“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Yes, tomorrow.”
Harriet took her leave a short time later, and when the two sisters were alone, they both speculated as to what Cassandra might have gotten herself into.
Chapter Four
The Manse
“How are you this morning?”
Judith Hurst’s eyes had only just opened, but Frederick Hurst was very close by. For two hours he had been waiting to ask the question, but knowing what a rough night she’d had, he’d kept quiet until she stirred.
“I think I’m better,” she answered slowly, her hand going to her aching stomach. She had been terribly ill in the night and now felt drained and weak, but not nauseous.
“Do you want anything, dear?” Frederick asked.
“Maybe a bit of tea.”
Phoebe, the housekeeper at the manse, had anticipated this and kept the pot fresh. Frederick was able to pour her some immediately. Judith was taking her first sips when the door creaked open a bit. Jane peeked in, her face anxious.
“Come in, Jane,” Pastor Hurst called to his oldest daughter and then chuckled to see that all four of the children were waiting to see their mother. They gathered close to the edge of the bed, all eyes staring at their mother in wonder. She was rarely ill, and never bedridden. It was a new experience for all.
“What day is it, Frederick?” Judith asked, once she’d assured the children that she was not dying.
“Tuesday.”
“Oh, no.” Her voice was weak, but her eyes showed her dismay. “Will you please get word to Anne that I won’t make it?”
“Of course I will, and you know she’ll understand, Judith.”
“I’m sure you’re right, but I do wish I could go.”
“Ask someone else, Mother,” Margaret suggested. “Maybe Jane and I could go.”
“That’s lovely of you to offer, Margaret, but not this time.
I do like your idea, however, of asking someone else. Maybe I’ll send word to Lydia Palmer or Elizabeth Steele.”
This was precisely what Judith, with her husband’s help, ended up doing. First they sent word to Anne, letting her know Judith was ill. They then let Lizzy know of the situation, in hopes that she could pay a visit instead. Beyond sending word, Judith knew she could do little else. In fact, right now she was too weak to care.
Pembroke
“This home is beautiful,” Cassandra told Harriet the moment she arrived midmorning, Tuesday.
“Thank you, Cassandra. It’s been in the Thorpe family for years.”
Cassandra would have loved a tour but knew that now was not the time. Indeed, there might never be a time. She had to be careful not to get too personally involved in this situation. That was the safest way to proceed. She had arrived with low expectations, so she wouldn’t be disappointed. She didn’t expect a tour now, nor would she ever.
“Tate,” Harriet called from the entrance of the library, just as she had before. “You have a visitor.”
“Hello, Mr Tate,” Cassandra said as soon as her hostess walked away and she was fully in the room.
“Hello, Cassandra. Thank you for coming.”
“You’re very welcome. Do you have a particular book in mind for today?”
“I do, yes.” He handed her the Italian volume. “If you’ll go on in this.”
“Certainly.”
Taking the sofa that was nearest Tate’s chair, Cassandra carried on with ease, reading in her usual style, with a certain amount of inflection, but not trying to imitate anyone’s voice in dialog.
She read for more than an hour, her listener seeming to be as relaxed as a cat in the sunshine. Glancing ahead to the end of the chapter, she thought she might get in the next chapter as well before she had to go.
At any moment she expected to find Mr Tate sleeping or interrupting, but neither happened. Cassandra’s voice began to tire before he showed any signs of doing so, and it was she who shut the book and called an end to the day’s session.
“If it’s all right with you, Mr Tate, I’ll be finished for today.”
“That’s fine. Thank you for coming.”
Cassandra came to her feet but hesitated just a moment longer.
“May I ask you something, Mr Tate?”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t think your visitor could read French or Italian, did you?”
Tate’s smile was huge as he admitted, “Guilty. I thought my aunt might be nearby and wanted her to know I was on to her scheme.”
Tate listened to her laughter, liking the sound.
“Are you returning tomorrow?” he asked when he heard her feet on the carpet.
Cassandra stopped. “If I can come in the afternoon.”
“That would be fine.”
“Very well. I’ll see you then.”
Tate didn’t answer, and Cassandra wondered at her choice of words. It was so natural to tell someone you would see him later, but of course Tate would not have returned that farewell.
Hastings saw her out—Harriet was nowhere around—and all the way home Cassandra asked herself if she’d been utterly insensitive to Mr Tate’s plight.
Newcomb Park
“Henry?” Cassandra sought him out in his study. “I’m having some lunch. Would you care to join me?”
Henry looked up from the account book he was studying but didn’t answer.
“Are you not hungry?”
Now that she had mentioned it, Henry thought he might be quite hungry, but his mind was still on the business in front of him.
“Shall I have something delivered to you?”
“Please,” Henry answered automatically, regretting it when Cassandra looked a bit disappointed. He sat back in his chair, thinking through a different reply, but a moment later the door closed and his sister was gone. Henry sat and debated what to do, but he soon found he’d waited too long again. When Mrs Jasper delivered a lunch tray to his office, he asked after Cassandra and was told by the housekeeper that Miss Cassandra had decided to go riding.
Brown Manor
“Did you actually speak with Judith or just receive word?”
“Only word, but I assume it was a nasty illness to keep Judith from going out.”
“I think you must be right.”
Anne took a sip of her tea and asked more questions of Lizzy. She felt very cut off and craved news of the church family.
“What is Cassie doing today?”
“She went this morning and read to Mr Tate.”
“Did she? How did that come about?”
Lizzy explained the story, which Anne found quite interesting.
“Is Tate improving?”
“The doctor wants the patches to remain in place at all times, so it’s rather hard to say.”
“Well, I keep praying for him. That’s been a great advantage to being in this bed,” Anne explained. “One has so much more time to pray, and in the midst of that, I’ve thought about how special it is to be able to pray for Mrs Thorpe and her nephew, even though I’ve never met him. It’s wonderful having a God like ours, isn’t it, Lizzy?”
“It is indeed, Anne.”
“But now I also must tell you, before we keep talking about Collingbourne and the church family, that I’ve been asking God to bring you a husband.”
Lizzy couldn’t stop her laugh.
“Is that so? Have you had an answer?”
“Of sorts, yes.”
Lizzy laughed again. “I can hardly wait to hear this.”
“Well, it occurred to me,” Anne continued, clearly enjoying herself, “that a woman as lovely as you must be catching someone’s eye, but you must not be interested back. Then it occurred to me that you’re interested in someone who must have overlooked you. How close am I?”
“I think you’ve been spending much too much time on your own,” Lizzy teased her in an effort to avoid the facts.
“That’s probably true,” Anne agreed with a sigh and a small laugh of
her own, her eyes looking to the ceiling. “You’re going to think me fanciful, but I’ve always thought you should marry Thomas Morland.”
Tears sprang so swiftly to Lizzy’s eyes that she couldn’t camouflage them. Anne would have been blind to miss them.
“Oh, Lizzy.” Anne’s voice filled with compassion. “What did I say?”
“It’s all right, Anne. We won’t speak of it. You need your rest.”
Anne knew her friend was right. Just the pain she felt at seeing those tears told her it would be very easy to become emotionally involved. Weston was counting on her to rest, as was her baby. She knew she could not follow her heart right now.
“Know this, Elizabeth Steele”—Anne had to whisper just this much—“I’ll still be praying. Know that I will.”
Lizzy took the outstretched hand that Anne offered her and with her free hand attempted to dry her face.
When the conversation finally picked back up, neither woman mentioned marriage or Thomas Morland.
Collingbourne
Cassandra could have pinched herself. Back in Collingbourne so soon, and all because she couldn’t concentrate. She had been so preoccupied by Harriet Thorpe’s favor the week before that she completely forgot to shop for Henry. Now she was back at Benwick’s hoping something would appeal to her as an appropriate gift for her sedate brother.
When Lizzy had arrived home from Anne’s the day before, she had mentioned that Weston was a lover of clocks. They were all over Brown Manor, small and large alike, some made locally, but many from all over the world.
Cassandra now stood in front of a shelf that held a rococo bronze clock. The small tag indicated that it was English-made, and she wondered if such a thing could possibly interest her brother.
Benwick was suddenly beside her. “May I help you find something today, Miss Steele?”
“I don’t know, Benwick. Henry’s birthday is near, and he’s difficult to shop for.”
“Were you looking at the clock?”
“Yes, but I don’t think he has any interest.”
“If I recall, his tastes run to sailing charts and maps.”
“That’s correct.” Cassandra looked at him beseechingly. “Have you anything that might interest him?”
“Well, to be honest, Miss Steele, he’s seen everything I have. But I did get something in on Monday. It’s unusual and secondhand.”
Feeling desperate, Cassandra asked, “May I see it?”
Benwick wasted no time in telling his son he would be in the back room before taking Cassandra that way. What he produced was a volume of maps—a large book—exquisite in detail and color.
“Oh, my,” was all Cassandra could say as she paged through it. “Where did you get this?”
“A local family had a death, and some things were sold. You don’t often see a book of maps like this, and I thought it might go for something.”
Cassandra studied the cover.
“I’ve heard of Frederick de Witt. He’s Dutch, isn’t he?”
“Yes. I have to quote rather a stiff price, I’m afraid.”
Cassandra inquired and discovered that Benwick had not been joking. He wanted more than she usually spent, but knowing how much Henry would enjoy it, she asked him to hold it for her.
“I’ll give you some of the money now and be back for it, probably at the end of the week.”
“I wouldn’t think of it, Miss Steele. You take the maps now, and bring the rest of the money when you’re next in town.”
“Thank you, Benwick. If Henry comes in, you’ll not say you’ve seen me, all right?”
“Seen who, Miss Steele?”
Cassandra smiled at him in a way that melted his heart a little before he took the volume to wrap it for safe travel.
Cassandra was on her way out of Collingbourne a short time later, the book stored in the rear of the carriage. Henry never got overly excited about anything, but she thought this birthday present might be just the thing to bring a smile to his face.
Pembroke
On Wednesday afternoon Cassandra was met at the door by Hastings, not Mrs Thorpe.
“Good afternoon, Miss Steele. Mr Tate is in the library. Shall I show you in?”
“Oh, I can find my way,” she told him kindly and proceeded in that direction. She didn’t hurry and enjoyed taking in the fine lines and furnishings of the foyer and hallway that led to the spacious library.
Once at the open library door, she knocked, not wishing to surprise her host, and spoke from the doorway.
“Mr Tate?”
“Come in, Cassandra. Did my Aunt Harriet not meet you at the door today?”
“No, not today. And I told Hastings I could find my way.”
“Very good. Are you up to a little more Italian?”
“Yes, that would be fine.”
Cassandra began, her voice weaving its spell over Tate’s mind. He wasn’t anxious before she arrived or after she left, but the relaxation he felt in having her read to him was unparalleled to anything since he’d been blinded. Nevertheless, today his mind strayed a bit, and he began to wonder about the woman herself, a woman who would come in as part of a joke and return with such selflessness.
Cassandra sensed none of this as she read page after page, but she had only been working her way through the book for ten minutes when Tate interrupted her.
“Cassandra,” he said quietly.
“Yes?”
“What is your last name?”
“Steele.”
Tate’s brows rose over the patches. “Is your brother named Henry?”
“Yes.”
“Ah,” his voice softened with recognition. “I’m being read to by one of the beautiful Steele sisters.”
Charlotte and Elizabeth’s perfect faces sprang into her mind as Cassandra felt her own face flame, tremendously thankful that her host could not see her.
“Do you wish me to go on?” she finally managed.
“Please,” Tate replied softly, wishing he’d kept his thoughts to himself. Clearly he’d taken her by surprise and made her uncomfortable, something he never meant to do. Missing part of the story, he debated whether or not to speak any more on the subject. He felt himself tensing and realized that was defeating the whole purpose.
Forcing his mind back to the story, Tate relaxed once more. He might give some thought and energy to the matter later on, but not now. Now he would just relax and listen to her read.
Brown Manor
“Is anyone ill at your house?” Anne asked Lydia almost as soon as she arrived on Thursday, her scheduled day to visit.
“No, but I heard about Judith, and I believe Cassandra Steele has caught it.”
“It doesn’t sound very fun.”
“No, it doesn’t. I don’t want you to catch it.”
The women looked at each other, both wanting Anne’s baby to be all right.
“I have something for you,” Lydia finally said, bringing out the gift she had carefully bundled along.
“Oh, Liddy,” Anne said when she saw the framed painting. “It’s beautiful. Wherever did you find it?”
“I bought it the last time Palmer and I were in London. I knew someday God would give you children, and this would be perfect.”
Anne looked at the painting. Six young children played in a yard, four boys and two girls, and in the background was a home that greatly resembled Brown Manor.
“We shall put this on the nursery wall,” Anne said with a smile, “and tell our baby that it’s from our good friends the Palmers.”
Lydia smiled at her, just holding tears.
“We’ll have none of that,” Anne teased her. “You’re here to cheer me up.”
Lydia laughed a little, lightening the mood as she proceeded to do as Anne requested, telling stories about her own children, what they thought of the painting, and what fine parents she knew Weston and Anne would be.
Newcomb Park
“You’ll have to send word to Pembroke,” a miserable
Cassandra told her older sister. “I can’t possibly go to read.”
“I did that first thing this morning,” Lizzy consoled her, “when you woke up so ill.”
“Thank you.”
“Try to sleep for a time, dear.”
Cassandra gave a small nod and did try, but it wasn’t long before her stomach woke her, making demands in a most uncomfortable way.
Pembroke
“Word has come from Newcomb Park, sir,” Hastings told Tate as soon as he awoke. “Do you wish to hear it now?”
“Please, Hastings.”
“‘Mr Tate, my sister is unable to come today. She is ill. Elizabeth Steele.’”
“She doesn’t say if it’s that flu?”
“No, sir.”
“Please send word back to her from me.”
“Very well, sir.” Hastings was prepared as usual, and pulled out the needed paper.
Tate dictated this message: “Cassandra, I hope this finds you improving. Please take care of yourself. I’ll be praying for your full recovery. If you care to return to Pembroke when you are well, I would welcome your visit. God bless you, Cassandra. Tate.”
“Would you like this sent out right away, sir?”
“Please, and let me know immediately if there is any type of reply.”
Tate was glad to be alone with his thoughts a moment later. He hadn’t checked with Cassandra about his comment the last time, thinking that it was best to leave it alone, but now she was ill. Or was she? He didn’t think she would play games with him, but what did he really know of her? It was a question that plagued the blind man the rest of the day, even as he reminded himself that he was supposed to be resting.
Newcomb Park
Cassandra was feeling better by late afternoon, not so sick to the stomach but still terribly weak. The staff had come and gone all day, seeing to her comfort, and Lizzy had been around much of the time, checking on her and doing small things to ease her pain.
“Lizzy,” Cassandra called to her when they were on their own.