A Curse of the Heart (16 page)

When they pulled up outside her house, Higson jumped down and advised her to wait in the carriage while he went inside to find the housekeeper.

Visitors eager to experience the wonders of Egypt queued at the front door. The proprietor wearing nothing but a nightgown and a damp silk cloak was not on the list of recommended attractions.

Higson returned with a pale blue pelisse and matching parasol and waited while Rebecca made herself look more respectable before escorting her into the house.

“I’ll go and see about the basement door,” he said seeing her safely to the third floor. “And I’ll report back before I leave.”

Rebecca nodded.

Clutching the folded parasol like a weapon, she walked towards the parlour door. Holding her breath, she anticipated seeing the damaged portrait for the first time. Wincing, for fear one glance would scorch her eyes.

But the painting was not on the chair as Gabriel had mentioned.

“Higson.” She called out to the coachman, and he plodded back up the stairs and crossed the landing to stand in front of her. Upon closer inspection, his thick side-whiskers made his face seem fuller, friendlier than she expected. His warm countenance so opposed to his coarse, hulking frame. “Last night, you were with Mr. Stone when he checked the building.”

“Aye, I was, miss.”

“He told me the damaged painting had been left on the chair,” she said pointing to where she expected to find the memory of her mother torn to tatters.

Higson lifted his chin, gesturing to the empty chair. “Mr. Stone. He moved it. He didn’t want to cause any more distress than was necessary.”

“I see.”

It was a thoughtful gesture. Whoever left it there wanted her to see it in all its wicked glory, shredded and maimed, the soul stripped right out of it.

“He put it behind the chair,” Higson said holding out a meaty finger to direct her gaze.

Rebecca shook her head when she noticed the corners of the gilt frame poking out at the sides. She stared at the decorative edges, fear growing in her chest as she anticipated the pain she knew would follow.

“It feels as though my mother’s memory has been desecrated. It feels as though she has died all over again.” She hadn’t meant to say the words aloud. Higson glanced behind to see if she was talking to someone else. “How could anyone be so cruel?”

“If you don’t mind me saying, miss. All the precious things are in our head. Memories, that’s what counts. There’s no need for objects when your memory serves you well enough.”

Rebecca stared at him, his words filtering through all the madness. “Memories are painful, Higson, and objects have a way of making us feel connected to the person.”

“I don’t follow, miss,” Higson said scratching his temple. “What need is there for objects when our loved ones never truly leave us? How can they, when they’re in our hearts? No one can rip the love from our hearts. No one can destroy the memories in our head.”

Rebecca felt a sudden rush of compassion, as she knew Higson spoke from experience. “You speak like a man who has lost a loved one. Like a man who has suffered the loss of a parent.”

The corners of his mouth turned downward, and he sighed. “Not a parent. I never knew them. It was a wife I lost.”

The harrowing image of Gabriel lying cold on a stone slab caused her heart to hammer against her ribs. “I … I am sorry, Higson. I can only imagine how difficult it must have been.”

“Pay it no heed, miss. It was a long time ago. Daresay the heart never truly heals. But like I said, everything I need to know is stored in my head.”

Rebecca forced a smile. Would she ever feel that level of acceptance? Did she really need to surround herself with her parents’ belongings to keep their memory alive?

“I think I have formed attachments to things, to objects, as though they contain the essence of the person. If that makes any sense. I feel the same way about my father’s relics as I do my mother’s painting.” She had no idea why she was telling Gabriel’s coachman her innermost thoughts. Perhaps because he was easy to talk to. Because he did not judge her and her heart didn’t flutter when she looked into his eyes. “Being around their things gives me purpose.”

Higson’s expression softened. “I know it’s not my place to say, but when you only take comfort from the past, then there’s no hope for the future. I don’t suppose that’s what your parents would have wanted.”

The man was wiser than his years and his station.

“It’s the same for Mr. Stone,” he continued with a shrug. “But that’s his story to tell.”

A million and one questions flooded her mind. “Does Mr. Stone ever talk about his sister?” she asked even though she knew Higson would never betray a trust and suspected Gabriel never spoke of his feelings to anyone.

“Not to me, miss.”

“Thank you, Higson. You have been a great help to me today. More than you know.”

His plump face flushed and he shuffled from side to side while standing on the same spot. “I’d best go down and look at that door. Mr. Stone won’t be happy until he knows you’re safe.”

The last comment caused a bolt of awareness to shoot through her, an intense desire to feel the strong arms of his master wrapped tightly around her — the only place she truly felt safe.

Higson walked out into the hall, but then stopped and with a deep sigh trudged back to stand in the doorway.

“About Mr. Stone,” he said with a slight tremor in his voice. “He needs you, miss. He needs you more than he’s needed anything his whole life. He’s not the easiest of gentlemen, I know, but I once heard it said that the rocky path always has the better view.” He tipped an invisible hat and stalked off down the stairs.

Rebecca stood in frozen silence as she watched him go.

He needs you more than he’s needed anything his whole life.

The words echoed in her mind, filling her with a sense of purpose, flooding her body with warm feelings of desire, of love, a longing that burned with such vibrant intensity.

No one had ever needed her.

No one could imagine how desperately she wanted those words to be true. How they penetrated the loneliness, banishing it back to its cold dark place.

When you only take comfort from the past, then there’s no hope for the future.

Drawing strength from Higson’s wise words, she walked over to the chair and dragged the painting out to examine it.

Holding back a surge of emotion, she noticed there were two diagonal slashes across the canvas, splitting her mother’s perfect face into four equal triangles, the pieces flapping back and forth. It was a despicable thing for anyone to do and an hour earlier she would have sobbed until there were no more tears left to shed.

With a deep breath and a renewed sense of optimism, she pressed the pieces back into place. As the face became whole again, she noticed her mother was still smiling.

Higson was right.

Nothing could erase the memory of her mother’s happy countenance. To Rebecca, she would always be smiling, and she did not need a painting to remind her of that.

With a full heart, a feeling she thought she’d never experience again once witnessing the damage, she managed to gather the strength to hang it back on the wall above the fireplace. It would stay there until she found a way to get it repaired. It would remind her that love lived in her heart.

Rebecca spent a few minutes looking at the portrait, letting only positive memories of love and affection fill her thoughts. Grief had a way of numbing all other feelings and she did not want to live her life in a state of constant sorrow.

By some miracle, she had found the one person who made the future appear brighter. She had fallen in love with Gabriel Stone, with the charismatic scholar of Egyptology whose intense passion often robbed her of her breath. When she thought of him, her heart soared and she would not run away from it. She would not let the fear of loss influence any future decisions.

What was Gabriel's story?

Higson had suggested a similarity to her own. If so, Rebecca would help him to look beyond his grief. If he came to her, which she hoped he would, she would do everything in her power to show him that a life and a future existed beyond the pain of the past.

Chapter 17

Gabriel milled about the house for hours, wandering from room to room, feigning interest in his books, in a piece of plum tart and a broken eyeglass, in anything that would stop him thinking about the events of the morning.

It was no good, he thought, throwing himself down on the sofa. He had to address his feelings at some point. He could not walk about in this comatose state for the rest of his life.

It was time to acknowledge the fact that he had stood like a dimwit, a man robbed of all sense and logic and watched Rebecca leave. A tiny part of him had breathed a sigh of relief. Her absence gave him time to reflect, time to repair and reinforce the wall. The largest part of him felt like a drunken sot who had lost his entire fortune in one idiotic turn of the dice. The lesson being, one should never play games with those things considered most precious.

You are not the man I hoped you would be.

She had used those words at their first meeting, and perhaps she was right.

He could be a friend and a lover, but never anything more, never a husband.

He had been deliberately quiet at breakfast, rudely so, withdrawn even, lost in some fearful nightmare from the past. Rebecca had sat dressed in the cotton nightdress he’d so eagerly dragged over her head just a few hours before, eating toast and sipping tea. He half-expected the door to burst open and the room to explode with the bustling sound of hungry children. Their children, all sharing breakfast in their family home.

And it scared the hell out of him.

The comfortable scene reminded him of a time in his youth when he’d come down for breakfast with his father, his mother’s chair cold and empty. Perhaps his father thought that a mouthful of eggs somehow rendered the news of his upcoming nuptials less shocking. Like a startled deer, Gabriel’s gaze had shot to the empty chair. His mind busy counting the weeks since his mother’s passing. Yet he knew it was only seven.

A new mother soon followed and then a sibling. The irony being that he had never felt more alone in his entire life.

Loneliness consumed him, drove him to form an obsession with Egypt. He had mirrored himself on his mentor, Lord Wellford, believing him the epitome of everything a man should be: loyal, devoted and honest — everything his father proved not to be.

Even that turned out to be a lie.

He still felt a thread of vengeance running through his veins. His heart was torn between a genuine sadness for Rebecca’s plight and wishing he could slash and stab at a painting of his own stepmother. Wishing he could hurt his sister the way her mother and father had hurt him.

That’s why he stayed away: because of guilt, anger, and shame.

There were many similarities between his situation and Rebecca’s. So many, he could not help but feel that fate had conspired to throw them together, and these strange coincidences were not coincidental at all.

Perhaps in understanding his own disgraceful feelings, it would help him to discover who wanted to hurt Rebecca.

The answer was obvious. The only people with motive were the Wellfords.

He recalled the three brothers: George, Alexander, and Frederick. They all had a reason to hate her, more reason to hate than even he could comprehend. Their mother had lived to witness her husband’s indiscretion.

Rebecca’s safety was of paramount concern and despite her plea for secrecy, Gabriel decided he would begin by calling on George Wellford.

Gabriel rode halfway across town only to discover that Lord Wellford had gone to his club. In his current mood, he did not want to wait until Wellford returned home and so swallowed down the feeling of irritation, dismissed his anxiety at having to mingle amongst the elite of Society.

Indeed, the look of surprise on the faces of the gentlemen who acknowledged him with a respectful nod reflected his own shock at being there.

Thankfully, Wellford sat alone, next to the white marble fireplace, a copy of
The Times
in one hand and a glass of port in the other. A steward approached, and he put down his drink and newspaper, his inquisitive gaze drifting beyond the man’s shoulder, locking with Gabriel’s frustrated glare.

Wellford beckoned him over. “Won’t you join me, Stone?” he said waving to the empty chair. “I’m ordering luncheon if you’re hungry.”

Gabriel did not intend to stay long. The pale-green walls were supposed to be calming, but they would need to plunge him into a vat of it to achieve the desired effect. “No, thank you. But I will have a pot of coffee.”

Wellford relayed the order to the steward and waited for him to depart. “I didn’t know you were a member,” he said in a lofty tone. “I assume you’re looking for me.”

“I am, and I’ve been a member for years.” It was not out of choice. His uncle insisted on securing membership for all the gentlemen in the family, but this was the first time it had proved useful.

“Then sit.”