Effie retied the ribbons of the glasses around her head and then arranged her belly flat on the bottom of the trench to resume the painstaking task of gently scraping away another layer of soil from the metal object which stood proud above it. It was very likely an axe head similar to the one she had uncovered yesterday or perhaps a tip of a spear. This particular part of the dwelling seemed to have been used for storing weapons and tools because she now had quite a collection. If she focused, she would know the answer before the afternoon was done. The only problem was today had proved itself a bad day for concentration because her vexing assistant had failed to turn up at all.
That was, of course, his prerogative. They never made any firm arrangements and certainly never discussed times. Max arrived when he felt like it, stayed for only as long as he wanted and then always bade her a good day, making sure she knew he found her presence and her purpose irritating. Rationally, she understood he probably had a hundred better and more pressing uses for his time and it was not as if he had promised to be here to help her—but none of that made her feel less bothered by his absence because since the first day he had picked up her pickaxe three weeks ago, he had always come. In fact, he had not missed a single day in all that time and since they had started on their quest to prove the dwelling was round, he had taken to spending longer and longer with her.
Yesterday, he had worked solidly by her side for six hours despite the hot June sun beating down on them. Not having him a few feet away, asking her questions and rolling his eyes or demanding sustenance, felt wrong.
She missed him.
Worse, she was worried sick about him and had no earthly idea why. But since late morning she had been plagued with a bad feeling which not even the painstaking excavation of a two-thousand-year-old Celtic axe head could banish.
Again, his fault because he was such a closed book.
After their one and only discussion about his scars, they had never discussed anything too personal. All conversation was limited strictly to the dig or the superficial. Obviously she still had a million questions about Max, concerning both his past and his present and all the complicated pieces in between, all frustratingly unasked because she knew instinctively they would not be welcomed. He had remained entirely true to his word—he never minded the question, but there were a great many he blatantly refused to answer. He never said no outright, but he was an expert at sidestepping them. Yet sometimes, she could see his torment in the fleeting bleak expressions which often skittered across his face or see the swirling unreadable emotions in his eyes which his slightly detached, frequently belligerent permanent mask couldn’t always hide.
But seeing as he resolutely avoided asking her anything about herself which could be construed as intensely private, he gave her no way in to probe him and doubtless did that on purpose for exactly that reason. Therefore lord only knew why he wasn’t here today and more fool her for allowing herself to care.
Except she did.
With a huff, she tossed her trowel aside and sat up. Her own jumbled thoughts regarding the wretch were slowly driving her mad. Something he would know because he knew more of her than she usually allowed the world to see.
Would it have killed him to send word? Something? Anything? Just to let her know he wasn’t drowning in a deep pit of despair all alone.
Then go seek him out.
The obvious solution to her problem had also been there since late morning and was the loudest and most insistent current thought in her head. She had been ignoring it out of pride, knowing doing that would tip him off to the fact that she cared about him. Much more than was probably wise. Max had become her friend, companion and, to herself at least, she was prepared to acknowledge she had developed a teeny bit of a tendre for him against her better judgement and entirely at odds with her cynical attitude towards romance. Hardly a surprise when he filled his coat and breeches so well, when he had a voice which made her insides melt like butter and expressive dark eyes which called to her soul.
The wretch.
She absolutely did not want him to know that.
Effie was an acquired taste. She understood that. And understood only too well she was quite capable of sending him running for the hills if she mishandled things by thinking out loud—something she had always done with alarming frequency throughout her life and which managed to damage every fledgling friendship she had tried to nurture. Her inadvertent openness and obvious desire to be accepted was a bit too much and nearly always put people off. It was the reason she was never invited to anything beyond the events everyone was invited to any more and why she had been left on the shelf to gather dust. For now Max tolerated her and that meant the world.
So did his sister...who seemed to enjoy her company and spoke to her in a manner which suggested they were friends, too—or at least she thought they were. Eleanor had asked only yesterday if she could borrow Effie’s copy of Mrs Radcliffe’s The Italian because there were apparently only serious books in Rivenhall’s extensive library and she was in dire need of something salacious. Those were the sorts of things friends did...
The Italian!
She could deliver the book! Why hadn’t her enormous brain thought of that simple solution earlier? It was perfectly innocent and perfectly believable—meaning she wouldn’t have to come off the least bit clinging or needy at all. If anything, it made enquiring about Max an afterthought at the very most and, as long as she didn’t look desperate, he would be none the wiser that she cared.
Deciding she had no more time to waste on worrying, Effie rushed home to fetch the volume.
Dashing back across the pasture with it in her hand, within half an hour she was knocking on the front door and less than a minute after that she had been greeted by a slightly drawn but smiling Eleanor, who welcomed her with open arms.
‘Effie, how lovely to see you!’
‘I brought your book.’ Be subtle. ‘I was going to give it to Max today, but I haven’t seen hide nor hair of him so thought I should deliver it instead of taking it back home. I didn’t want you to have to suffer another day with nothing salacious to read.’ Undoubtedly too much information, but at least her features felt nonchalant.
‘That is very thoughtful. Would you care for some tea?’
Not having any of the answers she had come for yet, Effie enthusiastically nodded and Smithson was dispatched to fetch it. The tray came back with just two cups upon it, which threw up more questions about the new lord of the manor which she had to bite back so hard it hurt.
‘How is your quest going?’
‘Good. I believe we have located the door and while I cannot conclusively prove the house is round, it’s already a semicircle. But we... I...am making progress.’
‘Splendid.’ Eleanor took a sip of her tea to cover her suddenly uncomfortable expression before smiling over-brightly. ‘I am glad it is all moving in a satisfactory direction.’
Effie’s bad feeling was getting worse because Eleanor still looked distinctly uncomfortable and her conversation was suddenly stilted when she was normally so open and sunny. Unless Eleanor had decided to tire of her oddness as people—even the kindest sort—tended to do eventually. A prospect which made her chest ache with sadness. ‘Of course, things move faster when Max assists me. I missed him this morning.’ So much for nonchalant.
‘He was indisposed this morning and...’ The teacup clattered in her saucer and suddenly Eleanor’s face was wretched. ‘Oh, Effie—as much as I know he is going to be furious if I tell you, I feel I must because I really have no idea what to do and, so far away from home, nobody else to turn to!’ Eleanor was up and pacing, her odd mood doing nothing to calm Effie’s now wildly racing heart.
‘I hate it when he gets like this. When he withdraws from the world and will not let anybody in... And it’s all my fault. Poor Max... I should have handled it differently...’
Fear constricted Effie’s throat. ‘What’s happened?’
‘This.’ Eleanor reached into her pocket and retrieved a tightly folded sheet of newspaper. She unfolded it and handed it to Effie, pointing to the third announcement in Births, Marriages and Deaths. ‘He was devastated when he read it. I could see it on his face. Then he stormed out to who knows where and came back not an hour ago and shut himself away again. He refuses point blank to see me or speak to me about it.’
Effie read it aloud. ‘“The Earl of Castlepoint is happy to announce that her Ladyship the Countess of Castlepoint, of Prittlewell House, here on the morning of Saturday last, gave safe delivery of a son and heir...”’ It was a standard announcement with two similar listed directly below. ‘I don’t understand?’
‘She was Max’s fiancée. Before the accident. She left him while he was recovering.’
‘Oh...’ This was the first Effie had ever heard of a fiancée. Her surprise at the news was rapidly overwhelmed by an emotion which churned her stomach. Anger at the woman’s thoughtless, callous treatment of Max tinged with overwhelming jealousy that he clearly still had feelings for the woman if this piece of news had caused him pain. ‘Oh.’
‘I never liked Miranda.’ Eleanor’s tone was clipped and her features suddenly furious. ‘I always thought her shallow and vain. More concerned with pretty gowns and how full her dance card was than with anything of substance. She went out of her way to ensnare him in the most calculated fashion and I was of the firm belief the only reason she had sunk her claws into him then was because he was a handsome and eligible heir to a wealthy earldom—but I kept my own counsel. When he came home injured, she proved me correct, although it gave me no pleasure to be proved it. He was still bedridden and in agony when she terminated the engagement.’
‘She ended their engagement? Then? How could she?’ Because such a monstrous cruelty beggared belief.
‘Max will tell you he terminated it and technically he did, but only because she put him up to it! Because she couldn’t bear the thought of marrying a man who was no longer the dashing naval hero, but a wounded one—regardless of the title and fortune. She was impatient to be the wife of an aristocrat and was not going to allow his inconvenient injuries to get in the way of her desires!’
‘That’s awful...’
‘Oh, but you haven’t heard the best of it yet! Within two months she was engaged again—which completely broke his heart, of course—and then we had to relive the pain again when she married a scant few months later. And she had the audacity to marry in June. The exact same month she had planned to marry Max because Miranda had set her sights on being a June bride, too, and she had no intention of waiting a year until this summer to do it. In Saint George’s in Hanover Square, of course. The same church they were to be married in. To rub salt in the wound. And now this.’
Eleanor shook her head angrily, tears in her eyes. ‘Yet another blow. A reminder of all that should have been his. He knew she was expecting. Gossip has been rife for months and he diligently reads the newspapers, sometimes I think simply to torture himself, so I should have had the foresight to check each one before he reads it after breakfast. But I didn’t think and he saw it, and he’s taken it badly.’
‘Poor Max.’ Effie’s heart bled for him. ‘And what a truly hateful woman to abandon him in his hour of need.’ She wanted to give the witch a piece of her mind. Right this instant. ‘What sort of a person does that?’
‘The sort who cares more for her own social standing and appearance than she ever cared for my brother! I have never told him...and I probably shouldn’t tell you...’ Eleanor lowered her voice to a whisper ‘...but a few weeks after he had returned, her visits to his sickbed became more sporadic. At first, I believed her flimsy excuses about being under the weather and exhausted from the trauma of it all—until I realised she was in fact back out in society attending every ball, soirée and tea as if Max did not exist.’
‘Oh, my goodness!’
‘And he kept asking after her. It was tragic, She would allow a week to pass between visits and when she did deign to grace us with her presence she never stayed very long. That hurt him deeply, but he never said anything. He stores everything inside, you see.’ She clutched her fist to her chest. ‘And I knew he was worried about it. So one day, I called upon her and tried to appeal to her better nature, citing how much her visits meant to my brother and how I believed they were essential in his recovery and do you know what she said?’ Effie dreaded to think. ‘That she wasn’t cut out to dance attendance on an invalid!’
‘But that is atrocious! After all he’d been through... How could anyone...?’ She was staggered that anyone could be so unfeeling.
‘It gets worse, Effie. I reminded her that the marriage vows stated a wife stand by her husband in sickness and in health and she countered that she hadn’t yet taken the vows and wasn’t entirely sure she was going to—as she felt that Max was no longer the man she had agreed to marry! Can you believe that?’
‘I have no words, Eleanor. None. I am so shocked...’ It really did beggar belief. Aside from the dreadful aftermath of his injuries, Max had lost his career, his ship and his fiancée, too, and all because he had tried to save his crew, then had the audacity to survive. Then another dreadful thought occurred to her. ‘Had your father died at this point also?’
Eleanor nodded and her expression turned fierce. ‘Oh, how I hate that woman and despise everything she has done to my brother. When he first came home he was optimistic and determined to fight, then after things ended between him and that foul harpy he changed. The light dimmed in his eyes and he lost the will to live. I do not think he has found it again since. I blame Miranda for all of it and I do not care if it is small-minded, but I wish her no luck, Effie.’ She gripped her hand and her expression hardened with disgust. ‘If I ever collide with her again, I swear as God is my witness, I shall spit in her eye!’
‘Then you are more civilised than I, Eleanor, because I have never met her or heard of her before today and I already want to wring her neck, then pummel her to a bloody pulp! What a witch! What an evil, malicious, spiteful...’ The fury and outrage she felt on his behalf burned hot in her gut and she didn’t realise she had leapt from her seat and started pacing until she stopped dead and pointed a quaking finger. ‘How far away is this Prittlewell House? Perhaps we should go there right now and give her what for?’
Through the tears, Eleanor smiled, her bottom lip quivering before she enveloped her in a hug. ‘Oh, I do love you, Effie! Max needs someone like you on his side.’
That simple, affectionate gesture touched her beyond belief. ‘Of course I am on his side. I am his friend. Or at least I hope I am. With Max it is hard to be sure.’
‘He plays his cards close to his chest. Too close nowadays but, and if you will forgive the irony, he has been badly burned in more ways than one and finds it so very difficult to trust anyone any more. He never used to be like that. He never used to be so cynical, either, or so pessimistic. But since the accident and after Miranda ran roughshod over his heart, he has built walls around himself which he has allowed nobody to breach. Not even me. It worries me so much.’
‘Where is he now?’
‘Locked in his study, where I suspect he will remain for at least a week if his reaction to her wedding is anything to go by. This is a massive setback... When he was doing so well. I was beginning to see glimpses of the old Max. He seemed almost happy again and I credit you with that entirely, but...’ Eleanor slumped back into her chair and put her head in her hands. ‘We are back to square one again and heaven only knows how long it will take him to get over this latest blow.’
Effie wrapped her arm around her shoulders and squeezed in reassurance. ‘If he knew she was expecting, then chances are he was prepared for the news. Today it might have all got on top of him, but perhaps tomorrow he will rally?’
‘I was going to go home tomorrow. Just for a few days...’ The older woman shook her head before blowing noisily into her handkerchief. ‘I am sorry. I shouldn’t be dumping all my woes on you, Effie. I was just looking forward to seeing my family... Selfish, I know, but never mind. I am being silly. They will still be there in a few more weeks when hopefully this latest crisis has past...’
And now her heart wept for Eleanor who had stepped into the breach and coped with it all for so long. ‘You should still go see them. I can look after Max.’
‘No. I daren’t leave him. He needs me here. He might not appreciate that, and will undoubtedly disagree with it, but he needs me still. Maybe he will surprise me as you say and bounce back in a day or so.’ Her brave expression was unconvincing. ‘Once he has stopped lashing out at me, of course.’
‘And festering in self-pity.’
‘Yes. And that, too. You do seem to know him well.’
‘Do you think it would help if I tried to talk to him?’
‘I doubt he’ll see you, Effie. Or anyone. Not today at least. It’s too raw and he won’t appreciate the interference. Perhaps tomorrow?’