Shades of Milk and Honey (22 page)

Beth tucked the last of her gowns back into the clothespress. Her face had taken on some color, but Jane did not give her time to reflect or for the listlessness to return. She pulled fresh threads out of the ether, weaving them together
into skeins of light that she used to brighten the room, then handed them to Beth to tie off.

Jane then began hanging folds about the ceiling, mimicking the sunrises which Beth so loved. Beside her, Beth painstakingly tied the folds with hands that shook from so simple an exertion. Jane’s heart ached at her friend’s unhappy state.

Would compassion count as a strong emotion in Mr. Vincent’s eyes? For it was compassion for her friend which drove Jane to endow the room with life. Though he would not see this simple glamural, Jane felt a new awareness stir within her as she wove the folds around the walls. In the skeins creating an ash tree, Jane put her frustrations with Melody, picking out each small insult in the twisting lines of the branches. A patch of evening primroses held her confusion at Mr. Dunkirk’s actions, the petals alternating between pleasure and affront.

The effort soon made the room seem too warm, so Jane folded her pink shawl and laid it across the back of one of the chairs. Its color brought a pleasing glow to the room. Jane caught the hint in its gentle tone and, remembering Beth’s fondness for the roses of the maze, she created the faintest hint of rose in the air and created a gentle breeze which fanned the room.

With a flush on her cheeks and her breath quickened by the exertion, Jane surveyed the room with satisfaction. It breathed with a life and vitality beyond the simple lines she had sketched; now it was up to her young companion to rise
to meet the new mood in the room. Jane spoke, calmly and almost idly, of simple things, and in the course of her conversation, began to elicit responses from Beth. With all the caution of a hawk trainer she drew Beth out, though it was clear enough that the girl was acting somewhat to please Jane. Still, her manner was not as dark as it had been when Jane first arrived.

After relaying an amusing anecdote from her childhood, involving a pumpkin and her mother’s favourite hat, Jane at last provoked a smile. “There. That smile is what I have been missing in these rooms.”

“You are too good to me.”

“Nonsense. I am only as good as you deserve, no more. I’m certain that Melody would tell you that I am not good at all.” Jane tried to laugh, but she had hit too close to her own source of pain. “Did I tell you about running away from Mrs. Marchand with her?”

Beth shook her head, so Jane relayed the tale, provoking another smile. Pleased that she had so much more success with Beth than she ever had with her mother’s melancholy, Jane helped her complete her toilet, promising, as Jane’s governess had always promised her, “You will feel better if you wash your face.”

At that, Beth rewarded her with a small laugh, clearly recognizing it as universal advice from her own governess, but she did as Jane suggested.

When Jane left Beth that afternoon, she had a faint hope that this change in mood might last. Taking the volumes of
Gothic tragedies with her, Jane promised to return the next day with books that she hoped would help fill Beth’s mind with more pleasant thoughts than of lost love.

She wished she might find a book that would soothe her own troubled mind as well, but she could think of none that dealt with the matter of secrets and lost loves save for ones which ended in tragedy.

As soon as Jane opened the door, she saw Mr. Dunkirk sitting in a chair opposite it. He started as much as she, and jumped to his feet. Her heart still pounding, Jane placed her finger on her lips and stepped into the hall, pulling the door softly closed behind her.

“How is she?” Mr. Dunkirk’s voice was so low that she needed to step close to hear him.

“She is well.” Jane’s knees trembled from the shock of seeing him.

“I have been replaying our conversation and cannot help but wonder if I heard a ‘but—’ in your denial of Beth’s affections for Mr. Vincent. I must ask: Is there someone that my sister has affection for?”

Jane stared at him, aghast that the very topic which she thought she had so neatly dodged had returned to plague her. “You must understand that my confidence belongs to her in this. Telling you will do more harm than good.”

“So there is someone.”

“Mr. Dunkirk!” Jane bit off the sentence before she could go farther. She swallowed, pushing down her angry retort until she could trust herself to speak. Mr. Vincent’s thoughts on emotion and art did not take into account those feelings that arose from a suppressed secret. Jane turned and began to walk away from Beth’s door; whatever else happened, Beth could not be allowed to think that Jane was in collusion with Mr. Dunkirk, or all the girl’s trust would be lost. “Mr. Dunkirk, I would suggest to you that Beth’s history gives her every reason to keep her interests close to her heart.”

She watched as a dawning awareness took place in Mr. Dunkirk. He squeezed his eyes shut and murmured, “May it please God that she never find out the truth.”

“Please God indeed! How could you have thought that killing the man would set things right?”

His eyes flew open as if she had slapped him. Mr. Dunkirk stopped for a moment in the hall, with his nostrils flaring like a racehorse. His jaw clenched once; then he said, “I was a younger man then, and full of righteous anger for my sister’s honour. Understand that I would not make the same choice today.”

“And yet you badger me for confirmation of your suspicions as if you
would
make the same choice.”

“What would you have me do? Ignore the change in her manner? Should I have rather let her remain wed to Mr. Gaffney?”

Jane nearly stumbled in her shock. “They were wed?”

“I—Yes. They were. He had seen that as the surest way to secure his fortune.” Mr. Dunkirk passed his hand over his face. “You understand why I am so protective of her. She is too trusting and too tender-hearted. You think me too harsh, but what would you have done?”

What indeed? Even now she held to her bosom the knowledge that Beth
did
have a secret engagement. Mr. Dunkirk would be appalled by how much Jane knew and did not tell. And yet, Beth’s engagement could do no harm, for it was to a man for whom her family could have no objection. Surely, surely it would be for the best to remove Mr. Dunkirk’s fears and tell him.

If it were not for her pledge to Beth, and the certain feeling that Beth would never forgive her for such a betrayal, Jane would relay all that had transpired. But she shook her head. “I cannot say. But you should be aware that she is unlikely to engage you in her confidence, for she is frightened of you.”

He started back. “Of me?”

It should not surprize Jane that even with his superior intellect and admiration of taste in a household, that he should not think of things as a woman would. “Of disappointing you.”

“Then the man—”

“Stop. Please, stop. I cannot ask your sister to trust me and then breach that trust by relating all of our conversations.” Jane held up her hand to stop him from questioning her further on what those conversations were. “Mr. Dunkirk, I will go so far as to promise you that if Beth hints at actions that will lead her to harm, I will let you know. I will not let her go down paths that are unsafe. You must trust me that far, at least.”

“I do.”

She saw that he understood her, and her anger softened. She looked down at the books in her hands. “If you want to do your sister some good, then offer her distractions. She is young, and her history gives her much reason for melancholy. Books such as these would make any girl sigh as if her heart were being broken, and Beth is too tender-hearted to resist them.”

She held out the books to Mr. Dunkirk. As he reached for them, their fingers brushed, sending a sudden wave of heat through Jane’s breast. She flushed, and fumbled with the books, dropping two on the floor. Mr. Dunkirk stooped to retrieve them, giving Jane a bare moment to master herself.

When he stood, she was able to apologize gracefully and say, “I will come tomorrow with some books more suited to a cheerful temperament.”

Mr. Dunkirk smiled with such warmth that Jane was forced to look away. It was too easy to imagine more than grateful relief in his expression. She had done nothing to
draw Mr. Dunkirk’s attention to herself other than visiting her friend. That look of approbation in his eyes, which she had so long sought, discomfited her more than gave her satisfaction.

Though it was not without some satisfaction, perhaps, for as she retraced her steps back to Long Parkmead, her mind returned to the conversation which had happened on this very path, and to his momentary indiscretion. Jane repeated his accidental familiarity in her mind, thinking over how she should respond next time, if he happened to slip again. If he said, “Jane,” she could laugh and suggest that since he had used her name twice, perhaps it might be easier to continue its use. No, that would be a good deal too forward. Better if she simply did not acknowledge the intimacy, as it would neither give him permission nor tell him that she resented it.

This marked a rare instance where ambiguity would be much the best thing.

At home, Mrs. Ellsworth descended the stairs as Jane entered the house. “Where have you been all morning? Your father is no help. No help. And Nancy! Oh, I am at a loss for what to do. My dresses are in a complete disarray. You must help me, Jane. No one else is as tidy as you. I must be packed tonight if we are to go with Lady FitzCameron tomorrow morning.”

Jane glanced into the parlour, where Melody sat curled with a book, undoubtedly already packed, but unwilling to assist their mother. With a sigh, Jane followed her mother upstairs. “Perhaps you should delay your trip so that you have more time to prepare.”

“Oh no. It is such an honour to travel with
Lady FitzCameron, such an honour. And to be known in Bath as the acquaintances of a Viscountess—and not merely acquaintances, but traveling companions—will be such the thing.” Mrs. Ellsworth stopped in the doorway of her room. “There. You see. I simply must take these gowns, but Nancy wrinkles them when she tries to put them in my trunk.”

The room seemed a mirror of Beth’s chamber, with dresses strewn about and disorder hanging in the air like glamour. Jane took a breath to gird herself and stepped in to tidy another room. It would do her good to keep busy, though Jane wanted nothing more than for the day to pass so that the morrow might return and she could go back to Robinsford Abbey. She was certain that she had not imagined Mr. Dunkirk’s increasing regard for her, but she could not be certain how much of that was because of her friendship with his sister.

As she assisted her mother, the time passed so slowly that Jane twice picked up the mantel clock to make certain that she could hear it ticking. During the space of the afternoon, Jane packed the trunk three times, and then had to unpack it as her mother changed her mind, yet again, about which of her dresses she must have with her in Bath. Only when Nancy called for dinner was Jane able to convince her mother that the last selection of dresses was the one she should chuse, else she would not be able to travel tomorrow. “Lady FitzCameron plans to leave at dawn, Mama. We do not want to still be packing then. Besides, if you find that you need something else, I am certain that there are modistes of quality in Bath.”

“Oh! Yes. You are quite right, Jane. And I have been needing new dresses, you know. That is why I could not settle on any of these, because none of them suit.”

“Of course, Mama.” Mr. Ellsworth would not be well pleased at the thought of his wife spending money on the high-priced fashions in Bath, but at the moment, Jane was willing to sacrifice some of her inheritance for a bit of peace. She tucked one last ribbon into its spot and followed her mother to dinner.

As Mrs. Ellsworth passed Jane’s room, Melody slipped out the door. She spied Jane and visibly flinched.

A red flush extended from her face to the neckline of her dress, but she managed to affect an easy manner “Oh, Jane. There you are.”