Chapter Twenty-Two
‘You should entertain more often,’ Malek said wryly, perking up from his otherwise silent spectatorship, once Hypatia had disappeared with Helen; and Thorn had had enough time to silently pray nothing might be said, or happen, to distress Hypatia.
He might’ve handled this all better, given Helen the private audience she clearly wished for, and yet he found he had no regrets.
‘The strangest, yet most interesting afternoon I’ve had in a long while. ’
‘You were always a worse hermit than me,’ Thorn pointed out, turning back to his once apprentice, now…whatever he would be. Friend and associate? Friend and…? ‘I can only imagine you didn’t improve much after I left.’
‘I don’t know what you mean. I hosted dinners and balls, and bonfires, and garden parties every day and every night after you left.’ Thorn grinned, and Malek sighed, apology shimmering in his eyes. ‘Are you angry?’
‘With the Quincys, yes. With Helen…no. Unless she injures Hypatia. With you, no.’
‘I should’ve written before I made any decisions, consulted you, asked your opinion—’
‘I gave you the business, what you did with it was your decision. It is bittersweet, I will not lie, and yet, perhaps it was time. What my father built is not lost, and I understand that not everything works out in the manner we hope it to. Today is a prime example,’ Thorn grinned.
‘Basking after our outing, I was looking forward to ending the day with my wife in bed, but instead we came home to a houseful of guests, only one of which I was admittedly glad to see, though I’ll not regret saying that which needed to be to Helen. ’
Malek smiled softly, and downed the remainder of his cold tea.
‘You should speak to them,’ he said quietly, gazing up onto the house’s facade.
‘Her family. I may not be an expert, and I know speaking of important matters is generally not your preferred activity, however from what little I saw, there is much to be said, and I don’t get the impression your wife will be heard were she to do it. ’
Thorn nodded vaguely, knowing Malek was right; he’d already felt that impulse plucking the strings of his heart since their harried departure.
Were he to remain silent now, either they would attempt such a supposed rescue again, or an unbreachable gulf would grow between the Quincys and Hypatia, and knowing what little he did, remembering what she’d shared, he didn’t think that was something she truly wanted.
He was just beginning to wonder if there wasn’t some veracity to her father’s words—that Hypatia would be better off elsewhere, that living as they were featured some absurdity and dishonour—but Malek interrupted him before he could fall too far down that path; one which he knew was the furthest from the truth as possible.
Our life is good. We are happy, and though much needs improvement, we are working on it. Together.
‘I like her,’ Malek said. ‘She is kind, and very clever.’
‘Far cleverer than I,’ Thorn agreed. ‘Far more everything than I might’ve hoped for.’
‘I am glad for you, that your marriage turned out to be one of love in the end.’
‘I don’t… I don’t know if she feels thus for me,’ Thorn admittedly quietly, realising he’d not really had anyone to speak to about this, his doubts, his questions.
He might’ve spoken to any of the workers, or his staff, but it was too close to home.
And in all honesty, Danny and Fred for one were some of the worst gossips, so that was the last thing he needed.
‘She… We care for each other, and I certainly love her more than I thought I ever could. But she is so strong, so independent, so…everything, which is wonderful, I don’t think she needs me enough to love me. ’
‘You believe that a necessity?’
‘In my experience, yes.’
Malek made a non-committal noise, which Thorn was about to ask him to explain, but instead his once apprentice simply shrugged, and spoke again.
‘She gave you a forge.’
‘Yes, I suppose she did,’ Thorn agreed, wondering, hoping, if that meant what his heart thought it did as it leapt and bounded.
‘A forge which I should show you now, see if you like it. I’ve been using it of late, but it would suit you well, if you wish, though I’ll still come pester you now and then. ’
‘It sounds perfect,’ Malek said, and the two rose. ‘If it is near friends again, that will be enough for me.’
Too touched to speak, Thorn merely nodded, and patted the lad on the back, and led him onwards. And as they walked towards the forge, he thought how strange again life was, to bring answers, to bring friendship, to bring resolution and forgiveness, precisely at the time when it was needed most.
Odd as today has been, I find it restores my faith in order, design, and fate.
Taking a deep breath, reminding himself why he was doing this—who he was doing this for—Thorn stood up straight, trying to at once project confidence and appeasement, and knocked on the cottage door.
It was a simple, small, but lovely place, surrounded by lovely fields and pastures, dotted with Reeves’ fluffy white flocks, adding to the pretty picture.
He waited, not overly long, before finally the door opened, Mr Quincy appearing on the other side, looking none too pleased at the visitor.
Well, now you know how that feels.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘There are some things which need to be discussed, and if you’ve any love for your daughter, you will let me in. Or we can all do this outside, if that is your preference.’
Mr Quincy looked about to refuse, but then carefully thought on what had been said, and nodded, stepping aside.
As he entered, Thorn vaguely noted how nicely Reeves had done up the cottage—simply, but tastefully, so that it felt homely, and lived-in, rather than a mere vacant space.
He wondered too, as he stepped in the comfortably sized sitting room, with its plush chairs, and watercolours, flooded by afternoon sun despite lace curtains, who had lived here, or why it was kept thus; merely for visiting guests, yet-to-arrive tenants, or some other purpose entirely.
He shook off those thoughts, and nodded instead to the ladies waiting, perched on those chairs, looking rather red-eyed and forlorn, though attempting cold and distant disdain at his appearance.
‘Mrs Quincy, Miss Quincy,’ he greeted, pondering sitting, but thinking better of it, and leaning on the windowsill instead.
Mr Quincy thought about his position too, and finally settled between his wife and daughter, a hand on both their shoulders in support.
‘Say whatever it is you’ve come to, and be done with it then,’ Quincy ordered, and Thorn realised…many things.
How much love and protection there is in this room; for one daughter, at least.
How lost they all are; caught in their own habits, their own ways, as I was for so long.
Yet they allowed me entry, so perhaps there is hope.
‘I am not typically a man of many words, nor can I claim to know much at all,’ Thorn began, the momentousness of his task, his responsibility and potential inadequacy, even his audience being family of one he loved dearly, hitting him more than it had before.
And luckily so, for if he had fully realised it before, he might not have come at all.
What does that say of me, I wonder? ‘I like to think, that somewhere inside all of you, you know the truth of what I’m about to say, and so will accept it, and find some way to facilitate change.
You’ve never loved Hypatia well, any of you.
’ Protestations rose to their lips, but Thorn raised a warning hand.
‘I believe you love your daughter, and your sister, or at least, I hope so. And if you do, you cannot deny the truth. You have not loved her well, as a daughter, or a sister. Merely as your caretaker, your assistant, your chaperone, your housekeeper… I do not know what led to that, be it circumstance, or your own upbringing. However, as a son who was loved by his father, let me tell you how my heart broke when my wife told me she couldn’t recognise me being proud of her, for she’d never seen such a thing in the eyes of another close to her. ’
The Quincys hung their heads, and gulped, and Epi frowned, taking either longer to understand, or examining her own experience through that lens.
‘Such wounds are not so easily repaired, deep as they are,’ Thorn continued, after having afforded them a moment.
‘And I do not know if they ever truly can be. I do know that she loves you, best she can, given your past. She doesn’t want to lose you, but she needs time, to find herself, to learn what she wishes to, and be free of you, and your demands and needs.
She is your daughter, and your sister, but now, she is herself too, in her own right.
My wife, a woman I admire, and love, and a countess of this realm.
When she is ready, I believe she will reach out to you.
In the meantime, you should refrain from imposing yourselves on her, in any manner.
And as for my last piece of advice, don’t do to Iphigenia what you did to Hypatia.
Don’t sacrifice her at the altar of your ambitions, and self-involvement. ’
Waiting, in case they had anything to say, Thorn watched them; watched guilt, indignation, regret, sadness, resignation, and incomprehension, appear in all of them, like a prism in light. Finally, believing nothing more would be said, he straightened, and made to leave.
‘We don’t…know what to do without her,’ Mrs Quincy said, as quiet and frightened as a bird, and he turned back, offering as much sympathy as he could. ‘London…that is, we are lost without her.’