On Sparrow Hill (29 page)

“Maybe things will get back to normal around here now,” he whispered.

“What do you mean?”

He kissed the side of her face just below her temple. “Maybe now you’ll be able to spare some time for me.”

“The Featherby judges are coming next week,” she said, drawing in a quick breath because he kissed her ear and it tickled. His kiss confused her; why had Lady Caroline made a point of telling her about her faith, about Quentin’s offer of his flat, if it wasn’t because Quentin was once again interested in her?

“Featherby judges!” Quentin moaned. “Now I have to share you with
them
?”

She stepped outside of his reach, walking farther down the fence towaard Padgett, who was running with Emma. Quentin acted as if nothing was different. “I thought I was the one doing the sharing.”

He caught her hand. “Sharing me? Oh no. The judges are in your hands; I haven’t helped much in that regard.”

She shook her head, facing him squarely. He wasn’t dense; she knew that. So was he keeping the truth from her intentionally? “With Caroline Norleigh.”

He frowned. “Now it’s my turn to ask what you mean.”

“She visited here today.” Rebecca would have preferred he told her about the conversation they’d had the night before, about his offer for her to live in his London flat, but as usual she couldn’t wait. “She told me the two of you had a discussion last night about her faith, among other things.”

“Yes, we did. She said she’s investigating Christianity, and I encouraged her. That’s what you would want me to do, isn’t it?”

“Of course.” She was supposed to be pleased. Didn’t God’s Word say the angels in heaven rejoiced each time someone finds true faith? Caroline Norleigh was no exception; maybe the angels were rejoicing this very moment. All Rebecca felt was a weight at the bottom of her stomach because Quentin didn’t tell her of his offer for Caroline to move into his flat. “She also said she was moving out of the cottage.”

He nodded. “I thought you’d be pleased about that.”

Rebecca watched him closely. “She said you offered her your place in London.”

Nothing on his face changed. No shade of discomfort appeared on his brow, around his relaxed mouth, in the blue eyes that had been in his family for so many generations. “She doesn’t get on well with her mother. It’s better when they’re living apart. I suppose that’s one of the reasons she was so receptive to my mother’s invitation to the cottage.”

“And so receptive to your offer now?”

“I suppose.” Quentin returned her stare. “I’m not staying there, as you know. And it’s only temporary. She’s planning to find something of her own.”

Rebecca wished she had more time to decipher her feelings, the chance to step back and try seeing what was rational and what was not. Here he stood, and even though she could have told him they needed to talk, alone, without watching Padgett or waiting for Dana and Aidan to arrive at any moment, she didn’t want to wait.

“You told me the only thing lacking in Caroline was that you were no longer in the same circle—because of your faith. It appears she’s joined you.”

“Maybe.” He took a step closer, and Rebecca took a step back. His mouth tightened. “But even if it’s true, nothing has changed between you and me.”

Those were almost all the words she’d wanted to hear, but even as she heard them, she saw the disappointment in his eyes that he’d had to utter them. Then nothing further, nothing about other reasons he no longer wanted to see Caroline, other reasons they could no longer be the couple they once were.

“Why is it, Rebecca, that I’m the one trying to persuade this relationship forward? You’re always looking for some reason we shouldn’t be together, and I’m beginning to wonder why.”

“I’m afraid.” The words left her lips before she could stop them, the two words that were the most honest, the most vulnerable she’d uttered to him. “I don’t want to be, but I am.”

“What are you afraid of? I’ve told you whatever I once felt for Caroline is gone.”

She shook her head. “You told me you ended that relationship because you’d changed, God had changed you. Now she has the chance to let God change her. Maybe the reason you ended that relationship no longer exists.”

He shook his head too fast, and she knew he wasn’t really listening. So she went on. “I’ve seen my father miss my mother for more than a dozen years, Quentin. He’s told me, all these years, that missing her was worth it because of the happiness they had when they were married. But seeing him miss her, knowing he lives with such an ache every day of his life, I’m just not sure the years they had together were worth all that pain.”

She hadn’t intended to say any of that, hadn’t considered revealing such raw emotion before this moment, but listening to herself, she knew it was true. When Quentin tried taking her hand again, she pulled it away, refusing his touch. “You see, don’t you, Quentin? I want to love you, but I can’t. I won’t. Not until I’m sure it’ll be worth it if pain is part of the package. And I don’t think you can be sure about anyone else—me or anyone in your future—until Lady Caroline is as convinced as you are that she is in your past. Maybe she senses something isn’t finished—maybe your mother senses the same thing—because it
isn’t
.”

His face showed what she feared most: consideration of her idea.

“If she really has found a faith that’s compatible with yours,” Rebecca said, “you need to find out if that’s all that was missing before. I won’t have you wondering about her after we’ve gone further together, or worse, after we’re married. You see it, don’t you? that you can’t go forward until whatever was between you and Caroline is really over?”

He turned away, rubbed a hand over his eyes, looked out. She did too, watching Padgett pet the rabbits inside the cuddle farm fence. She hadn’t expected their conversation to take this turn. What she thought, hoped, prayed would happen was that he would assure her nothing had changed between them. He’d done that, only it hadn’t ended there.

She might wish it had, but there was no going back.

46

* * *

I am sorry I have not written to you of late, Cosima, but I believe you are better off having been spared anything I might have posted. Only my Lord and my God can know the depth of my sin, how selfish I have been, impossibly wishing I could serve a husband and this school. Surely Simon would have but briefly put up with a wife married to him as well as a mission.

Forgive me. I promised myself I would not write to you until I had gained some control over my thoughts and self-pity. It appears I have begun writing again too soon.

But something horrid happened today that I must share with you at once, and ask you to somehow explain to my father and brother. I am sure they will hear of it soon unless a miracle intervenes.

It began yesterday when Eóin’s father came for him quite unexpectedly, pulling away his son with the promise we would see no more donations in Eóin’s name.

I was rightly concerned, of course, deciding I would visit the family after an appropriate period of time had passed. Then this morning Tessie’s family came for her under similar circumstances.

The only thing they have in common is both families hail from nearby. And then . . .

“A letter for you, Miss Berrie, by special courier. From Mr. Truebody.”

Berrie looked up from her desk, accepting the letter from Daisy. The note was brief. A summons, without explanation, demanded her presence that very afternoon.

Berrie frowned. She would have to leave immediately if she was to make it by the appointed hour. She was tempted to jot a note in return, stating countless other obligations she needed to attend. Dropping all of them for an unspecified summons seemed hardly fair. So she found Mrs. Cotgrave in the art room and showed her the letter.

Mrs. Cotgrave’s face reflected Berrie’s concern. “You mustn’t ignore it,” Mrs. Cotgrave advised. “It could provide an explanation for Tessie and Eóin.”

She’d tried convincing herself that missing their children had been the reason their families had wanted them home. Now she wasn’t so certain.

Mrs. Cotgrave volunteered to accompany her. Berrie wanted to agree, but she knew with both of them gone at the same time, the teachers and attendants would have a hard time of classes, dinner, and chapel. Taking little more than a moment to retrieve a shawl, Berrie sent Daisy to Jobbin for the wagon.

Travel to the village went smoothly except for the worry bouncing around inside of Berrie. Everything at the manor had been going well. Two students were to start next week, and even now Duff was in Dublin searching for families in need of their services. Already with sixteen boys and three girls, the manor was getting crowded. Their limit was to have been twenty. With Tessie and Eóin gone, they could take in two more.

Between her worries, thoughts of Simon were never far from Berrie’s mind. Would he be concerned, knowing two students had been mysteriously pulled and Mr. Truebody had summoned her? Would Simon, had she accepted his proposal, be at her side?

She imagined him on one of the ships his manufactory had built. Was he, even now, crossing the Irish Sea on his way to London? How long would he be gone? Did he, like her brother Peter, stay in London through the fall until the holidays and then return to Parliament in January through the spring?

An ache in her chest reminded her she missed him.

Berrie arrived at Mr. Truebody’s at the appointed time with barely a minute to spare. When she tapped on his outer door, a familiar housemaid answered, showing Berrie to the office. She waited just outside, hoping he wouldn’t keep her waiting too long. She fully intended to have Jobbin back with the wagon in plenty of time for the children’s regular routine.

After a few minutes she stepped closer to tap on the door, even though the housemaid had already done so to announce her arrival. The sound of muffled voices stopped her hand midair. Mr. Truebody wasn’t alone.

Her lips tightened. Had his urgent summons been nothing more than another exercise of his power, requesting she respond immediately even though he was busy tending to other matters? The idea was enough to raise her knuckles once again, intent on using them.

But the door opened, and before her stood Mr. Truebody. She saw immediately his color was unusual; though his cheeks were flushed, the rest of his skin looked sallow, enhanced by a touch of perspiration along what had once been his hairline.

“I believe you know Mr. Flegge.”

Surprise sent her gaze the constable’s way before Mr. Truebody had finished speaking.

“And of course Mr. Denmore and Mr. Axbey.”

She nodded; the former an inspector, the latter a surveyor. She knew them to be at Mr. Truebody’s beck and call, possessing no mind of their own but one and the same to do his bidding. Perhaps if she’d learned to be as subservient she might not resist Mr. Truebody’s rigid attention to detail.

What business could concern all present, she had no idea. Mr. Flegge’s inclusion troubled her; why would Mr. Truebody have called him in? She knew well enough that he tenaciously separated the constable’s business from his own office of justice of the peace.

Mr. Truebody spoke as he went around to his seat behind the large oak desk that took up most of the room. “We have before us two documents, Miss Hamilton. One—” he held up a sheet with a legal seal at the bottom—“is a lawsuit about to be filed against your institution. The other—” he now held up what appeared to be a newspaper—“is more damning than that. A note to the general public, warning them against the harm children may encounter were they to be admitted to Escott Manor.”

For the first time standing in Mr. Truebody’s presence, Berrie wished for a chair. Not even during her initial visit, when so much was riding upon his approval, had her limbs felt so weak. “But . . . why?”

“Do you have any idea where one Mr. Duff Habgood is at this very moment?” Mr. Flegge asked. He looked at her as if he enjoyed the secret he held.

Too befuddled to sort endless fears erupting inside, Berrie grasped one thought. She knew where Duff was; she’d sent him herself. “In Dublin. There are so many families living poorly in the city, how much harder it must be for those with children of special circumstance. So I asked him to seek families in need of our . . .” She let her voice dwindle away, as not only had she lost eye contact with the constable who’d asked the question, but all the men were shaking their heads before she’d finished her statement.

“He is indeed in Dublin,” said Mr. Truebody, his voice more nasal than ever, “but is in fact the guest of Dublin jail, held on charges of ravishment. The victim was housed in your facility, Miss Hamilton, which, at least according to this report in the
Telegraph
, is evidently a house of impropriety that touches even upon your reputation.”

Words refused to form for Berrie, her thoughts were in such a jumble. Duff . . . ravishment? It couldn’t be; not sweet Duff. And had she detected a more personal accusation, one that somehow included her?

Mr. Truebody raised a finger to draw back her attention. “As you will recall when the Lunacy Commission first sympathized with your petition to open Escott Manor as a hospital for the infirm, I expressed my concern over having one so young, inexperienced, and unmarried in your position. And now you can see my concerns were entirely valid.”

She glanced at the faces around her, all accusatory. All was not lost, as these men seemed to think. It couldn’t be.

“Our first concern,” continued Mr. Truebody, “is the children. We cannot permit the integrity of those living under the same roof to be in any question.”

Did he think for a single moment that wasn’t
her
first concern? “I’m sure this is all a horrible misunderstanding. Duff Habgood would never accost anyone; I assure you of that.”

“Unfortunately that may not be the case. Regardless, a reputation ruined is damaging to an institution, particularly where children are kept.”

Berrie turned to Mr. Flegge. “What can you tell me about this case against Mr. Habgood?”

His lips parted but Mr. Truebody cleared his throat, cutting off whatever the other man might have said.