Abigail Jones (Chronicles of Abigail Jones #1) (12 page)

FIFTEEN

All the next day I spent in moody contemplation. As I stared up into the celestial dome above the countess' bed, my mind spun like a carousel. What had happened in Hux's past? What had his wife done to him to cause such unremitting anguish? Why couldn't he let go of her? As my thoughts continued to whirl, I turned to my good side. The glimmering peach walls and gilt furniture closed in upon me. I squeezed my eyes shut. I did not belong in this luxurious room. Mayhap not at Hope End.

Since my arrival here, there was no denying that the frequency of my visions had increased. Two already, in a month's time. And their intensity—'twas like nothing I had experienced before. Aunt Agnes' voice floated in my head:
They are not real. They are illusions. You must never give into them.
Yet I now believed that the content of these trances
was
real. With each successive spell, I was drawn closer and closer to some authentic and nefarious source. A depraved, lustful energy that grew ever stronger in these lascivious women I encountered.

One day, I might not escape it. The notion triggered a burning portent behind my eyes, a flashing warning in my brain.
You should run from this place. Go seek your fortune elsewhere. Go, before it's too late.

But I could not leave
him
.

The realization made me hot and cold at once. I had not seen Hux since last night. I knew he had checked in on me, though, whilst I dozed. More than once, I'd surfaced bleary-eyed to find a tray laden with food and drink by the bedside. In a gesture that had made me squirm with embarrassment, he'd also placed a chamber pot within convenient reach.

We'd shared too much, my employer and me. My belly fluttered at the intimacy of all that had passed between us. None of which could lead to anything but pain and disappointment. Yet like the proverbial moth, my thoughts recklessly circled a dangerous flame.

When Monday morning arrived, I was more than ready for the distraction of a friendly face.

"Well, blow me down, I says to Mrs. Beecher. His lordship wants me
where
this mornin'? An' takin' care o' who?" Clucking her tongue, Ginny came to the bed. Her brown eyes rounded as they darted over me, and I knew she did not miss the fact that I was wearing the earl's robe. I felt myself turning crimson. "Abigail Jones, whatever 'appened—an' don't go tellin' me this has got anythin' to do with book readin'!"

"I had a bit of an accident," I said, rather inanely. "D-did the earl say anything about it?"

Ginny snorted as she began straightening the sheets around me. "His lordship ne'er says nofin' 'bout anyfin'. Don't have to, does 'e, bein' the master an' all. But you, me girl—you won't get away so easy." She frowned, an unusually grim expression on her freckled face. "They's already talkin', you know. All the staff, and some o' it I'm shamed to repeat aloud.
Abby's a good girl, so stop flappin' yer gums
, I says."

"Thank you, Ginny," I said, my voice tremulous.

"It ain't a thing," Ginny replied. "But best you tell me wha' happened, so I knows what I'm defendin'."

I looked into her earnest, apple-cheeked countenance—and still I hesitated. The shadow of Miranda, my once bosom friend, hovered in my consciousness. All too well I'd learned to live in secrecy. Another image came to me, then, of the sanitarium where my mother had passed her last years. I saw the bars separating her from the world, keeping her caged with the madness. There were many kinds of prisons, I was beginning to see—silence and fear being as powerful as stone walls and rods of iron.

My throat worked. How long had I been held captive? Other than Aunt Agnes (and, for a spell, Mrs. Beecher), there had been few others I could rely upon. I felt the rash need to confide in another, as if I could no longer contain all my thoughts and feelings within my own skin.

"I—I took a spill while in London," I admitted.

I could not say that I told Ginny everything. But I did reveal more than I would have in the past. Though I did not divulge the secret of my visions, I did share of the "premonition" I'd had at Mrs. Cunningham's. Of evil. Of a darkness that had made me run and incur my injuries. Ginny, who had a fondness for tales of the macabre, encouraged me on with wide eyes. I told her how his lordship had saved me and taken care of me afterward; I did, however, omit any mention of the kiss.

Even so, by the time I finished, Ginny had both hands clapped upon her cheeks.

"You made like a spankin' sailor on 'is first leg—
'pon the master's trousers
?" she gasped.

I gave a sheepish nod.

She burst out laughing and did not stop until there were tears streaming down her face.

"Abigail Jones," she said finally, "I han't
ever
'eard such a tale as yours. But it gots to be the bleedin' truf. Who could make up a thing like
that
?"

*****

 Ginny went below stairs to fetch me my own clothes. When she returned, we examined the meager selection together. I had but one gown now, the other bombazine having been ruined in the fray, and there was no way I could get my arm into the tight sleeve without undue agony. We would have to cut the sleeve open. I was loathe to do that to my only decent garment.

"There's yer robe," Ginny suggested. "I can pull's a shift o'er yer head—the arms are wide 'nough so we shouldn't hurt yer arm—an' we'll wrap the robe o'er top. 'Twill be decent 'nough. An' you won't be seein' much of no one I 'spect."

I nodded. Anything was better than being seen in the master's robe.

After changing, I wanted to leave the countess' rooms immediately. Ginny argued that per the master's strict orders I was to remain on the floor. In the end, we compromised: she agreed to help me to one of the guest chambers. However, we could not manage the trek between the two of us, so she went to recruit help. When I saw the tall, sandy-haired footman she brought back, I cringed. I was relieved when Derrick said nothing to me, merely hefted me up like a travelling case. Jarring pain radiated down my arm, but I bit back the whimper.

Derrick took me to the guest chamber I had first occupied. His pale eyes traveled the grandeur of the surroundings, and his mouth jerked in disdain.

"Anythin' else you're needin',
Miss
Jones?"

Hearing the sneer in his voice, I shook my head quickly. "No, thank you. I-I'm much obliged to you."

He gave a mocking nod and headed out.

"Someone's got 'is nose out o' joint, don't 'e?" Ginny snorted. "Well, pay 'im no mind. 'Is feathers been ruffled e'er since 'e caught sight o' William."

"William?"

"The new footman. Jus' started today an' 'e's a looker," Ginny said with a grin. "If it weren't fer me follower, I'd 'ave a go at William meself. Derrick's used to rulin' the roost, but now there's another fine cock to give 'im a run."

"Oh," I said weakly.

"Well, by the looks o' things, you'll just 'ave to stay 'ere 'til you mend. There ain't no way you'll make it back down all 'em stairs to the ol' quarters. Mind you don't complain, missy—'tis a good sight grander than our 'umble cupboard."

I did not care anything for the room's grandness, but I was relieved beyond words to be out of the mistress' suite. "My thanks again for helping me dress and changing the sheets and getting me here ... and, well, for everything, Ginny."

"Like I says afore, Abby, only you," she said, chuckling. "Well, I best be off then—I'll be by wif a tray later on. Is there anyfin' else yer needin' 'til then, luv?"

"If you please, there is one more thing," I said.

A while later, I sat propped up against the pillows. Surrounding me in small piles was Hux's correspondence, which I'd asked Ginny to fetch. It seemed our master's popularity—or infamy, as it was—guaranteed him a never-ending stream of posts. I was glad to be kept busy and to be able to earn my keep despite my current compromised condition. Slitting open a lavender-colored envelope, I removed the folded stationary. My nose wrinkled at the cloying cloud of Attar of Roses.

My dearest Lucien,
(the letter read)

I pray you will remember me from Lady Blenheim's masquerade a fortnight ago. To my regret, I was but one of many flocking around you. Who would think so many fluttering breasts vying to be stung? But with a Stinger such as yours is purported to be, my lord, one cannot blame the hapless doves. I confess myself eager for such a pricking.

If you'll recall, we did share a moment, you and I. As you passed by the ivy hedge, I was the vine that detained you. Indeed, we fit as well as trellis and plant, did we not? A harder, more sturdy thrust of wood I have never felt; I was sorely disappointed by your precipitate departure.

As such, I hope to await your pleasure at my residence Saturday night hence. Say, ten o'clock? You will find me amidst nature's bounty (or, as the French call it,
au naturel
) and eager to share with you my Forbidden Fruit.

Longingly yours,

Angelica, Lady Brooke

P.S. Lord Brooke is rusticating at the country seat and will not be a concern.

I felt a slight pricking myself at the thought of Hux entwined with the amorous matron. I quelled my response quickly. I knew exactly who my employer was, I reminded myself; kiss or no kiss, that was not like to change. Another reason why the business in the bathing room ought to be forgotten and never repeated.

That moment when I had taken leave of my senses replayed in my head: the instant I had forgotten myself, my station, forgotten everything but the awful thrill of his closeness ... and then his warning to me. The humiliation of discovering my own weakness at the very instant of its exposure. I had thought myself invulnerable to my employer's sensual charm, the way a plain, wooden nail escapes the powerful pull of a magnet.

What a fool I had been.

Going forward I knew my vulnerability, and so I would strengthen my guard against it. I could not deny the strange affinity that seemed to exist between Hux and me: that sense of unity against the loneliness, the darkness which seemed to reside within us both. I could, however, deny my physical impulses and any further transgressions of an intimate nature. I was his employee, his secretary—and I would know my place.

Indeed, I was lucky to have as much. I released a slow breath.
No use crying over spilt milk
, Aunt Agnes had oft admonished, and not for the first time I was glad of the pragmatic spirit she had instilled in me. From this moment forth, I was going to focus my energies upon my duties. I was going to impress Earl Huxton with my skill, so much so that he would see me as an indispensible member of his staff, and we would both put this disgraceful incident behind us. I, Abigail Jones, was going to prove myself the best secretary the world had ever seen.

Thus determined, I returned to the letter at hand.

Dear Lady Brooke
(I wrote)
,

Thank you for your kind reminiscences. I am particularly impressed by your knowledge of flora and fauna. I hear the Zoological Society is now accepting female members, and I daresay you would make a sterling addition. As to the other matter, I am at present involved in a project which requires my utmost attention. Therefore, I must regretfully decline your kind invitation.

Your servant,

Lucien James Langsford, Earl Huxton

Signing with a flourish, I was addressing the envelope when I heard the knock. My heart gave a sudden leap. My hand flew foolishly to my hair; Ginny had helped me to braid it, though we had not bothered to pin it up beneath a cap.

Stuff and nonsense, Abigail Jones
, I lectured myself.
Is this how a member of the secretarial profession behaves?

Collecting my breath, I managed to utter in calm tones, "Come in."

The door opened, and it was not my employer but Mrs. Beecher who entered. At first, I experienced a tingle of relief. It faded when I saw the flat line of the housekeeper's mouth, the way her bespectacled eyes touched upon the decadent environs before returning to me. Shame welled; my face grew hot, and I could not think of what to say.

For several moments, the silence lingered like an unwanted guest.

"I trust you are recovered," Mrs. Beecher said at last.

"Yes, ma'am," I mumbled, "thank you."

She came closer toward the bed. I saw she held a box in her hands. "Lord Huxton mentioned that you injured your arm. I thought to re-bandage the sling for you. I have also brought the salve Cook uses for burns—it works equally well for cuts, I've discovered, and should help your feet heal more quickly."

I could not stop the moist trembling of my eyelids. "You are too good, Mrs. Beecher." My voice hitched. "I'm sure I don't deserve such kindness."

"Oh, Abby."

The next moment, her arms circled around me. Something snapped inside; I found myself sobbing against her shoulder, undone by the age-old comfort of bombazine and talc.

"I-I'm so s-sorry, Mrs. Beecher," I said between gulped breaths.

"There now," she soothed. "It is me who should be apologizing to you."

"N-no, I should have listened to you. I have been prideful, headstrong ..." All my faults glared upon me, and a fresh wave of tears rose up. "I forgot myself and my place."

Pushing aside a stack of letters, she sat beside me on the mattress. She passed me a handkerchief. I blew my nose.

"You're a young girl, Abigail. Your steady manner makes me forget sometimes how little you've seen of the world. When you wrote to me, I thought only to help you—and I fear I have done the opposite." With a sigh, the housekeeper fiddled with one of the envelopes. "That ultimatum I issued came from my own anxiety and guilt. Your aunt was ... Agnes was dear to me. And I have failed her. I have done you harm in bringing you here to Hope End."

"You've done nothing but help me," I sniffed. "I owe you everything, Mrs. Beecher."

"I have delivered you, an innocent babe, into the jaws of evil."