Secrets in the Mist Read online

  I frowned down at my feet where they kicked out the hems of my skirts. “He was indisposed,” I replied indirectly, angry that Father had put me in such an awkward position, and irritated that Robert should even mention him.

  I hoped he would leave the matter at that, but out of the corner of my eye I saw his gaze soften, and I got the impression he knew exactly what I wasn’t saying. I refused to turn my head, lest he read it for certain in my eyes.

  To cover my embarrassment, and to keep him from posing any further questions I didn’t wish to answer, I asked after Kate.

  His face crumpled in concern. “She still has a fever, and her breathing sounds no less ragged than before.” He glanced down at the basket on my arm and then back to my face, a sheen of genuine fear in his topaz eyes. “Do you think I should send for Dr. Polk again?”

  I lifted my hand and pressed it to his arm in comfort. “There’s nothing more the doctor can do,” I assured him. At any rate, it would take hours to fetch the physician from Norwich, if he would even come. Upon his departure in the early afternoon, after calling in the local apothecary to bleed Kate what I believed to be a dangerous amount, Dr. Polk had informed us there was nothing to be done but watch and wait. When Kate had worsened, I’d decided it was time to take matters into my own hands. Mrs. Brittle had been dosing my family with her own salves and tinctures since the day she and her late husband joined my parents’ household long before I was born, and she’d rarely lost a patient on her watch—in fact, only once that I knew of. But I shook the troubling memory aside. In that case, there was nothing Mrs. Brittle could have done.

  “It’s up to us now,” I informed Robert, infusing my words with as much confidence as I could muster.

  My determination must have rung true, for he nodded and grabbed hold of my hand. Despite my preoccupation with Kate, I noted the warmth of his touch. It was a welcome distraction under the circumstances, and I refrained from pulling away from him, as I normally would have done these days. There had been a time when I would have given much for him to touch me like this, but that was a long time ago and things could never be as they once were.

  The pale outline of Greenlaws emerged from the fog like a mirage until it took on solid form and substance. Though small compared to the nearby manor houses of Raveningham Hall and Waveney Hall, Greenlaws was still by far the largest home in Thurlton proper. Its pale red brick and pristine white trim stood in stark contrast to the weather-beaten boards of Penleaf Cottage. Not so long ago, our cottage had been as lovingly cared for as Greenlaws, but that was before—before the war, before my brother Erik’s death, before Father started drinking.

  I allowed Robert to guide me up the steps to the portico, but rather than opening the door as I expected, he turned to look at me as if he wished to say something. Worried it was something I didn’t wish to hear, I pulled my hand from his grasp and reached for the door handle myself. He shifted his feet to block me, forcing me to look up into his handsome face.

  “Ella, was there…” He hesitated uncomfortably and then took a step closer. “Did you…see anything out in the marshes?”

  My heart leapt in my chest, glad this was all he wished to ask me about. However, the memory of those dark eyes staring down at me swiftly banished any relief. I had to resist the urge to turn my head to gaze out over the fens where they stretched out below us, wondering if the light of those lanterns could be seen from here. I already knew the fog, as well as the reeds and marsh grasses, would block anything from my view, but the compulsion was strong.

  Not for a second did I consider telling Robert the truth, though I didn’t quite understand why. It simply seemed better for him not to know.

  “Of course not,” I lied, worried my voice sounded higher in pitch than normal.

  He studied my face for a tense moment and then nodded in acceptance.

  I tilted my head in sudden curiosity. “Why? Did you see something?”

  He glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the marshes, rubbing a hand across his forehead and into his caramel-brown hair. “I thought I did. But…it may have just been your lantern.” He glanced down at where he still held my lantern in his hand and then smiled sheepishly. “I have to tell you, when I first saw your light coming out of the marshes and up onto the lawn, it startled me.”

  “And so you went out to investigate?”

  “Well, of course,” he replied as if that was all the explanation I needed. And perhaps it was. Robert was nothing if not dutiful. He took all of his responsibilities seriously, including protecting his household. It was one of the things I’d always liked about him, even when I didn’t.

  I turned away before I could say something I would later wish unsaid, and lifted the basket on my arm again. “Kate?”

  “Yes.” He stepped to the side, opening the door for me.

  I hurried past him and up the stairs without another word.

  ~ ~ ~

  “How is she?” I whispered, touching Nora gently on the shoulder where she dozed in a chair by Kate’s bed.

  The maid blinked open her eyes and arched her back forward to stretch it. I set the basket of supplies on the bedside table and turned to examine our patient.

  “Not so good, miss,” Nora replied, concern tightening her voice. “She won’t drink much, though I did try, more than once.”

  Kate slept fitfully, her eyes moving back and forth beneath their lids and her forehead furrowing with each raspy breath. I pulled my gloves off and laid the back of my wrist against her skin, feeling that it still burned with fever.

  “Well, we’ll simply have to force her then,” I replied, hoping it wouldn’t come to that, but determined to get water into her regardless. “Can you heat a kettle of water?” I asked Nora while I dug the tin of dried yarrow, feverfew, and sage from the basket. I handed it to her. “Steep three teaspoons of this in it.”

  The maid nodded and hurried off to carry out my instructions, closing the door softly behind her. I picked up the cloth resting in a bowl of water on the table and wrung it out, then leaned over Kate’s unconscious form and bathed her forehead. She groaned and turned her face toward the coolness, seeming to seek it out, further disturbing her already uneven breaths.

  “Shhh, Kate,” I crooned. “It’s only me. Ella.”

  She made no sign of having heard me, and I swallowed hard, forbidding myself to give in to a spate of worrying when there were things to be done.

  Pulling the blankets back from her shoulders, I could feel the heat radiating beneath. I folded the coverings down to her waist and began to unlace the top of her nightdress. After carefully bathing her there, I dropped the cloth back into the bowl of water with a soft splash and reached for the jar of balm. As I removed the lid, the pungent but not unpleasant odor of peppermint filled my nostrils, accented by the more mellow floral notes of hyssop and yarrow. The smell instantly took me back to the sickrooms of my childhood, and my mother’s gentle touch and sweet voice singing me lullabies.

  For a moment, I was stunned by the force of the memory. It had been a long time since I’d allowed myself to think about my mother or my brother, and in the space of less than an hour I’d conjured both of their faces. Squeezing my eyes shut tightly, as if that alone would slam closed the lid on painful remembrances, I stuffed the emotions they evoked back deep down inside me where they belonged.

  I sat down on the bed next to Kate and dipped my fingers into the balm. Then I leaned forward to rub it across her chest and neck. Kate’s throat rattled with congestion as she inhaled, her nostrils flaring at the scent. Careful to disturb her as little as necessary, I rolled her to the side and slathered more of the ointment across the skin on her upper back beneath her nightdress. After settling her back against the feather mattress, I did up the ties of her nightclothes loosely and left the blankets down around her waist.

  I sat back to look at her, wondering if she was already breathing better or if it was just wishful thinking on my part. She seemed more comfortable,
even if her fair skin appeared just as flushed, her normally shiny brown hair damp and matted with sweat.

  I silently urged my friend to open her eyes, even though I knew that for the moment it would be better if she didn’t. Her fever-bright eyes would only frighten me, and the icy ball of dread pressing down on my chest was already almost unbearable.

  Kate was my closest friend, dearer to me than even a sister could be. She knew me better than anyone in the world. I sometimes thought she was the only one who truly knew me at all. The closeness that had existed between Robert and I had vanished almost four years ago. Father was nearly a stranger to me, and Mrs. Brittle was old and nearing death’s door. Kate was all I had. And if she left me too…

  The icy ball inside me squeezed, stopping my breath.

  I reached out to clutch her hand between my own, running my thumbs over her clammy skin while I prayed that Nora hurried with the feverfew tea.

  ~ ~ ~

  The clatter of a cup pulled me from my uneasy dozing. I blinked open my eyes and squinted into the muted light of dawn pouring through a crack in the curtains and falling across my face. I leaned forward, and groaned at the soreness in my muscles from sleeping in such an awkward position. Rubbing a hand across my eyes, I turned to watch Kate’s fat, orange tabby cat jump down from the bedside table. She’d tipped over a half-full cup of feverfew tea, sending it dribbling over the side of the table to puddle on the floor. I cursed the nosy feline and grabbed a dry cloth to dab at the mess.

  The worst of it cleaned up, I turned cautiously toward Kate, worried what I might find. Her chest moved up and down evenly beneath the covers, still crackling with congestion, but much softer than the night before. Her face was smoothed of its lines of pain, and I dared to think her complexion appeared less flushed, more healthy pink than fiery red.

  I shifted forward and gently pressed the back of my wrist to her forehead, finding it cool to the touch. Just to be sure I wasn’t fooling myself, I slid my hand over her cheeks and down her neck, finding them cool as well. The breath I’d been holding for what felt like days left me in a rush, and I sank back in my chair to bite back tears of relief.

  ~ ~ ~

  Kate’s fever remained broken, but even so I stayed with her through the rest of the morning and late into the afternoon, continuing to dose her with feverfew tea. She slept through most of the day, but stayed awake long enough in the middle of the afternoon for me to spoon half a bowl of beef broth into her. Even her chest congestion seemed to be less than the day before, though I knew that upon nightfall it was likely to worsen again.

  Despite these improvements, I had intended to remain another night at Greenlaws to ensure her illness did not return. However, my father it seemed had a different idea.

  Having apparently slept off the ill effects of drink the night before, he came looking for me in the early evening, when the bright orange ball of the sun had just begun its descent over the marshes. This was a move I had not anticipated. My father so rarely seemed to care what I did or where I went that I’d long since stopped leaving word of my intentions. In any case, Mrs. Brittle always knew where I could be found.

  So when Robert called me down to the front parlor, I expected to be asked to give a report on his sister’s progress. When instead I found myself facing my father, I was slightly alarmed.

  Father was clean-shaven and dressed in freshly pressed clothes, though they could not hide the pale green cast of his skin or his bloodshot eyes. He appeared uneasy, and I found myself wondering when he had last entered this room. Glancing at Robert’s awkward stance I thought it might have been during the reception held a few weeks after Robert’s London wedding. None of us wanted to remember the commotion Father had caused then. It was just months after news of Erik’s death had reached us. Just months after Father had resumed his drinking.

  “Father,” I gasped, coming to a stop just inside the door. “Is something wrong?”

  “No, no,” he replied in a voice made hoarse from disuse and strong spirits. “I’ve just come to fetch you home.”

  My gaze slid from him to Robert, who watched our exchange with curiosity, and back again. “I thought I might stay another night with Kate. Her fever only just broke this morning and she’s still very weak.” I looked to Robert, hoping he would support me in this, but he remained silent.

  “Well, Miss Rockland has a maid who can sit with her, does she not?” Father turned for confirmation to Robert, who nodded. “So it sounds like matters are well in hand.”

  My brow furrowed and I clenched my hands at my sides. “Yes, but I would rather remain here in case she needs me.”

  Father slapped his gloves lightly against his palm, repeating the action as he’d always done when he was impatient. “You’ve dosed her with Mrs. Brittle’s tea, haven’t you?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Then you’ve nothing to worry about. I’ve never known that brew not to do the trick.”

  I wasn’t certain whether I was supposed to find this statement comforting, but in any case, it didn’t work.

  “Gather your things and we’ll be off,” he proclaimed.

  “Father, I really think—”

  “I’ll be waiting for you on the porch. Good to see you, Mr. Rockland,” he remarked, crossing the room and disappearing through the door.

  I glared at Robert. “Why didn’t you correct him?” I demanded.

  Robert leveled the same steady, superior gaze at me that used to infuriate me as a child. “Perhaps it’s for the best. I’m sure Kate will recover quickly now, thanks to you. But even given the circumstances, you know your staying here isn’t strictly proper.”

  I wanted to snap at him. There was no society about to protect our reputation from, and even had there been, given our recent past I doubted they would have suspected anything untoward. Robert knew this, but I sensed it would be useless to argue. Both men had made up their minds, whatever their true reasons. I sighed and stomped out of the room to return to Kate’s bedside.

  Had Kate truly still been in danger, nothing could have pulled me from her side, but they were right. The worst was past, though it would be a matter of weeks before she made a full recovery. In the meantime, I could leave instructions with Nora for her care and feel certain they would be carried out. If Kate’s condition worsened, I could also trust her to find a way to get a message to me, even if it meant circumventing her master should he deem contacting me unnecessary.

  I gathered up my cloak and crossed the entry hall, only to be halted by Robert. I could see Father pacing back and forth across the porch through the window by the front door.

  “Ella,” he murmured, his eyes saying more things than I could understand. “You will be all right, won’t you?”

  I narrowed my eyes at him, refusing to be swayed by his show of concern. That he was talking about my father was clear, and I felt the sting of a blush across the crest of my cheeks. I cursed him for making me feel it. “It’s none of your concern.”

  Whatever right he’d had to worry about me had been forfeited when he’d married Olivia. Her passing changed nothing.

  I turned away with a swirl of my cloak and pulled open the door to join my father.

  Chapter 3

  F

  ather insisted we take the road through the village instead of the marsh path. I didn’t argue with him, not eager to venture into the fens again so soon after the night before. In any event, I knew Father wanted to stop by the White Horse Inn, and I was too tired to protest, though it left a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. He left me sitting on the bench outside while he completed his transaction.

  Few people ever visited Thurlton, and those who did were usually guests of Greenlaws, so the White Horse Inn was really nothing more than a pub with a few dusty rooms upstairs. Its worn façade, with the last remnants of white paint sticking to the wind-blasted wood like burrs, inspired little confidence in its prominence. But it was the physical and social center of the village, at least for
the men. At any time of day, a group of at least three or four men could be found inside arguing about something of no consequence.

  In contrast, their wives preferred to cluster in the churchyard across the street diagonal to the inn. Nowhere in England was there a better-tended front walk, bordered by flowering bushes and fragrant blossoms, the maintenance of which the women used to excuse their gathering there to indulge in idle chitchat. Ivy and rose trellises crawled up over the lychgate, inviting the passerby to step inside, a stark contrast to the dull wood and stone and thatch of the rest of the businesses clustered in the center of the village along the single road that ran through town. In one direction the carriageway led to the town of Hales and further on to Norwich; in the other, it meandered deep into the marshes only to end at Penleaf Cottage.

  I sat watching the women prune deadheads off the roses growing over the lychgate, wishing I could offer to help. But I knew from experience that while my assistance would be welcomed, it wasn’t truly wanted. The women couldn’t properly gossip while I was about, so an awkward silence would fall, strained by polite exchanges, the distance between us in blood and tradition simply too great to overcome even though I was far from being the grand lady of any manor.

  In all honesty, as much as I wished I could bridge that gap between the village women and myself, I was also grateful for it. It kept them from behaving in too familiar a manner, and from displaying the pity I suspected they felt for me—spinster daughter of a drunkard. I dropped my gaze to the scuffed and worn toes of my boots, a pair one size too big for me that I’d pulled from my mother’s closet when my own pair had worn through the soles. Mrs. Brittle had urged me to take them to the cobbler, but I couldn’t. Not when I wasn’t sure he’d been paid for the last two visits our family had made to his shop.

  “Albie told me he saw ’em last night. Movin’ through the fens, headed fer the Dawkins place.”