Once Beloved (8 page)

“I'm sure it's finer than it looks.”

“But it's already so full. There's no room for us.”

Helena suppressed a shudder as she realized Vanessa's observation was all too true. The coach was full to bursting, inside and out, even after three passengers exited. They'd practically have to sit on the laps of others.

“Nonsense, dear. See, we may take the seats vacated by those who just disembarked. Anyway, it will only be until Birmingham. We shall take the train from there, which shortens our travel time significantly.” She tried to sound unperturbed, but her mouth flooded with bitter saliva.
They all look like decent, hardworking people, Helena. Don't be silly.
She realized with chagrin that their belongings would have to be stored with the other luggage, separating them from their valuables. Could she trust that their things would be safe? Meanwhile, she felt Daniel watching her. When she looked toward him, though, he was talking casually with one of the stable hands and stroking Talos's muzzle. He hadn't given more than acknowledgment and made no move to intercept her or Vanessa. He appeared ready to leave and yet he lingered.

“I've a schedule to keep,” the coachman said brusquely. “Are you ladies coming?”

“I don't like the looks of this, Auntie,” Vanessa whispered, wringing her hands. “I feel an inexplicable dread about this. Please, let's not. Mr. Lanfield is right over there. I'm sure he wouldn't mind if we continue on with him.”

As dramatic as her niece could be, she'd never seen the girl in such a state of increasing agitation. It added to her own misgivings. Reluctant to hand over their bags, she asked the coachman, “Are you sure there are seats for us?”

“Can't guarantee there's space for you to sit together.” He looked at the vehicle, his eyes narrowing as he assessed the space. “There's one seat available inside, one seat in front, and one for standing in back.”

“Oh, dear. That won't do. My niece and I should not be separated. When is the next coach? What is the likelihood more seats will be available?”

“Couldn't say, ma'am. Can't see into the future. Wouldn't be here if I could. Now, are you and the young miss coming or not?”

“I—we—If you could just give me a moment more—” she hedged. She felt no more amenable to this situation than her niece, but she had to prove she could do this. She must be able to ride a public coach without incident. After all, she'd survived an evening in an inn full of strangers. This was the next hurdle, and she would not be undone by it. Her own unease must have infected her niece, and they would both return to normal once they were on their way.

“Don't see what another minute would serve,” the man replied, his tone clipped and overbearing. “These passengers have paid good money to get where they're going. If you want to join them, now's the time.”

“Good morning, Mr. Lanfield!” Vanessa called out.

Biting back a curse, Helena chastised, “It is improper to shout in public, dear, and quite improper to do so in order to draw attention from a man not in your—”

“Good morning to you, Miss Addison. Mrs. Martin, how nice to see you this morning.” Mr. Lanfield's voice sounded much closer than she'd expected. He was beside them in only a few lengthy strides, his looming presence reminding her vividly of their conversation in his room last night. Vanessa needed to learn to hold her tongue. “There a problem?”

She shook her head, but Vanessa quickly responded, “There is no room for us on the coach.”

“Now, see here, girlie. That's not what I said. There's room enough.” The coachman looked annoyed now and, presumably seeing two fares slipping from his grip, yelled to driver, “Have one of the gentlemen inside give up his seat to these ladies.” The driver scowled but slid open the window behind him and murmured unintelligibly. Voices from the inside of the coach sounded resistant. People began to gather in the courtyard.

“My humble cart remains at your service, ladies.” Daniel's voice sounded sincere, even guileless, and yet something in his expression made Helena sure he was laughing at her and deeply enjoying her discomfort.

She and Vanessa replied simultaneously.

“No, no, Mr. Lanfield. We couldn't possibly—”

“Oh, Mr. Lanfield, we'd be obliged—”

Helena shot Vanessa her best Medusa face.
Headstrong girl
. “Vanessa, please. I am responsible for both of us. Mr. Lanfield, as I said before, your kindness is appreciated, but we really must move on.” She went to hand the coachman her bag.

“You'll have to secure your own luggage, ma'am,” the coachman interjected. “There's space for it in back.”

Vanessa blocked her way and grasped her arm, pulling her away from the others. In a fierce yet low voice, her niece said, “Auntie! What has come over you? You are always so prudent. But this is not wise. You're being so unreasonable.” Her niece sounded startlingly distressed. She stopped. Vanessa's face was pale, and her chin shook. “Please, Aunt Helena. I beg of you.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “We know Mr. Lanfield is kind and won't cause us harm. He's certainly had plenty of opportunity. I don't—the coach—I fear for our safety.”

It would be heartless of her to ignore her niece's plea, to dismiss Vanessa's intuition. She gave her niece's hand a squeeze and nodded.

“It appears my niece feels rather unwell and is unable to ride in a coach today. I am deeply sorry for any inconvenience we have caused you and your passengers.”

The coachman scowled at her and immediately turned, shouting “Driver, make ready.” She caught wisps of mumbled curses and unflattering descriptions of pampered, selfish women. So be it. She couldn't please everyone. In recent years, it seemed she couldn't please anyone at all. Why should today be any different?

When she turned to face Daniel again, he was conversing with Vanessa, whose demeanor had brightened considerably. Now she couldn't help but suspect her young niece had balked about the coach for reasons other than safety. She'd have to watch carefully. Surely, Mr. Lanfield could be trusted to behave honorably, but Vanessa's wayward emotions had prompted her mother to send her on this trip. Surely it was only her niece's well-being that made her tense at the sight of them laughing together. She consciously unclenched her jaw, readjusted her grip on her bags, and pasted a smile on her face. “It seems we are to continue imposing on your good will, kind sir. Climb aboard, Vanessa. By all means, let us be on our way.”

Daniel handed Vanessa into the cart and then turned back and offered to assist Helena. “I told you,” he said in a low voice, “I keep my promises.”

She should have felt affronted by his high-handedness—and she did—but there was another undercurrent of feeling as well. The tension in her shoulders eased a fraction. It had been so long since someone else was in charge. While she couldn't stomach a total loss of autonomy, there was something comforting about not having to make every single decision, not having to weigh all the consequences all the time. Isaiah hadn't been overbearing, but with him gone, everything was on her head. The house, the boys, the money, every responsibility large and small was heaped on her. She'd felt guiltily relieved when Bartholomew had joined the Navy; as much as she worried for his safety, his fate was no longer solely in her hands. Her sister and the rest of the Needlework for the Needy ladies certainly assisted her in more ways than she could count, but they had their own families, their own burdens.

Ignoring his hand, she clambered onto the cart. “We shall see.”

T
he second day of travel passed tensely, and Vanessa could see that her aunt was furious with Mr. Lanfield. Yet she couldn't understand why, nor why Aunt Helena had been so unreasonably insistent that they take the coach. What sense would that have made? It had been filled to bursting, and some of the passengers had appeared . . . questionable. And it had been filthy. Riding in the cart was a dusty mess, to be sure, but really. That coach was entirely unappealing. On the other hand, Mr. Lanfield's cart was at least roomy and comfortable, and he was a perfectly nice man with an almost fatherly manner. She felt sure they could trust him to watch over them, which she could not have said of the coachmen. He was the kind of man she could picture Billy becoming in a few short years. Billy was nearly as tall and as broad, but his body hadn't the same confidence that Mr. Lanfield's conveyed. But she could see Billy growing into that man as he climbed through the ranks at Dyson's. He wouldn't be a clerk forever, and she would be proud to stand by his side, as a good woman should.

“Hold tight,” Mr. Lanfield called over his shoulder. A moment later, the whole cart bounced and shook as they rumbled over what must have been enormous ruts in the road. The straw bales might not be the height of comfort and luxury, but they were enough to cushion the blow. The coach's wooden benches would surely have been less forgiving.

Several uneventful minutes later, she couldn't help but notice that Auntie Helena still clung to the side of the cart rather desperately. Her aunt's face was pale and blotchy, and she stared into the distance with a strange, empty look.

“Mr. Lanfield! Please stop! Something is wrong!” she shouted. Auntie didn't react at all. Her eyes were open, unblinking, and her breathing was rapid and shallow. She followed her aunt's gaze but saw only the same road, the same landscape, she'd seen for miles. What in heaven's name was the matter? Her skin prickled with anxiety. What should she do?

Mr. Lanfield glanced back from his seat and immediately eased the cart to the side of the road. He would know how to help her aunt!

“What's happening?” he asked, turning in his seat.

“I don't know! Before we hit that rough patch of road, she was fine. Now she seems to be in some sort of trance.” She cringed at the alarm in her own voice.
Don't be a child, Ness.
But this wasn't like Auntie's previous spells in which she slipped into unconsciousness. Now she looked horribly awake but seemed to be experiencing something unconnected to her actual time and place. Something was happening in her mind to cause that terrified—and terrifying—expression. “What can this be? What do we do?”

Quickly, he secured the cart and climbed into the back. He knelt before her aunt, his brow furrowed.

“This one of her spells?” He clapped his hands directly in front of Auntie's face, but there was no change.

“No! It's never been like this before! I have no idea what this is.” Her head felt full to bursting with the stress. She hated feeling so helpless, so incompetent. She dug into her satchel for the bottle of salts her mother had given her for emergencies. “Here. Perhaps this may work anyway.”

He took out the stopper and waved it under Auntie's nose. Vanessa held her nose to block out the pungent smell, but it still took several moments before her aunt reacted.

“Don't let them!” Auntie's whole body tensed even more. Her eyes opened even wider, but whatever she saw wasn't in the here and now. The terror in her voice was chilling. “Isaiah, don't leave me! They're not our concern! Please, I beg you, drive on!”

“Wake up, Helena,” Mr. Lanfield said forcefully. “Where are you? Come back. You're safe, Lena. Now come back to us.” His voice rumbled like thunder. He shouldn't talk so familiarly to her aunt! He shouldn't look at her so—an ear-piercing whistle from him made her wince and made Auntie jump. Perhaps she couldn't fault him for his approach, if it worked. Aunt Helena blinked a few times and then stood shakily, nearly knocking the bottle from Mr. Lanfield's hand. Her aunt's eyes darted around, and she looked confused and wary. She looked like a stranger. Mr. Lanfield rose too but was careful not to touch her. He made soothing noises until she sat back down, appearing deflated and so very sad. Vanessa wrapped her arms around her aunt's shoulders, and the tremors running through this woman who was a second mother to her alarmed her even more. A sick feeling spread through her stomach. This was so much worse than the previous spells.

“What happened to your husband, Mrs. Martin?” he asked softly. Vanessa rested her head on Auntie's shoulder, hoping to hear her response but, at the same time, dreading the answer.

Aunt Helena shook her head. “It was a long time ago.”

“Not so long in your mind, I'd bet.”

“Auntie,” she said cautiously, not wishing to send the delicate woman into a relapse. “Uncle Isaiah wasn't truly in an accident, was he?” No one in the family ever talked about it, but she remembered when he had been brought home. A freak accident, her mother had said. He'd never woken. She could picture Auntie trying to spoon broth into his mouth, could see him fading quickly in just a few days. She could still hear the muffled weeping when her aunt had shut the door on everyone near the end.
A terrible tragedy no one could have foreseen
, her mother had repeated in the months that followed. Uncle's death had devastated everyone. It was no wonder Aunt Helena hid away in her house, shrouded by grief.

But this reaction, Auntie's trance-like state and abject terror—this was something else entirely.

The trembling eased, and she felt her aunt straightening, pulling away, and then their positions somehow switched, with her aunt's arm around her, supporting her.

“Dearie, your uncle is gone, and nothing can bring him back,” Aunt Helena said. The flatness of her tone was at least a marginal improvement over fear. “The particulars are in the past.”

“If I may say, Mrs. Martin, the past can be a stubborn beast, rearing and bucking long after you thought it domesticated.” He seemed about to say more, but shut his mouth when Auntie looked directly at him. There was something inscrutable in that look. She was surprised Mr. Lanfield could speak so vividly, so succinctly poetical. He'd been so cold to her aunt, but little glimpses of compassion like this one reassured her. Now if only Aunt Helena would soften a bit, perhaps this journey would be less of an ordeal.

“You've given me more than enough warning, sir, about how Marksby clings to my past transgressions,” Auntie snapped at him, “and I am well aware of how persistently the past forces itself into the present . . . and the future.”

This agitation couldn't possibly be good for her aunt, whose face had gone from chalky white to an uncomfortable redness.

“Shall we get down and walk a bit, Auntie, if you've a mind to? A turn in the air could do you good.”

“That sounds like a fine idea.” Her aunt patted her shoulder and stood, more solidly this time, then climbed down from the cart with efficient, confident movements. Pray God there would be no more of these episodes. If they'd taken the train as Auntie intended, she would have been at a loss about what to do, and they wouldn't have had Mr. Lanfield to rely on. After a brief stroll, they all agreed that Aunt Helena had returned to normal and didn't appear to be at risk of relapsing. At least not immediately. Still, it took many miles before Vanessa felt the tension leave her body, and a nagging voice told her things would only get worse.