8 Love And Comfort
“Cora! Cora!”
His lips still burning from that unexpected kiss, Cal froze.
What on earth was he to do? But common sense prevailed.
He had an unconscious woman in his arms, head lolling, arms flopped on the ground.
In one swift movement, he slid one arm under her legs and lifted her up.
Then he turned and started the slow walk to his hut.
If she were still unconscious then, he would need to—
She gave a little groan.
“Cora?” he said tentatively. She wriggled a little, so he added hastily, “No, keep still. I have you safe.”
“Can walk,” she muttered.
“The path widens just past this clump of birches. I’ll set you down there.”
Gently setting her on her feet, he kept one arm round her waist.
“How do you feel? Dizzy? Anything hurting?”
“No… no. I am fine. I can walk now.”
“At least lean on my arm. You were out cold there for a while. You need to be careful.”
“Only for a few moments, I think. I am quite recovered now.” But she took his arm anyway. “How foolish of me… to trip like that.”
“It’s hard to see anything in this light. I’d have brought a lantern if I’d known we were coming this way.”
With Cora leaning heavily on his arm, they made their way slowly along the path, then down the side path to the hut. Cal led her round to the front to sit on the bench, where the lake shimmered, reflecting the many candles burning inside the house.
“Enjoy the view,” he said. “I’ll make you a cup of tea.”
“Thank you, that would be very welcome.”
Inside, he lit the lantern and set it on the hearth while he coaxed the fire back to life.
Then he put the kettle over it. Her kettle, that she had brought so that she could have a cup of tea when she visited him.
Had she known then that her visits might be evening ones?
Had she planned this? And if so, what on earth did it mean?
He shivered, all too aware of her sitting just outside the window.
He had to force himself to concentrate. What did he have to eat that he could offer her?
Nothing but a piece of plum cake he had kept from breakfast to make a bit of supper for himself.
Well, it could just as easily be her supper.
Next time, he would have to make sure to—
Next time? Did he really think there would be a next time? She had baulked at the stepping stones and tripped over the first tree root. Was it likely she would ever want to venture forth with him again?
And yet… ‘I love you, Cal’. Was that a woman who would give up just because of a tree root? If she had planned to visit him at night—
Stop this! Stop wondering and focus on the job in hand. Teapot, cup and saucer… she had brought those, too. No plate, though, but the cake would fit on the saucer.
The kettle came to the boil far too soon for his liking.
He was not at all sure he was ready to face her.
Perhaps he would never be ready, but it had to be done, nevertheless.
He had no idea how long to leave the tea to steep, so he counted to twenty, then poured.
Balancing the cake precariously on the saucer beside the cup, he carefully made his way outside.
“Your cup of tea, and a piece of plum cake.”
“Thank you. How kind you are! I shall not stay long, for I have no wish to disturb your peace and quiet out here, but I am very glad of the tea. The cake… I am not sure I could eat more than a mouthful. The duke keeps a very good table, does he not? Will you help me out with the cake? Look, there is one of the footmen— Robert, I think — dowsing the light over the front door. Froggett will be locking up soon.”
Cal was silent, for all things he wanted to say — why are you here?
do you really love me? and most of all, what do you want of me?
— were impossible to ask. He could only wait for her to decide for herself what precisely she wanted…
or to get over her infatuation, he supposed.
That would be the most appropriate end to this little interlude.
But it was a depressing thought, so he said nothing, and let her talk on.
“There was a great rustling in the undergrowth while you were inside. What might that be?”
“A badger, most likely.”
“Something whooshed over my head, perfectly silent.”
“An owl, I should think.”
“Ah.” Then, quite conversationally, she said, “I should still like to be a butterfly, but I am finding it extraordinarily difficult to escape from my… what do you call it?”
“Chrysalis? Cocoon?”
“Yes.”
“Because you could not use the stepping stones?”
“Yes. I want to, but… when I stand there, willing myself to take that first step, I hear the duke’s voice in my head. ‘Never use the stepping stones, Mrs Merrington. None of you must ever use the stepping stones.’ I cannot disobey that voice. I just cannot.”
“Then you need not,” he said slowly. “There are other ways.”
“Longer and darker and far less convenient, but if I were a butterfly…”
He smiled, although it was almost too dark now for her to see it. “I have to tell you, Cora, that a butterfly may look like the most beautiful and carefree creature, but most of them have very short lives. Two or three days, no more.”
“It would be worth it,” she said calmly. “Thank you for the tea, Cal, but I had better go now.”
“I’ll light the lantern and walk you back to the house.”
***
The following day was so busy, Cal had no time to think about Cora at all.
Charlotte Merrington accosted him at the breakfast table, armed with a notebook and pencil, ready to make a list of furnishings he would need for his hut.
Then she whisked him off to the attics, accompanied by her sisters, to see what might be found there of use.
“The duke hasn’t yet given his permission for me to live there,” Cal said.
“Even if he does not, you will be wanting accommodation somewhere, since a room at Staineybank is not to your liking,” she said. “No, no, I understand. You prefer to be out in the woods. How many rooms does this hut have?”
“Just the one.”
“Oh! Then it is very small… although for just you…”
“It’s about ten paces from end to end and perhaps half of that across.”
“What is that in feet and inches?”
“Oh… say twenty five feet by twelve or so. Same size as the study. I thought with a curtain across the middle it would divide into bedroom and living room — or kitchen.”
“Does it have access to water?”
“A small stream nearby. I can heat water on the fire, and there’s a cooking grate and some pot hooks, so with a few pans I’ll be able to cook. I can dig a privy outside.”
He was amused to see her blush, but she recovered quickly and began making notes.
They had not been in the attics for long, and Cal was trying to restrain Charlotte’s more grandiose ideas for furnishings when three more ladies appeared. One of them was Cora, however, which made his beleaguered spirits soar.
“There now, Miss Merrington, your mother’s here and she’s seen the hut, so she can advise about furniture and the like.”
“Well, not those padded chairs, for a start. Plain wood, Charlotte, with cushions that can be taken off and washed. Mr Garford will be outdoors in all weathers, and he will not want anything that would be ruined by a drop of rain.”
“But a sofa would be useful,” he said, seeing one nearby. “In case of visitors.”
There was a sudden silence in the attic as the ladies exchanged glances and then studiously looked at their feet.
“What an excellent idea, Mr Garford,” Cora said briskly. “It will be perfect for those winter evenings when you said you like to read by your own fireside.”
“A sofa. I shall make a note,” Charlotte said, but she looked darkly at her mother all the same.
Once the duke was up and about, a party was got up to go and examine the hut.
This involved virtually everyone from the household, more than a dozen persons in all, filing in a long line through the house, through the new gallery on the bridge, where they paused to admire the plasterwork in progress, and then a long delay in the orangery when it was discovered that the outer door was now locked and the key was not to be found.
But eventually, after a great deal of grumbling from the duke, and a lot of running back and forth by some of the ladies and then by Timmy, the kitchen boy, the key was located and the door was opened, and the party emerged into clean fresh air, Cal breathing deeply and thankfully.
The ducal party streamed into the woods, two or three abreast, with a great deal of excited chatter amongst the ladies and more restrained conversation from the men.
With such a large group, there was no possibility of hearing birdsong or the almost inaudible rustle of some tiny creature beneath the detritus of fallen leaves.
Cal paused long enough to let everyone go ahead of him, and then plodded along in the rear, trying not to notice the delicate plants fringing the path which had been trampled by careless boots.
At the hut, he found several of the men examining the outer stonework, while the ladies’ high voices could be heard inside, talking about beds.
“He will only need a narrow bed… a box bed, perhaps,” someone said. Charlotte, perhaps.
Then Cora’s distinctive tones. “That would need special work from the carpenter, whereas we have any number of regular beds ready for immediate use. There is no need for Mr Garford to sacrifice his comfort, Charlotte.”
He smiled, happy to leave his special defender to do her work. He would not have minded a box bed, but a real bed with a real mattress would undoubtedly be more comfortable.
Unwilling to face so many people at once, and all crowded into his hut, he crept silently round to the front, where the bench overlooked the lake and lawns. He was not the first to have that idea, for the duchess was there, gazing down on the stepping stones, her face stricken.
“Your grace?” he murmured.