Part 37 (1/2)
”But only to care for the children, then? Surely you could have found another to do that!”
”Could I? Could I have found one who would guard them as you would, from all the dangers I knew to be present in this place?” He shook his head. ”No, I knew there could be no other, that only you would do. And you did not fail me. It is I who have failed you. That I could be worthy of you is impossible-especially now that you know how I have most selfishly used and deceived you.”
This time it was he who turned away, and I gazed at the broad expanse of his back.
I will not lie, Father. For a moment I let anger command me. I tremble to even think it now! Had we not been out on the heath but rather in my little room in the attic-had the chair of bent willow been there, I can only think Mr. Quent's fate at that moment would not have been so different from Westen's. I had been a p.a.w.n to him, a thing to be used in securing the welfare of the children, with no thought given to my own. I was forever altered. What had been done to me in my time at Heathcrest Hall could never be undone.
Yet I did not wish it to be. For all that had taken place, for all the terrible knowledge I had gained, I did not wish to go back. It was, in the end, better to know the truth than to dwell in ignorance, however blissful.
He stood stiffly, resolutely, like a statue expecting the blow of a hammer. I crossed the distance to him, reached up, and placed a hand on the slope of his shoulder.
”Come to the city as soon as you can,” I said. ”I will be waiting for you at Whitward Street.”
I felt a shudder pa.s.s through him. At last he turned around. ”I will,” he said. ”You have my word.”
We made our good-byes there on the ridge. I need not recount them to you, Father. While brief and not uttered without regret on both our parts, they were sweet, and I smile even now as I recall them.
Then it was time to go. We did not speak as we returned to the house. There was nothing more to say until such a time when we would be together again, but he caught my hand in his, and we walked that way. As we went, the rising sun trans.m.u.ted the eastern sky from gold to crimson, and in the dawn light it looked as if the Wyrdwood was on fire.
T HE MAIL COACH is arrived. The innkeeper has taken my satchel downstairs. The ink is not yet dry on these last pages, but I must fold them, no matter how badly they might be smudged, and go down myself, or I will be left to wait for the next coach.
That is something I could not endure! It has been too long since I have seen you all-another twelve hours cannot be suffered. To set eyes upon you, Father, and my sisters is all I crave. It has been weeks since I have gotten a letter from Lily. Sometimes I fear something dreadful has happened. Only that is foolish; I am certain you are quite well. That is, as well as one can be while dwelling under one roof with Mr. Wyble.
In a few hours, I shall see for myself how all of you are faring. Expect to be kissed more than you will probably care for. There! This is the last sentence I will write-I come.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN.
R AFFERDY HAD BEEN in the city only an hour after returning from his latest trip to Asterlane when a letter arrived for him from Fairhall Street. He had been away far longer than promised; he would present himself for tea that afternoon. This was in no way to be construed as an invitation.
All the way from County Engeldon, Rafferdy had ridden in the coach alone, the curtains drawn to shut out the pa.s.sing countryside. It had been his intention to do the same upon arriving at his house in Warwent Square, to sit in the darkened parlor with nothing for company save silence and a bottle of whiskey.
However, even as he picked up a pen to decline, his eyes fell upon the parcel of papers he had tossed on the writing desk. One of his father's lawyers had given them to him just before his departure. Rafferdy had yet to untie the black ribbon that bound them-as if that color was not enough for him to know what business they pertained to. His father had been shut up with his lawyers much of late.
Fas.h.i.+on and the expectations of others are not the only reasons I have chosen to enclose my lands around Asterlane, Lord Rafferdy had told him. Soon there may be other needs for the safety of walls....
Suddenly the dimness of the room became an enemy rather than an ally. He went to the window, threw back the curtains, and let the light of the middle lumenal pour in. Beyond the garden fence, people pa.s.sed by on the street. He studied them, trying to detect any deviations from the usual scene-any sign, however subtle, that the changes had already begun.
Boys ran with stacks of broadsheets. Ladies in fas.h.i.+onable dresses twirled parasols; young men tipped their hats and smiled.
Rafferdy stepped back from the window. ”Lady Marsdel is right,” he said aloud. ”You have been away too long.”
He returned to the table and scribbled a note in reply to her ladys.h.i.+p's letter. Then he called for his man.
T HE Pa.s.sAGE OF another hour found him leaving his cabriolet on the Promenade and walking up the steps of Lady Marsdel's residence in the New Quarter. His arrival did not go unnoticed; Mrs. Baydon met him before he could reach the door.
”It's been nearly a month, Mr. Rafferdy. I hardly know whether to scold or praise you!”
”I believe I'd prefer the latter, if given a choice.”
”The choice is mine to make.” She threaded her arm through the crook of his own. ”However, I suppose it must be praise, for I'm glad you've come. You are our only hope. None of us is lively, interesting, or articulate enough to suit her ladys.h.i.+p, nor have we been for the past half month. We have been found totally wanting for any engaging qualities, as she often tells us, and she requires real entertainment.”
”Does she? How unfortunate that I left my hurdy-gurdy and monkey in Asterlane.”
”Please, Mr. Rafferdy. I'm being serious.”
He treated her to his most solemn look. ”As am I, Mrs. Baydon.”
This won a laugh from her; it was the loveliest sound he had heard in a month. He had spent so much time lately with men for whom all words carried weight and value, he had forgotten the pleasure of spending them foolishly.
Less enchanting was the sound of Lady Marsdel calling out his name as they entered the front hall. Amplified by lofty ceilings and marble floors, her voice was an omnipresent thing.
”It seems my husband's aunt has detected your presence.”
”Just as any spider detects a fly the moment it enters her web. Come, let's see what's being served for tea.”
”You are, of course,” Mrs. Baydon said, and took him to the parlor.
For the next quarter hour he was treated to a discourse on his thoughtlessness and negligence of his obligations. He could not simply come and go as he pleased, Lady Marsdel informed him. He was attached to this household, and such an a.s.sociation carried benefits as well as duties; he could not enjoy the one without performing the other. He had been very lax in this regard. She did not want to hear that others required him; no one could possibly require him any more than she did.
Rafferdy bore this all indulgently, even fondly. Would that Lady Marsdel did have a higher claim! At least then he would know what was expected of him and that he was capable of it.
”Well, then, sit down,” she said when she had finished. ”Tell us of your trip to Asterlane. You must have much to relate for how long you were gone. What amusing things did you do? Spare us no details.”
”I'm afraid I did nothing amusing whatsoever.” He sat at the table with Mr. and Mrs. Baydon and took a cup of tea.
Lord Baydon laughed, manufacturing another chin in the process. ”Nothing amusing? You'll not make us believe that, Mr. Rafferdy.”
”It's impossible to make someone believe anything, Lord Baydon. Rather, they must want to believe it. Yet it's the truth. I have spent the last month helping my father with his business.”
Lady Marsdel flicked her fan. ”How is my cousin of late? He does not write to me often enough, and he says little of substance when he does. I cannot imagine what could possibly occupy him so.”
Nor could Rafferdy. His father's illness had all but made a cripple of him, yet he shut himself in his study every day, working endlessly on papers and letters, often receiving visitors-and not only his lawyers. Other men came at all hours to call on him, even in the depths of a greatnight. Some were agents of the king, Rafferdy knew, and some soldiers. However, there were others whose allegiance he could not guess.
Lord Rafferdy never said who the men were or what their business was, and Rafferdy never asked-not for fear that his father would once again refuse to tell him but rather for fear that this time he would, that he would speak again of what lay beyond the light. Their conversations instead pertained to the affairs of the estate and the building of the walls around it.
For most of the month, Rafferdy had helped oversee the construction of the walls and had managed the removal of those tenants (legal and otherwise) from the lands that were to be enclosed. There were many days he rode back to Asterlane after his duties were finished and drank himself into blindness.
Not that it mattered. Even when his eyes were shut he could see their faces, could recall their expressions as they looked a final time on the crofts and cottages they were being made to abandon.
Stop looking at them like that! he sometimes wanted to shout. Can't you see that they're hovels, not palaces?
He had thought it would be a difficult job. Instead, it was easy. The notices were drawn up and delivered; the evictions preceded in an orderly manner and without protest. He bested his father's estimates of how long the proceedings would take by over a quarter month. It was terrible work.
”I asked you a question, Mr. Rafferdy. Is it your manners or your hearing that you've lost? I said, how is my cousin?”