Chapter 24 Jahleel—What’s Up With That Woman?
JAHLEEL—WHAT’S UP WITH THAT WOMAN?
Lydia joins me for dinner in my chambers. The grin on her face and the light in her mirror-black eyes delight me.
“Papa Duke,” she says, “I taught Lada to wiggle-walk a little.”
“Wiggle-walk? What is that?”
“She just has to hop a little and wiggle her bottom, and then she can get in and out of her basket. She needs a little help.”
“So you’re taking care of Katherine’s kitten?”
“Yes. Mr. Steele and I share. It’s a big responsibility.”
“Why isn’t your mother taking care of her cat?”
Lydia’s head tilts, and she has the expression that Katherine often gives me, a you-said-something-silly look. “She has to work.”
The woman doesn’t need to work. And it’s dark. She should be here. “Have you seen her today?”
“Yes. She stopped by the library. She didn’t come on time, but she came.” She sips her tea, then looks down. Her voice lowers. “That’s something.”
“What’s wrong, my dorogaya?”
“Katherine wasn’t too happy.”
Stretching, I lift her to my lap. “Tell your papen’ka. Maybe I can make it better.”
Her shoulder shrugs. “You can’t fix this.”
“This sounds very serious. Maybe you and I can fix it together.”
Lydia nods. “Katherine didn’t think that I care about her.” She folds her arms. “I care, but I’m still mad. Can’t I still be mad?”
“You can be whatever you want to be. Say the word, and I’ll do anything to make it happen.”
She studies me and then dips her head. “You can’t give us time back.”
My mouth dries. My heart stings. “We have now, Lydia. That is more than most.”
“You could’ve been my papen’ka for my whole life. Not just now.”
She pouts, and it’s my sister’s angry face. Why didn’t I see it before? Maybe I couldn’t. Some truths are too painful.
Part of me understands why Katherine ran from me. Yet, like my daughter, I can care and be mad at Katherine for taking away our time.
I brush Lydia’s curly hair and memorize the smell of coconut oil and the feel of the fine texture. “We must live in the moment. Do as much as we can while we’re healthy.”
Pulling her face close to mine, I say, “The best day ever was when I met you.”
“’Cause Tavis died?”
“I was thinking of how you held on to my legs so I couldn’t leave. I think I loved you then.”
“Is that it, Papa Duke, my papen’ka? If I hold onto you and you hold onto me, then we can’t go?”
“That isn’t … Da, we hold onto each other. And live every day big.”
“Big.”
“Da. Huge.”
“Gigantic.”
“Daaa. Every day.”
She puts her arms tightly about my neck.
I lift myself and, first with my cane and then without support, spin her. “You’re a bird, Lidochka. You will fly high.”
“Like an angel?”
I stop and ease her to the floor. My gaze fixes on my sickbed and this large bedchamber that seems too small to fit all my hopes and dreams for my child, or even for me.
“You are an angel, but we must stay here as long as we can.” Winded, I settle back in my chair and drink more of Scarlett’s tea.
Lydia holds onto my leg. “You don’t lie. Even though I do wish you would. Wish you’d say we’re going to be alright.”
“We are fine, Lidochka, right now.”
She beams, clamps onto my unsteady knee, and chatters about her lesson, talking louder than the banging from the tub and the pails of water servants are carrying to Katherine.
Forcing myself not to think of what new things are affecting my mistress, I focus on the sounds of my daughter’s happy voice, telling me of Lada and the dreams that any little princess should have.
The lack of movement in Katherine’s adjoining room puzzles me. Servants’ footfalls quieted an hour ago. Lydia went with her nurse, too. I sit at my table, away from the bed, and enjoy the last of my buttery kartoshka.
As I finish another cup of Scarlett’s tea, I feel restless.
Mr. Steele confirmed that Katherine returned to Anya House. He said her dray looked like it had been pelted with garbage. Would Katherine tell me if she were in trouble? Like Lydia said, we can be mad at her and care greatly.
The knock on my bedchamber door sounds ominous.
“Your Grace, may I enter?”
“Da. Come, Steele.”
My steward enters and hands me a pile of correspondence. The one on top is from the Palmerses, Tavis’s parents.
As more footmen enter to clear dishes, I decide to read it later. After a servant stokes my fireplace, they all leave, and I ask Steele, “What don’t I know about Lady Hampton?”
My steward offers me an odd but familiar look, and points to the letter from the Palmerses. “Seems forces of ill are gathering again. I could do more research, but the current list of potential husbands has begged off.”
No candidates for Katherine. Deep down that doesn’t seem so bad. “A new list, Steele.”
“We solve the Palmers problem; we solve the list problem.” His lips curving across his wizened face remind me of all the times that his sharp countenance gave me confidence that whatever had been done wrong in the world would soon be righted.
But I can’t fall back upon old comforts or habits.
“Your Grace, command me. I can—”
“Nyet. I must consult with Lady Hampton. I’ll let you know what to do tomorrow.”
“No command? You feel well, sir?”
Stupid and useless—these fevers ravish my thoughts. “Well enough.” I lift from my chair. “Lady Hampton needs to tell me what happened. And why she and my mother are suddenly friendly. And why the Palmerses are out for blood. I must’ve missed too many things.”
The man chuckles. “The princess is probably trying to get information from her. Clever woman, clever son.”
I didn’t particularly feel that smart, realizing that my romantic overtures are missing the mark. I go to the vase of chrysanthemums sitting on my bed table. “Can you get rid of these, Mr. Steele?”
The man sweeps to them. “Ah, she didn’t like these? They are beautiful. She’s just being—”
“They remind her of death. Please remove all of them from Anya House.”
His thick eyebrows come together as he squints at me. “Everywhere?”
“Da. Death can’t be everywhere for her.” I’m enough of a reminder.
“The garden and maze, too?”
“Leave some in the maze. Replace everywhere else with roses. And hibiscus. That’s a nice touch.”
Mr. Steele’s blank look becomes a slight grin. “Yes. Something to do.”
Ordering him to follow Katherine would offer the man more.
But it would also make the secretive woman feel lesser. I won’t treat her like she can do nothing without me, even if I wish this to be true. Those are normal dreams. That’s not us.
My patience evaporates when the clock above my fireplace indicates ten minutes after ten. Sitting on my bed, with the copy of Pride and Prejudice on the bedside chair, I feel anxious. My mistress is late for our appointment.
Could she be so tired from her duties at Wilcox Coal that she fell asleep? After a warm bath, that’s a possibility.
Taking up the correspondence again, I unfold it and read the Palmerses’ demand for restitution. They want a written apology from me, which is tantamount to admitting fraud. They’re fools. This will go unanswered, but I know they will not go away.
Crumpling the page exposes shakes in my hand.
Did Scarlett’s new tea do this? Is anxiety a new manifestation of illness? Perhaps my body needs time to adjust.
I sigh and sip. There’s always the possibility that my little woman of science has stumbled upon the formula to heal me. Hope makes me finish the tea, downing every drop. Invigorated, I put down the cup and slowly approach my closet.
With my cane, I move to the connecting door, but a knock at the main door alerts me. “Torrance, can I come in?”
“Carew, please.” I head back into my bedchamber.
My physician enters to check on me. “I see you’ve finally dressed for bed. You’re more confident in your recovery.”
I feel secure that I’ll awaken in the morning. If I’m wrong, the new nightshirt of oxblood red is worthy of haunting. Under my pressed indigo robe, it looks powerful. “Between you and Madame Carew’s care, I’ve much more assurance in living.”
My friend sets down his bag. “If you are so sure, can I have my wife back?”
My face cranes to his as I sit and give him my wrist. “What do you mean? You’re not jealous?”
“No, but Scarlett is obsessed with finding you and Lady Lydia a cure. It’s admirable, but—”
Sighing so loudly, I stop his discouraging words. “She believes. I must believe.”
He nods and pulls out his stethoscope. Listening to me breathe, he says, “Mostly clear, but a little whistle.”
I slump a little forward. The mattress of my sickbed welcomes me again.
“Torrance. This is not the sickness, but it might be fatigue. Steele told me that you are exercising your limbs, pushing yourself to regain balance.” He folds his arms. “Your will to be healthy got you out of this bed sooner than maybe your body wanted. But my wife is right. Attitude is the key.”
Carew packs up his equipment. “Scarlett says you and Lady Hampton have a new bet. Something about finding new spouses.”
“I should move forward with my life. You would agree?”
“Then you won’t be upset that I told my aunts you were looking for a bride.”
“What? Carew.”
“Torrance, they are asking so many questions, I had to tell them something. They wish to meet you. They would be thrilled if your tastes go beyond Mayfair. They love liberal members of the ton.”
The smirk on the physician’s face tells me all I need to know about the immigrant population and the Blackamoors. “Invite the Cheapside delegation to Anya House for tea? I want them to be truly welcomed.”
The clasp on his brown bag makes a large snap when closed. “I can arrange that, but they will still expect you to come to Cheapside.”
Those stairs will have to be defeated to accomplish that. “I’ll make time soon.” But I must make it down the stairs first. “When is Thom’s surgery to be done?”
“Well, now that you are on the mend, Scarlett and I will schedule it.” He sighs hard. “I’ll have to contact Livingston. His expertise in eye anatomy could prove useful.”
“Good. Thom needs his sight. The cupping procedure has promise.”
“Yes, Your Grace. We will set up in your secret room. The light in there will be most beneficial.”