Chapter 15
Going home with Martha hadn’t been hard.
George was taken up with his nymph and Thea knew he wouldn’t look for her until the morning.
Now, Thea stepped out of the carriage in front of the familiar front door of Number One Foxmore Square.
Uncertainty warred with optimism inside her.
Martha hadn’t given her up. She wondered how Doctor Hunter would explain the fact that her blood felt like it was fizzing in her veins.
The front door flew open and there stood a familiar figure.
‘Mrs Jenkins!’ exclaimed Thea, happier than she could say to see Martha’s old, round housekeeper. On better terms this time, she hoped.
Mrs Jenkins’ face went through various stages of comprehension and recognition.
She looked at Martha who smiled and nodded.
Mrs Jenkins threw up her hands in delight.
‘Miss Morell, I mean, my lady – no, my greatest apologies – I mean, Your Grace.’ She made a move towards Thea, and then remembered herself, jigging around on the spot and making her ample curves wobble, a huge grin splitting her face as she looked from Thea to Martha and back again.
Thea couldn’t suppress a chuckle. ‘Come here,’ she said, holding out her arms and moving to kiss the housekeeper on the cheek.
Of course, it wasn’t done and Mrs Jenkins looked a little alarmed, but Thea could never forget the kindness she had shown her in the year she and Martha had been together, nor the grit and determination with which Mrs Jenkins had helped her to save Martha’s reputation and to ensure she saw Martha for one last time before she set off on her first sea voyage.
As she let go, they both looked a little awkward. Mrs Jenkins cleared her throat. ‘So, not that I am prying of course, but–’
Martha cut her off. ‘May we come in, Mrs Jenkins?’ A smile played at the edges of her lips and Thea felt herself almost melt.
‘Oh my goodness, of course, my apologies again.’ Mrs Jenkins moved to the side, allowing Thea and Martha to enter the hallway.
‘The duchess and I met at the masquerade this evening,’ Martha explained easily.
It was as if they had simply bumped into one another, rather than engaging in a pirate and huntress chase through a public garden followed by a heated argument that led to a rain-drenched clinch on a pier.
‘It appears there was some – misunderstanding.’
‘Was there, now?’ asked Mrs Jenkins, crossing her arms and not seeming surprised about that at all.
‘Well, the fire is lit upstairs my lady and the warming pan in, did you want me to–’ she trailed off, knowing full well that whatever Thea and Martha had planned for the rest of the evening, she probably wouldn’t be involved.
Martha looked to Thea and clearly saw the hint of hesitation in her eyes.
‘Just some tea in the parlour, thank you, Mrs Jenkins,’ she said.
‘Then I suspect you can get to bed. I will wake Mr Milne in the stables for the carriage if needed,’ she glanced at Thea warily, the two of them still not quite sure where they stood.
Mrs Jenkins bobbed her understanding. ‘Tea coming right up,’ she said, trying and failing to keep a mischievous grin off her face. ‘The parlour is still warm my lady.’ She scuttled away through the door to the kitchens.
Martha held out her hand to Thea. ‘Will you come in?’ Her eyes were full of so much hope and anxiety at once that Thea just wanted to gather her up in her arms.
‘Try and stop me,’ she said, taking the proffered hand and following Martha into the parlour.
When the tea was served, extra coal on the fire and their hats, cloaks and shoes sent for drying, Martha indicated that Thea should sit in the armchair by the roaring flames.
Their clothes had mostly dried out on the carriage ride, but still the warmth was welcome.
Thea took in the face of the woman she had yearned for.
Now maskless and basked in candlelight, Thea could appreciate her features and the way they had changed.
Martha was almost twenty years Thea’s senior but her face didn’t show it.
Her chestnut hair had lightened, Thea thought, though her skin was darker.
Presumably from the sun in all the exotic places she had been.
How much had the experiences changed her, wondered Thea, and would she still be interested, when she realised how small Thea’s world had remained, in comparison.
Martha, still in her breeches, shirt and waistcoat, pulled up a smaller chair next to the table on which the tea sat. She didn’t sit on it, but stared down at Thea with an analytical intensity, her eyes flitting between Thea’s own.
‘Hmm,’ she said, an eyebrow flicking quizzically.
She stared for a moment longer. ‘I’ll be back shortly,’ she said, and disappeared round the parlour door.
Thea stared after her athletic figure, wondering if she had been taken with an urgent call of nature.
She waited, trying and failing to keep her eyes from the door and digging her stockinged feet into the Turkish carpet.
It was a cosy spot for one. Thea swallowed as she thought of the miserable nights Martha must have spent here – much like her own.
She allowed herself to be comforted by the space in which she and Martha had made so many happy memories.
She jumped a little as Martha returned around the door, carrying a plain wooden box. It looked heavy, and Thea shifted the teacups so Martha could place it on the table between them. On top of it sat two letters with the seals popped open. Martha settled herself on the seat opposite.
‘What is it?’ asked Thea, smiling and intrigued, but Martha leaned forward, placing her hand on the lid of the box and looking intently into Thea’s eyes.
‘I had hoped there would never be reason for you to doubt my feelings, Thea, but I can see that you still do.’ She passed Thea the letters and indicated that she should open them.
Thea did as she was instructed and opened the first piece of parchment.
What she unfolded made her gasp. The hand was just like her own, eerily so, but as she read, she knew that she had never penned these words.
Polite, deferent, but definite that she wanted no further contact with Martha.
That she would only be a distraction as she tried to build a life with George.
That her children came first, and how irresponsible it would be to risk that for an affair with a woman.
‘I didn’t write this,’ she said, looking directly into Martha’s eyes. Martha looked back, and Thea saw that there had still been a question.
‘I am so glad.’ Martha leaned forward and squeezed Thea’s hands, relief writ on her face. Thea looked back at the letter.
‘Wait,’ she said. ‘Here I – I mean whoever wrote this – thanks you for the Gorteria.’
‘Nice plant,’ said Martha.
‘A nice plant that I don’t have,’ said Thea.
‘You don’t?’
Thea let her hand and the letter fall into her lap. ‘Whoever it was – whoever wrote this letter – was intercepting your parcels to me as well as deceiving you.’ She closed her eyes. ‘I thought you were getting fed up with me. Because they stopped coming.’
‘And then I stopped writing and sending them,’ said Martha. ‘Because I thought you had asked me to.’
‘I thought you were disappointed in me because I couldn’t get things to grow.
’ Martha shook her head. ‘And none of it was true,’ said Thea, happiness rising again despite the confusion and uncertainty she still felt.
They wouldn’t solve the mystery tonight, but Martha was here, and right now that was all that mattered.
‘The world in which we live is not made for people like us,’ said Martha, slumping back in her chair. ‘Perhaps I should have found you elsewhere and insisted that we speak, but I knew that I could not bear the rejection in person. I am sorry if that was wrong.’
Thea shook her head. ‘How were you to know?’ She brandished the letter in her hand.
‘I would have been fooled myself. Do you think it is Grimston? I am certain he is the type to bear a grudge after what you did to him at the Royal Society.’ She allowed herself a little pleasure at the memory of Martha outshining the unpleasant man a whole five years ago.
Martha gave a small shrug. ‘I almost hope it is. I can’t think of anyone else who would suspect us or would have such an aversion to our friendship, however, I struggle to consider that he has the skill to produce this with such accuracy.’ She gestured at the letter.
‘And why like this?’ asked Thea. ‘It seems so cruel.’
‘Ah now,’ said Martha, her eyebrows raising. ‘That I can believe of him.’ She looked up into Thea’s eyes. ‘Grimston or not, whoever did this knew that the only thing that could keep me away from you was…’ she paused.
‘Was me,’ finished Thea, understanding.
‘Indeed.’ Martha gave a sad sigh.
‘Not anymore,’ said Thea gently, putting down the letter on the table and capturing both Martha’s hands with her own.
Martha looked down at them, and Thea saw a tear drip onto the letter.
It smudged the ink. It wasn’t the first smudge, she noticed.
‘Not. Any. More,’ she said again, more firmly.
Martha looked up and gave her a sad smile.
Thea squeezed her again and then let go to pour the tea.
‘I am sorry about the kiss,’ she said as they both sipped the welcomely warm liquid.
‘Do you promise you hated it?’ asked Martha, tucking her handkerchief back into a pocket now she’d wiped her eyes.
‘Absolutely awful,’ said Thea. ‘Truly.’