The Mistress of Trevelyan (41 page)

"No, I did not say that," I said, but there was no conviction in my voice. The presence of the drug and my vulnerable and confused state had me completely unnerved. A woman had died once in this house, and it had never felt more real to me than it did right then that I could, too. I didn't doubt Benedict, but there were others, and I'd be helpless drugged.

"You did." His dark eyes were filled with pain, his voice more hopeless than I'd ever heard. The distance between us was suddenly greater than any class difference. Tears stung my eyes, but I couldn't cry. I let false doubt fill the void, thinking it was better this way.

We had to part. To my fuzzy mind, letting him think I distrusted him made that parting easier. It was for the best, for I was fast losing myself so deep inside of him that I'd rather die than leave him.

The next day passed in a blur of pain and maids. I was never alone, and I had never been more alone. I hadn't realized just how bleak my heart would be without the warmth of his presence. I didn't even have the comfort of his scent about me.

It wasn't until that night, when the mists that I saw from my bedroom window surrounded Trevelyan Manor like a shroud, that I let myself cry. I hugged my pillow close to my breasts, my breasts that ached for his touch, and tears fell. My body ached all over from the fall, but I hurt more deeply for the feel of Benedict's touch, for the heat of his gaze, for the strength of his presence. I prayed that my tears would wash away some of the pain from my heart, but they didn't. The pain seemed to grow. The room was dark except for the glow of a dim lamp. The maid who'd been watching over me had fallen asleep, sitting up in the reading chair. So I shut my eyes and gave in to the quiet sobs wrenching through me. I wondered what would happen once I recovered. Would Benedict send me away? I couldn't leave Justin and Robert yet. Their hearts were just beginning to heal.

I heard a slight noise, just the rustling of the bed curtains. Startled, I sat up quickly, sending a fresh wave of pain stabbing through my head. My breath clogged in my throat as I searched to see who had come to my room in the dark hours of the night

"Miss Lovell?" came Justin's whisper. Relief swept through me.

"Yes?" There was no way to hide the fact that I was crying. Still, I dabbed at my cheeks with the corner of the bed-sheet. Justin hesitantly stepped from the shadows beyond the bed curtains and stood there, looking lost. He had something bundled up in his hands.

"What is it?"

"This ... this is for you." Tissue paper crackled as he set the bundle down next to me. "Don't cry," he said.

"Tears can sometimes help the roses grow," I told him, but I didn't think there were going to be any more roses in my garden of love for Benedict. Winter had come too soon.

"You ... you are going to get better, aren't you?"

"Yes. I have just a few bruises and a bump on my head, but I will be up and about before you know it."

"Good," he said, sighing as if the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders. "This is for you," he said again and pushed the package closer. "But be careful when you open it."

"Do you want me to open it now?"

"Yes... please."

Tearing back the paper, it took me but a second to realize what he'd brought me. "They are beautiful," I said, as more tears began to fall.

"I do not need them anymore." Justin placed his hand over mine, which rested upon the bouquet of thorns he'd brought to me. "I am not going to live like Cynthia Parker's son Quanah—holding on to thorns at the death of his parents. I want to be like you."

"Justin, thank you. Thank you. This is the best gift ever."

"Miss Lovell, can I have a big hug? Like the ones you give Robert?"

I opened my arms and wrapped them around Justin and pulled him close to my heart. More tears fell. "You can have all the hugs you can stand," I whispered softly, praying that I'd be around long enough to fulfill that promise. I feared that rather than helping repair the fabric of the Trevelyans' lives, I'd done more to tear it apart.

*    *    *

Turning over in bed the next morning, trying to ignore the pain screaming at me as glaringly as the sun beat through my window, I pulled the sheets over my head.

"That will not make me go away."

My eyes popped open. Surely I hadn't just heard Mrs. Trevelyan's acid voice. Not even fate could be that cruel on a morning like this.

"I do believe, Miss Lovell, that you were hired to tend the children, not contract fevers, fall down stairs, and hide beneath bed sheets. I have sent the maid Benedict left here back to her household duties."

Good Fortune had most assuredly washed her hands of me. I pulled down the covers. Mrs. Trevelyan stood, dressed shockingly in something besides black—a dark blue dress enhanced with a beautiful cameo pinned at the gown's cream lace neckline. For the first time since meeting her, I saw remnants of the beauty that graced Katherine and could pair them as mother and daughter. Too bad her disposition hadn't changed with her appearance.

"We both know where I would rather be at the moment, Mrs. Trevelyan. Is there a purpose to your visit this morning besides tormenting me?" I asked, folding my hands calmly. I wasn't about to let her unnerve me.

"Perhaps not." Dashing my fervent hopes that she'd depart, she pulled a chair close to the bed and stiffly situated herself in it. "You have proven yourself a liar, so I wonder myself why I am even bothering to speak to you."

"I beg your pardon?"

"If you recall, Miss Lovell, I said just after you came here that you were sowing the seeds that would destroy my sons, and you replied that your purpose here was to teach my grandsons. I have seen my prediction come to fruition. You are obviously more involved with my sons than my grandsons. Whatever grasp Stephen had gained on his life when he went back East, he has now lost. And when he is sober, he looks at you as if you are his saving angel. Benedict has never been this on edge, not even when Francesca died. You have managed to ensnare them both. What is it you hoped to accomplish? Do you think that Stephen or Benedict will marry a laundress?"

She continued before I could speak.

"Benedict is accusing everyone from scullery maid to me of harming you. It was very clever of you to arrange such a dramatic fall in the middle of the night so near my son's private quarters. No man can resist the appeal of rescuing a woman in distress. Neither can he resist the role of protector. So claiming you were deliberately harmed was a master touch. And waiting to do it until after I had forsaken my wheelchair allows me to be suspect, too."

"Did it occur to you that I might actually be telling the truth, Mrs. Trevelyan?" Anger gave me the strength I needed.

"Who else but me wants you to leave?"

"Maybe you can answer that question better than me. Maybe it is not me affecting Stephen and Benedict, but the past." That wasn't anywhere near the whole truth, and I hoped lightning wouldn't strike me dead, but Benedict's mother had painted such a twisted picture. "Perhaps whoever murdered Francesca wants me gone because I make them uncomfortable."

"Murdered!" Benedict's mother stood so abruptly that she knocked the chair over backward. "How dare you bring the filth of gossip into my home! Believe me, that evil woman killed herself and left a curse damning my entire family. She lived on laudanum, could not make it a day without it. And when she could not have what she wanted, she devised a plan to destroy everyone."

"How?" I asked, wondering if Mrs. Trevelyan had as inaccurate a view of Francesca as she had of me. Yet, even distorted, I had the feeling that I was about to learn more than I ever had about Francesca.

"By pretending to be the innocent, a tragic victim.  By making everyone feel responsible for her unhappiness, then leaving a note telling everyone they drove her to her death and that she would haunt their lives, destroying anything and everything that they loved."

"Surely no one believes that possible."

"You would think that. But I ask you, what are the results? Look at Stephen, Benedict, and Katherine, and you tell me." She paused. "I warn you, Miss Lovell, I will do whatever it takes to protect my family this time. I have learned the hard way not to trust an innocent face, and I will not make that mistake again." She left the room then, and thousands of questions filled the void of her abrupt wake, questions I had to get out of bed to answer.

It took me most of the morning to bathe and dress myself. Though clothed, I wasn't quite ready to face walking down the stairs until I'd rested, but a little knock sounded at my door before I could sit down. Robert ran inside. "Miss Wovell, I'm scared. I'm scared."

Constance came through the door on his heels. "Dear Robert, it is nothing more than a clever poem."

"I don't wike spiders!" Robert ran right to me and wrapped his arms about my legs. I wasn't quite steady on my feet yet, and I thought for a moment we'd both topple. Thankfully, we didn't. I set my hand on top of his head and looked at Constance.

"Whatever has him so upset?"

Constance held up a book. "I found this clever little poem by Mary Howitt, and I thought the boys would love it.  'The Spider and the Fly.' Have you had the opportunity to read it?"

"No, I do not think I have heard of it."

"You would know if you had, it's rather amusing. The spider invites the fly into his parlor. The fly, thinking itself wise, declines, only to succumb to the spider's flattery and become a meal"

"I don't want to be eaten," Robert cried.

I patted his back. "No one is going to gobble you up. I'm sure that Aunt Constance wouldn't let that happen. Would you?" I asked, tossing the question to Constance so that she herself could reassure the little boy.

"Indeed not. Now come along. We need to find something for you two boys to do until Cook Thomas is ready with your lunch."

Now that I had Robert with me, I was reluctant to let him go just yet.  I had missed the boys yesterday. Now that I thought about it, I wasn't quite sure what day it was. "How about we all go sit in the garden for a little while?" I smiled at Constance. "I could use some fresh air and company."

"Very well, then, to the garden. Perhaps the boys can run off some of their energy. They have the hardest time sitting still. I will bring this poetry book, and perhaps we will have the opportunity to read them another poem."

Robert looked as if he was about to wail in complete rebellion over hearing more of Constance's brand of poetry. I set my finger upon his lips, warning him of his gentlemanly duties. "Thank your aunt Constance and run get Justin. Tell him we are going to the garden and to bring his sketchbook."

"I fear Benedict is going to be displeased if he
sees
you about, especially with the boys," Constance said, and my heart squeezed painfully hard.

"Oh." I feigned surprise. "Why is that?"

"Because you are suppose to be resting. I assured him Maria and I could handle the boys. We got along well enough before."

"I will have to thank him for his consideration, but I think I have rested long enough. I am not even sure I know what day it is."

She narrowed her eyes. "My, you are in a state. I had not realized you had hit your head that hard. It is Sunday."

"Yes, I suppose it is. I missed seeing Mr. McGuire yesterday. He must be worried about me. I will have to send him a post"

"Did you get your post this morning? I believe it was from him."

"No. I have yet to receive anything. I'll have to ask Dobbs," I said, shaking my head. I had to be more addled by my fall than I thought, for I had completely forgotten that I was to see Mr. McGuire yesterday.

Constance frowned, then shrugged. "I could have been mistaken about the letter. But I will be going into town in the morning. If you need, I will gladly deliver a message to Mr. McGuire. He is a dear old man. In fact, I purchased this book of poems from him just last week."

"Thank you. I will write a note tonight for you to take to him. He means a great deal to me." I gathered my sketchbook and called to the boys, telling them we were ready to go to the garden. My progress down the stairs was slow, for Justin and Robert spent their energy "helping me." Being up and about made me feel a great deal better, and I was glad to have Constance and the boys for company. If nothing else, they kept my mind off Benedict and my pain.

I should have checked the weather outside before I made the suggestion. Today the garden wasn't a nice bright spot. Dark, angry clouds hung thickly on the horizon, and a sticky, humid breeze held the promise of a hot thunderstorm. The malevolent portent of the black mass made me shiver despite the heat. Constance must have felt it, too, for she stared at the horizon with a look of intense worry on her face.

The boys didn't even seem to notice. Justin settled himself at the far end of the garden and began sketching in his notebook. Robert stared into the pool of water at the fountain and then dribbled his fingers through it. "Come look, Miss Wovell. I can make my face look funny."

Setting my sketchbook on the bench, I went over to him. We stared at our wavering reflections in the water together until Robert laughingly splashed and made them disappear. My heart squeezed as I realized how fleeting the precious moments of our lives really were. I knew I would treasure forever my memories of Benedict, Justin, and Robert, and I prayed that years from now they would be just as real as I saw them now, not a watery reflection faded by time.

"Can I go collect rocks, Miss Wovell?" Robert asked with enthusiasm.

"Only if you stay where we can see you. No wandering off, you hear?"

"Yes, Miss Wovell, I promise," he said scrambling off to where a number of rocks were, not far from Justin.

"These are quite good," Constance said.

I turned to find her studying her way through my sketchbook and had to fight back the flash of anger I felt over her not asking permission first. Some of my penciled musings were private.

She set the book aside and didn't comment further, but looked at the sky again. "Sometimes that's what the future looks like to me, a jumbled mass of angry clouds waiting to devour me. Do you ever feel that way?"