Angel of Ash (25 page)

Mrs. Bates had informed her that Asher left in the wee hours of the morning for his office, earlier than usual; usually he would not leave until eight. But this morning, he’d left close to six after a light breakfast and informing his valet not to expect him home well until after dark. Angel found some sense of shame that she must unearth Asher’s where about from the servants and promised herself she would not ask after him anymore, to spare herself the embarrassment of appearing the love sick fool in front of strangers.

Standing from the bench, Angel smelled the roses and the wild flowers before heading back inside to write letters to her father and Hunter and her aunt. The hardest letter was to her father, whom she missed dreadfully, but hoped to see. Perhaps, Asher would allow her to visit him, even though some large part of her knew that the request would be rejected, just so that he could find joy in her pain. As Angel penned her letter she adamantly made it seem as if she had fallen head over heels in love with Asher and they had married, refusing to write of the scandal that had surrounded the reason for their marriage.

Sighing, Angel escaped from her drear filled thoughts and penned her letters, handing them to the butler, Mr. Bates, with the promise that he would send the letters off himself.

Afterwards with a headache which refused to go away, but increasingly worsened, Angel retired to her room, undressed except for her thin linen shift and fell into a restless sleep.

He didn’t ask her whereabouts, he could not bring himself to ask, as Mr. Bates informed him of the morning household operations. He’d come home because he’d forgotten important legal papers and instead of entrusting the delicate papers to an aid, he’d seen to the matter himself.

Passing the foyer dresser where mailings were sent out, he shifted through them, making sure that all his papers were being sent out and stopped short at Angel’s handwriting, the three envelopes, she herself wanted to be sent out.

“I will see to these mailings, myself, Bates,” Asher informed his butler, stuffing all of the envelopes in his inner coat pocket, before heading to his office where he found his legal documents.

It was Mrs. Bates who stopped him before he could escape the house which no longer felt like his any longer.

“My lord,” she said, quickly walking towards him on slightly plumb feet with a worried brow upon her face.

Stopping Asher turned with impatient importance and waited until she reached him with one cocked eyebrow. “Yes, Mrs. Bates?” He asked.

“My lord, it is about your wife,” she began, her worry deepening further.

“What is the matter?” He asked, his voice, unknowingly darkening.

Mrs. Bates looked affronted, for one quick second before the emotion flitted from her face. “She is not feeling well, my lord, she retired to her room hours ago. I went to check on her and her head hurts dreadfully and she felt hot to my touch. It is now five my lord and her condition has not improved, but has increasingly worsened. Would you like Dr. Jenkins to be called?”

“See to the matter, Mrs. Bates, I will be at my office in town.”

Mrs. Bates wanted to stop him, stop his form from leaving the household as she watched his tall frame walk outside. Didn’t he care that his wife was sick? Didn’t he care that in her feverish state she’d called out for her husband? Didn’t he care for her at all?

“
My lady? I’m Dr. Jenkins, do you understand me?” A voice asked from the darkness of Angel’s sickness. She struggled to understand it and finally, long seconds after the voice spoke to her did she nod her head.

“Good, my lady, I’m going to check on you, alright? Mrs. Bates the housekeeper is in the room with us, my lady, but we must make sure you are alright.”

The voice was kind, gentle and Angel managed to open her eyes and take in the sight of an elderly man with bone white hair, dark skin and warm brown eyes. Nodding again, she closed her eyes, the movement a great feat to her wearied body.

Continuing his assessment of her, Dr. Jenkins asked many questions, some of which Angel was able to answer. Long minutes later, once more dressed and soothed into sleep by the medication which he’d given her, Angel relaxed, she was so tired, and her body ached and she felt nauseated. And Angel, who had rarely if ever been sick, found herself grossly impatient with her weak state, but could do nothing about it. She seemed to have a low grade fever for the past month or so, since she’d left from Hunter’s home to visit her aunt.

And once asleep, she did not hear the words spoken by the doctor to the housekeeper upon her sickness.

Dr. Jenkins waited for Asher well into the night; it was close to the ten before Asher finally returned to his home, looking tired, impatient. Dr. Jenkins wandered if he too, must need an exam as his wife before him as he was ushered inside Asher’s office.

“Mr. Hawthorne,” he said, slightly angered at this man for not checking in on his wife in the many hours since he’d been called to her bedside. Newlyweds, and already the gossip mills were right, this was not a marriage of love, but one hastily given because of embarrassment, dishonor, disgrace and a threat of being disowned.

“Dr. Jenkins,” Asher returned, nodding curtly. He’d known the doctor for over ten years, had thought of him as a friend, but Asher did not want him to ask questions even Asher had no answer for.

Silence reigned momentarily, the two men studying each other, before it was the doctor who spoke first. “Do you not have any questions for me about the state of your wife’s health?” He asked, trying to keep the incredulousness from his voice.

“I am waiting for you to inform me, doctor. If it was a grave illness I would have been called from my office.”

Dr. Jenkins looked momentarily aghast as the coldness of Asher’s voice. He paused, studying the closed features of a friend and patient. “You are right in assuming that matter, Asher,” he said, using his given name, hoping that familiarity would soothe whatever was wrong with this man’s soul. “However, the matter is important, dreadfully so, but not life threatening, not usually.”

“Stop speaking in circles and tell me what is the matter with her?”

“She is with child, sir. Over a month, nearly 6 weeks.”

The next morning Angel felt better, still slightly weak, she had an insatiable urge once she woke up to have dinner rolls and asparagus, but fought the need as she dressed and a knock was upon the door.

“Who is it?” She called, buttoning the last of her dress.

“Mrs. Bates, mistress, may I speak with you?”

Opening the door, Angel stared with curious eyes at Mrs. Bates, who immediately came in, closing the door behind her.

“Mistress, I came to check upon you, but thankfully, find you better.”

“Yes, why thank you, Mrs. Bates.”

“Would you like something to eat, it is now close to the noon hour.”

“Yes, please, that will be fine.”

Mrs. Bates hesitated as her cheeks flamed red, not meeting Angel’s eyes. Angel looked at her with open curiosity. “Is there anything amiss, Mrs. Bates?”

“Do you remember the doctor speaking with you the other day?”

Angel shook her head. “No, not at all. He must have given me some medicine to help my sickness, correct?”

“Yes, he did, my lady, but, uh…he also…I mean, I was in the room with you and he…uh, told, me, after…uh, his examination of you…that,” she paused, still blushing fiercely and not daring to meet her eyes. “It is just that, my lady, I do not believe you have anyone to speak with…I mean, another lady, even though I have heard you have an aunt in the English countryside. And it is just that, you seem, so alone…oh, forgive me, my lady, for speaking of such.” And then finally, in a rush, Mrs. Bates let the words escape from her mouth. “The doctor believes that you are with child, mistress.”

The words did not fully sink into Angel’s mind. “Excuse, me?” She said, feeling her limbs began to tremble as she sank heavily on the bed behind her. “I must, what did you say?”
“The doctor, you told the doctor during your examination that you’d missed your monthly and you had felt achy and your…uh, parts of your anatomy were tender, mistress. Oh, my lady, do forgive me, but the doctor does believe that you are with child, almost six weeks.”
Angel stared at Mrs. Bates with large eyes. It all made sense now, the constant tears she was shedding, her tender breast, her missed time of the month which she had not even thought of until now due to the extenuating circumstances she had found herself in.

“Oh. Oh.” She began, in awe, in shock, both fearful and strangely exhilarated at the same time. She was pregnant, she thought, her limbs still trembling but an ever so slight glow beginning in the furthermost reaches of her soul.

Angel realized that Mrs. Bates was still speaking.

“He told, Asher?” She asked her eyes wide.

Mrs. Bates nodded hesitantly. “Yes, mistress, your husband was told.”

Mrs. Bates did not want to add that upon telling Asher had not been seen since last night. He’d left his house after being informed and had told no one of his where about and had slept away from his home and had not been seen at his office either.

“Where is he, my…my husband?”
“I do not know, my lady,” Mrs. Bates informed her kindly. Sympathy in her eyes. But Angel did not want her sympathy. “He will be home, soon, mistress, give him time. It is harder for men, remember that. Oh, I am so sorry to tell you like this, my lady. It must be dreadfully hard for you, being away from home and all. Please, have faith; everything shall be for the best. I promise you, just have faith.”

Asher came home that night, close to midnight; sleep had escaped him while thoughts and emotion had battered away at him relentlessly. It bode him no well, as he made his way upstairs to his bedroom and stared at the door that connected his room to Angel’s. He dare not enter it. Not for the sake of sanity.

Angel had not seen her husband in a fortnight, not since the news of her pregnancy, she was hurt that he could not speak to her in a matter so important to the both of them, so important to the future, but he ignored Angel as he’d promised, as if he had no wife at all, no future child. Angel wrote nothing of this in her letters to Hunter, her aunt and her father and made happy mention that a child was to be expected. She’d received no letters back from Hunter or her aunt, even though she’d written four to Hunter and two to her aunt. Her father’s response she knew she’d have to wait for four more weeks before finding a letter from him.

Finding herself increasingly isolated, Angel escaped through her music, the large piano in the music room, occupying most of her time and seeing to the few needs of the household which was already run like a well-oiled clock. Asher had given direct orders that she was not to leave the household without him but since he was never home, Angel could go no further than the gardens. And since she had no one to speak to other than Mrs. Bates and the servants, Angel grew quiet, reserved and somber. The once happy Angel, the once fearless Angel and stable woman had become emotionally unhinged, had become dark and fearful, and scared of the future, scared of the present scared of loving a man who hated her so much he didn’t even want to live in the same house.

The thought tortured her, gave way to darker hurtful thoughts and if had not been for the calming serenity of her music, Angel would have fallen down a long, dark hole of misery. She gave smiles to the household, kind words to the help, warm eyes to another in pain. It was only in the dark, alone, by herself, did she hurt, did she keep everything bottled in, every day of hurt, with no one to speak to, no one to turn to did the pain amass in her soul.

Four weeks after the knowledge that she was with child and with still no word from her husband, Angel found herself once more in the music room, she would often play music light, cheery and keep the doors open, hearing more than one passing servant whistle along with the harmonious sounds of the music something which strengthened her, made her not feel useless and alone.

“Stop that!” An angered shout was heard right beside Angel as she jumped in fearful shock, her eyes opening wide to find the haunted visage of Asher, standing above her, anger, hatred in his every motion. Her fingers instantly froze, as her breath came out in shallow gulps, as she stared at this man she had not seen in four weeks, his eyes wide, hate filled, his cheekbones sharp slashes, his mouth thin and bitter. “No more, music,” he commanded, slamming down the top of the cover of the piano, as Angel scuttled away from the piano, standing in the corner next to it, as she stared with wide eyes as he closed and locked the cover of the piano. Locking her out.

“Please, don’t!” She cried, running towards him to plead with him. Without the piano, without its words speaking through her she would be lost. “Please, don’t do this to me,” she pleaded, but he pocketed the key and stared at her with eyes that would show her no mercy.

“I hate these sounds, I hate your fingers upon these keys, and I hate you.” He stated coldly, staring at her with unfeeling eyes. “I want silence in my household. Do you understand, silence!” He turned and she heard the slamming of the front door seconds later.

Slumping heavily upon the piano bench, Angel tried in futile to open the cover but with no key, it would not budge. Sighing wearily, she placed her fingers upon the keys as if they could magically appear underneath her hands. Biting her lip, she finally gave up, walked away from the piano and closed the door to the music room.