Chapter Twenty-one

SPRING IN CORNWALL can be a breathtaking surprise to someone who has seen it only in winter. Nell, who had fled to Thorndene to hide in her bedroom and weep, found herself drawn inexorably to the out-of-doors. At first it was a quality of the sunlight which drew her—it sparkled on the sea with glittering patches of gold which seemed to reflect themselves in the very air. She walked every morning along the cliffs, through air that seemed to glimmer with light. Merely to breathe was a joy. When her eyes became accustomed to the brightness of the sea-sparkled daylight, she began to notice how the landscape had lost its brooding, wintry grayness. Green seemed to be bursting forth everywhere. The woodlands along the estuary were vibrant with life. Dark-leaved rhododendrons of tremendous size had burst into blatantly brilliant bloom. Primroses and violets peeped out, waving their little flags of color in the breeze. She found her eyes drawn as often to the land as to the sea.

It was difficult to maintain her feeling of desolation in the midst of such joyous signs of rebirth and hope. Nature’s annual miracle had a remarkably healing effect on her spirits, and she spent her days in almost cheerful tranquillity. She helped Mrs. Penloe and Gwinnys clean and freshen the rooms for the coming season. She set about, with the help of Will and Jemmy, to clear the gardens of their tangle of overgrowth and winter destruction. She rode the little mare along the path near the cliffs, with the spring breezes whipping her hair and brightening her cheeks. It was only late at night (when she couldn’t control her thoughts) or during the cold evenings (when she sought the warmth of the kitchen fireplace and the company of the Penloes) that she permitted herself to think of Harry.

She had been welcomed by the Penloes with all the warmth that had been lacking when she’d arrived the first time. If they wondered at her pallor or her tendency to fall into pensive silences at unexpected times, they gave no sign of curiosity. But Mrs. Penloe was insatiable in her desire for news of “Master Harry,” and Nell’s tales of his London successes and his impending marriage filled her with delight. Nell’s account of his triumphant entrance on the night of the Mannings’ rout-party pleased Mrs. Penloe so much that she asked to hear the details over and over. Repeatedly Nell was asked to describe what he wore, how he’d looked, the fine folk to whom he’d spoken, how he’d crossed the entrance hall, how he’d gone up the stairs, how Miss Manning had greeted him, and how he’d become as admired and sought-after as he deserved to be.

Nell enjoyed relating the stories as much as the Penloes enjoyed hearing them, but as the days passed and June came near, her awareness of the swift approach of Harry’s wedding day gave her increasing pain. Some nights, when sleep was slow in coming, she would remember the night in London when she’d gone to his room and they had clung together in despair. “If only I could tell you—” he whispered. Tell her what? That he loved her? She had believed it to be true, for a while. But if it were true, how could he permit himself to drift into a marriage with Edwina Manning? Roddy had spoken of honor, but even a gentleman of honor could find a way to cry off if he truly wished to.

She had not had the temerity to suggest to him that he could, if he chose, find a way out of his predicament. But she had sent him the key. It had been a foolish, impulsive act which now made her writhe in anguish and shame. He had not doubt found in it more evidence that she was brazen and vulgar. He didn’t really love her. Those words he’d whispered into her ear probably had some other significance. She had been here for almost a month, and he’d not followed. He had sent no message to inquire about her whereabouts or her safety. Her dreams that he would come riding to her rescue were nothing but childish imaginings. She tried to school herself to push them aside.

June came in with a rainstorm as vehement and furious as any she’d experienced during the last autumn. The wind howled at the windows and down the chimneys as if it wanted to tear the building down. “Listen to that will ’ee?” Gwinnys muttered, adding a log to the fire in Nell’s bedroom as Nell prepared for bed. “The wind’s too angalish, I mind.”

“Angalish?” Nell asked, having become attracted to the Cornish customs and language and eager to learn as much as she could. “Wait, don’t tell me. Let me guess. Does it mean angry?”

“More like … er … cruel or vicious, I seem,” Gwinnys said with puckered brow. She rose from the fire, brushed off her apron and turned to Nell with a possessive motherliness. “You’ll be needin’ a warmer nightdress, Miss Nell. Here, let me help ’ee.”

After putting her mistress in a proper nightdress and cap, and all but tucking her into bed like a babe, Gwinnys went to the door. “I be just down the hall, y’know, Miss Nell, if ’ee have need o’ me.”

Nell made a face at her. “Why would I have need of you, you goose?”

Gwinnys shrugged. “A wind like this’n is like to make one nag-ridden.”

“Very well, if I’m troubled by nightmares, I’ll be sure to call you,” Nell promised, blowing out her candle.

Late that night, when the sound of thumping footsteps and the rattle of chains penetrated her dreams, Nell scolded herself in her sleep. “Gwinnys was right—I’m nag-ridden,” she told herself. “I’m having nightmares, I suppose. He is not coming. There is no ghost. He is not coming!” But the sound persisted, and a sudden, loud crash caused her to sit up abruptly, her heart pounding so heavily in her chest that she could scarcely breathe. “H-Harry?” she whispered into the darkness, too wary of the pain of disappointment to permit herself to believe what she’d heard.

There was a moment of silence and she was almost convinced that it had been the wind that awakened her, when a flicker of light appeared behind the curtains and she distinctly heard a low, lugubrious moan. She pressed her trembling hands against her ears. “No, it c-can’t be!” she told herself sternly. Another low moan reached her ears—she couldn’t have mistaken it. “Harry, is it … you?” she asked urgently.

“I find that a most troublesome question,” his voice responded. “Have you given keys to anyone else, you disreputable wench?”

She gave a gasping laugh. “Oh, Harry, you’ve come!” Choked with tears, she dropped her head in her hands. “I was so afraid—! I didn’t dare hope—!

“Madam!” Harry declared in mock severity. “Do you mean to imply that you doubted Harry D’Espry? That you imagined he would permit a trespasser to sleep unmolested in his bedroom?”

She lifted her head, her eyes shining, her cheeks sparkling with tears, and smiled tremulously. “Well, I did hope he would not leave me unmolested,” she admitted.

He laughed joyously. “You are a shameless baggage, as half of London describes you.”

“Do they, Harry?” she asked soberly.

“I’m afraid so. Four broken engagements! Shocking!”

“Were you shocked?”

“You do seem to be full of foolish questions tonight, girl. You know perfectly well that I prayed for nothing less. Your last jilt pleased me beyond words.”

“I’m glad you were pleased.” She paused and looked toward the glow beyond the curtains with her heart in her eyes. “And what is London saying of you, Harry?”

“They are extremely sorry for me. Miss Manning cried off, you see.”

Her breath caught sharply in her throat. “She cried off? I don’t believe it!”

“It’s quite true, though. You see, my love, although society proved not quite as callous and superficial as I anticipated, it was a bit more so than you believed. Miss Manning, for example, came to realize that she could not live with my ‘imperfection.’”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Harry. What imperfection?”

“Oh, my sweet Nell!” Harry sighed. “You are always a surprise and a delight to me. I was speaking of my missing leg, of course.”

“But that’s ridiculous! Edwina was not at all disturbed by it!”

“That was true only at first. But after you left, my dear, I began to stumble a great deal—”

“Stumble! Oh, Harry!” she cried in concern. She fumblingly struck a match and lit her bedside candle to take a look at him. But he was not visible.

“Don’t be alarmed, my dear. It was only a pretense on my part.”

“A pretense? I don’t understand. Why?”

“Well, I realized that I’d been mistaken in putting my best foot forward, so to speak. I had done just what I’d accused society of doing—covering up and masking over all the illnesses, difficulties, deformities and problems. I’d hidden my crutch, mastered the use of a cane because it was less suggestive of infirmity, and kept my awkwardnesses, difficulties and pains well hidden. But my sham became a trap. I found myself imprisoned in a world of pretense and affectation, knotted to a woman who had no understanding of infirmity, and about to lose the one person with whom I could safely be myself.”

“Oh, Harry, not Roddy?” Nell asked in surprise.

“Not Roddy, you goose!” Harry said disgustedly. “Your#…

“Oh!” Nell whispered, overwhelmed.

“So I set about to bring my imperfection into prominence. I stumbled about a bit and I carried my crutch in public. And, in very little time, Edwina cried off.”

“Just because you stumbled?”

“Well, once I fell on my face.”

“Harry, what a cruel trick! Gwinnys would call it angalish! What did you expect to gain by that?”

“What I did gain—my freedom.”

Nell sat for a moment in shocked silence. “Edwina is nothing but a top-lofty, addle-brained, overweening, calculating, odious worm!” Nell said wrathfully.

“Edwina is a refined, cultivated, very beautiful young lady—”

“Oh—?” Nell interjected challengingly.

“—who quickly became (especially after I’d been forced to compare her with another beautiful young lady of my acquaintance) the greatest bore I’d ever known.”

Nell made a little, self-satisfied sound, very much like a purr, and smiled glowingly at the light behind the curtains. “Does that mean you … you … truly …?”

“Yes, you ninny, I do. Truly! I love you to distraction, and tomorrow morning, as soon as you come down to breakfast, I intend to take you in my arms and show you just how much!”

“But … I can’t wait for tomorrow morning! Harry, don’t you intend to show yourself tonight?”

“Show myself? Do you mean make an appearance? I can’t. I threw away that ghost-shirt long ago.”

“I mean come out, you gudgeon!”

“Come out?” he asked in horrified disapproval. “Out there? Have you no shame, girl? We are not yet even betrothed!”

She gurgled. “That is a mere formality. In my view, you have already committed yourself irrevocably into my clutches.”

“You don’t say! May I not even try to cry off?” he pleaded.

“Not a man of honor, sir! You told me you were a gentleman! Harry, will you please come out?”

“Good God, woman, it’s the middle of the night! This is your bedroom! Why, oh why did I not pay greater heed when they told me what an outrageous little baggage you are?”

She thrust aside the bedclothes and swung her legs over the side of the bed. “If you don’t come out, my lord, I shall dash across this room and behind those curtains, and I shall undoubtedly be knocked senseless for my pains,” she warned.

“Very well, ma’am, I’ll come out if you insist,” he said grudgingly, “but remember that Harry Thorne in the flesh can be a great deal more dangerous than Harry D’Espry in spirit.”

The curtains were pulled aside, and Harry swung into the room on his crutch. As soon as he caught sight of her, sitting on the edge of the bed in her nightdress, her chestnut curls tousled, her eyes misty, her feet bare and swinging above the floor like a child’s, he stopped short. His heart seemed to swell within him in an agony of tenderness.

Nell stared at him for a moment to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. But he was too clearly there to be an illusion. The white streak in his hair, the crutch he leaned upon, the warm, almost embarrassed shyness in his eyes, the slight smile—all gave evidence of his authentic actuality. With a little cry, she leapt from the bed and ran across the room. His crutch clattered to the floor as he held out his arms and caught her to his chest.

This was no illusion, no dream. She knew it with certainty at last. His heart pounding against hers was no illusion. The broad shoulder on which her head was pressed was no illusion. The grasp which crushed the breath from her body was no illusion. Was this frightening, dizzying happiness the danger to which he’d referred? How foolish men were! She knew as clearly as if she could read the future that, as long as his very real arms remained tightly clasped about her, there was no danger she could not face …

Gwinnys had thought she heard voices and was sure Miss Nell must have cried out in her sleep. “I knowed it—she be nag-ridden,” Gwinnys thought, “with the wind rampin’ on so.” She got out of bed and pattered across the hall. Quietly, she pushed open Nell’s door. For a moment she stood gawking, scarcely trusting her own eyes. Then she silently closed the door again and ran barefooted down the hall, darted down the stairs, raced across the kitchen and out across the back hall to the Penloes’ rooms. Pounding on the door, in complete disregard of the time of night, she shouted exuberantly, “Mrs. Penloe, Mrs. Penloe, wait till ’ee hear! Y’ cain’t conceit what I just seen! I’d lay ’ee won’t b’lieve me, but, oh, Mrs. Penloe, ’tis truly arear!”