldn’t face this alone. She needed him to be Ezekiel, the friend who shared her burdens, not merely Mr. Beaumont.
He continued talking, oblivious to his successful destruction of the last wall guarding her heart from him. “If you want her calm, then please allow us a few minutes alone. I think it is quite obvious by her state that nothing untoward will happen.”
Nurse Abbott muttered but gave her consent and left the room.