Chapter Ten #2
Esme only just held back from clapping as horse and rider cantered toward the main gates.
Once they had passed out of sight, she put her back against the wall and sighed deeply. Jonah’s exploits made her feel idle for staying so long in her chamber, but there was little to tempt her outside.
Not even Adam’s company.
“’Tis just you and I again, Felicity,” she told the little cat as she returned to her chair. Felicity promptly jumped back onto her lap and Esme, reluctantly, picked up her embroidery.
Mayhap it was because of the cat’s constant purring, but Esme found the time went by quicker than expected. It was only when the rumbling of her stomach grew too loud for even Felicity to ignore, that she put her embroidery aside and stretched her arms over her head.
“’Tis time to venture beyond these walls,” she said to galvanize herself.
Felicity was none too pleased at this second interruption, but she wound about Esme’s ankles as she dressed in a simple pale blue gown, belted at the waist and buttoned at the front. The cat waited at the door, then trotted away down the long gallery, her tail held high.
“Where are you going in such a hurry?” Esme called. “Most likely the kitchen,” she answered her own question.
She found no wish to linger in the great hall, which seemed to mock her solitude with its empty chairs and unlaid table.
Biting her lip, Esme could not help but remember the bustling great hall at Wolvesley, which was so rarely quiet and scarcely ever empty.
But not even the sleepy hounds—usually stretched out by the fire—were present to welcome her today.
Esme gave in to another wave of self-pity.
“Everyone has left me.” At a loss for what else to do, she followed Felicity’s example and wandered through the narrow passage toward the kitchen, deliberately blocking out the memories of when she and Adam had become entangled together.
The stone flags beneath her feet rang with her solo footsteps.
She emerged into warmth and light. Agnes was red-faced and perspiring, rolling out pastry on the big wooden table.
Even the open door and windows could not mitigate the bellowing heat from a big fire beneath the ovens.
Esme sniffed hungrily, scenting roasting meat and something sweet.
Felicity, she saw, was delicately nibbling at some cuts of meat which had been placed in a small bowl on the floor.
Agnes straightened up hurriedly. “Milady. Can I help you?”
She had intended to ask for a late luncheon, but now she felt guilty at imposing.
“I would like to help you, Agnes,” she said, surprising herself just as much as the cook.
Agnes blinked. “Help me?”
Esme opened her arms. “I am at a loss for occupation and the hours are pressing heavily upon me.”
The ageing cook did not exhibit much sympathy. “There is danger in a kitchen,” she said flatly. “’Tis all too easy to cut or scald yourself. I would not see you come to harm, milady.”
“But Frida is often in here.” Esme folded her arms, not willing to be so easily dissuaded.
“Indeed, she is. And I was most put out about it, when first she came.” Agnes threw her the ghost of a smile. “If you are so intent on staying put, you can cut this into rounds.”
Esme had no idea what that meant, but she walked forward and accepted the serrated pastry cutter with an outward show of nonchalance.
Agnes rolled her sleeves above her elbows, displaying forearms made strong through years of chopping and stirring. “Do you know what to do?”
Esme eyed the misshapen pastry and took a guess. “Of course.”
“Put the tarts on here.” Agnes banged a tray down beside her. “You can stud them with raisins from the jar.”
Glancing about her, Esme nodded. This had been a mere whim, but now she was beginning to enjoy herself. The pastry was soft and malleable beneath her fingers, the raisins were plump and juicy. She stole a handful whilst Agnes was turned away.
The cook grunted with effort as she pulled something from the oven, wafting steam away from her face.
“’Tis hotter than hell in here.”
Esme giggled; she couldn’t help it. No one had spoken to her so bluntly since her sister Isabella got married.
“It must be a blessing in the depths of winter,” she suggested.
“Aye, and a curse on a hot summer’s day.” Agnes pushed her long plait out of her way and surveyed Esme’s handiwork. “A decent effort,” she admitted.
Esme dipped into a short curtsy. “Why, thank you.”
The cook’s face was briefly transformed with a genuine smile of amusement. “I never thought I’d see Lady Esme de Neville with flour on her nose.”
“Have I?” Esme reached to her face with alarm.
“’Tis all over your cheeks now.”
“Bother.” Esme wiped her palms on her skirts, conscious of the white streaks she was putting there.
“Wash your hands in the sink, milady. Then I suggest you retire for a while. I’ll have Jennifer bring you some bread and cheese.”
Esme wrinkled her nose. “In truth, Agnes, I do not wish to sit alone in the great hall.”
“No more would I.” Agnes inclined her head. “Why not join your brother in the solar? He might be glad of your company.” She met Esme’s eye and gave a conspiratorial grin. “All things may be possible on this day.”
“You mean since I helped in the kitchen?” Esme gave a peal of laughter. “’Tis a theory I would willingly test. Alas, Jonah has already gone out. I saw him leave earlier.”
“Then you will have the solar to yourself,” Agnes said equably. “’Tis a pleasant room.”
“You’re right.” Esme nodded. Why should the solar be the preserve of her brother anyway?
He was hardly master here. She poured cold water over her hands at the big sink, flinching at the sudden chill and drying them on a nearby cloth.
“Thank you, Agnes,” she said sincerely. “I hope I have at least been some help and not taken up too much of your time.”
“You are welcome any time you wish.”
’Twas a trite sentiment, but Esme fancied it was honestly meant as she wandered back along the stone-flagged passageway.
Once ensconced in the solar, she found herself drawn to the neatly arranged squares of parchment upon which Jonah had inscribed his poems. She read the first, feeling a little as if she was intruding, but the words flowed so beautifully and the images he conjured were so vivid, she quickly picked up the second.
When Jennifer brought in a tray of foodstuffs, Esme was tucked up on the settle, deep into the third.
“Thank you, Jennifer,” she murmured, unwilling to lift her gaze from her brother’s poetry.
When she finally looked up to tear off a hunk of bread, there were tears in her eyes.
Who would have thought her sullen brother could capture such sentiments and express them so eloquently?
Esme shuffled the parchment in her hands, feeling oddly moved. There was no doubt that Jonah wrote of love. Deep love. ’Twas naught like the giddy rush of attraction she had once felt for Crispin.
Nonetheless, his words stirred something within her; connecting her to an emotion she had not dared yet give voice to.
Not even quietly, to herself. But now, in the quiet of the solar, her pulse quickened, and a sort of wild fancy gripped her, urging her to look deep within her heart and confess to the truth she found there.
The truth about a man with piercing green eyes and threads of silver in his dark hair.
But as she trembled on the brink, hoofbeats sounded on the cobbles outside the window and she realized she must leave the solar before Jonah found her lurking there.
Tightening her lips, she swiftly gathered up the pieces of parchment and placed them neatly on the desk, hoping she had correctly recalled the order of them. But one glance out of the window told her there was no need for haste. The returning horseman was not Jonah, but merely one of the guards.
Relief made her knees go weak and she sagged against the wooden desk, feeling her heart pound beneath her bodice. Then she frowned and looked again out of the window, observing the long shadows which stretched the length of the courtyard. The hour had grown late, and Jonah had not yet returned.
Her relief was immediately replaced by the first flicker of concern.
Surely, her brother did not intend to be absent for so long? He had given no instruction of his intent to stay away; Agnes did not even know he had gone.
“Oh, Jonah.” Esme put a hand to her heart, recalling her harsh words to him that morn.
Had he ridden off in a huff? Determined to demonstrate the meaning and purpose that she had derided him for lacking?
Breathing deeply to quell her nerves, Esme crossed to the window so she might have a better view of the path from the gates.
It was empty.
What should I do?
Panic gripped her by the shoulders. Jonah might have fallen.
Even now, he might be laying injured in a ditch.
And it would all be her fault. Not only because of how she had spoken to him—words said in temper that had wounded one with such a sensitive soul—but also because she was his sister.
She had watched him ride away. She should have noticed, before now, that he had not returned.
Frida was gone and there was no one else to watch over him.
She wrung her hands and tried to steady her thoughts.
As tempting as it was to rush out to the stables, demand a horse and set off in pursuit, she knew this would not be sensible.
For one, she had no idea which direction Jonah had ridden in.
For another, darkness would soon be upon them and the drop from the cliff tops was severe.
As this thought crystallized in her mind, Esme was obliged to grip the desk to steady herself in a chamber that swung about her.
And then the answer came to her, like a loud horn blast carrying through the fog.
Adam is here.
He would help her.
She had hoped to avoid him, after yesterday’s awkwardness. But these concerns now seemed trivial. She swept from the solar, pleased to encounter Jennifer building up the fire in the great hall.
“Where is Adam?” she asked without preamble.
The housemaid looked surprised. “I have not seen him this day, milady.”
Esme sought to contain her frustration. “Not at all?”
“Agnes said he was keeping to his chamber.” Jennifer’s hazel eyes flickered to the logs on the fire, then back to Esme.
“And where is that?”
“His chamber?” The housemaid blanched.
Esme’s folded her hands together to stop her flinging them about. “Aye, his chamber. Where can I find it.”
“’Tis on the very top floor. I dinna ken which one though, milady.”
“No matter, I shall find it.” Esme spun around and made for the staircase, but Jennifer called her back.
“You’ll need to take the servant’s stairs.” She pointed to a low wooden door in the far corner of the room.
Esme hid her discomposure. She had never even noticed this second door. “Thank you, Jennifer.”
The servant’s stairs were small and narrow; in her haste, Esme feared she might trip.
She picked up her skirts and ascended as quickly as she could, pleased to emerge onto roughly plastered landing.
She took a moment to catch her breath, relieved that high, narrow windows had been carved into the outer wall as she had not thought to bring a torch.
But the fading light meant it was hard to make out very much.
Esme looked left and right. To one side of her was a dead end. One the other, a narrow passage led to two wooden doors; one of which stood ajar.
Downstairs in the solar, Esme had felt as if she were intruding in her brother’s private space, but that was naught to the trepidation she knew now.
She had never been up here. She did not belong here.
But surely, she could not be accused of trespassing in her sister’s home?
’Twas only that she felt out of place. And back home at Wolvesley; Esme had never once experienced such an emotion.
Swallowing her anxieties, she held her head high and marched toward the pair of doors. By inclining her head at an awkward angle, she could spy a sort of store through the gap of the open door.
Adam’s chamber must be opposite.
Esme took a deep breath and knocked.