A Dangerous Melody, page 6
“I am terribly sorry, Mr. Thorne,” Miss Brown said. “I do not know what has come over the poor girl. She is inconsolable. She ran from the school room as if something terrible had happened.”
I felt a gaze on me, and I shifted my eyes.
Mr. Thorne was watching me, his eyes narrowing.
Reaching behind himself, he took the doorknob in his hand and pulled the door shut.
A small twinge of worry passed down my spine. There was some sort of hardness in his gaze that I was unaccustomed to.
“It’s all right, Elizabeth,” Mr. Thorne said, wrapping his arm around her and leading her away from the door. “Perhaps it would be best if we cancel lessons for the rest of the day. I imagine anything we try now simply will not be productive.”
“Of course, Mr. Thorne,” Miss Brown said, bowing her head.
I followed suit, dipping my gaze.
He and Miss Elizabeth walked past us, and Miss Brown did not straighten until they were at the other end of the hall.
“Well…” Miss Brown said, brushing her hands across her skirt. “I do hope that Miss Elizabeth will be all right.”
“Indeed,” I said, my gaze on Mr. Thorne’s back as they made their way around the corner. “Though I wonder what that was all about?”
7
Miss Brown and I returned to the school room where we cleaned up from the lessons yet hardly spoke to one another. I noticed the furrowed brow on her face as she tucked books away back onto the shelf and picked up Miss Elizabeth’s dolls and set them back inside the dollhouse. Her nervousness was setting me on edge, as well.
I hoped more than anything that we had not upset Mr. Thorne.
As I arranged some sheet music for the next day’s lesson, I could not help but think about what I had seen in that hallway. Miss Elizabeth’s behavior was distressing, for certain. But that was not my primary concern.
What my mind kept drifting toward was the look on Mr. Thorne’s face when I had seen the inside of that room.
I had never been told there were rooms in the house that were off limits, yet there were many places that I simply did not enter. For one, I had never seen Mr. Thorne’s room, and I had only entered Miss Elizabeth’s once when she wished to show me the piano that her father had placed in her room.
Yet, it seemed that the room Mr. Thorne had so clearly closed to us this afternoon was one he truly did not wish for us to see.
What did he keep in there?
I realized that I was nothing more than a tutor and that I had no right to the man’s business, but something troubled me in his gaze. It was not the look of an employer keeping distance from his daughter’s tutor. It was more like a look a guilty man wore in order to keep secrets.
That was a troubling thought. I knew that I hardly knew Mr. Thorne, but what I had seen of him, I rather liked. He had been kind to me since taking me in, and I appreciated his affections for his daughter.
Why did this unsettle me so?
Over the next few days, Miss Brown and Miss Elizabeth acted as if nothing had happened. After some rest and a break, it seemed that Miss Elizabeth was back to her usual self. She smiled at me as she crawled up onto the piano bench the next day, and I took it in stride.
“Did your mother play the piano with you?” Miss Elizabeth asked as we wrapped up the song we had been practicing.
“She did,” I said. “She loved the piano, just like your mother did.”
Miss Elizabeth nodded. “My mother liked to do a lot of things with me. I miss them.”
“Well, what sort of things did she do?” I asked.
Miss Elizabeth shrugged.
“Did she play with your dolls with you?” I asked.
She nodded.
“What of reading to you?” I asked.
“Yes, she did that, too,” Miss Elizabeth said.
She then went on to tell me about other ways her mother took care of her, things that her father would likely have never known, such as adjusting the ribbons on her dress just so, as well as practicing her French with her. They would spend afternoons in the kitchens learning to bake, and apparently, they shared a very special tea together on rare occasions.
After her lessons, I pulled Miss Brown aside. “If it is agreeable to you, I would like to take on more responsibilities for Miss Elizabeth,” I said.
“Well, certainly,” Miss Brown said. “But why do you ask so suddenly?”
I glanced over my shoulder to ensure that no one was there. “It seems to me that in her mother’s absence, Miss Elizabeth has missed certain activities they used to do together. I am well aware that I could never take her mother’s place, but perhaps I could help you by doing some of these simpler tasks for her, things that might make her feel more at peace. I am certain that neither of us would like to see her as frustrated as she was the other day.”
“Indeed,” Miss Brown said. “I think it is a fine idea. What did you have in mind?”
The more I considered it, the more I wondered if Mr. Thorne’s harsh stare was not as a result of a father’s anger in response to his daughter’s unrest. Perhaps I had misread his reaction entirely. And the best way to ensure that I kept my job, and therefore Mr. Thorne happy, was to keep Miss Elizabeth calm.
That was the beginning of my greater responsibilities around Northington Park.
August moved smoothly into September, and the arid days became began to give way to cooler, wetter ones. I was more familiar with my surroundings and even found I rather liked living in Northington Park. I was amazed that I had been able to survive at home as long as I had with all of us living in such a small space as our cottage.
Letters from home were encouraging, as well. It seemed that Aunt Patience was keeping her word and watching after Father and my sisters. According to Amelia, it seemed she was taking complete credit for my newly acquired status. I paid it no mind. If it wasn’t for her, I never would have been as fortunate as I was.
Miss Elizabeth also seemed to be taking to the new things I was doing for her, especially a new nightly ritual we had adopted. One night, I let it slip to her as we read together in the drawing room that my mother used to make me a special tea on nights when I struggled to fall asleep. Miss Elizabeth was reminded at once of the tea her own mother would make her and insisted that I make some for her.
Wishing to keep the peace, for my sake as well as hers, I agreed, though I wasn’t entirely upset to find a way to bond with the young girl.
It was a rainy September night when I made my way down to the kitchens to make some tea for Miss Elizabeth. It was dark and cool, and as I carried a candle, thunder shook the house.
I suppressed a shiver. Thunder always frightened me, even when I was a girl.
The kitchen was bustling as it always was. Mr. Able was busy preparing the next morning’s breakfast. His two attendants were mixing dough and organizing vegetables for dinner the following evening.
There were other servants down there, as well, having their evening meal after all their other tasks were complete.
“Good evening, Miss Honeyfield,” Mr. Able said with a wide grin. “Anything I can get for you?”
“Some tea, please, for two,” I said. “I promised Miss Elizabeth I would make her the special tea my mother used to make.”
“Oh, how wonderful,” Mr. Able said. “What might you need?”
“Do you perhaps have Earl Grey leaves?” I asked. “And cream, instead of milk.”
“Quite rich,” Mr. Able said.
“It’s quite soothing before sleep,” I said. “And I shall warm the cream before taking it to her.”
“My, she is certainly in for a treat,” Mr. Able said. “I shall go fetch the tea leaves. Feel free to take the sugar you need from the ceramic over there.” He pointed to the small crock on the shelf beside the sack of barley.
“Thank you,” I said.
Mr. Able nodded and made his way out of the kitchen toward the larder.
I set about finding a proper tray to carry the tea up on. I filled a kettle with some water and hung it over the roaring fire in the hearth and went to the crate where Mr. Able kept the nicest silverware to find a proper spoon.
My back was turned to the other servants in the room, and I soon heard whispers from them as they thought I was not paying attention to them.
“…stopped outside, I could have sworn I heard something,” said the maid with dark hair. I believe her name was Miss Sarah. “I’m not quite sure what, but he certainly seemed upset.”
“We’re coming up on it, you know,” said the footman with cropped blonde hair. “The anniversary of his death.”
My body stiffened. Death? Who were they talking about?
“Perhaps that was all it was,” said Miss Sarah. “But even still, every time I walk past that place, it gives me great discomfort.”
“He hasn’t ever seen you nearby, has he?” the footman asked.
“No,” Miss Sarah said. “But as I take clothes to his and Miss Elizabeth’s rooms, it is quite difficult for me to not walk past it frequently.”
I very nearly dropped the top of the sugar crock. She couldn’t mean the room that I had seen Mr. Thorne coming out of, could she?
“It is best if you simply keep your distance,” the footman said. “I truly see no reason to put yourself in harm’s way.”
It was too much for me to take. I turned around and stared at them, and both of them seemed caught off guard by my attention.
“My apologies,” I said. “But are you referring to Mr. Thorne’s private study?”
“Is that what that room is?” Miss Sarah asked, her eyes widening. “You have seen the inside of it?”
“Well, no,” I said. “I caught a glimpse as Mr. Thorne was coming out of it a few weeks ago.”
The footman and the maid exchanged a nervous look.
“What is it?” I asked. “What did you mean when you said avoiding it would ensure she would stay out of harm’s way?”
“You have been here for months now and you haven’t heard about Mr. Thorne?” the footman asked.
A chill crept up my back. “Haven’t heard what?” I asked.
“What is your opinion of the master of the house?” Miss Sarah asked, raising an eyebrow.
I glanced between them both. “I… I find Mr. Thorne to be very kind,” I said. “He has been nothing but caring since I moved in here to help take care of Miss Elizabeth.”
The footman nodded.
“What do you think of him?” I asked, my eyes narrowing.
The footman leaned forward, dropping his voice even further. “Mr. Thorne’s brother, the one who was meant to inherit this estate in the first place, died in this very house.”
I narrowed my gaze. “And what are you implying?”
They both exchanged wide-eyed looks, neither of them wishing to admit their thoughts out loud.
“Mr. Thorne inherited the fortune instead,” said Sarah.
It took me a moment, but the realization of what they were implying began to settle on me.
It was as if I had been cloaked in ice. All the heat was sapped from me, and all the strength left my limbs. I grabbed onto the table in front of me, desperate for the support. “You think Mr. Thorne was the one who—?” I asked. “I cannot imagine Mr. Thorne being capable of something like that.”
“That’s certainly what he wants you to believe,” Miss Sarah said. “He is quite good at putting on airs in order to keep everyone at a distance. Haven’t you thought him to be quite secretive? My cousin works for a Lord to the south, and he is very amiable. All of his staff trust him implicitly.”
“Yes, and I was meant to work for Mr. Thorne’s brother when he was to inherit Northington Park,” the footman said. “But that was all before his death.”
My throat became tight as I looked between them. “What proof have you?” I asked. “Do you really hold fast to rumors so easily?”
“You have not been here as long as we have,” Miss Sarah said, folding her arms. “That room of his… I am not certain what he keeps, but it is nothing he wishes for anyone to see. Not even his own daughter.”
“He won’t allow Miss Elizabeth inside?” I asked.
“Certainly not,” the footman said. “And she knows it quite well.”
It made me wonder if Miss Elizabeth’s tantrum some weeks ago was not an attempt to enter that room she knew she had been barred from.
“My apologies, I am just having a difficult time believing this,” I said.
“It’s quite simple, really,” said Miss Sarah. “Mr. Thorne stood to inherit a small fortune from his father, yet his brother was to inherit all of Northington Park. Have you no concept of greed or jealousy?”
“I certainly do,” I said. “Yet I have never seen any sort of behavior in Mr. Thorne to indicate that he harbored anything in him like that.”
“Neither have I,” the footman said. “Which I believe is his way of atoning for his crime.”
“If this was true, then why had no one come to investigate?” I asked. “Would his fortune have been bequeathed to another if he had been discovered guilty?”
“Perhaps,” said Sarah. “But his alternative had been to enter the military, and something tells me that that sort of life would not have suited him.”
“Yes, who wouldn’t want to be the one who would inherit such a home and fortune when that was the sort of life to look forward to?” the footman said.
“That is the highest form of greed,” I said, shaking my head. “No. I cannot believe it. Mr. Thorne is a good man who loves his daughter. He would not be able to have those feelings if he had been able to… take someone else’s life,” I said.
The door into the kitchens opened, and Mr. Able strolled back in. “Here you are, Miss Honeyfield,” he said with a broad smile. “The tea leaves you were looking for?”
“Yes, thank you,” I said, ducking my eyes.
“Is everything quite all right in here?” Mr. Able asked. “It seems I walked into a rather tense moment.”
“Everything is perfectly fine,” I said, lifting the boiling kettle out of the hearth and setting it on the tray alongside the cream and sugar I had collected. “Perfectly fine indeed.”
I lifted the tray and made my way from the room, the color high in my cheeks.
The impertinence of those two, talking so flippantly about Mr. Thorne. And in such a terrible manner, too.
I sagged against the wall out in the empty hall, attempting to catch my breath.
Mr. Thorne… Was it possible he truly was capable of something so horrific? I hardly knew him, and that made it easier to consider even believing what they said in the first place. They had worked here for some time, after all. How could I be certain they weren’t mistaken?
That was the difficult thing about the truth sometimes. It didn’t matter if you wanted it to be true or not. It was the truth, no matter how uncomfortable it might be.
I determined that I would not allow it to color my view of Mr. Thorne, or his daughter, by default. If anything, I needed to maintain appearances so that he did not become suspicious of me.
I set off back down the hall, tea in hand.
But even as I walked, I realized how easy it was to wonder whether or not something like that could possibly have happened.
8
The rainy weather seemed to be drawn to Northington Park for the first weeks of September. Every morning when I awoke, the droplets streaked down the window, and thunder rumbled overhead. Every afternoon, the school room was moody and dark, requiring Miss Brown and I to light candles earlier in the day so Miss Elizabeth could see to finish her studies. The fountains out behind the estate and the pond out front all flooded, the water levels rising every passing day, drenching the grass and pathways around it.
It was the middle of the month when the sun finally decided to show itself. It was bright and warm, and it seemed everyone attempted to find an excuse to be able to stand outside, even for just a moment, so they could feel the light upon their face.
Miss Brown, however, was less than inclined to step outside, let alone out of the school room.
“I am quite all right,” she insisted as she covered her mouth once again, a barking cough escaping her. “All this rain has made it more difficult to get fresh air, and my room has been a bit drafty at night, and—” She stifled a sneeze.
“Miss Brown, you are ill,” I said. “You must sit down before you make yourself worse.”
“As I said, I am fine,” she said, pulling some books off the shelf. “Now, when Miss Elizabeth arrives, we can begin.”
Miss Elizabeth and Mr. Thorne arrived a short time later.
I found my eyes drawn to Mr. Thorne as he entered the room. Where I had once been quite pleased to see him, I felt a small shiver of fright at his presence.
“Good morning, Miss Honeyfield,” he said as he saw me, a kind smile stretching across his face.
I dipped into a curtsey. “Good morning, sir,” I said.
I didn’t raise my eyes as he and Miss Elizabeth walked into the room.
“Good heavens, Miss Brown,” Mr. Thorne said. “Your face is flushed. Are you well?”
“Of course,” Miss Brown said rather indignantly. “I have never been—” But her words were cut off as she sneezed once more.
“Oh, dear,” Mr. Thorne said, taking a step closer to Miss Brown. “Do you have a fever?”
“I…” she said, sniffling. “I do not think so.”
I walked across the room, and against her protests, laid my palm to her forehead.
“She does,” I said, taking a step back.
“Well, there is no helping it, then,” Mr. Thorne said. “Miss Brown, you are to spend the rest of the day in bed. I shall send some soup and tea up to your room, but you are to focus on getting well again.”
