Chapter Seven
Dawn broke as Abigail slipped from the house.
She had in part listened to her sister last night, acknowledged the scolding but not the warning.
It didn’t matter what society might think of her.
After all, it already relegated her to the role of the town’s strange spinster, she might as well do as she pleased.
Abigail strode on through the cottages, houses, seeing only the occasional servant this early in the morning. The crystalized coolness of the early morning was best enjoyed alone.
She was preoccupied by the hope of seeing Mr. O’Sullivan, as they had much to discuss.
Primarily, she had her rather shocking request to make of him.
Her stomach turned over at the thought, a blend of nerves and excitement, a sensation Abigail normally associated solely with the discovery of a particularly rare specimen but was beginning to connect the rush of feeling with Mr. O’Sullivan as well.
On reaching the edge of the promenade, Abigail made her way down onto the beach, her footfalls quick over the pebbles until she stood in front of the lapping waves. In haste, she discarded her boots and stockings on the shale and stepped forward into the water.
Of course, later she would begin her search through the Blue Lias, mud peat, and rocks for her fossils, but right now she might simply enjoy the pleasure of dipping her toes into the rolling waves without an audience.
The chill of the sea lapped over her feet sending awareness up through her body, and Abigail let out a sigh.
It had become a ritual for her following any especially unpleasant social interaction to come and let the sea soak her feet and pull away her worries—yanking away the thoughts of the Miss Costigans and their ilk, Judith’s worries, the dismissive stare of Mr. Suchet—casting these negatives aside and letting only the memory of Robert remain.
“Ahoy there,” someone cut into the calm with a lilting voice. Abigail turned around to see the very man she had spent most of the night dreaming of.
He was fast about approaching her.
Mr. O’Sullivan appeared fresh faced and jovial, his somber garb from last night discarded in favor of a buff pair of breeches and a loose white shirt.
In one arm, he carried his navy jacket. Abigail noted how well it all became him—as if appearing pleasing, his skin warmed by the sun, his blue gaze sharpened by the colors he picked to wear—were just a happy accident for him to look as handsome as he did.
Whereas it took her hours to appear lovely, and her efforts were normally put to better uses.
“Hello.” She stepped back from the sea, dropping her long pantaloon folds to better hide her bare ankles.
“I thought our meeting was not for several hours,” he remarked as Abigail wondered how best to re-dress.
This was precisely the sort of situation her sister had been railing against last night, but such warnings did little good now—the stockings and shoes would need to be put back on regardless.
With this in mind, Abigail bent down and scooped up all the items and marched away from the water’s edge.
“You’re early,” she said, sitting down and placing one bare foot on her knee, so that she pulled on her stockings.
She worked with speed as it seemed unnecessary to prolong an interaction, but when she glanced up, it was to see Mr. O’Sullivan look rather pink-cheeked despite the relative coolness of the day.
With as much dexterity as she could manage, she tied up the laces of her boots.
“I hope it was not wrong of me to come over, I can of course depart—” He sounded remarkably flustered.
Abigail feared he might somehow have overheard Judith’s tirade from last night, which was utter nonsense since it had chiefly been delivered on their walk home and then in the comfort of their own home.
Discretion, proper manners, and social niceties had all been words Judith muttered.
The gist of the bombardment had been to stay away from Mr. O’Sullivan, which Abigail had no intention of doing.
“No, of course not. I am always happy to see you,” Abigail said. “Will you help me up?”
Mr. Sullivan shot out his hand and Abigail snatched hold of it, together pulling her onto her feet.
“I enjoyed last night,” he said as he released her hand. Abigail glanced quickly toward the promenade to see if their interaction might have been spotted. Thankfully they were alone.
“I am not certain I believe you.”
“No?”
“You danced with two other females, but did not seem to linger. I believe there were many young ladies vastly disappointed by your ‘poor show’.” Abigail quoted Miss Guthrie’s words, and smiled at Mr. O’Sullivan to show she did not hold much stock with such sentiments.
“I went to the card room.”
“Did you win anything?”
Mr. O’Sullivan shot her look, which Abigail was not able to read. Did he mean to look scalding or surprised? She studied him and then decided she would simply ask, “Am I being badly behaved? Should women not ask about gambling?”
To her delight, he shrugged. “You can ask me whatever you please, and I would not dream of thinking you capable of bad behavior.”
“My sister thinks I am liable for creating a scandal.” She started walking toward the cliffs, seeing no reason they should dally and not make straight for their normal fossil hunting. There had been enough rain in recent days, which should make the finding of curios easier.
“Why?”
A woman better at flirting would have turned it back at Mr. O’Sullivan twisting it somehow for her advantage, but Abigail doubted her abilities in that regard, so she said something that was still true but not quite what Judith had meant. “She thinks I do not care for society’s rules.”
“You do not.”
It was not a question, and Abigail was pleased he was able to know her well enough for that. “There are always some great niceties that I forget or when I remember them, I simply think them seem silly to me.”
“Would you extend that theory onto all laws that our society holds onto?”
“I am not certain,” she said. “There are a great many rules that govern women which are not applied to men in the same way.”
“I did refer to either men or women.”
There were a great many rules that she was supposed to obey, indeed all women were if they had any hope of being deemed ladies, but it did not seem as if Mr. O’Sullivan was alluding to that.
Could he mean a more metaphysical ruling—say something religious?
Some, as Miss Costigan had mentioned, disliked fossils because they thought it undermined their religion.
Some people seemed to think that the study of history undercut the belief in God.
Could Mr. O’Sullivan be alluding to that?
They had discussed these matters previously, so it might well be a topic he wished to return to.
Abigail frowned, trying to pinpoint what he might be referring to.
It would, she reasoned, be far simpler if he just said what he meant.
It was on the tip of her tongue to say this, but she bit it back.
There were things she wished to say to him, where subtlety would be better than simply demanding her wants.
“Without knowing the specifics,” she said, “rules which hold us in place too strictly will of course be broken, it is inevitable. I think a great many rules are mere foolishness.”
“Why are you so certain, Miss Fossey? What if those rules are in place for a good reason? A moral one, that if society was robbed of this guidance, it would be worse off.” His face was growing redder, and he seemed actually annoyed.
“Of course, if a person or a structure…” She trailed off, trying to work out what Mr. O’Sullivan was referring to. “I think you must admit, unless a society is perfect, it would be likely to succumb to the temptation of rule breaking.”
“Even if it is an edict,” he said.
She turned, which led them away from the beach itself, and along a more scenic pathway.
“Of course. Why else would we build prisons?” she said.
They had had many such discussions over the weeks, so perhaps this was yet another he wished to have.
Although there was something oddly heated in his gaze at this moment.
Hastily, she continued. “We build them with the expectation of rules being broken, surely?”
When Abigail realized that Mr. O’Sullivan had not followed her, she turned back, the dawn light faded now the sun was shining around him, creating a pleasing tableau. Yet the man did not seem remotely satisfied with her answer. In fact, he looked furious.
How much Abigail wished to say, ‘Unless I know precisely what you mean, how can I answer?’ Yet he did not give her enough time to form those words.
“I suppose you would at least frown on any activities that meant the culprit ended up in one of those prisons you mentioned?” Mr. O’Sullivan asked.
“Are you scared I would judge a friend of yours who has been convicted?” Abigail asked.
Her reaction caused Mr. O’Sullivan to kick out at the nearest array of rocks, sending them flying in all directions. He strode over to her, snatching up Abigail’s free hand and locked eyes with her, until Abigail could not look away.
“I want to know most keenly if I can trust you.”
“You can, sir.”
“And that your morals mean that you would not hesitate to report a crime if you were aware it was taking place.”
“Do you believe there is some criminality—”
“I know there is.” There was such certainty to his words, Abigail wondered what he might have witnessed, and her mind turned to the most dramatic of all—murder, abduction, rape…what could Mr. O’Sullivan have seen that changed him so greatly?
“Where? Here in town?”
Mr. O’Sullivan nodded with great certainty.
Unwittingly, Abigail must have pulled a face. Her expression always betrayed her. Mr. O’Sullivan released her hand and started along the pathway, putting several steps between the two of them. He moved further from the sea and toward the cliff pathway where they often walked up.