Bride of a Distant Isle (19 page)

I tiptoed over, then ran my hands across it, removing the filmy residue of decades of neglect. I quickly shook the dust from my hand and pinched my nose tightly to silence an oncoming sneeze. Once I'd forestalled that, I used the hem of my gown to wipe down the cabinet, which was perhaps four feet tall and as wide. In all likelihood, this was the reason it had not been removed from the room; it would have posed an enormous challenge to either disassemble it for removal or to try to force it down the narrow stairway that had to be climbed to reach the room.

It had perhaps two dozen drawers and doors, all overlaid with jewel tones and baroque gold. I tried one door and found it false. Another stuck; I pulled a little harder, and to my surprise it opened. I reached my hand in and leaned my dripping candle over it—the short taper was quickly burning itself to the quick and I should soon be in the dark—and spied a charcoal stick. I turned it over in my hand.

Had this belonged to my mother? It may have. It probably had, or at least, she'd used it. I caressed it. This was as dear to me as the necklace.

A small noise. A hum, really, but then the hum began to take shape into words that buzzed through the speaking tube. Staff were beginning to stir. I heard a man's voice, whispering. “We cannot risk it for his sake.” Someone was up and about, and therefore I must quickly return to my room.

Risk what? For whose sake? I blew out the candle, promising myself that I would return to search the cabinet drawers when I deemed it safe to do so, and sneaked back to my room.

Once there, I took my writing materials from the bureau drawers and bringing my desk to my bed, began to compose a set of letters by the light of the rising dawn.

I must try to find a situation with a Catholic family. I could only pray that this approach would work and that those I hoped would assist me would not, in the end, betray me instead.

A
lthough I had the letters written—and sealed—I held on to them for a short time. I left them unaddressed in case someone should be filtering through my things. I could not very well clip them to my corset, as they would crease and become dog-eared, giving entirely the wrong impression upon receipt.

The house was quieted by the stifling end of the summer heat. Albert fussed despite Lillian's best efforts and the blackberry ices I'd cajoled Chef to make for him—and for Oliver and Emmeline. I admitted to pinching one or two for myself as well. The men had all departed for London, and I did not attend Mass because Lady Somerford had been ill. One day, Elizabeth sent word that her mother was feeling much better, and could she fetch me on Sunday? I sent a note, immediately, that I would be delighted.

Saturday evening, I cornered Clementine as she rested quietly on her fainting couch. She was often found there. At first I thought she might be ill, but over time and with observation I had come to understand she actually was heartsick. Edward treated her poorly, and she had no family nearby and few friends.

“Lady Leahy will collect me for Mass tomorrow. I should return about the time the household returns from its own divine services.”

“I'm too unwell to attend church,” she said, waving at me as one might swat at an insect. “Dinner will be served on trays in our rooms tonight.”

Again. I thought she and I might have made pleasant company whilst it was just us two at home these weeks, as she had once extended her hand in friendship and seemed in need of companionship.

“Will your mother be coming to visit?” I hoped to cheer her. I knew she'd looked forward to her mother's summer holiday at Highcliffe with great anticipation.

She clutched her watch necklace, then shook her head. “She prefers the country.”

This
is
the country
, I wanted to say, but perhaps not when compared to Dorset.

“You and Albert might visit her,” I suggested. “Lillian could assist.”

She sighed. “Edward needs me here to help him entertain. I write to her weekly. I keep checking the post, daily, but no response as yet. I expect she's consumed with my brothers.” She sat up a little and looked at me, her eyes too young to be deeply rimmed. “Is there anything else, Annabel?”

I kept myself from tugging on my ring so I would not reveal my discomfort.

“Lady Somerford is recovered, and she has asked me to attend Mass tomorrow.”

“You've said that.”

“I thought perhaps I should bring a gift—from all of us, of course—to cheer her and celebrate her recovery.”

At that, she perked up. “Yes, that is quite a good idea. The Somerfords have been good to us, all of us, and seemingly from out of nowhere. I want to maintain that affection. Flowers?”

I hesitated. “I thought perhaps a silver salver, a small one, from Grandfather's collection of Maltese items. She might use it for anointing oil.”

“Very well, then, it's more impressive than flowers. Whatever pagan thing she chooses to do with it is out of my hands.”

In spite of Clementine's rudeness, I felt sorry for her. I collected some ladies' periodicals from a foyer shelf, those that had not yet been brought to the library, and handed them to her. “To better pass the hours?”

Her face softened, and she looked like a young woman again. “Thank you, Annabel. You're a good friend.” She held my hand a moment longer than strictly required, and I squeezed it affectionately before leaving.

I went to where the silver was kept, but couldn't decide on just the right piece. I did find something eminently suitable on the sideboard, however. A little pitcher, already in use as an oil cruet for salads, but I was sure that would be easy for Mrs. Watts to replace. I lifted the lid on the beehive honey container I used. The Maltese honey was almost finished.

I headed belowstairs, where nearly all staff were gathered by the tradesman's door, letting the cool air circulate through the kitchens. I asked Mrs. Watts about the cruet and also mentioned that the honey was nearly all gone. She said she'd attend to both.

The next morning, Elizabeth came to collect me, and after Mass I told her I had a gift for her mother. We made our way up the twisting stairway again. Father Antoine had celebrated Mass with Lady Somerford in her rooms, but she looked bright and healthy again; for that, I was grateful and relieved. I handed her the silver salver and told her its history.

“In spite of it all,” she said after thanking me, “your grandfather was a good man. He made every effort, as the landowner should, to care for the local people, to ensure they were properly employed. That's more than I can say for his successor . . . and, of course, we were mainly in the north. By the time we'd returned, there was not much Lord Somerford could do without stepping on others' toes. As to your grandmother, I didn't know her well.”

“Did you know her at all?”

She nodded. “A little. Lord Somerford did enjoy your grandfather's company.”

“So you had occasion to speak with my grandmother, then?”

She nodded reluctantly, and looked at her priest. “I did know her well enough to know she preferred your mother to Judith.”

I tilted my head questioningly.

“Fitting to each girl's manner, because that's when I knew them, when they were young girls. Now, if I do not want to have to confess gossip,” she glanced with a smile at Father once more, “I should stop talking.”

I reached over and hugged her, and she hugged me back, not at arm's length, as a friend would, but pulled to the heart, as a mother might. I melted into it.

Elizabeth took me home in the carriage. “I shall be returning to my husband soon, now Mother is well.”

I knew this day would come. “I shall miss you. Perhaps we can ride out once or twice more before you leave. Wednesday?”

She took my hand in her own. “Most certainly. And we will return for Christmas. I've asked Mama to promise me that we can celebrate it at Pennington this year, as it's my favorite home.”

I opened my leather wallet and withdrew three letters. “I wonder if I might beg a favor.”

She turned her face toward me. “Of course.”

“I've been seeking a position as a governess.”

She nodded slowly, but her face reflected confusion. Had she, too, heard about the plans for Mr. Morgan and me?

“I placed advertisements in the local newspapers, but Edward had them removed,” I continued, hoping she would keep my secret. “It's imperative that I keep my search confidential, but also that I find a placement with a Catholic family, and soon. I wonder if I might prevail upon you to deliver these to any good Catholic family you may have an acquaintance with who would welcome me?”

Elizabeth took a deep breath and smiled, but her eyes reflected sorrow. Over my situation? Because our friendship would be so very different, perhaps impossible, should I take on a governess position? I did not know. I had no other option but vows, and I was not convinced I could take them in good conscience.

“I will do what I can,” she promised.

I stepped out of the carriage and returned to my rooms, hoping desperately that she could locate someone, and that her husband or someone in her household would not let my pursuit be made known to Edward.

THE
POSEIDON

EARLY SEPTEMBER, 1851

I
opened the door to my rooms one evening the following week to find Mrs. Watts and not the expected Maud. I needed help preparing for our evening aboard Captain Dell'Acqua's ship. “Maud . . .”

“She's rather preoccupied, I think, with Mrs. Everedge,” Mrs. Watts said. “I thought I might lend a hand. It's difficult to be a lady's maid to two women at once.”

I nodded slowly. She seemed so assured. We were running out of time; I had just been about to dress myself. I did not want to seem ungrateful for her offered assistance, but I'd hoped to shine this evening above all others. “Of course,” I said. “Do come in.”

I'd already placed the hair iron on my fire grate, the coals of which had considerably heated up the already stifling room. “The price of beauty,
non
?” Mrs. Watts said, an odd lilt to her voice. “Have you already selected a gown?”

I nodded. It was awkward, having a housekeeper assist. “Perhaps the silver one,” I offered. “My selection is limited.”

“It will be perfect by the surf and starlight.”

I turned and looked at her, remembering to close my mouth from its ungainly gape. “I had not expected such a romantic notion from you.”

At that, she laughed aloud, and her face softened. She was lovely. “I was young once, too, difficult as it may be to believe.”

“Not difficult at all!”

She helped center me in my many layers. I kept the Maltese cap carefully tucked in one of the dressing drawers, far in the back. I would not be pinning it in tonight; I did not, in fact, want Mrs. Watts to know that it existed.

There was something oddly comforting about having her do up my hair; I closed my eyes and relaxed for a moment, something I never did when Maud was tending to me. After having perfectly curled my hair and pinned it in my usual roll, she picked up the found hair combs wired with tiny white crystals.

“With your permission,” she said, “I would like to break apart the crystals and lightly stitch them onto your hair. I am handy with the needle, as you may imagine, and can sew and affix them back onto the combs at a later date.”

“How wonderful!” I sat back in awe as she worked her magic. When she was done, they did indeed catch the light perfectly, this way and that, nestled in the deep folds of my dark hair.

“Mr. Everedge has just had a telegram stating that Mr. Morgan will be delayed until tomorrow,” she confided. Upon hearing such glad tidings, I tossed the diamond cage necklace back into the jewel case.

I then plucked out the Maltese fish necklace instead. I dabbed on some of the neroli oil, deeply inhaling its musky citrus, and as Mrs. Watts stood to take her leave, Maud came to the door.