The Music Box (17 page)

She pressed her wet cheek to his shirt. “I know. Truly I do. It’s just that …” An aching pause, filled with the fear and uncertainty of someone poised at the edge of an unknown and menacing abyss.

But why? It wasn’t as if she’d never spoken of this before.

Realization struck Bryce like a blow: she hadn’t.

“Gaby, you’ve relived this night countless times in your mind, but have you ever discussed it with anyone, expressed your feelings aloud?” Bryce asked, knowing what her answer would be, simultaneously recognizing how he could help her.

For a long moment she didn’t reply, and when she did, it was in a thin, watery voice. “There was nothing to discuss. No matter what I said, it wouldn’t bring back Mama and Papa. Besides, I didn’t want to upset Aunt Hermione any more than she already was. My sleepwalking, my agonized state of mind—she’d acquired both of those along with the little orphan girl she’d taken in. I couldn’t add to her burden.”

“Hermione’s a strong woman.”

“I know.” Gaby swallowed. “The truth is, I didn’t restrain myself only for Aunt Hermione’s sake. I did it for my own sake as well. And not because I couldn’t give voice to my feelings; the pain was there whether or not I spoke of it. But because I was terrified of the consequences. Even though Aunt Hermione never complained, I knew what an emotional burden I was. If I upset her any more, pushed her any further, she might … I was afraid she would …”

“You were afraid she’d turn you out.” Bryce completed the thought flatly. This was one fear he could not only sympathize with but relate to—from firsthand experience. “I understand.” His palm slid beneath her hair, caressed the nape of her neck in slow, soothing motions. “I know what it feels like to live in constant dread that whatever little security you have left might be snatched away at any time. I felt that way when I got Hermione’s letter at Eton—that if I dared do anything, albeit minor and inadvertent, which resulted in the discovery of my true identity, Whitshire would have me thrown into the streets, where I would doubtless perish. You had that same fear to contend with, plus the emotional scars from the fire. You must have been scared to death.”

“I was—which only made me worry more,” Gaby whispered. “After all, the way I was acting … what could Aunt Hermione have thought? Here she was, welcoming me into her home, and instead of accepting my good fortune with joy and gratitude, I was withdrawn, consumed by anguish and worry.”

“Gabrielle, you were five years old. The entire foundation of your life had been destroyed. You were totally alone. Many people couldn’t have survived that kind of trauma.”

“You did.”

“No.” He shook his head, his chin brushing the dark crown of her hair. “I never endured so devastating a loss. My parents, the Lyndleys, didn’t die until after I was away at school and living on my own. The rest was but an ugly story written on a piece of paper. Yes, I had my ghosts to confront. But I never had to survive the nightmare you did, certainly not when I was little more than a babe.”

Bryce’s embrace tightened. “You were extraordinarily strong. You still are. A minute ago you said you would have been able to talk about the fire right after it occurred. That’s far more than I’ve ever done, at least until last night when I confided in you. My initial pain and anger upon receiving Hermione’s letter were so acute that I could barely ponder her revelations, much less speak them aloud. After that, I buried the truth inside me until time dulled the pain into indifference. So you see, you’re far stronger than I. You could address your loss then,
and
you can address it now. Talk to me. Tell me about the night your parents died. Where were you when the servants’ quarters caught fire?”

“In the storage shed.” She hesitated—and then the words seemed to spill forth with a will of their own. “I couldn’t sleep. Even the music box didn’t help, although Mama left it on my nightstand to serenade me into slumber. But it didn’t work. I was too worried about the robins.”

“Robins?”

“Yes. There was a nest down the way from our chambers. All the animals congregated in that area; it was just across from the stables. The way that section of Whitshire used to be arranged, there were the stables, separate and apart, followed by a long service wing beginning with the coach house, then the wood and coal rooms, and then the storage shed. On the other side of the shed were the servants’ entrance and hall and, of course, our quarters, followed by another entrance leading to the steward’s and butler’s rooms. After that, the wing ended, and a small garden separated it from the main manor.”

“And the fire destroyed that entire wing?”

“Everything from the coach house to Averley’s and Couling’s quarters, yes. Fortunately Couling was still manning his station at the entranceway door and Averley was walking back from the tenants’ quarters at the time the fire struck. So neither of them was hurt. Averley was the first to spot the flames and run for help. Thank God he did, or the rest of the manor might have caught next, and everything would have burned to the ground. As it was, the losses were staggering. The only servants who were equally as lucky as Couling, Averley, and me were those who had the evening off and those who were working late shifts in the manor’s main living quarters.”

“I don’t understand,” Bryce inserted, frowning. “You just said you were in the shed, where I assume you went to keep an eye on the robins. If so, how did you escape the fire?”

“Fate willed me to survive, I suppose. Because you’re right, I
was
in the shed when the fire started. And you’re also right that I left my bed to go check on the robins. They had just hatched that morning, and the May night was unusually cold. So I took my music box and crept outside to ensure their well-being and to soothe them with Beethoven.”

Tenderness relaxed Bryce’s frown as he pictured a small Gaby, fiercely guarding her baby birds and gifting them with “Für Elise.” “Then what?”

“I sat with them for some time, until my shivering became severe. As I said, it was terribly cold, and I was wearing nothing but a nightgown. I knew I needed to go inside, not only to avoid catching influenza but also to avoid discovery. There were still a few servants about, like Whitshire’s head gardener, Dowell, and two or three stable hands. Each time one of them passed by, I hid in the grassy hollow beneath the oak. But I couldn’t stay there forever, nor could I stop the sound of my chattering teeth. Eventually someone would have spied me and alerted my parents to my whereabouts. And I so hated to upset them—again.” Gaby gave a sad little shrug. “As you heard Mr. Averley say earlier, my disappearances were not uncommon. And they worried my parents terribly.”

“Why didn’t you go back to bed?” Bryce asked, puzzled by her behavior yet altogether grateful for its outcome.

“Because I wanted to check on the robins again later that night, to make sure they hadn’t been harmed by the cold. So I crept into the shed and curled up in a pile of blankets. I waited until I couldn’t hear any more footsteps or voices. Then I opened the music box and let it play. I must have fallen asleep. When I awakened, the entire room was in flames. I fought my way out—I remember thinking over and over again that I didn’t want to die. But once I escaped, realized where the flames were headed”—a choked sob—“I wished I could change my mind. I tried to get to the servants’ quarters, but the fire was like a blazing wall. I called out Mama’s and Papa’s names, and I fought so hard to get through that wall. But I couldn’t … I couldn’t.

“I don’t remember anything else until I opened my eyes and found myself clasped in Mrs. Darcey’s arms. I was on the ground, and everything smelled funny—smoky and sweet all at once—I’ll never forget that smell. Nor will I forget how brown and barren everything looked. I knew something was very wrong. At first I thought it was that my music box was gone. But when I asked Mrs. Darcey for it, she gave it to me. She was crying, and then she began rocking me back and forth in her arms. All of a sudden I remembered. I started crying, kicking to free myself, and begging for my parents. But even as I did, I knew they were gone, that I’d never see them again. I knew.”

Gaby’s whole body was shaking with painful sobs. “Aunt Hermione took me away that very night. She never even let me go back inside—not that there was anything for me to go to. And she didn’t bring me to the main manor. Afterward I realized it was because her brother would never have permitted it.” Gaby turned her face into Bryce’s shirt. “You know the rest.”

“Yes, I know the rest.” Bryce’s chest was so tight he could scarcely speak. “And that’s what you were seeing tonight, when you were looking out the music hall windows? You were reliving the fire?”

A tremulous nod. “I don’t know how much of Whitshire’s servants’ wing you could make out in the darkness. But that’s the section of the estate that’s visible from the music hall windows. It’s been rebuilt, of course. Only the stables remain unchanged; they were untouched by the flames. But I wasn’t seeing the wing as it is now; I was seeing it the way it was then—the night Mama and Papa died.”

Bryce had never felt such a fierce need to absorb someone else’s pain as he did at that moment. He closed his eyes, his palm warm against Gaby’s neck. He could feel the pounding of her heart, the anguished shivers of memory still trembling through her as she rested her forehead against him, absorbing whatever fragments of strength and compassion he had to offer.

“Thank you,” she whispered after a time. “Thank you for listening.” She eased away from him, her eyes huge and emotion-filled. “I didn’t realize how much I needed to talk about what happened. You’re very insightful.”

“I spoke from experience, not insight. And I’m glad I could help.”

“You did more than help. You warmed away the pain.” Gaby’s fingertips brushed his jaw. “Just as a magnificent symphony would.”

An odd emotion constricted Bryce’s throat—one that had little to do with compassion.

Abruptly he looked about the room, realizing for the first time in too many minutes how inappropriate this whole situation was.

“What is it?” Gaby asked, her head tilted quizzically. “What’s wrong?”

Bryce eased her back against the pillows, then rose swiftly to his feet. “I apologize for this less than proper situation,” he said, more disconcerted than sorry. “I’m not in the habit of visiting women in their bedchambers or of taking advantage of their distress by holding them in so intimate a manner, much less when they’re clad in their nightgowns.”

To his amazement, Gaby began to laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“I just survived a devastating experience, thanks to you. I walked in my sleep, relived the worst nightmare of my life, and, in the process, cut my feet to ribbons. You rescued me, awakened me, and nursed my wounds. You carried me to my bed so I wouldn’t have to walk, soothed me when I cried, and did it all silently and alone so as not to alert Aunt Hermione and risk upsetting her. You then persuaded me to give voice to memories I’d buried inside me for years and which desperately needed to be said. And now you’re apologizing for being in my room, sitting on my bed, and catching a glimpse of me in a nightgown?”

Bryce’s lips curved. “I see your point.”

“Do you?” Gaby sat up, raising her knees and wrapping her arms about them, regarding Bryce with that innocent wisdom of hers. “I think not. And while I welcome this unexpected humor for helping to make an otherwise unbearable situation bearable, I have to wonder—do you
ever
challenge protocol?”

“Pardon me?” Bryce was thrown completely off-balance by the unexpected question.

Gaby dashed away her tears. “I asked if you ever challenge protocol.”

“I heard you. What I meant was, what exactly does your question mean?”

“Precisely what it sounds like it means. I realize you’re a man who prides himself on his principles and on his clearheaded, pragmatic approach to life. Nevertheless, surely this was not the only time your feelings have ever compelled you to do something that would otherwise be considered improper.”

Bryce considered the question. “Actually, until I came to Nevon Manor, I was a fairly stable, predictable fellow.”

“What about Miss Talbot?”

“What about her?”

“Don’t you ever behave unpredictably around her?”

“No.”

Gaby looked amused. “No? What about when you’re alone together? Surely there are times
then
when your heart rules your head. I can only imagine how extraordinary a feeling that must be.” She leaned forward. “I know this question is
truly
improper and certainly none of my business to ask, but given how frank you’ve been with me about everything else, I’m going to risk offending you and blurt it out nonetheless. Where do you and Miss Talbot go for privacy? Not specifically, of course, but in general—you know, unoccupied anterooms that you slip away to during grand balls, moonlit parks that you stroll through only to lose yourselves among the trees, that sort of thing. Or is there perhaps a specific spot—a quiet embankment along the Thames, for example—where lovers can be alone. I’ve always wondered about that with regard to courting. Your world is much more vast than mine, so I’m sure you can answer me. Where is it permissible for a man and a woman to express their affection for each other?”

Bryce’s jaw had dropped, and it took him a full moment to recover. “I don’t believe this,” he muttered.

“That’s not an answer.”

“Gabrielle.” Bryce sank back down into the chair, reminding himself that he might someday be called upon to oversee this young woman’s future. “I don’t know where you get your ideas, but I’d better set you straight right now. It’s
never
proper for a woman … that is, it’s wrong for a well-bred young lady to express affection—
real
affection …” He broke off, raking a hand through his hair.

“You’re referring to passion?” Gaby supplied helpfully.

His eyes narrowed. “What do you know of passion?”

“I’m not a dolt, Bryce. I have eyes and ears. I read. I ask questions. I see glances exchanged right here at Nevon Manor—blushes, heated looks, flirtatious smiles. I’ve even seen animals mate. I know what intimacy is all about. What I don’t know is where people display it. Oh, I have a pretty good idea where the residents of Nevon Manor go, but our family is hardly typical of the rest of the world.”