Chapter Five

One might imagine that the baring of such a dark secret as Lila’s would result in the world turning to dust or some other strange astral phenomenon; but the day passed quietly away, the night showed stars and a great full moon, with the storm having blown itself out, and morning came just as it usually did. Bright fall sunshine awakened me.

Mattie came in with the post, and there were two letters from Rosamund. Lila was busy with her cocoa and newspaper, so I settled in the parlor to read them, beginning with the earliest date.

My dear Cassandra,

Pray forgive me for addressing you by your Christian name, but my news will, I believe, justify this freedom.

I hope you and Mrs. Loch are well.

I have happy news. Your brother Frederick has asked me to be his wife, and we are engaged. I cannot express my happiness at this event. I believe you guessed my feelings for Frederick in the past. My love for him was no doubt expressed on my face every time I looked at him. He is the best, kindest, noblest man who ever lived. The focus of my life from this day forth will be on giving him the happiness he deserves.

These tidings may surprise you, for it is less than a year since Frederick ended his pursuit of Miss Loch. I would not marry him if I felt for a moment he still cared for her, but he has assured me he does not. He is still weak after his recent illness, so we will wait before embarking on our married life together.

My dear Cassandra, I do hope this news will delight you and not give you unhappiness or uneasiness. Mrs. Loch, I am sure, will not be pleased, so pray break it to her gently.

Frederick has not yet approached his father for permission, but he is hopeful that no problems will arise in that quarter.

Your loving friend,

Rosamund

Rosamund’s news did not shock me. She and Frederick had always been close friends, and it is commonplace for friends to eventually fall in love. They had a great deal in common, both being religious and painstakingly moral. I had not forgiven my brother for his part in sending me into exile, and so I could not agree with Rosamund that he was “the best, kindest, noblest man.” He certainly had not been kind to me; however, he had always been influenced by our father. Indeed, quiet, fearful Rosamund had shown more courage than my own brother in their treatment of me.

I threw the letter down on a side table for Lila to read. My feelings for my sister were such a mixture of pity and horror, I was not inclined to take up Rosamund’s advice. Lila could read the letter and make her own judgments.

I took up the other letter, but to my surprise it was not from Rosamund, as I had assumed. The return address was London, but there was no name inscribed above the street and number. Curious, I opened it quickly and scanned to the signature. It was from Miss Bettina Loch.

Mrs. Stanfield,

Although I can understand your unwillingness to receive a letter from anyone associated with my brother, Bartholomew, I beg you to give me the indulgence of a reading. I know that Bart had some share in your removal from your husband’s home, and I do not attempt to excuse his behavior. But he is my brother, and I love him dearly. Do have compassion for me in my present circumstances.

If you remember, Rosamund wrote you to ask if you knew the whereabouts of my brother. I have heard nothing from him for months, and I am frantic with grief and worry. My uncle, Admiral Cranley, is now as concerned as I am. He contacted the London Metropolitan Police at Whitehall Place but learned only that a constable would search the city and that would be the extent of their assistance.

Please, Mrs. Stanfield, I entreat you, if you have the least notion of where Bart might have gone, do write to me. I fear he is ill somewhere and in need of help. I must find him!

Yesterday, to confound my present discomfort, I received a note from Mrs. Appleton informing me that your brother Frederick is to marry Rosamund Quinn. Although it made me very low, perhaps it is for the best. Frederick and Rosamund can spend their lives moralizing to the good folks of North Commons Parish. The fickleness of men! I thought he cared for me, but if he could trade me for Rosamund—indeed, if he were such a coward as not to defy his father’s order to forsake me—all is well. A younger son for a husband would never have suited me even if I had foolishly married him.

I must leave off as Lady Staunton’s carriage has just pulled up under the portico. We will dine at Mrs. Brady’s townhouse, a tedious business, but what can one do? I hope my friends have not yet heard of Frederick’s engagement, for if they have, they will quiz me severely. On the few occasions when he was in town, he was a favorite with all of them.

Do write to me. I am certain you must know something of Bart.

Your friend and well-wisher,

Bettina Loch

Distractedly, I placed Bettina’s letter in my pocket. There was no need to share this with Lila. I wondered at Bart’s disappearance, and I could certainly understand his sister’s and his uncle’s concern. I hoped he was alive and well; my hatred of him had dissipated, and I had gradually reached the point of understanding that I had caused my own troubles. My mistake was in marrying Charles Stanfield, a man I not only did not love, but whom I came to actively dislike due to his cold manner. From that error, undertaken out of anger at Bart’s not proposing marriage and my habitual obedience to my father, had sprung all that followed.

I leaned back in my chair and sighed. Lila had been right in her words last night: My physical desire for Bart in combination with my desperate need to rid myself of Mr. Stanfield had caused me to risk not only my father’s wrath, but my reputation. My flight from home no doubt titillated the gossips, and through the tale-telling of servants, everyone in London surely knew that Bart had accompanied and abetted my escape. Society viewed me as a fallen woman, and such a woman is an outcast. It was difficult for me to say the following words, but I said them aloud. “I have made my bed, and now I must lie in it.”

My sister’s entering the room pulled me from my thoughts. “Cassandra, Dr. Carter’s gig has entered the paddock. Are you fit for company?”

“So early!” I replied. “What is he doing here at this hour?”

“I do not know. Perhaps he needs us at one of the farms. Pray tell him I am feeling ill and cannot go with him.”

John Carter hitched his horse to the paddock fence. A strange sensation swept over me, as I observed him. His tall, graceful figure appeared to advantage in a brown coat and breeches, and his dark hair waved in the sea wind. He patted his horse and strolled toward the house, pausing near the entrance and gazing at the lane and the meadows beyond.

I straightened my dress and hair. Carter’s knock came, and Mattie answered the door, for Lila had run upstairs. I stood and greeted him, and he regarded me with more admiration than I had ever seen expressed in his visage before.

Here is a good man, I thought as I shook hands with him. I had learned through painful events to know the value of a good man, and in that moment I resolved within myself to be as true a friend to John Carter as he had been to Lila and me.

Dr. Carter, to my surprise, took my hand and raised it to his lips as he bowed. A shiver pulsed through my body, and warmth rose in my cheeks. He raised his eyes to mine, and I lost myself in their blue depths. My hand remained in his as our eyes met, until I forced myself to gently withdraw.

Moving away from him, I indicated a chair with a trembling hand, and he seated himself.

“Tea?” I asked, raising the pot. My hand still shook slightly, for it held the sensation of his warm lips.

“No, I thank you. Please accept my apology for calling so early. I am here to issue an invitation to you and your sister to dine with me this afternoon. I have special guests I wish you to meet.”

“I can speak for both of us, I am sure. A delightful invitation! But who are these guests you speak of?”

“My mother and sister arrived last night from Ireland.”

“Oh! How wonderful!”

He rose. “I will expect you at three, then?”

“Yes.” I curtsied. “Thank you.”

Dr. Carter left, and soon Lila descended the stairs. I pretended to pour tea when she entered the parlor because I knew from the glimpse I had had of her earlier that her face bore the traces of tears.

“Dear sister…,” I began.

She shook her head. “No, I cannot speak of yesterday, not yet. What did John want?”

“His mother and sister are here from Ireland. He wants us to dine with them.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I accepted for both of us, but if you feel unable to go, I will make your excuses.”

“I will go.”

“I’m pleased to hear it.”

I donned a cloak for my daily walk. Lila seated herself in the parlor and opened a book. “I will be back soon,” I said with a smile. She did not reply but only nodded.

As I walked among the dying roses in the front garden to reach the lane, I worried about leaving my sister with only Mattie to see to her. I paused and looked back. Lila was at the window watching me. I waved, and she waved in return. She smiled, relieving me of some of my anxiety. I waved again and walked on.

I intended to call on Lady Lovell, but the earlier brilliant sunshine had given way to a rapidly moving bank of clouds. The breeze had sharpened, making it uncomfortable for me to walk that far, as I would have been heading straight into it. I loitered in the lane, uncertain what to do. On impulse I decided to walk to Dr. Carter’s house. It was early for visitors, but by the time I reached his cottage, a respectable hour for visiting would be nearly at hand. I would face the rushing air on my return trip, but it was a distance of only a mile.

I marched briskly along the lane. The wind was not quite at my back but was coming at an angle from the sea. When the lane curved nearer to the cliff, I halted and observed the turbulent water. Something…I knew not what…was not right. The incoming tide hit the beach in fits and starts, and dark waves jumped straight up and crashed down on themselves. The gale shifted and strengthened. A sharp gust beset me and pulled so hard at my bonnet that the strings came loose. My hat flew over the cliff and into the sea.

I decided I had better seek shelter; this seemed no ordinary storm. I tried to gauge whether I was nearer to home or to Dr. Carter’s cottage; seemingly I was about halfway between the two. I turned and braced myself against the violent thrusting of the cold air to get home. A faint screeching reached my ears through the roaring of the sea and storm. I clutched my cloak tightly and turned about, but saw nothing. No gulls were aloft; no doubt they could not fly in such a fierce flow of air.

I stared at the sea, shielding my face with my hands. A mountainous wall of water collapsed downward, revealing the mast of a small fishing sloop. I pushed my hair away from my eyes, attempting to see clearly. The mast tilted and flew back up, and the cries of the desperate sailors faintly reached me.

Suddenly three tiny, distant figures came into view rushing down the beach. I ran toward the cliff path, about a half mile away. But what of Lila, alone in the cottage with a storm strengthening? She would be terribly worried about me, but it was my greater duty to assist the rescuers.

I scrambled down the cliff path, fighting the gusts at each step. John Carter and two women were on the beach. The women were tying cork floats to John’s chest, and he held a great coil of rope.

“You cannot swim out there!” I cried as I ran up to them.

“I must,” he said, glancing at me. “Mother, Caitlin, meet Mrs. Stanfield.”

I managed a slight curtsy. There was no time for pleasantries, and the others simply nodded.

John tied one end of the rope firmly about his chest and the other to a large boulder. He embraced his mother and sister and waded into the sea. Suddenly Caitlin cried, “She’s capsized!” We strained to see what was happening as John pushed into the water. Far out to sea, a head bobbed up and then another, and then the waves surged and we could see nothing more of the sailors.

John swam into deep water, aided by the floats. The waves lifted and dropped him, and then he struggled forward until the next surge lifted him again. Soon he was nearly lost from sight, and I turned to my companions to see how they bore the knowledge of his terrible danger.

Both women were tall and strongly built like John, but their slenderness gave them an attractive, feminine appearance. Mrs. Carter was fair complexioned, with hair a combination of dark red and grey. Caitlin was dark-haired like John, with a pretty face and bright green eyes. I moved closer to them, and Mrs. Carter, trying to smile, took my arm and linked it to hers.

“May God protect him,” I whispered. Mrs. Carter nodded. The wind blew the tears off her face. Caitlin stared out to sea as if her very concentration could keep her brother safe. We stood there helplessly, waiting for the unbearable, the unthinkable, to happen.

Suddenly the rope went taut. “They’re coming in!” Mrs. Carter cried.

The wait was agonizingly long. We tugged on the rope to assist the survivors in their battle to reach the shore. The storm strengthened, and water surged around our feet. I had forgotten the tide! If we did not get John and the sailors in to shore and up the cliff, they could drown.

“The tide!” I cried. “It is very rapid!” Mrs. Carter and Caitlin understood immediately. We put every bit of strength we had into dragging on the rope, but the water was up to our knees before the men were in sight, and the undertow pulled at us fiercely.

Finally, we could see the three men clinging to the rope. John shouted and gestured for us to run up the cliff path. With no thought of politeness, I seized Mrs. Carter’s arm and pulled her to the cliff path.

“Get up there!” I shouted. She was reluctant, but I pushed her forward. Caitlin, fighting the waves, thrashed her way to us and climbed up behind her mother. I stayed on the beach, hauling on the rope, refusing to heed my rope-burned hands and freezing legs.

A high, curling wave surged toward the shore. It seized the struggling men and tossed them like corks onto the rocks at the base of the cliff. It knocked me off my feet, and we all clung desperately to rocks to resist the receding wave. The rough stone surface tore the skin of my arms. When I had regained my balance, I seized one of the fishermen, a young man, hardly more than a boy, and dragged him toward the path. John and the other man staggered together behind us, with the waves unbalancing us at every step. I used strength I did not know I had to drag the half-drowned boy up the path. Somehow, we all reached the top in safety.

We fell on the ground, and I desired simply to lie there. But Mrs. Carter would have none of it. “Up, quickly! We must get you warm!” she shouted against the wind. She and Caitlin dragged me to my feet and hurried me to the cottage. John and the man half carried the boy, and we staggered forward, fighting the relentless air.

I hadn’t realized I was cold until I was in the cottage wrapped in blankets. I could not stop shivering, and John and the sailors were also shivering. Mrs. Carter and Caitlin prepared tea with brandy for us and built up the fire. It was a deal of time before we were comfortable, but even then John’s mother checked us frequently for fever.

The sailors were from the village—a man by the name of Samuel Welk and his nephew, Jonas. They thanked John profusely for saving their lives, but as soon as they were warm, they struggled off through the storm to relieve their family of the terrible worry they must have been enduring.

Gradually, we all became comfortable in the cottage, we women wearing dry frocks, mine borrowed from Caitlin. John had huddled in pain as the blood coursed into his frozen legs and arms, but he rose eventually and went upstairs to change his garments. When he returned, he joined me at the fire. Mrs. Carter and Caitlin entered the room, and John gestured toward them.

“I owe you a more formal introduction to my family. Mrs. Stanfield, may I introduce my mother, Dr. Carter, and my sister, Caitlin Carter.”

“Doctor Carter!” I said, forgetting my manners.

“Yes. My mother is a physician.”

I quickly curtsied. “It is a pleasure to meet both of you,” I said. “Mrs. Carter…I mean, Dr. Carter…I have never known a woman physician. How…how remarkable! What an amazing achievement!”

“Thank you. Your words are kind. But at this moment I would like to speak of your achievement rather than my own. Your courage in remaining on the beach to assist the others! Such bravery!”

I stared at her, completely puzzled. “Do you think I was brave?” I laughed. “How strange. I suppose my actions were courageous, but I assure you, I did not think of that at the time. I am as cowardly in general as the next person.”

Caitlin handed me a cup of tea with a smile. “That is the very definition of bravery, Mrs. Stanfield. You did not consider what might or might not be courageous; you simply did what needed to be done.”

I stared at my shoes in discomfort at receiving such praise and turned the subject quickly. Under my questioning, Dr. Carter described her medical practice in Dublin. She had inherited extensive property from her father and used it to set up a hospital for the poor. Caitlin had no turn for medicine, but she undertook the preparation of reports and correspondence and kept necessary supplies available.

“I wish John would join me,” said his mother, “but I understand his reason for remaining here.”

My eyes opened wide, but no one volunteered further information. However, when the storm began to wane and John hurried outside to hitch his horse to drive me home, I hinted that I was not privy to his reason for remaining out of Ireland.

Caitlin looked surprised. “You are not aware, then, that his wife and child died here?”

My hand flew to my lips. “No, indeed! I knew nothing of this tragedy.”

“If ever a man loved a woman,” said Dr. Carter with a sigh, “John loved his Abigail. She died in childbirth and the baby with her.”

“How terrible!” I breathed. “And he a doctor but unable…” I recalled John’s comment of a few days ago: there are worse things. No doubt he remembered standing helplessly by while his wife and child perished.

“Terrible indeed,” said Caitlin, “and he cannot bring himself to leave their resting place.”

Dr. Carter smiled and took my hand. “John’s letters have been full of your praises,” she said, “and I confess that Caitlin and I are hoping—I must not say more—I am being impertinent.”

Before I could reply, John entered, and I took my leave of his family with promises to call on the morrow with my sister. John assisted me into the gig, and we trotted down the lane with a quieter breeze ruffling the steed’s mane.

We both spoke at once. I started, “How charming are your mother and sister…” when John said, “I must applaud your courage, Cassandra.”

We laughed. “You first,” I said.

“Very well. I hesitate to make you uncomfortable, for you dislike being praised, but without your bravery, I could not have saved both fishermen. Your courage was exemplary, and I thank you with all my heart. You are an exceptional woman, and perhaps…”

He did not finish his sentence, but his words of praise brought a blush to my cheeks. “You compliment me beyond my deserts, but pray let me remind you that if you had not intervened in my plan of self-extinction in July, I would not be here.”

“You admit, then, that you planned to throw yourself from the cliff?”

“Yes, but at the last second I changed my mind. My foot slipped, and then you seized me. But I wonder, John, how you knew of my intent. You must have run toward me before I stumbled in order to catch me so expeditiously.”

He took a breath. “I knew your intent…because I had had the same once…six years ago.”

I clasped his hand. “Your wife…when she died.”

“Yes.”

We drove on in silence, with his hand still held in mine. But as we neared Caemre Cottage, John turned off the lane and guided the horse along a meadow path. He pulled up under a maple tree, with its red leaves all blown about by the storm.

My heart thudded as I turned to John.

He reached forward and brushed tendrils of hair from my face. “Cassie, you are very beautiful.”

I made to disclaim, but he silenced me with a finger on my lips. “However, beauty is nothing,” he continued, “without other fine characteristics, such as honesty, intelligence, kindness, and courage. As I’ve come to know you—”

I interrupted, trying to speak lightly. “Well, then, I must try to maintain my appearance, for I fear the other attributes you mentioned are not in my possession.”

He shook his head. “Your worst character flaw is a desire to denigrate yourself. But I can overlook that, for I see evidence every day of your goodness.”

“Having been blown about and drenched, I fear at present my beauty is all flown. I will need to rely on my goodness, scant though it is.”

“You could not be any more beautiful than you are at this moment,” he whispered. Then he kissed me.