A Dangerous Melody, page 8
“I believe that will work just splendidly,” Sir Hayward said. “What of the first Saturday? We could celebrate the harvest, and I could send some of my chefs along to help prepare the meal. How many guests would you like to invite?”
The conversation carried on for some time, working out various details about the ball. Miss Elizabeth, as well as my aunt, seemed to be the most excited.
“Thank you very much, Mr. Thorne, for your gracious hospitality,” Aunt Patience said. “Though I wondered if it might be possible for Sir Hayward and I to speak with our niece about some private matters?”
My face flooded with color. What sort of private matters did she have in mind?
“Certainly, my lady,” Mr. Thorne said. “That shall be no trouble at all. Miss Elizabeth, if you would follow me, we can allow Lady Hayward a chance to speak with Miss Honeyfield.”
Miss Elizabeth turned and gave me a longing sort of look.
“I won’t be long,” I said to her, smiling.
She nodded and took her father’s hand, who lead her from the room.
Mr. Gibbs also stepped out of the room with a bow, closing the door behind himself.
“Well, now, dear, how are you doing?” Aunt Patience asked. “Don’t be shy. You can come sit over here beside me.”
Nervously, I made my way over to the chair next to Aunt Patience’s. It was a chair I had never sat in before.
“Come now,” she said, patting the arm affectionately.
I sat, though I was careful to keep my back straight as she always taught me and folded my hands in my lap.
“You are doing well, it seems,” Uncle Charles said with a smile. “We are very pleased to see this.”
“Yes, indeed,” Aunt Patience said. “Tell me, my dear, are you happy here? You may speak freely now that Mr. Thorne and Miss Elizabeth are gone.”
“I am quite content here, yes,” I said. “Mr. Thorne has been very kind to me, and I find teaching Miss Elizabeth invigorating. It has been some time since I was able to enjoy music as much as I have in these last few months.”
“That’s very good,” Uncle Charles said.
“This ball, though…” I said, looking over at Aunt Patience. “Why did you insist on my attendance? That was quite unorthodox, insisting that someone who may as well be a servant be allowed to attend, as well as the rest of her poor family.”
“You are still an unmarried young woman, my dear,” Aunt Patience said. “Why should you be deprived of the chance to meet single men just because you are working for Mr. Thorne now?”
What could she possibly be thinking now?
“The only reason why you were able to ask such things of him was because he would never dare defy a request of my uncle,” I said, my eyes narrowing.
“Well, of course, my dear,” Aunt Patience said. “But if we are to ensure that you or any of your sisters are to be married, then we must ensure that you have every possible opportunity to meet these young men. That is the only logical course of action, wouldn’t you agree?”
I folded my arms and looked away, my face turning pink.
“How else would you suggest your sister Amelia meet a man?” Aunt Patience asked, her tone becoming rather cool. “Perhaps in passing when she goes into town for your father?”
“No, I realize that these events are important,” I said. “Yet I cannot help but feel you manipulated poor Mr. Thorne for your own gains.”
“And what of your relationship with Mr. Thorne?” Aunt Patience asked. “He’s quite a handsome man, is he not?”
I stared at her, my heart beginning to race. I had never considered Mr. Thorne as handsome, for I had never given myself a chance to truly notice one way or another.
“And quite amiable,” Sir Hayward said. “Not to mention he is in need of a wife, as his first wife passed away just last year.”
“Yes, I am aware,” I said.
“Poor Miss Elizabeth needs a mother,” Aunt Patience said, giving me a very pointed look.
My eyes widened. “And you mean for me to fill that role?”
Aunt Patience shrugged. “And whyever not?” she asked. “You are a very amiable young woman, and it is quite clear that his daughter already adores you, yes?”
I could not believe what I was hearing. “Was this your purpose all along?” I asked.
“And if it was part of my motivation?” Aunt Patience said.
“How would a man like Mr. Thorne ever notice me? A woman who was teaching his daughter how to play the piano? I have no value to offer anyone,” I said.
“And what if the man has all the value for the both of you?” Aunt Patience asked.
I scoffed, rising from my chair and walking across the room.
“You cannot tell me that you have not considered this already?” Aunt Patience said.
“No, I have not considered it,” I said. “I came to teach Miss Elizabeth, not to find a husband.”
“Well, you are letting yourself down then, my dear,” Aunt Patience said. “Truly, you are missing a wonderful opportunity.”
“Your aunt is right,” Uncle Charles said. “Mr. Thorne would be a very good match for you.”
I looked away. Were they not aware of the rumors that seemed to echo around this home from the lips of the servants?
“We shall not pressure you any further,” Aunt Patience said. “Though it seems we have planted the idea in Mr. Thorne’s mind. I believe my hint will have been enough.”
“That hint may as well have been a discussion of my dowry,” I said.
“You worry too much, my dear,” Aunt Patience said.
The truth was, I wondered if perhaps I did not worry enough.
10
I woke in the middle of the night after having a rather troubling dream. It was dark, and I heard the voice of my sister Amelia over and over again. She would call to me from a room down the hall at Northington Park. As I attempted to find her, she would suddenly be across the hall. No matter what I did, I could never find her.
I made my way to the door that Mr. Thorne kept private, following my sister’s voice on the other side.
When I pushed the door open, I found a shadowed body prostrate on the ground, and before the scream left my mouth, I awoke.
My face was damp with cold sweat, and the air in the room was stale. I threw open the window and drank in mouthfuls of the bitter night air.
Even still, I knew I would be unable to go back to sleep easily. I decided the best way for me to calm down would be to warm myself up with a hot cup of tea.
I lit a candle from my bedside table and made my way out into the hall.
The house itself was extremely quiet. I heard no sounds apart from the window against the windows and the ticking of the clock in the hall.
It was calming to walk through the halls and not hear the voice of my sister. Awake, I realized how strange it would have been to hear her voice in the first place. But the image of the person on the floor of Mr. Thorne’s room… It still sent shivers down my back.
As I neared the main stairwell, a draft swept through the landing and snuffed out the light of my candle, submerging me in complete darkness.
I could not see a thing. Every sound made me jump, all the small hairs on my arms standing up straight.
I had two choices. I could continue to the kitchens, where I would easily be able to find a new candle or some spare matches, or I could turn around and make my way back up to my room through the dark. In relation to either room, I was certainly much closer to the kitchens, yet I was not entirely confident about my ability to make it there without error.
I gripped the railing of the stairwell, willing myself to calm down.
I was never afraid of very much as a child, but the darkness almost made me believe that I was alone. When I was tucked away in bed, those thoughts never seemed to trouble me. Yet here I stood in the middle of this great manor, entirely alone, with several hours until sunrise.
What was I to do?
I reprimanded myself, knowing that I was acting like a child. It would do me no good to stand there like I was, so frightened I was unable to move. The only way for me to ensure I would be able to get any more sleep that night would be to finish my journey.
I knew part of my hesitancy was due to those terrible dreams I had. It was not often that I was shaken by such things, but things often seemed more unreal in the middle of the night.
Determined, I took a step forward down the stairs. Perhaps I would find another match in the foyer. Or it was possible that someone else was awake, and I might see light as I moved further into the house.
I carried on down the stairs, which seemed to go on forever… until I tripped over something and fell the rest of the way down.
My legs gave way underneath me, and desperately as I tried, I was unable to catch myself on the railing. Instead, a great pain rose from my foot as I rolled down the last few steps onto the cold marble floor of the landing.
It took me a moment to realize the world around me had stopped spinning. It only took another moment after that to feel the soft, bushy tail of one of the cook’s larder cats against my arm, apparently seeking affection.
Or perhaps it was an apology.
“Ow…” I said, attempting to sit up. My arms felt all right, as did my head. But my foot… I knew without even trying that I would not be able to stand on it.
My heart began to race once more. What was I to do? Would someone find me lying here in the morning after a night on the cold, hard floor?
A light at the top of the stairs drew my eye.
“What’s happened?” came a familiar voice. “Who is down there?”
“Mr. Thorne,” I said. “It’s me, Miss Honeyfield.”
Frantic footsteps hurried down the stairs, the warm light of a lit candle coming nearer. “Miss Honeyfield. What happened? Are you all right?”
“I am not sure,” I said. “It’s my ankle, sir. I cannot stand on it.”
His face came swimming into view, heavily shadowed in the light of the candle. “May I?” he asked, setting the candlestick down onto the stair beside me.
I nodded.
He reached out and gently touched my foot, which was bare.
I very nearly kicked out but did my best to control myself. He was doing it to help me, nothing more.
“I see no wound,” he said. “Is it your right ankle?”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
He had barely touched my skin, yet a great shiver rose up through my spine. “I see. Yes, it is rather swollen. Come, I shall help you stand, and we shall go to the kitchens where I may warm up some water to ease the pain.”
In one quick movement, his arm was around my waist, and he lifted me into the air as if I weighed nothing at all.
“Mr. Thorne, I—” I said, throwing my arms around his neck, frightful.
“Did I hurt you?” he asked, a nervous color in his tone.
“No, I am quite all right,” I said, breathless. “You simply surprised me.”
“My apologies,” he said.
And we started toward the kitchens after he picked up his candle and gave it to me to hold.
“What on earth are you doing out of bed so late at night?” he asked.
“You will think me no better than a child,” I said. “I had some rather troubling dreams, and when I woke, I thought I might come make myself some tea. My candle blew out from a draft in the room, and as I attempted to continue down the stairs, I tripped over one of Mr. Able’s cats, and that was where you chanced upon me.”
“I don’t believe it to be chance when I heard your frightened cry from down the hall,” he said. “I was up myself, unable to sleep. I thought I heard someone in distress, so I came out to see. I am certainly glad I did.”
“As am I, sir,” I said. “I worried I would not be found until morning.”
When we reached the kitchen, he walked inside and set me gently down on a bench beside the fireplace, which was nothing more than glowing coals.
“Wait right here,” he said.
I watched as he walked across the kitchen and found some matches with which to light a few more candles, giving the room a brighter glow. Then, he set down a candle beside me before turning and lifting some logs from the rack beside the door.
“Oh, Mr. Thorne, it’s quite all right, you do not need to go to all the trouble,” I said.
But he ignored me and tossed the logs inside the hearth.
I soon found I was rather astounded at Mr. Thorne’s skills. Fire making was something the cook and the servants did, not the master of the house. Yet here he was, kneeling beside the now glowing flames, a fire poker in his hands to shift the logs around.
“That should do it,” he said, getting to his feet and dusting the ash from his knees. “I shall put the kettle on, and you shall have your tea. How is your ankle?”
“It’s quite all right, sir,” I said.
He turned and raised an eyebrow at me, his hands on his hips. “Can you stand on it?” he asked.
I looked away. “Of that I am not certain.”
He nodded and turned around, locating some cups and some clean linens.
I watched him work for a moment, my mind moving very quickly. Where was this monster the servants seemed to see? How was it possible that someone capable of murder would also be so kind and so gentle?
Not for the first time, I doubted those rumors, and found great peace in doing so.
Setting the kettle on its hook over the fire, he came to sit beside me on the bench. “So, dear Miss Honeyfield. I am curious as to what sort of dreams could frighten you.”
My eyes widened and I looked quickly away. “Oh, it was nothing, Mr. Thorne. I can hardly remember it.”
“You most certainly can,” he said. “I can see by your frightened expression.”
I swallowed rather hard, my hands grasping the folds of my dressing gown. “It was… my sister, sir. She was lost, and I was trying to find her, and…” I did not have the heart to finish the thought.
“I see,” he said. “I imagine you must miss your family greatly.”
“I do, on occasion,” I said. “However, I know they go on well without me.”
“Yet that tells me nothing of how you feel,” he said.
“What I feel matters little,” I said rather plainly. “I did what I must, and I do not regret it.”
He gave me a searching look, and for a moment, I found myself deeply curious as to what he saw. “I must admit, Miss Honeyfield. I am rather curious as to why you chose to come and live here to work with my daughter instead of perhaps getting married yourself?”
The question was rather poignant, yet it certainly was not the first time hearing it.
“Forgive me if I overstep my bounds, but I am well aware how difficult it can be for a governess, or a tutor much like a governess, to find a match,” he said.
“The answer is quite simple, really,” I said, my eyes downcast into the fire. “I never expected to receive an offer of marriage. That’s all.”
He seemed taken aback by that statement; his silence spoke volumes.
I looked around at him. “And if I was not to be suited for marriage, then at least I could be doing something worthwhile with my time.”
“I understand your family may not have had as many opportunities as most, yet I cannot understand why someone would be blind to how kind and sensible you are,” he said. “Why, the kindness you have shown dear Elizabeth alone has convinced me of this.”
“To be quite honest, Mr. Thorne, I am unperturbed by my lack of offers,” I said. “Perhaps I was when I was younger, before I realized that being the daughter of a very poor clergyman would not allow for proper interactions in society. Now, do not get me wrong, Mr. Thorne. I love my family dearly and would not trade anything for it, but the truth of the matter is that my sisters and I would have had difficulties finding husbands regardless of how lovely any of us were, or how well accomplished. Our aunt had seen to that when we were younger, even going so far as to holding a ball for each of us so that we may properly come out into society.”
I brushed some ash from my own skirt, forcing a smile.
“I am not troubled, though, sir. I am quite pleased with the way my life has turned out in the end. Miss Elizabeth is a wonderful charge, and I feel very honored to be the one helping her to learn more of what she already loves so dearly,” I said.
“I understand your reasoning, Miss Honeyfield, but your words feel practiced, as if you have told them to yourself so many times that you have finally come to believe them yourself,” he said, rising to his feet and crossing to the now roiling kettle.
I stared at his back, my face draining of color.
“Sir?” I asked. “I fear you are mistaken.”
“I know I most certainly am not,” he said. “A woman’s worth is not in her father’s position alone. Any good man with any sense would understand that. Love is a far more common reason for marriage these days, especially when a fortunate young man finds a woman to whom he wishes to pledge his life. That is the sort of woman worth marrying, whether she be the daughter of a dame or a dairy maid.” He looked at me pointedly. “And I believe you know this to be true, yet you have allowed yourself to hold steadfast to the contrary.”
“Sir, it was not as if I had made acquaintance with a great number of men,” I said. “How was I to meet these suitors when they were all attending fine balls and dinner parties, of which I had no part?”
“You think too poorly of yourself, Miss Honeyfield,” Mr. Thorne said. “I should like you to see yourself as you truly are.”
He poured me some tea and dampened a cloth with the hot liquid, giving it a moment or two to cool before draping it around my ankle.
“There now,” he said. “I shall call the doctor in the morning, and he shall look at it properly.”
“I think I am quite all right,” I said. “You have taken great care of me. I do not deserve it.”
“You deserve it,” he said. “And a great deal more, for that matter.”
Finding I was indeed able to stand, he walked with me back to up to my room where he bade me good night. I found myself unable to wrap my mind around Mr. Thorne and his kindness, and yet I knew there was still a secret that he was hiding. And that secret was enough to put some distance between us in my mind, even when new thoughts of husbands and marriage had unwillingly begun to arise in my thoughts once again, after long since being dormant.
