Beside Two Rivers (34 page)

Morning tea was brought up on a tray. Charlotte sent word she could not join at table with her guests. Her limbs did not allow for her to sit in the stiff chairs without growing fatigued. It was just as well. Darcy wished to write letters. To sit with Charlotte would have stretched her nerves.

Darcy hated being in a strange place—especially in Langbourne’s house. A sad feeling lingered, perhaps since the only people living there were Charlotte and her servants. There were no children, no sound of pattering feet or laughter. Charlotte hadn’t even a dog or cat to keep her company. And so, the house held an old, friendless air that permeated every room. To shut it out, she closed her eyes and imagined in her mind her river—the sparkle of sunlight atop the ripples and pools, the dark cliffs, the birds and deer, the green forests, and the abundant wildflowers. She pictured her family and the old house at River Run. She and Ethan had stood in a field there not long ago, where he first kissed her.

“Oh, Ethan,” she sighed. “One day, we will restore the house to its former beauty, and fill it with a brigade of children. Sanchet will graze alongside my mare. And God willing, mother and father will be there again.”

Anxious for her letter to reach him and for his arrival, she listened to the sighing wind and the call of rock doves nestled in the eaves. She heard movement outside her door, and stepping out into the hallway, she saw Charlotte and a servant standing outside Madeline’s room. The maid had her head down and spoke rapidly, as if she were trying to explain something to her mistress. Her eyes darted toward Darcy and her sad expression deepened. Charlotte turned and looked at Darcy with expressionless eyes.

“My grandmother? Is she awake?”

Charlotte cleared her throat. “No … She …”

Fear spun within Darcy. She hurried toward the door, but Charlotte’s voice, raised more than usual, arrested her. “Before you go in,” Charlotte said, “you must know, no one knew until the maid went in to bring her breakfast. Such things happen with the aged. It was to be expected.”

“Knew what, Charlotte? What do you mean such things are to be expected?”

Charlotte glanced away, and then looked back at Darcy. “Madeline was old, and her health none too well. My husband must have been aware of it. So why did he send her to me? Now I have to deal with this.”

Without waiting, Darcy rushed through the bedroom door. Inside she found the other maid, the one she had given the note to, changing the linens on the bed.

“Where is she? Where is my grandmother?”

The maid set a pillow down and looked over at her.

“Why are you not speaking?” Darcy asked.

Charlotte drew up beside her. “She passed on, Darcy, while you slept. I thought you were capable of understanding my words.”

“She died in the night?” Darcy asked, shocked. Tears burned her eyes.

“You did say she was ill when you arrived.”

“Why didn’t you send for me?”

“Dear lord, Darcy! No one could determine the hour the old lady would decide to leave this world. We were all asleep.”

“I just wish you had come and told me as soon as you knew.”

Charlotte clapped her eyes shut. “I wish you had expressed with more force that Madeline was this close to dying. I am put out that you did not, and angry with my husband. He should not have sent her to Meadlow.”

“Where is she?”

“My servants moved the body to another room. This is a guestroom and I would hate for anyone in my circle of friends, if they were to visit, to sleep in a bed where a deceased person had lain for too long. They’d be appalled. No one likes to sleep in a bed someone passed away in.”

Frustration rose in Darcy and she shook her arm free from Charlotte’s hand. “Be quiet, Charlotte!”

Eyes widening, Charlotte gasped. “What? How dare you speak to me in that manner? I am just as upset as you are.”

“How can you treat this event with such coldness and think only of yourself and your inconvenience? I wish we had never come here.”

“Well, no one forced you. You may leave at any time.”

“I was forced. Grandmother was forced. She should have died in her own bed at Havendale, not suddenly taken from the home she lived in for decades and placed with strangers.”

As if a dagger struck through to her core, Darcy dashed from the room. At first, she stifled the want to cry. But she could not prevent the tears from welling. She covered her face with her hands and allowed them to fall. She had not realized how much she had grown to love Madeline.

Charlotte swept out into the hallway. In a forced show of sympathy, she caught up with Darcy. “Is there something a servant can bring you? Wine, or perhaps some sweets? They always lift my spirits.”

Darcy stood still and silent.

“Well,” huffed Charlotte. “I did not think you cared so much for the old woman.”

Darcy looked at her. “She was my grandmother, Charlotte. Is there no sorrow in you at all, no sadness at least for me?”

Charlotte lifted her brows. “Please mind yourself while you are in my house, Darcy. I will send for the undertaker. I suppose she would want to be buried beside her—let me see—two husbands?”

“She would. And you need not worry yourself. I will take care of everything.”

“My husband would not approve. I’ve sent for him.”

“You knew where to find him?”

“Of course. I know where he goes when he is away from me.”

Darcy wiped her eyes dry. “Where is Mrs. Burke?”

“Oh, I meant to tell you about that. Seeing I have enough staff at Meadlow, I will find her a new situation.”

“She will stay with me. I have an obligation to her.”

Charlotte gave Darcy a mocking smile. “I daresay I do not understand you. You have no duty to a servant. The best thing for her is to be placed in a household where she will work and be cared for. Is this the view in America, that you treat servants like family members?”

Darcy drew in a long, slow breath, turned away and left Charlotte in the gloomy hallway with her maid standing behind her. There was no consoling poor Mrs. Burke. Darcy found her weeping in an upstairs bedroom, so small it could only fit a single bed and dresser. Darcy poured her a glass of water and made her drink it.

Mrs. Burke drew out a handkerchief and blew her nose. “I knew it were coming. God rest her soul.”

“You were good to her, and I thank you for that, Mrs. Burke. Now Charlotte tells me she will find you a new position. But I would be happy if you came with me back to America.”

Mrs. Burke smiled a moment. “You are sweet to offer, miss. But my home is England. I have family in the north, a rather large one actually. I am at an age where I can retire in peace and be near them.”

“But how shall you live?” Darcy asked.

“I set money aside over the years—for a rainy day—and that day has come. My sister is a spinster, and she will allow me to live with her. My brothers are farmers with wives, children, and grandchildren. The good Lord knows I shall be happy.”

On the floor, at the foot of the bed, Maxwell whined. Darcy picked him up and set him in Mrs. Burke’s lap. “He is yours now. You will take care of him, won’t you?”

Mrs. Burke cuddled the little dog close. “Oh, I shall. Thank you, Darcy.”

“My grandmother would have wanted you to have him.” She ran her hand over the dog’s head, and then heard a horse gallop down the drive. Her heart skipped. Had Ethan received her note? It had to be him. She rose and rushed over to the window, threw back the curtains and peered down into the courtyard.

“Is it Mr. Brennan?” Mrs. Burke said.

Darcy’s hopes were dashed when she saw Langbourne swing down from the saddle in his black cloak, the pale morning light showing on his angry face. “No. It is Mr. Langbourne.”

“Dear, Lord.” Mrs. Burke set her handkerchief aside and joined Darcy at the window. “We shall surely have an unpleasant time now.”

Disappointed, Darcy stood back, squeezed Mrs. Burke’s hand, and went downstairs to meet him.

33

By the time Darcy stepped off the last step into the foyer, Langbourne had cast off his hat and cloak. A cold draft blew against her as a servant closed the front door, but did not abate the fever racing through her nerves. She fixed her eyes on Langbourne as he removed his gloves.

“Where is my wife?” His voice sounded raspy, his tone irritable.

Darcy faced him. “Upstairs, I believe. She hoped you would come.”

“A most inconvenient time for Madeline to have passed on. I suppose you shall blame me.”

Darcy said nothing, only looked him straight in the eye. With an uneasy gait, Langbourne turned to the maid. “Bring me something to drink. I don’t care what it is as long as it will soothe my throat. There was a hard wind riding here.”

When the maid gave her curtsey and was gone, he approached Darcy. She felt a shiver wash over her, but remained where she stood. He drew her hair between his fingers. “You, at least, made it to Meadlow in good health. I have no doubt Charlotte will grow jealous of you, but do not mind her cold ways. She never interferes.”

Darcy recoiled. “You go too far, sir.”

“Not far enough.” He looked up the staircase at the sound of footsteps. Charlotte appeared and Darcy observed with perplexity the genteel smile that graced her mouth upon sight of her wayward husband.
She loves him. Why?

“You came so quickly,” Charlotte said.

“Well, when someone dies in one’s house, one should take care of the details. I could not leave it up to you to deal with. You do not have the head for it or the fortitude. It was, however, ill-timed.”

“As if this could have been marked on a calendar,” Darcy said. “It is not Charlotte’s fault. Perhaps if you had left Madeline at Havendale, she would still be with us, and you sir, would not have been so put out. I told you she was ill and could not travel.”

He sneered. “There’s that bold tongue again.”

For a moment, they stared into each other’s eyes. The contention between them flared. Coupled with the grief she felt, her loathing of him grew to unbearable proportions. She drew her skirts around and rushed back up the staircase to the room given her. She locked
it, then threw herself across the bed and wept.

A funeral carriage drew up to a rear door at Meadlow. Two men dressed in black carried the body of Madeline Morgan away. Darcy asked to accompany them back, but they shook their heads at her and said it was something just not done.

Charlotte knocked on Darcy’s door and spoke to her through it. “Everything is settled. You should stop weeping, Darcy. You must make plans as to what you will do now that Madeline is gone.”

“I wish to go to Fairview and then home,” Darcy answered back.

“Then go. I will not stop you.”

She listened to Charlotte step away. Neither she nor Langbourne cared what happened to her, and they had sent Mrs. Burke away the moment the funeral carriage left. Still, she wept, until her heart grew calm and her tears dried. Ethan had not come and she yearned for him. When the maid came to her room with a fresh pitcher of water, Darcy questioned her.

“You gave the note to the coachman?”

“Yes, miss. He said he’d post it the first chance he had, which I think would be either at Castleton or even Manchester. It will take time.”

“There is no one here who could have delivered it?”

“No, miss. Sorry.”

After the maid left, Darcy looked over at her cloak lying across the back of a chair. The mantelpiece clock ticked as she paced the floor. “I can do this. I’ve hiked the river paths and climbed the cliffs. I sailed across the ocean to England alone, and walked to Havendale. I do not need to fear.” Then she got down on her knees and bent her head in her hands. “Help me, Lord. I cannot stay here another minute. Show me the way. For thou art my rock and my fortress; therefore, for thy name’s sake lead me, and guide me.”

She had to travel light, and so she placed only one set of clothes in her bag and closed the latch. Picking up her cloak, she drew it over her body, and fastened the tassels at her throat. Then she slipped out the door, went down the staircase with her head held high, and walked away from Meadlow without a look back.

34

Dew lay on the grass and crackled beneath Darcy’s shoes. Walking at a steady pace, she had no worry for rain. The joy of knowing she was headed for Fairview, for the warm embrace of Ethan, drenched her soul. She’d see her mother, her poor lost father. And finally, they’d sail away across a blue welcoming ocean back to America, to the Potomac and the home she loved.

After passing through the gates, she stood a moment looking down the road. If they had come from Havendale that way, then the logical thing was to head in that direction. Yes, to the south, and then beyond Havendale she’d come to Fairview. On she went, keeping to the road where a marker pointed the way toward the villages nestled in the Hope Valley. Prints from horse and wagon were deep in the mud; trees sparse, and old Roman walls lined the road.

She found herself walking on a hill overlooking a vale. The wind bore through her cloak and fought its way in to chill her limbs. She wrapped it closer against her body and shivered. Reaching an outcropping of stone, she climbed it to see farther into the valley. She stood on a rise of rock that jutted up from the earth in layers of gray limestone. It came faintly to her at first, the sound of a horse pounding over the mossy turf. She turned and when her eyes fixed on the rider heading her way, she cried out, “Ethan! Ethan!”