Chapter Eleven
After a month in London, Tessa was sure Cedric Acton would soon ask William for her hand. Lady Acton had deigned several times to speak to her, and others of the older ladies treated her in such a way as to indicate their understanding she might soon be someone of importance. One evening at a dinner, she was seated across the table from the two gargoyles, as she privately called them, Dame Ballard and Lady Acton.
Lady Acton set her rather nearsighted gaze on Tessa, her eyes narrowing as she tried to focus. “William says you will soon return to Brixton.”
Tessa knew nothing of this but gave no sign. Leave it to William to hint they were to leave soon so Cedric would ask for Tessa’s hand. The old lady continued, her voice giving the distinct impression she bestowed a great favor. “You must visit—with your sister, of course—and see my gardens for yourself.”
“Thank you very much, my lady,” Tessa answered as sincerely as she could. “I consider it a great privilege.”
“Yes,” the lady drawled in agreement. “You must plan to come in August, when the dahlias are at their best.”
“Of course. I will speak to Eleanor of it as soon as possible. Thank you for your kind invitation.”
“I’m sure she’ll be glad to come,” Lady Acton pronounced, the over-sized jaw setting firmly as she finished speaking. Irritated by the lady’s assumption Eleanor would come at her call like a puppy, Tessa forced a weak smile and turned the conversation to the weather, which had grown very warm. This woman might become her mother-in-law. She must learn to accept her, pomposity and all.
Eleanor’s plans for the girls proceeded well. Mary’s young man, Francis Hope, had stammered a proposal in the second week, and Alice and Cecilia moved sedately forward in their friendships with several young men. Plans were made for a celebration at York in the fall, to which many of their London friends would be invited, but Tessa feared it would be too much for Eleanor, who had admitted now to the others that she felt unwell. Her husband took this as an excuse to send them all home and end the unexpected expense of their stay.
Tessa happened to be in the solar with Eleanor when William made his decision known to her. He entered the room abruptly and began without preamble. “Wife, it is time these females returned to Brixton. I have made every effort to please you. The women have had their moment of celebrity, for which they should be thankful. You are obviously unwell and will fare better at home where Madeline can see to your recovery.”
“I am resting as much as possible, William,” Eleanor replied. “Cecilia has not yet met anyone she cares for—”
“Enough of this silly idea that girls should have a say in the choice of their husbands! I allowed it for your…sister—” William’s pause indicated his suspicions concerning Tessa. “—and I believe she will be settled with Cedric ere long. That is good, since both families will benefit from such a union. The others may marry as I arrange for them and be grateful for it. You will return to Brixton at the end of the week.”
For a moment Eleanor seemed about to argue, but she did not. Her face was pale, and her usually bright eyes had lost their sparkle. Over the past few weeks she had become terribly thin, and when only Tessa was present, she sometimes let down her guard and admitted to the pain she now lived with constantly. William took her silence for agreement and turned on his heel, leaving the two alone.
“I hope we have done enough for Cecilia and Alice,” Eleanor said softly. “You have captured Cedric. The invitation to Mirabeau is proof of that. And Mary is set on Francis, and he on her. Just a few more days—”
“We have been given the best of opportunities, and it has all been your doing,” Tessa told her, pressing her hand softly. “You have been more than caring to all of us, but especially to me, and I’m very, very grateful.” With that Tessa went to tell the others, leaving Eleanor weak but with a small smile of contentment on her face.
The ride home was quieter and more somber than had been their coming. Eleanor felt pain with each jarring of the cart wheels on the road, and Tessa silently cursed William for sending them away. She had to admit he did not know the extent of his wife’s illness.
By the time they reached Brixton Manor, the whole party was quite exhausted. Auntie Madeline took one look at Eleanor and paled. She ordered two strong servants to carry her inside and told the girls to see to the unpacking. Later she stopped Tessa on the stairs. “She says you know.”
“Yes,” Tessa answered.
“I don’t know why she’s kept it a secret. Perhaps there could have been help—” The old lady’s eyes misted. “What shall we do without her? She’s been the light of this house for twenty years. I have loved her like a daughter, and now—” Tessa’s eyes filled, too. Dear Eleanor, keeping up appearances until they’d all had their chance at happiness.
Auntie remembered something and tottered down the stairs. Returning in a few minutes, she put a letter into Tessa’s hands. “I believe it’s from Jeffrey,” she said. “Read it to her. She loves to hear from him.” Tessa opened the letter with trembling hands. It was a large sheet, folded and waxed, and inside was a smaller sheet that bore the words: “For Tessa, who can read and sometimes should not”. Unwilling to open it with anyone else present, she thanked Auntie Madeline and went to her room. Breaking the seal, she read:
My little Scot,
I feel I must apologize for my behavior on both occasions when we have met. I don’t seem to be able to do anything correctly where you are concerned.
Yr Servant, Jeffrey Brixton
Tessa stared at the letter for some time. What did it mean? Was he sorry he’d abducted her or that he’d kissed her or both? The man was quite maddening, never saying anything that made sense. And what of Eleanor? He couldn’t know how ill she was. Tessa decided Jeffrey was merely clearing his conscience. He had treated her badly—twice—and probably didn’t want Eleanor to know about the second time. Would Eleanor be jealous of Tessa? That was impossible to tell, but Tessa had to admit she resented the love between Jeffrey and Eleanor, though she would not ask herself why that should be.
Her thoughts went to the other letter, the one addressed to Eleanor. Slipping her letter under her pallet, she hurried to Eleanor’s room. Pale and weak, Tessa’s supposed sister lay on a large, curtained bed in the center of the room. The curtains were open, since it was a warm day, but at night they would be closed to keep the sleeper’s body heat inside. The bed sat on a raised platform to escape the chill floors. Lady Brixton looked much smaller than when Tessa had first met her. She had lost weight but seemed also to have shrunken, so that even her frame seemed smaller and more fragile than when she had been in health. Eleanor opened her eyes and smiled at Tessa, but it was a tiny smile.
“I’ve brought you a letter from Jeffrey that came while we were away. Auntie just gave it to me. Shall I read it, or are you too tired just now?”
“Please, read it.”
“Dearest Eleanor,” Tessa read aloud. “I hope this letter finds everyone well.” Her eyes filled with tears and she choked on the words, but she gathered herself together and continued. “I will soon board a ship for the north again, and I wanted to send what peace of mind I can give you. I will not be fighting this trip. I go to visit the new king of Scotland, Macbeth.”
Here Tessa stopped in amazement.
“Is that not your uncle?” Eleanor asked.
“It is.”
“Why, that is good. Perhaps you can go home if your uncle is now king.”
Tessa had read ahead, and she frowned.
The old king, Duncan, was murdered in his sleep while visiting Inverness. There is no proof of who did this thing. Some suspect the king’s sons, but others say Macbeth himself did it. The oldest of the sons, Malcolm, fled to England to beg help in taking the throne from Macbeth. I am sent to see what I can find out. I know you will speak of this to no one except Tessa, but I want her to know it is not safe for her in Scotland at this time. It is whispered Macbeth is not himself,
that he suspects all those around him of perfidy. Nor is it safe for relatives of Macbeth in England. For this reason, I am glad you have provided her with your protection and none know her true identity. Keep her safe, I ask you, though I know you love her and will do so for her own sake.
Yr Loving Jeffrey
The two women sat quietly for some time, taking all this in. What did it mean? Perhaps nothing, since Tessa had given up hope of returning to Scotland. Her most prominent feeling was joy that Jeffrey cared at least a little about her welfare. These thoughts were interrupted by Eleanor’s voice, frail but determined.
“We must burn this letter, my dear, so no one can discover your secret.” Tessa obediently made a spark from the flint at Eleanor’s bedside and lit a candle, putting the edge of the letter into it until it caught fire. She took it to the window slit, laid it there until it was ash, then blew the ash outside.
“I have a favor to ask, Tessa.” Eleanor’s voice was even weaker, her breathing more ragged. Tessa thought of the bottle she had promised to bring when Eleanor could stand the pain no more. Was it time? Could she be part of this woman’s death? But Eleanor had something else in mind. “Jeffrey. What do you think of him?”
Tessa was at a loss. She couldn’t bring herself to speak well of Jeffrey Brixton, who had taken all she had from her and played with her emotions in the process, but she couldn’t speak ill of the man Eleanor loved. “I—I do not think of him at all.”
Eleanor’s eyes focused for a moment on Tessa through her own pain. “I want you to promise that when next you see him, you will give him something.”
“What?”
“A wooden box where I keep a few things. I would like you to get it for me now from my trunk in the storage closet off the hall.”
“Can we not get it later?” Tessa worried about Eleanor tiring herself fretting over minutia as her body weakened.
“Best do it now. For one thing, my father’s will is in the box. William mustn’t see it when I’m gone. It makes it quite clear I am the only child my father had at his death. He wrote it out himself just before he died, leaving me all his worldly goods. There was nothing much to leave, and I only kept the document because it was in my father’s hand. At the time William was only interested to know there was no money, but if he finds it now and reads it, he will deduce you are not my sister. The will you must burn as you did Jeffrey’s letter. Give the rest of it to Jeffrey when you and he can find a time to be alone. Go now, please, and get it.”
Tessa did as she was told, slipping into William’s closet and pulling closed after her the curtain that served as a door. Luckily, servants and family alike were busy unpacking the cart. People passed by but no one looked in on her. Searching quietly through the trunk, Tessa finally located a small wooden box with an “E” carved in the top. It was beautifully wrought with great care and detail. Attached to top and bottom was a red ribbon that secured it with a neat bow. Turning it over, she found the initials “M.T.” in tiny letters on the bottom. Miles? she wondered.
The box held just a few pieces of paper, most of them sealed with wax imprinted with an “E”. The bottom one had simply been refolded, the wax around the broken seal old and crumbling: the will. Tessa put the other papers back as she had found them and closed the box, tying it shut with the ribbon as before. Listening at the curtain until the hall was quiet, she went back upstairs.
“I have it, Eleanor,” she said softly, and then stopped. Eleanor lay, white and still, on the bed. Beside her was the tiny earthen bottle Tessa had so often looked upon with dread. Later, when Auntie Madeline found them both, Tessa was holding Eleanor’s head in her lap and crying softly, “You didn’t want to ask me, I know. You didn’t want to ask.”