Bride of a Distant Isle (2 page)

I owned very few pieces of fine jewelry and would not have forgotten this, or any, one. Maud looked at me, still, an uneasy expression stealing across her face. I recognized that look; I had seen it many times before and was well practiced at discerning its implication.
Your mother was mad and died in an asylum. Are you quite sane yourself?
An off comment, a tired day, an unusual observation—any of these would have been casually overlooked in another woman. But not in me. Never in me.

I pushed away the panic that particular implication always aroused and applied my most soothing voice, also well practiced, like a warm, gentle hand on a goose-fleshed arm. “I'll bring it up with Clementine.”

Maud exhaled and her face relaxed. She finished with me and returned to Clementine, with whom I hoped she would not share the strange necklace appearance. I stared at it again, both in my hand and in the mirror's reflection. From where had it come? I was certain it had not been there earlier in the day—nor ever. Had it been misplaced?

An unwelcome thought: had Mr. Morgan somehow acquired it and brought it with him this very afternoon, another odd gift? I grew light-headed with the thought and wished I were back in my small, safe room in Winchester.

I fingered the chain and then the fish. Touching it made me discomfited and wistful; it dredged up something murky and painful and anxious that I could not clearly place.

Stop being childish, Annabel
. I pushed the feelings away and hoped whatever had been stirred up would soon settle once more to the bottom, allowing the emotional clarity and control I so carefully kept to return.

I walked down the hallway, where Clementine was finishing her travel preparations with Mrs. Watts.

“Yes?” Clementine asked impatiently.

“This necklace.” I held it out. “Did you place it in my room?”

A strange look crept across her face. “Why . . . no. It's not yours?”

I did not know what to answer. “I thought it might have been misplaced.”

She shook her head.

“It may just be that I don't remember it,” I offered. “I do not wear much jewelry when I am teaching,” I finished honestly, if perhaps a bit feebly.

She nodded. “You do not remember your own jewelry? You have so much, then? Or is your memory so unreliable for a woman your age? Of course, I do not know where you could have obtained the resources to purchase such an item. It looks quite valuable.”

I said nothing. The hallway remained silent and still but the implication that the necklace had been stolen was nearly palpable, though unspoken.

“Yes, I must have forgotten it,” I said, taking control of the conversation. “I'll continue my preparations and leave you to yours.”

They each nodded slowly, but did not return to their conversation till I'd turned my back and retreated down the hallway. I heard Clementine's hushed, concerned voice whisper,
“Her mother.”

I certainly could not remove the necklace now without calling attention to our awkward conversation and all that it might imply. I would wear it for a week and then put it away.

E
dward sent the young lad to fetch my bags. We were leaving for London.

I waited in the drawing room; it was papered in faded light blue silk, slightly torn here and there, that reflected both the waning afternoon light and the better days of my family's fortunes. It reminded me of my mother. I had a faint memory of the two of us in the drawing room together, singing. It made me smile.

Clementine and Maud were nowhere to be found, and I understood that the few servants would stay in place to continue packing the house; Edward had staff in London. We were to travel by train, spend some days, and then return to Highcliffe before I went on to Winchester. For now, it was just Edward and me in the room together, as it had occasionally been throughout our lives.

“I understand Mr. Morgan will be traveling with us?” I hoped the tremble in my voice and the dryness of my mouth did not betray my deep concerns and, yes, fear.

“He was to have accompanied us, but his sister suddenly took ill, and they departed about an hour ago. He'll meet us. I've invited him along for very specific reasons.”

“What are those reasons, if I may ask? Forgive my misunderstanding, but I thought this was to be a family holiday to the Great Exhibition. That was what Clementine's letter relayed.” The Great Exhibition, held in Hyde Park, London, was the favored project of Queen Victoria's husband, Prince Albert, as a showcase for the nations of the world to celebrate modern industrial technology and design. Prince Albert hoped to develop ties of commerce and investment among all nations—and, of course, claim pride of place for Britain. I looked forward to seeing what newfangled items might be displayed, and then sharing my finds with my students.

“It is, indeed,” Edward reassured, his voice kind, always a warning and one I'd often failed to heed. He drew near. “I don't mind telling you, Annabel, now the staff are not nearby, that the family has fallen on somewhat challenging times.”

I stepped back. “Which is why you've decided to sell Highcliffe.”

He nodded and drew close again. “I'm retaining the house in London. I cannot maintain both.”

There was no room for me, I knew, at the townhouse. It was fashionable but smaller than sprawling, crumbling Highcliffe. “I'll be in Winchester, so I won't impose upon you.”

Notably, he did not acknowledge that.

“The family has always accommodated your schooling,” he began instead.

“Yes, it is my family, too.” He nodded, but we both knew our circumstances were dissimilar; Edward, as heir, held the purse strings, no matter how light in hand the purse had become.

“I consistently supplemented your insufficient stipend as a teacher of fine arts to young ladies. The family would benefit from your assistance now,” he said. “I need your help.” His voice, normally commanding, was strangely pleading. It softened me. I shouldn't have let my guard down, but I did.

“Of course, whatever I may do to assist,” I replied after a brief prelude of hesitation.

Relief softened his features. “We knew we could count on you.”

We?

He continued. “I have in mind two things. First, I'd like you to make small conversation, offer companionship and other social pleasantries, with someone whose family shipping operations could greatly enhance our position. Make him comfortable. And . . . learn what you can for me, especially if he is disposed to work together, or if he is making arrangements with others, instead. His name is Dell'Acqua.”

“
His
name?” It would be most irregular to suggest I entertain a man. I could not imagine his suggesting this to Clementine, nor her approval on my behalf, frankly.

“In good and plenteous company,” Edward said. “He's Maltese. “

“I see.” And I did. Normally, my “mongrel” heritage, as Edward usually referred to it, was an impediment. But now it was to be used to show Mr. Dell'Acqua how open-minded and affable we were. And, in the process, learn his secrets and take his money.

“It is his first visit to England.”

I sighed. A young lad, then—that explained all. It could not prove too difficult a task. I, of course, would be present for only a few weeks, but if I could smooth the path for Edward during that time it seemed little enough to request.

“You have more in common with him than Malta,” he continued absentmindedly.

I waited for him to explain, but he did not.

“If the arrangements prove profitable enough, I may be able to save Highcliffe.”

My heart leapt. There, perhaps, was motivation enough for me. “And the second way I might assist the family?”

“Excuse me, sir.” Watts, the butler, stepped into the room. “All the cases are on board and the footman is ready to assist the ladies into the carriage.”

“Annabel, after you.” Edward held his arm out so that I might pass by, and Clementine and Maud stood nearby.

It had not escaped me that Edward had neatly circumvented several questions.

The carriage was heavily loaded, and we creaked our way down the long drive, toward the train station in nearby Brockenhurst. The lawn to either side was overgrown but still sharply green, dotted with white clover, over which hovered the fat honeybees our property was once known for. My mother would have inherited Highcliffe had her unwise choices not intervened. It tethered me to her; it was the only place we'd lived together. When it was gone I should be adrift.

I had been encouraged to forget all about my mother, to not think of her or speak her name, for fear of reminding others of her condition and setting them wondering if madness was to be my legacy.

But still, I remembered her. Being at Highcliffe once again, after so many years away, provoked those happy memories even more strongly. A young girl, no more than twelve, ran in the field, a shepherdess gathering her cloudlike sheep, their nubby little tails flapping up and down, before night fell. What would come of her upon the house's sale? Would she, too, be adrift?

Before we came to the end of the long entrance, which was rutted and muddy with neglect, the driver pulled over to let a cart pass. Who could be coming just when we were leaving? The cart held none but the driver and two heavy trunks. As it passed, I could clearly see that they were not just
any
trunks. Alarm flooded me and I swiftly turned back to Edward, sitting beside me.

“Those are
my
trunks. From the Rogers school. What is the meaning of this? I shall need my things when I return to teach two weeks hence.”

Clementine looked out the window; Maud peered at her stained gloves. Edward met my eyes straight on, smiling a frozen little smile.

“You shall not be returning to Winchester, Annabel.”

LONDON, ENGLAND

MAY, 1851

T
he next morning in London we ladies prepared ourselves, with Maud's help, to visit the Great Exhibition. I stayed in the room that was normally young Albert's, as he had remained at home at Highcliffe with his nanny. I'd not slept well, turning this way and that, listening to the outside night noises of cats crying and rats scurrying, the singsong pleas of early-morning pie and egg vendors, and worrying about what Edward had planned for me and why he had refused to say more. Highcliffe would soon be sold, the townhouse was small, and I had nowhere else to go. Where would I be sent?

And with whom?
niggled at the back of my mind, which continued to present only one possibility. Edward had made an arrangement for me with Mr. Morgan. The Lord God promises His children that He has plans for them that will bring good, and not disaster.

In my experience, Edward worked in completely the opposite manner.

I closed my eyes for prayer and when I looked up, found that Clementine had entered the room and was looking wistfully at her young son's furnishings. She stepped to the clock and wound it; winding the clocks was normally Edward's exclusive domain but he would not enter the room while I was dressing, of course.

“Do you miss Albert already?” I asked. “I'm certain he misses you.” In the years after my mother was taken, I felt her loss keenly, like an amputated limb.

Clementine nodded. “We are not often separated. I have but a few more years until he will leave for school.” She drew herself up and asked, “Are you ready to depart?”

I nodded and followed her downstairs; our wide gowns squashed between the side walls and then popped into fullness again, like umbrellas expanding, once we were in the main hall. The carriage was brought round from the mews, and we were off.

The city bustled and bristled; wind had whisked away the London fog for the moment, and as we were not near the river it would not collect again for some hours. As we drove from Mayfair to Knightsbridge, caustic black flakes of coal still clung to the moist foliage that lined our route. We were let off near the south entrance to Hyde Park, and Clementine and I, arm in arm, made our way up the path. The smooth lane was lined on each side with trees, politely bobbing their slim green tops to all who passed. Constables on horseback patrolled, and there were hundreds of people from all over Great Britain wandering toward the Exhibition Hall, which beckoned in the distance. Prince Albert's triumph.