A light knock on my bedroom door roused me from my thoughts. “Yes, who is it?” I called out.
“A visitor to see you, Natty,” Dorcas’ muffled voice said.
“Is Papa allowing the visit?”
“Your father isn’t here as he’s gone to see Mr. Kettle’s poor sick wife. I don’t think he’s so angry that he’d keep you from seeing visitors, you dear boy.” She sighed through the door. “You dear, stubborn boy,” Dorcas added in a softer, sadder voice. Then I heard her walk away.
I stood up from where I’d been sitting for the last hour or so—at my small writing desk, the book of Keats’ poetry lying open. In an old wooden bowl nearby, an assortment of odd objects was gathered—mostly things I’d picked up in my countless walks throughout the island. Dried flowers and leaves, curiously-shaped stones—everything that marked the passage of time while stoking my interest and my imagination made up a small yet prized collection. If I had the defaced miniature with me—and had I acquired it under normal circumstances—I’d have added it to my treasure of curiosities, given its mysterious beginnings and strange possibilities.
Just a while before, I’d had another ugly quarrel with Papa. It came as no surprise, to be sure, for angry confrontations between us had become a common scene in the vicarage now.
Simply put, I refused to venture out alone and spoke the truth when asked for a reason. “I don’t want to go out there without company,” I said. “I won’t.”
“Why, for God’s sake? You’ve never complained about this before!”
“Papa, I’m afraid.” There. I continued to speak in the simplest, clearest manner I could though my voice quavered, and I couldn’t bear to look him in the eye. “I’m haunted. I’m in danger.”
Papa’s expression defied—and continues to defy—words. “Afraid? Haunted? In danger?” he echoed, his voice rising with every word. “The devil you are! Who’s been planting all this rubbish in your head, Nathaniel? Who?”
“No one! Something’s out there, and I’ve seen it! I’m not lying! It’s a ghost of a woman, and she appears to me when I’m alone, like that time when—”
“I’ll have none of this,” Papa interrupted in an even, menacing voice. He’d grown pale in his anger. “Did you hear me, boy? I won’t hear another word of your nonsense—”
“But it isn’t nonsense—”
Papa raised a hand in warning, silencing me. “One more word, Nathaniel. One more word. God help me, you’re not too old for the switch.”
He proceeded to rail against me in severest terms because what person in his right mind would believe that such things as ghosts existed? It was sinful to embrace superstition. It was un-Christian. It was a blot to my respectability as the well-educated son of a much-liked and much-revered man of God.
The threat of the switch was never repeated. My punishment then was to remain in my room without food till Papa decided that I’d had enough time to think things through and to pray for God’s forgiveness. This time, however, an unexpected reprieve helped lift my punishment much sooner than planned. I wasn’t this fortunate before and had endured entire days when I went to bed without touching a single meal. Not once had I prayed for forgiveness, either because I was convinced I was in the right.
I gave myself a careless glance in the mirror. I’d long grown used to the pale, sullen, and drawn image that stared back at me. I went to the sitting room and nearly exclaimed in surprise and relief—above all, in delight.
Mr. Lovell rose from his seat as I stood at the door, momentarily frozen, and he held out his hand in familiar greeting. “Master Wakeman,” he said with a broad, engaging smile. I hurried forward and grasped his hand in mine, shaking it vigorously. “Do forgive me for not warning you in writing, but I was in a bit of a hurry to travel and simply lost sight of propriety. It’s a common fault of mine, I’m afraid.”
“Please, it’s no trouble at all,” I replied, laughing. “You’re always welcome, Mr. Lovell.”
To say I was relieved to see him would be an error. I was much more than that. I was ecstatic. In fact, I couldn’t speak for several moments, spending my time instead in looking him over, reacquainting myself with his person, his manners, his virtues. As we hadn’t seen each other in quite a while, I’d somehow forgotten how handsome and how superior he was in everything. It was all I could do to give his hand a final earnest squeeze before releasing it.
He was a much-needed distraction for me—for everyone in the vicarage, I was sure. After calling for refreshments, I sat down opposite him, relishing every second in his company as though we hadn’t seen each other in years.
“It seems you approve of what you see,” he presently noted with an arch smile.
“Oh—yes, I do! You look exceedingly well, sir.”
“Well, that’s a relief. You look no differently from before—”
“Ah,” I stammered. No doubt disappointment or confusion must have etched itself on my face.
Mr. Lovell leaned forward and regarded me with a clear, brilliant stare. “That was meant as a compliment,” he appended in a quieter voice.
“Ah,” I stammered again, tapping my fingers against my knees. “Thank you, sir.”
“You seem a bit sadder, though—and a little thinner.”
“It’s nothing. What brings you to this quiet corner of England again, Mr. Lovell?”
“A few things. Unexpected, for the most part, but perhaps necessary.”
“Begging your pardon?”
He took a deep breath and sat back, clasping his hands and resting them on his lap. Mr. Lovell now appeared distracted. Rather than clarify himself, he instead glanced around the room, his eyes keen and restless as he swept his gaze around—eating, absorbing. Evading.
My bewilderment might not have been eased, but I didn’t care. It was, I think, at that moment I grew aware of something in me. Something odd, alien, and well beyond my understanding. It stirred as a sleeping child would stir, and it responded reluctantly and yet naturally to Mr. Lovell’s presence. All I knew—all I could comprehend—was that curious movement in my belly, which was echoed in my breast, and all the while, my admiration of Mr. Lovell deepened.
“I adore the simple elegance of your home,” he presently said, his voice calm and noncommittal.
“Mama takes pride in the house.”
Mr. Lovell nodded, still looking around the room.
Dorcas appeared with a tray of tea and cakes, and while I thanked her, my guest seemed unaware of the modest bounty that sat before him, awaiting his pleasure.
His behavior mystified me, but I forced all questions out of my mind and began to pour the tea.
“You must try the cakes that—”
“Forgive me, Nathaniel,” he said all of a sudden while meeting my gaze with a little smile, “but would you care for a walk?”
I blinked, frozen in mid-pour. “Walk? What—right now, sir?”
“Yes, if it pleases you. I feel the need for some exercise and fresh air at the moment. The journey here was rather constricting and difficult, and I’m afraid I still feel the need to recover from it.” Mr. Lovell’s tone sounded odd, though he spoke lightly. I could also sense his earlier relaxed, easy manner had vanished though he continued to smile pleasantly at me, and I couldn’t understand why.
I set the teapot down and considered. Papa wasn’t home, and neither was Mama, who’d gone out to visit her friend who lived in Ryde. She was given half-hearted permission to go, having suffered black, depressive moods when Papa at first forbade her to keep her friend company. Simply put, he had no choice but to let her go. That day, she wasn’t expected back till dinner-time. I was being punished for my obstinacy, but it didn’t matter at all to me. No, not at that moment.
Not even my haunted walks disturbed my thoughts. I gathered myself, hoping I didn’t appear too eager.
“Of course,” I replied with affected ease. “I understand. Do you wish me to take you somewhere specific?”
“No—just an idle walk—very much like the one we had the last time I paid this charming house a visit.”
I stood up. “It would be my pleasure, sir.”
He stood up as well. He also muttered something in response, but whatever it was, I failed to catch it.
* * * *
I led him through the paths that took us to Bowcombe.
Our conversation turned out rather dull and strained, much to my disappointment. Mr. Lovell’s distraction remained, for all my efforts at entertaining him. In time I succumbed to the mental exhaustion of forced levity. I fell silent, even more bewildered, but was convinced it would be best to let him take the conversation where he pleased. I certainly didn’t seem capable of keeping his interest alive.
“I’m afraid I’m not very good company today,” he said after a long moment of silence.
I glanced at him. Though unusually silent and pensive, he still carried on with the air of haughty ease I’d always admired. “One can’t expect another man to be cheerful all the time.”
He chuckled and tapped the ground with his stick. “No, I suppose not.”
“Is something the matter, sir?”
He hesitated. “Quite a few things, really, but nothing for you to worry about.”
“I can help, surely.”
Another light chuckle greeted my words. “Perhaps. Shall we turn here?”
We’d reached a place where three paths intersected, and Mr. Lovell pointed at one that led us west. I didn’t recognize the path, but I was confident in my ability to find our way back to the vicarage.
I led him onward. Eventually I felt equal to the task of discussing certain subjects that naturally dampened my spirits. It was only polite, after all. “I hope Miss Thornber is doing well.”
“She is, thank you. Her family’s in good health as well.”
“I’m glad.” No, I wasn’t. I heartily disliked the thought of Mr. Lovell marrying Miss Thornber, regardless of anyone’s family connections and wealth.
“Someday you’ll find yourself in similar circumstances—”
“I haven’t thought of marrying anyone,” I cut in, sounding more resentful than perhaps I ought to. “All the girls I know are already attached—or they simply don’t care about me.” I shrugged. “Not that it worries me, mind you. I don’t really think about them.”
“You don’t?” Mr. Lovell pursued, and I turned in time to meet a look of mild surprise. “But then, I suppose you’re still very young. You’ve so many years ahead of you still—so much time for discovery.”
I stared at the ground. “I’ve a year, actually. My uncle wishes to find me a proper occupation, and I told him to wait till I’m eighteen.” I laughed in spite of myself. “I’m not even done with school yet. At least Papa isn’t quite done with me.”
He laughed along. “In many ways, Nathaniel, I envy your situation. During moments like this, I’d give all I have to walk in your place.”
I looked at him again. It was my turn to be surprised, and it had nothing to do with his frequent use of my Christian name. “Begging your pardon, but are you unhappy, sir? Is that why you traveled here?”
“Yes and yes.”
“I see. My cousin surely must have given—”
“Ailesbury doesn’t know I’m here,” he quickly said. “I never told him my intention to visit, and I’d be obliged if you didn’t speak a word to him about it.”
I regarded him, even more surprised. “I won’t. You have my word, sir.”
“Thank you. I shan’t go further. My dear sir, you’ve nearly made me confess to something I never intended to share.”
“Can’t you treat me like a friend?” I prodded, feeling hurt by his evasions. “I might not be like Vincent—”
“For which I’m immensely grateful—”
“—and I might not be your equal, sir, but I can listen without judgment as well as any confidant. If you’re unhappy, surely unburdening yourself to someone you can trust will help. I don’t pretend to have all the answers, but I can at least try.”
My words flowed out of me in a steady rush of confused ideas. When I’d done, I became aware of the heat that suffused my face, and I knew that I was blushing. It didn’t matter to me, though. I’d said what was foremost in my mind, and there was nothing I could do to retract a single word.
Mr. Lovell met my gaze with a quiet, rueful smile. He reached out and rested a hand against the side of my face for a second before sliding it down my arm, lightly squeezing it. Then he shook his head, whispered, “Thank you,” and moved on.