Chelynne (44 page)

“Your Grace,” he gasped, dropping before her.

“Get up,” she snapped. “Don’t you see? Tell no other that you deliver a message for me or you’ll likely find yourself hanging from a tree! There are thieves along that road, dangerous and armed. Go wide, and quickly!”

“Aye, milady.”

“Have you a weapon of any sort?”

“Nay, milady.”

“Well, I can’t give you mine,” she mumbled with a shudder, remembering all too clearly where she had last seen it. “You must find something before you leave. And travel carefully.”

That was the only incident on the trip, but one likely to be remembered by both Gordon and Chelynne for a long time. When they arrived at Welby Manor she was greeted warmly and not questioned about her early arrival. The house was being readied for the arrival of corpse and mourners. Those servants who had only just been freed from the manor to return to their families while the house was unoccupied were back, working in force again.

There was a comfort in the feeling of coming home, but the sadness in doing so was real, for Chelynne knew she could never come again. Once Sheldon was buried she would never view the insides of these walls again. With his passing went her childhood and her memories of the pleasant love that brought her into womanhood. Now she was alone.

When her breakfast was delivered the next morning she called for the head housekeeper. Mrs. Becker had served the baron for many years. She had been a friend and confidant in many instances. The round, happy woman was a good friend to Stella and was not only willing but eager to help Chelynne in any way. But she knew nothing of Sheldon’s memorabilia, nothing of what personal effects should rightfully go to Chelynne now. She knew the house, as only a housekeeper could know it. There were large spaces for storage behind certain walls, private cabinets in his study and in the library, an office in the stables and a desk containing important papers in his bedroom. They promised an arduous search.

Every paper was turned, every picture examined, every drawer sorted. Ledgers were leafed through and correspondence looked over. Most of what Chelynne saw meant nothing to her. There were piles of letters, old and new, some of them written by Sheldon’s father. Near the end of the second day, pulling books from the shelves and paging through every one, Chelynne began to fear that Sheldon had been honest; there was nothing. But she spent every waking moment at her task, hoping to find something to tell her of herself, if not of her parents. The key to her past.

In her search she came across a collection of papers that belonged to Eleanor. With a morbid curiosity she leafed through the letters. There were none from Sheldon; most were from members of her family and a few female acquaintances from years back. Chelynne noted that the family Sheldon had married into was a good one and the dowry Eleanor had brought him was great. But Eleanor was too old to have married for only the first time. Marrying a woman in her late twenties was like marrying someone’s grandmother. Chelynne knew that the dowry, Sheldon’s reason for taking his bride, had all been lost during the wars. There was nothing in letters to indicate that Eleanor had been happy, that she had had the love of her husband and a pleasant life. The worn and aged folder was all she had in the way of keepsakes from her youth and it contained nothing.

And then came a document on which Chelynne recognized Chad’s name. It caused her to drop the rest and sink into a nearby chair. She stared at it, dumb with wonder, numb with confusion. It was a torn marriage record bearing her husband’s name and a woman’s she did not know. It was dated over six years back and was appropriately witnessed and signed.

The questions rose without delay. Why was she never told? Had she been marrying a widower she would have been told. Was the marriage perhaps put asunder by a man of the church, declared void? Was there love, honor or something akin to force in this union? Whose possession was this? Sheldon’s? Surely not Eleanor’s.

Chelynne did not know the name of the bride and what she knew best, due to her schooling, was names. Oh, names! So important, almost equal to money. Was the woman now abandoned, lacking in name and money?

Chad had never mentioned anything of a wife, dead or divorced. Chelynne knew nothing of him. Who was the woman? Who would he marry? Who would he love? Was it willingly, or unwillingly, as with her? Was it a marriage past...or still practiced?

Her mind rambled on and on. For a long while she was immobilized from shock and confusion. Not many of the thoughts she had now concerned her departed parents. She could search no more, confident there was nothing else to be found, yet a little fearful there might be something. Carefully she made an envelope for this aged paper. She could think clearly enough to know it had been hidden, meaning to her that it could be destructive if found. Until she understood it, she had to secure it.

She confided her intentions in no one and sought out one stable hand who she knew could not read and whom she did trust. She had known the man Gorely since early in her youth. He and his family had served Sheldon, and though he was paid fairly he would relish a simple chore that would bring him a few extra shillings.

“This is a paper of some importance that I would have taken to Hawthorne House,” she informed him. “I would ask that you place it yourself in my coffer. The caretaker will admit you on my letter and give you a bed for the night. My keys will admit you to my rooms and open the coffer where some jewelry is kept. The problem is not the chore, Mr. Gorely, but the roads. There is a great deal of trouble in that part of the country, the reason the house is closed and the guards posted. Some are not trustworthy and will not let you pass, and I cannot tell you which they are. It must be done carefully and secretly or it could be very dangerous.”

He made no response to her, waiting for her to continue. He would do the chore if ordered. But Chelynne would not command him. It had to be a matter of choice, especially when she feared going past that part of the country herself, even heavily guarded.

“There would be a handsome reward upon your return. In the event there is a mishap...” She stumbled on her own words, wanting to tell him how great was the risk and not able to do so easily. “I would leave a goodly sum with your wife. That is all I can do.”

“When would you have me leave?”

“As soon as you can be ready. Take time to speak to your wife, if you must, but I should like to be unknown in the matter. I would think...” Again she stumbled, unsure. She had no idea whom she would be protecting. Herself? Her husband? Someone else? “I should think if there’s danger such that the paper could be found on your person, destroy it quickly. Yes, destroy it. In any possible way.”

He was a large man but very gentle. He stood and nervously twisted his hat in his hands as she gave the instructions. It pained her to think of committing him to any danger, but it hurt her to think of any living creature being hurt. She did not think herself strong. She had always found her strength through her protectors. Being the protector alarmed her. She was not confident that she could play this role for long.

Chelynne helped to apply the precious paper to Mr. Gorely’s chest in a linen cover, keeping the rough edges soft against his skin. He admitted his wife could make do without asking questions of him. He could make the journey in two days’ time and Chelynne would expect him back in five. She watched him a short time later from her bedroom window.

He left Welby Manor with horse and cart, looking like a common traveler, though speedy.

Chelynne did not go back to her searching after that. She sat quietly in her room until Mrs. Becker came and inquired of her.

“Have you given up the idea, mum?” she asked solicitously.

“I suppose I have.”

“You seem to have lost the spirit of it. Myself, I wouldn’t know where to look or for what.”

“It’s all right,” Chelynne mumbled. “I was told there was nothing...but I had hoped...some small thing...”

Mrs. Becker touched her hand. “I have something you might hold dear.” She reached into the ample pocket of her apron and pulled out a small portrait of Sheldon painted not long after he returned to England. There were a great many paintings about the house of himself, Eleanor and Harry. This small painting was not much to cling to, but Chelynne wasn’t sure that Eleanor would be gifting her with anything at all. For that reason she took the little portrait with warm thanks and asked if it would be missed.

“It’s one he put away,” Mrs. Becker told her. “Laid it away, he did, not liking the style. There’s others more valuable. Nothing that I know belonged to your own dear parents but for the miniature of your father in the study. That will be yours, but...” She straightened slightly and had a little frown. “I’d take it now, mum, if you mean to have it.”

“I never knew either of them,” Chelynne said with a small, childlike sob in her voice. “There were so many times I wanted to ask my mother...” Her voice trailed off, tears coming to her eyes.

“Aye, it’s a blessing you’ve had Mrs. Stella.”

Chelynne gave a small nod without raising her eyes. There was no way to explain that what she needed could not be learned from a helpmate such as Stella. Stella’s love was grandmotherly. Chelynne longed for the answers to questions only her mother could give. She needed the wisdom of a woman who had lived and loved. Stella had never married and, as far as Chelynne knew, had never been in love. She needed someone bearing a stronger bond than gender—a blood bond, kinship.

Stella offered comfort and love, but for a child. Chelynne remembered when she would sit upon her woman’s knee in the cook houses or kitchens, visiting with other servants. Work stopped for meals or tea and they chattered of matters centered on husbands, childbearing, disorders of the bowel or womb, and the latest gossip about their employers. What the servants knew of court life came from washing nobles’ finery and delivering meals.

So Chelynne remained as Mrs. Becker left her, depressed and confused. She felt a great deal of animosity toward all those who had fooled her, Sheldon among them. She knew the bitter taste of betrayal, and she had little determination to carry on with such a farce. And there was no solution. It sapped her of energy and left her listless.

Midday next the Mondeloy party arrived. The heavy footfalls on the stairs brought Stella and Tanya to her rooms. They had traveled for almost a week, drearily and slowly, and Tanya had not once lifted her black veil or uttered the slightest word. One she did for loyalty, the other, through no fault of her own, she could not do.

“So it seems, dear heart, you’ve come off without a fault,” Stella remarked.

Chelynne didn’t answer but began pulling off her dress so she could don black again for her uncle. She would take up the role of mourner, putting forth the public facade of grief. Her silence brought Stella to an accurate conclusion. “You’ve found nothing.”

“Nothing,” she murmured.

“Well, darling, you’ve had the chance you wished. There’s nothing more to be done.”

“They’ll find out. The entire household knows I’ve been here and looking, turning the house upside down. Someone will use that as a means to win Eleanor’s favor now that Sheldon is gone.”

“We’ll be leavin’ soon enough. Could they come down hard on ye?”

Chelynne shrugged, noncommittal. She simply didn’t care.

Let them carry on, ply her with questions. What would it matter? She would give no answers. When Sheldon was buried and Gorely returned, she would leave.

The tombstone was unfinished. It seemed strangely symbolic to her. Had he even completed his life? She had the urge to throw herself on the ground, tearing her hair from her scalp and screaming. She would draw him to life again with the sheer bizarre display, frighten him into life. But instead she was composed. Dignified. It was the only honor she could do him in case she was being watched from some other world.

The next day she rode, planning carefully to find some secluded place to heave herself upon the ground and let her body wrench and flounder from the agony of his leaving. She would scream hatred at her abandonment where no one could hear. She would let the emotion pour out and reserve her dignity for those who would look at her and pass judgment.

But oddly, she felt nothing. She tried tears for Sheldon and there were none. She pounded on the earth with a fist, and, realizing the futility, tried to straighten the bent grasses she had injured in her play at fury. There must be something stronger within her. She thought heavy and hard, but in the end she simply rode, committing the land to memory.

She stopped near the place where Sheldon was laid away, but she didn’t enter the iron gate, lay flowers on the tomb, or do anything of significance. She stared at the mound that was her uncle and her heart whispered, “I think you’ve taken my soul, Sheldon. I cannot feel, I cannot hurt, I cannot grieve.”

A few mornings later Chelynne found Mr. Gorely in the stable taking up his chores as if he’d never been gone. It had been wise of him not to report to her. He had had no trouble. The countryside was peaceful where he passed and he hadn’t been questioned or bothered at Hawthorne House but taken for a servant en route to His Lordship in London. One thing at least had gone well, and Chelynne amply compensated him. She could now make ready for her departure. But first she sought out her aunt.

Eleanor’s chair in her bedroom, her private retreat and sanctuary, was as large and imposing as she was. A blanket covered her from her waist to the floor and she sat staring blankly ahead, never acknowledging Chelynne’s presence.