Bride of a Distant Isle (18 page)

He was not to be challenged.

He drew near to me, his eyes the cold gray of the stones that could be found sweating inside the dark, abandoned abbey behind Highcliffe. “I warned the man that should any further advertisements be submitted, he should alert me. There will be no more, Catholic family or not.”

I sat back, and as I did, I felt my mother's necklace move, quietly, under my gown. I drew quiet strength from it.

“Then another solution shall be found.”

He nodded. “I've already found it. You're to be married.”

My anxiety tempered, slowly, drifting from the fast beating in my chest to the slow sickness settling in the hollow of my stomach. “I have no dowry.”

His eyes widened, and he sipped his nearly empty cup, to regain the high ground, I suspected.
Ah. You didn't know that I knew that, did you?

“You won't require one,” he said. “I've found a man who is willing, eager, even, to marry you anyway. I've told him that foreign blood is only good for horse breeding.” He smiled a little self-satisfied smile to himself. “He's smitten with you, Annabel, and only God knows why.”

I sat back down in my chair. I could hear servants rustling about in the vestibule. I could not blame their eavesdropping. But I did not have time to worry about it at that moment, either.

“Mr. Morgan.”

He nodded. “Just so. I had thought to have this business with the Maltese wrapped up by summer's end, but alas. However, when our affairs are concluded, in no more than a few weeks' time, Morgan and I will come to a formal agreement. But, as you've said, you have an education and given the circumstances regarding your birth, are not unwise to the ways of the world, so I assumed you would have guessed something was afoot. It's all but settled.”

I steadied my voice. “And if I refuse?”

“What shall you do then? You cannot return to the Rogers school with no stipend. There is, as you have somehow discovered”—he looked at me angrily—“no dowry.” He motioned for Watts. “Bring me a Scotch whiskey.” He'd moved from tea to whiskey, so perhaps everything was not as neatly settled as he hoped to convey.

“Then why not allow me to become a governess?” I asked. “It will cost you nothing.”

“I've already made arrangements; they're good for you, they're good for the family.” He grimaced as he swallowed half his glassful. “Your marriage to him will satisfy certain obligations as well as please him . . . and me. You'll be well taken care of,” he said, reassuringly, slipping back into his faux fatherly voice. “I've ensured that. You must trust me.”

“Must I?” I let a full minute tick by. The commotion in the vestibule had quieted, but, I suspected, the servants remained, listening like tentative mice waiting to see which way the cat would move next. He smiled menacingly with his prematurely yellowed teeth, which looked like tea-stained porcelain but had, in fact, been tarnished by smoke.

I found myself in a stony place. “And if I refuse?”

“Then it's the workhouse for you.”

I recoiled. The workhouse would scrub away the last vestige of my gentility.

“If there was someone else who would have me . . . a good man?” For the first time, I spoke the thought that was only half formed, half desired, in my own heart and mind.

“Dell'Acqua?” He laughed. “Oh, Annabel. You are not so wise in the ways of the world after all. To quote an Italian, which the captain is so fond of doing, ‘There is nothing more important than appearing to be religious.' If I may add to Machiavelli's sentiments, ‘or more important than appearing to be besotted, if one wishes one's way with a woman, or well-intentioned and well-connected, if one purposes to make investment arrangements with her family.'

“And now, dear cousin, I must be about my affairs,” Edward continued. “Fear not—Morgan will treat you well or hear from me, and we need say nothing more of this till matters are concluded. But”—he raised a firm finger to me—“no more advertisements in the paper. Promise.”

I nodded. “I promise not to place any more advertisements.”

“You're good to your word, I know.” He dismissed me with a wave of his hand. I stepped up the stairs to my room, past the silent servants, who scattered like the blown dandelion fluff when I walked past them. I wanted nothing so much as to fall upon my bed and cry. Mr. Morgan! So it had been settled? I saw no way out of this. I had to find another position, and with only a few weeks in which to do so!

However, my tears should have to wait. Surprisingly, the door to my room was open, and Clementine waited for me within. My surprise must have shown on my face.

“I didn't mean to startle you,” she said.

“Are you well?” She had never, to my knowledge, been to my rooms. But perhaps she had visited when I was not there.

“I am,” she said. She sat on the little sofa near the fireplace, which was, of course, cold, and indicated I should sit near her. I moved my book of saints and angels as well as my Bible, which had been placed right where I needed to sit, and joined her.

“Those books . . .” she began, looking at my beloved religious volumes.

“Yes?”

She did not continue with her earlier thoughts but moved on to why she'd come. “I did need to tell Edward about the advertisement,” she said, “that you were looking through the papers for it. If I didn't tell him, and one of the staff overheard and mentioned . . . Well, you understand.”

“Not quite.”

“I know Edward has not always been kind to you throughout your life. And it would not go well for me, or for you, if I chaperone you but things go amiss. But that is not the purpose of my visit.” She looked down at her hands. “You had mentioned that you were considering taking vows to become a nun.”

I blinked. “I did?”

She put her hand over mine, “Yes, Annabel, you did. Do you not remember?”

I did not remember. Had I told her? How else could she have known? Certainly Father Gregory would not have shared our personal conversations. Nor would Elizabeth, Lady Leahy. Would she have?

“You do not care to marry Mr. Morgan,” Clementine stated.

I shook my head. “Would you?”

“That is not the question, Annabel. We women are not, generally, at liberty to marry whom we wish. These things are arranged by our fathers—or our betters—in our best interests.” Her voice softened, and she put her hand on my arm. I looked into her eyes, and they reflected genuine concern.

“You have a choice that I did not have, however.” She lowered her voice. “You could take those vows, become a nun. Is that your intention, Annabel? I'll keep your answer confidential.”

I did not answer her, though I could feel her silent insistence pressing me to respond. The vows were holy, but that was something she would not understand. Was I called? The heady scent of Dell'Acqua's cologne somehow presented itself in my memory.

“It is an option.” She was no longer willing to abide the silence. “I'm here to tell you, as your friend, and as Edward's wife who hears him speak and knows his thoughts. Other than Mr. Morgan . . . it is your only option.” She drew near the door. “I can see you are distressed, so Edward has excused you from joining us at dinner this evening. I'll have a tray sent to your room. Good evening, dearest Annabel.” She left, pulling the door closed behind her.

Edward would not have had time to speak with her between my conversation with him and the one I'd just had with her. He must have predetermined my dismissal from dinner.

The room grew stifling. I could not open my window—it was one of those that had been sealed shut; why? Because many of the windows were old and needed expensive repair? Or had it been sealed as long ago as when my mother had occupied these very rooms . . . to protect her or to restrain her?

I put on a light cotton gown and cooled off as the day grew darker by degree. A carriage drove up; I watched as Dell'Acqua and his friends arrived for dinner. A tray of plain food was delivered to me, silently. I lifted the tray top. Macaroni with mashed calves'-head.

Some hours later, in dark punctuated only by seaside starlight, quiet disturbed only by the faint sound, through glass, of a relentless, high-tide sea, the Maltese sailors left, laughing as they departed.

For all purposes, for this evening, Edward had me quarantined.

L
ater that night, when all were abed, Mrs. Watts herself came to collect my tray. She peered at me with
that look
, and I tried to reassure her through my natural mannerisms and unaffected speech that I was quite well—physically and emotionally. Maud was, no doubt, tending to Clementine after the evening's entertainment.

Mrs. Watts left, and I counted the hours in my bed with an eye on the Chinese dragon clock, which ticked by the minutes with a clicking that sounded like nails tapping on my windowpane. Ten o'clock; the guests had departed. Eleven; staff were quiet. When midnight rolled over, Albert would be settled, certainly, and therefore Lillian would not need to be about. I'd leave for my search then.

In spite of my best efforts, I nodded into sleep and passed my midnight deadline. I woke sharply at four a.m. I slipped out of bed. I had to search for something, anything, that could help me prove my legitimacy before the household woke and saw me prowling where no others, obviously, went. I did not want to call attention to myself and have the room searched before I might find anything that remained.

I quietly picked my way up the back steps to the quarantine room. When I had last tried to enter, I felt that the door handle would, indeed, have twisted had Lillian not stumbled upon me at precisely the wrong moment. I needed to try again.

I did not light my candle but made my way in the dark, which cloaked me. Once I reached the top of the long, narrow staircase, I wiped the sweat from my palm off on my gown and reached for the knob. It was loose and did not seem to catch, but after quiet persistence I felt the knob turn and, with a little push, the door opened. I slipped into the room as quietly as I could, then pulled the door shut behind me.

Once in the room, I lit my candle. It threw off enough light that I could see a few feet ahead. The room swam with the dust my movements kicked up; motes drifted lifelessly this way and that in front of the flame. I extended the candle to the left and saw a window, a lovely stained-glass scene of angels tending the Lord Jesus after he'd been tested by Satan in the wilderness.

A wave of recognition came over me.

The window.

I had seen it in my memory of the fish necklace, and seeing it now unlocked another remembrance.

“Sit here with me, sweetness.” Mummy patted a spot on the floor where the sun puddled the reflection from the stained glass all around and indeed over the top of us. She handed a notebook to me, then wrapped her long fingers around my stubby ones. I did not care if we drew anything, as long as we held hands. But soon, she guided me, and we drew one, two, three little flowers.

“Well done!” She clapped her hands, and I flushed with pleasure.

“I'm like you!” I pointed to the sketch, so like her own.

Mummy's eyes grew sad. “In some ways,” she answered. “In only the best ways, I hope.”

My chest tightened, constricted by grief. Here I was now, in this same room, alone. Alone. Always and ever alone!

As was she, in the end, at least as I'd imagined it. I would never know.

I stared at that stained-glass window, now mute in the darkness.
That's how you sometimes seem to me, God
, I whispered hotly.
Mute in the darkness.

After some minutes I steadied my spirit and peered out the window; a rusted old spyglass, perhaps from our seagoing past, rested on the window ledge, perhaps to view a coming government official or revenue man in days past. In the distance, I saw ships at anchor in the harbor, in Lymington. Was Dell'Acqua's among them? It was too dark to tell.

I put the spyglass down and turned to look at the room. A small cot stood bereft in the corner, bare; it had no linens and was made of metal rather than the more usual wood. None of the furniture in the room had been covered with dust sheets as had the other rooms in Highcliffe, in preparation for the sale. Had it been forgotten? Or was everyone fearful to enter this room?

There were beliefs that insanity hung in the miasma; one should have a care not to breathe it in lest one be similarly afflicted.

On one wall was inserted a cylinder, a speaking tube, which Grandfather had installed throughout the house. I knew he'd drawn his inspiration from ships, which had voice pipes placed so orders could be given from the captain and heard throughout the ship. Here, it was used to convey the needs of the unwell to those who would tend her from a distance.

Far in the corner of the room squatted a heavy desk. Not just any desk. A cabinet of wonder! The most remarkable piece of furniture in the room, perhaps one of the most remarkable in the entire house.