Chapter 9
“Good afternoon…Madam.” The short, stout man bowed over her hand, and the afternoon disappeared in the breeze along with Nell’s heartbeat.
She froze in place as she felt his breath fall onto her skin.
“Good afternoon, my lord,” he said as he turned to Adrian. “I am Mr. Greaves. I am looking for a Mr. Coombe. He is the steward for the Earl of Ashcroft.”
“I am the Earl of Ashcroft, Mr. Greaves,” Adrian said almost protectively. “Allow me to introduce my wife, the Countess of Ashcroft.”
“Oh, I cannot believe my mistake. Please do forgive me, my lordship,” he said, correcting himself, and something in his tone did not seem genuine.
“It is my fault for not entering and announcing myself properly, hoping to find Mr. Coombe and not bother you or your household. You see, I am but a man of business, engaged with your steward on a small matter.”
“What sort of matter?” Adrian asked sharply.
“Of the estate’s accounts, a small matter for Mr. Coombe.”
“Indeed,” Adrian said. “Here is Mr. Coombe now,” he said, gesturing a few yards away as Mr. Coombe approached them.
“Your lordship, it is truly an honor to meet you,” Mr. Greaves said as he tipped his hat and began walking away toward Mr. Coombe. “And a very great pleasure to meet you, my lady,” he said more slowly, as though tasting the word. He held her gaze a moment longer and walked away.
Nothing in what he said was improper, but everything beneath it was. She felt herself shiver in the wake of his exit.
It was all so bizarre: his coming toward them on nondescript business, his just approaching them, and the uncanny familiarity of his round face. She felt the strangeness of it settle in her chest when it hit her. She had seen him before. More than that, she knew him.
“Are you all right, Honoria?” Adrian asked.
Nell did not answer then; she stared at Mr. Greaves’ back as he talked to Mr. Coombe. It came to her like a wave to the chest, almost knocking her over.
Yes, Plymouth! Some years back now…the paperman!
Mr. Greaves was a newspaperman who’d hung about her father’s sickrooms before he had passed. He always had more interest in the patients than in their healing, who was there, and for what purpose. He was always at the edge of a room, always watching. She had barely marked him then.
He was just one more idle man drawn to the theater of a surgery, the way men were sometimes drawn to a hanging at the gallows. She understood now, watching the satisfaction in his face as he looked back at her over his shoulder, that he had marked her a great deal more closely than she thought.
“I am all right, just a chill,” Nell said finally.
Mr. Greaves may not be certain it’s me, the old surgeon’s daughter, she told herself as she watched them continue to walk back toward the house.
He may do nothing with it, even if he is certain.
Although busybodies like Mr. Greaves always find a way to profit from the misfortunes of others…
No, he will not let this go, she realized as they entered the hall, joined by Cassandra and Tristan.. I can always escape…
For one long, dizzying moment she thought of the jewels sewn into her trunk upstairs, and how far they might carry a woman who left tonight, on foot if she had to, before anyone thought to look for her.
She thought of packing up everything and running when Cassandra made a small sound beside her in the foyer.
It happened fast, the color gone from her face in a single breath. Her hand grasped the air and her footing faltered. She began to teeter over when Tristan reached her first, his cane forgotten, catching her before she could reach the ground. Adrian was a step behind him already.
“Mrs. Scott, please fetch supplies!” Adrian called out. “Bring them to Lady Cassandra’s quarters.”
“At once, my lord!”
Between the two men, they got her up the stairs and into her room. Nell was close on their heels, giving instructions as they entered.
“Lay her flat, not propped up. She should be completely flat,” she ordered. “Draw the curtain, all the way, and don’t let anyone speak above a murmur.”
They followed her orders quietly.
“Cassandra, look at me, only me, not the ceiling,” Nell said as she grabbed a chair and pulled it close to the bedside, sitting down.
Cassandra turned, her face green as grass. Nell shook her head and set to work, the way her father had taught her on a ship’s deck years before with sailors twice her size and half again as frightened.
Her father always said to “steady the fear” first, because a frightened body fought its own healing worse than any injury could. She kept her voice low and even and unbroken, a single thread for Cassandra to hold to until the worst of the shaking passed and only the spinning was left to manage.
“I am here,” she reminded her, soft and sweet, over and over.
Adrian did not look away from her hands the whole time.
Nell felt Adrian’s gaze on her, even without turning to check, as much as she knew her own shadow was attached to her body.
She leaned into the weight of his attention, fixed and unwavering, on the work itself rather than on her. They all remained in silence.
“The worst is over,” Cassandra ground out as she wiped a bit of sweat from her brow, drained but steady against her pillows. Tears poured from her eyes like rain.
“It is all right—” Adrian started.
“I am tired of being kept like a piece of fine China, locked in a cabinet,” she said in a thick voice, dashing at her eyes with the back of her hand as if angry at them for betraying her. “I want to go out! If I did, I would have more capacity for such things.”
“Cassandra—” Adrian pressed.
“No, Adrian. You must listen to me. I want to see people who are not this room and this house and the four of you looking at me as though I might shatter. I want to live, my brother, not merely survive in the dark until…until I don’t.”
“No,” Adrian said, sharp, immediate, and final, cutting the delicate tie between brother and sister like an icicle.
“A life shut away in the dark is no life at all,” Nell said, and meant it.
“She is stronger than she has been in years. You know it. I know it. There is a difference between caution and a cage. This was a small misstep, and it is only going to add to her grief to keep her locked away. She will only grow stronger if she is challenged, safely and appropriately and—”
“You do not know what you’re asking for,” he growled, and Nell felt the weight of his emotion hit her in the chest, as it had only once before.
“I know exactly what I’m asking for her,” Nell said, holding his eyes, and did not say the rest of it, nor did she look at Tristan.
I will not say that an outing into society, into rooms full of prodding eyes and fancy names and idle gossip, was very possibly the single most dangerous thing in the world, not for Cassandra’s balance but for me, the false countess arguing so passionately on her behalf! But it is the right thing to do…
“She is not ready.”
“Who is ever ready for such blasted things?”
“You are not making a strong argument—”
“She will never be ready, if readiness is what you’re waiting on. She’ll only grow more used to the dark.”
They looked at each other over the bed, Cassandra watching the two of them as if their argument was a badminton match, when a servant appeared at the door, breathless and pale.
“My lord…I am kindly begging your pardon, but you’re wanted below. At once.”
“Now is not the time—”
“It’s from the village, my lord. Something’s happened, and bad by the sound of it…They’re asking up at the house whether there’s anyone here who can help. A man, hurt badly doing some work.”
“What of the village doctor? Is he not available? Why would they think there would be someone in my household who could assist?”
“From what I understand, the village doctor has taken a brief holiday to visit his daughter in Scotland. He is due back in three days’ time. They were desperate, and thought to come to you, my Lord, to see if you had any—”
Adrian was already moving for the door before the servant had finished.