Chapter Nine

Serve and obey. That is what Rebecca did to the best of her abilities in the days following her confrontation with Liam in the tower. She was careful to keep her distance again, keeping to the downstairs whenever she wasn’t continuing her work restoring more rooms, which she did as discreetly, and as far from any place Liam might stumble upon her, as she could.

The only sign of her presence in the house was the flowers she continued to bring to Hal’s room. She knew Liam had returned there since his first visit, but she found neither broken glass nor scattered flowers.

The day after their dispute she had stood there, flowers in hand, before the picture above the mantelpiece, for nearly an hour.

Am I wrong to do this? she had asked the forlorn Danish Princess, who seemed to peer out of the painting into her very soul. Am I wrong to continue thus when I know the pain it has brought him?

Ophelia had remained silent on her flowery riverbank, and Rebecca had not been able to find it within herself to relent.

It cannot be wrong to bring life into such a cold, dark place.

And so she had left the vase, and prayed that Liam might one day understand.

The others had kept their distance as well, attending to their duties as always, but careful to respect her need for solitude. They all sensed something important had passed between her and the Earl. Rebecca knew they all speculated as to what, but none dared ask. Not that they couldn’t surmise well enough; they all knew very well the significance of the East Tower.

Mr Brown had taken to watching her closely, as though fearful she might take it upon herself to make more of a mess. Often Rebecca caught him staring at her, wearing an unsettling expression of confused wariness. He and the others had warned her against such actions, and she had not heeded them. She had neither served, nor obeyed, and now she and Liam both had to pay the price for her stubbornness.

Though she might have preferred to ignore the staff altogether, take her meals alone in her office and meet them only when absolutely necessary, she knew she needed more than ever to show stalwartness.

But as the days passed, and the wet, blustery winds and gales of October gave way to the frozen harshness of November, so the tension in the household seemed to grow, until finally Rebecca could not endure one more second within the confines of Thornhallow. Having neglected Mrs Ffoulkes, she decided a trip to the old woman’s cottage would be just the thing. A cup of tea and a polite natter would do them both immense good, she posited.

She set off just after breakfast, with a basket of parkin and some supplies Mrs Murray had agreed to part with. Though Cook always fussed when Rebecca made the request, she always seemed to have a little stash set aside for that very purpose.

Yes, a long, solitary walk was just what Rebecca needed. Since she had arrived at Thornhallow, and particularly since the master had returned, it had felt harder and harder to keep her bearings.

In fifteen years of service, she thought as she set off through the park, deciding to take the longer path through the northern wood, not once had she felt so lost as to how to do her duty. Yes, there had been trying times. Failures, setbacks, disappointments. She was not perfect; no one was. But not once had she ever doubted what she was supposed to do. Never once had she felt so...confused. As though she’d forgotten who she was.

She stopped at the edge of the wood, and took a deep breath. The icy air stung her lungs but felt like a tonic. Marching onwards, careful to avoid the numerous puddles of mud and slush as she enjoyed the beauty of her surroundings, Rebecca wondered precisely what it was about Thornhallow that was making her doubt so.

An easy position. Simple. Quiet. That’s what this was meant to be.

Only, everything about her life here was proving to be anything but.

In every other house she had served, she had obeyed dutifully—though, yes, she’d been wilful, and contrary at times. But then she had given her opinions with grace and diplomacy, not marched around doing whatever she pleased. Perhaps something in her was rebelling against the hierarchy, the order of things. Perhaps, in the freedom she’d been given by the master’s absence, she had found...

What? Too much freedom?

As if there was such a thing.

In this world there is...

Rebecca slowed her pace when she realised that instead of enjoying her walk, she had taken to tramping like an ogre, crushing leaves and crunching twigs, scaring every living creature for miles. She knew what the truth was. She had let herself get attached to the master. She’d become invested in his life, and in his house. In the moments when she had seen him, unguarded and true, she had let herself be interested. Where she should have run, or held fast behind the solid, invisible and impenetrable wall of propriety, she had instead opened herself to more. To knowing him.

That was what lay at the centre of her confusion and unease.

Luckily, that was remedied easily enough. The distance she had maintained over the past few days would be maintained indefinitely. She would be a paragon of dutifulness and propriety. She would not engage. Easily done when she knew the master himself would most likely prefer never to see her again.

‘You have been sent to torment me,’ he’d said.

But I shall not torment you ever again, for you shall forget I even exist.

‘Mrs Hardwicke!’

Or not, Rebecca thought with a sigh, as she turned to find the man in question striding towards her, raising his walking stick in the air as if waving to her.

He looked every bit the country gentleman today, in buckskin breeches, hessian boots, a forest-green waistcoat topped with a billowing greatcoat, and an old Eccentric hat.

‘Good morning, my lord,’ she said with a forced smile.

Solitude. Distance from you. That’s all I wanted.

‘Was there something you needed?’

‘What? No. Well, yes.’ He shrugged, his eyes scanning the ground as though the answer would be found there. ‘You are on your way to Mrs Ffoulkes, yes?’

‘Yes, my lord. Is that a problem?’

Is visiting the woman an offence now, too?

‘No. No, I... May I walk with you? I’m overdue a visit as well.’

He finally met her gaze then, and Rebecca saw only an earnest hopefulness she couldn’t have resisted in a thousand years. Against her better judgement, she nodded and began walking again. Liam fell in step with her, and so they continued on in silence, until Rebecca could remain so no longer.

If there was ever a chance to make amends, it was now.

‘About the East Tower, my lord... I—’

‘Mrs Hardwicke—’

‘I should apologise, my lord—’

‘Mrs Hardwicke, I am the one who must apologise,’ he said gruffly, as though every word cost him. ‘I...’

‘You owe me no apology, my lord. I was insolent, and disobedient, and—’

‘Yes, you were. But you were not wrong,’ he sighed. ‘I said some truly terrible things, Mrs Hardwicke, for which I had no right. Once again, I behaved a complete tyrant, and I do hope you will forgive me.’

‘There is n-nothing to forgive, my lord,’ she stuttered, stunned by his words. ‘You had every right to be upset, and indeed, every right to throw me out of Thornhallow. Again.’

‘Yes, quite,’ Liam said with a wry smile. ‘You asked me once—or stated rather, as seems to be your manner—that I had returned to Thornhallow to set things right. You were correct. You see, this place, this house...’ He trailed off for a moment, searching for words. ‘Well, there is truth to the tales I’m certain you’ve heard. I left to escape what happened here. And I returned...to face it. I believed that in order to do so, the ghosts I sought to preserve here had to remain intact. That things should be left, as they were. So that I might see...understand... Well, the fact of the matter, Mrs Hardwicke, is that I was wrong.’

Liam drew a deep breath, and Rebecca chanced a glance over at him. A different man yet again stood beside her. A lost, tired, remorseful man, whose light now seemed to flicker in the low, golden autumn rays that pierced through the trees.

‘Dog violets were my sister’s favourite. She used to come out to the woods, fair weather or foul, to collect them, usually dragging me along.’ He smiled a wan smile, then shrugged and returned to himself. ‘All that to say, I am sorry. And thank you. For showing me that which I refused to see.’

They stopped, and Liam extended his hand to help her over a fallen tree. Rebecca hesitated for a moment, then took it graciously, trying to ignore the comforting warmth that seemed to emanate from his touch as she hopped over the trunk. Trying to ignore the twinkling of those hazel eyes that pierced through to her very soul.

‘Thank you, my lord,’ she said softly once they had resumed their walk.

‘If there is another example of your disobedience waiting to be discovered, Mrs Hardwicke, I beg you tell me now. For I wish us to be friends. If that would be acceptable to you, that is.’

No. Say no, Rebecca. You cannot be friends with the master. Not this master. Say no. Remind him of your place, and his. You promised you’d keep your distance, you foolish lass. Now, say no.

‘I would like that very much, my lord.’

Drat.

‘And I believe you have witnessed the depths of my disobedience. Should I have any further desire to demonstrate my impudence, I shall be sure to quash it immediately.’

‘Do refrain from doing any such thing,’ he ordered with a chuckle. ‘You would be quashing your very spirit, Mrs Hardwicke. Infuriating though your contrariness might be, I dare say you would be less yourself without it. And I like you just as you are.’

‘Then perhaps I shall simply give you fair warning,’ Rebecca said, with a calm assuredness she most certainly did not feel. ‘So that you might better prepare for battle.’

‘A fair compromise indeed.’

A broad, cheeky smile spread across his face, and Rebecca could not help but return it.

Rebecca, you are surely the most dim-witted, weak-willed ninny in existence.

‘May I ask,’ Liam said thoughtfully after a moment, ‘where did you get the key?’

‘I don’t know,’ she admitted. ‘I found it on my desk one morning. The morning—Well, it matters not. I thought of asking the others, but...’

‘Whoever left it did so for a reason.’

Yes, I suppose they did.

Rebecca shrugged, unable to voice the words, and Liam nodded. They continued their walk in a companionable silence until they reached Mrs Ffoulkes’s. Raising her hand to knock, Rebecca stopped, looked over at Liam thoughtfully, then reached into the basket and handed him the parcel of parkin.

‘She has been quite eager to see you,’ she said, in response to his enquiring look. ‘Might help excuse your delay in visiting.’

Without waiting for an answer, she turned back to the door and knocked.

‘Don’t you think this parkin’ll get you into my good graces, young man,’ Mrs Ffoulkes said, eyeing him over her cup of tea once they’d all settled into her cottage some time later.

Liam had been right in thinking the old woman wouldn’t have changed, and neither had the little cottage—still warm, cosy and filled to the brim with herbs, knick-knacks and books which Liam wondered whether she could still read.

‘I know very well that cook of yours made them on this one’s orders,’ she said, pursing her lips and gesturing to Rebecca, who sat quietly, smiling into her teacup. ‘It’ll take much more to make me forgive your absence.’

‘I am sorry for my neglect, Mrs Ffoulkes,’ Liam said. Apparently today was the day for apologies. As someone unused to making them, it felt rather unsettling. ‘Though I am relieved, and happy to see you’ve been keeping well.’

‘Well enough,’ the old woman said, shedding some of the sternness. ‘And Mrs Hardwicke has taken good care of me.’

Liam glanced over at his housekeeper. She smiled at Mrs Ffoulkes with such genuine warmth and care, he wondered what it might feel like to have someone—her, really—smile at him in that way.

He took a breath and returned his attention to the old woman, where it belonged.

‘You’ve taken good care of me, Mrs Ffoulkes,’ Rebecca said. ‘I’ve enjoyed our talks.’

‘As have I,’ she replied, placing her hand on the younger woman’s tenderly. ‘As have I. And you, Master Reid, where have you been, then, all these years?’

Liam hesitated for a moment, taking a sip of tea whilst he decided what to say. Rebecca eyed him, clearly also curious to know what he might decide to divulge.

‘I was in the Americas, the Columbia District,’ he said finally, and a tiny smile of approval appeared on his housekeeper’s face. It made him feel... No. ‘Worked in trade.’

‘An ocean was not far enough, was it, to escape Thornhallow?’

Liam was temporarily silenced by the woman’s acute clarity.

‘No need to tell me so, I know. Your father was a hard man—anyone who says otherwise is lying, make no mistake. And what happened here—’

‘Mrs Ffoulkes,’ Liam interjected, glancing at Rebecca in alarm.

She couldn’t know. He...couldn’t hear the words.

‘All I mean,’ Mrs Ffoulkes said pointedly, after a moment, ‘is that I understand.’

Liam nodded, grateful.

‘And trade, ha! That would’ve sent him into a right fit.’

The woman laughed, and he found a smile appearing on his own lips at the thought.

‘Well, you always were more like your mother, you and Miss Reid. Thank God for that, too. She’d have been proud of you.’

‘I barely remember her,’ Liam said quietly, surprising them all.

‘Good woman she were...kind heart. Were she that told the Earl to let me stay.’

She smiled, and all at once his father’s generous gesture made sense.

‘’Tis easier, to remember the worst. But no matter how it hurts, you must remember the good. Take it from someone who tried not to.’

The room fell silent for a moment. Only it was a thick, warm silence. Not one of regret, of loss, but of shared remembrance.

‘What was he like?’ Rebecca asked after a moment, studying her tea. ‘Your husband?’

‘The most handsome man,’ Mrs Ffoulkes replied, with a cheeky smile and a glint in her eye. ‘Right rascal, but a good man. Hardworking and gentle.’

She glanced meaningfully at Liam, who might have reddened at the overt comparison, had that been something he did.

‘I remember the first time I saw him, at the summer fair in Liveston. He was there with some friends, all dressed up to sell his father’s livestock. He were a farmer,’ she said conspiratorially, and Rebecca smiled. ‘I was there with my friend Cecilia, and she went over to talk to a friend of his, and all I saw was him. His smile...warmed my heart. He came over and asked me to the dance that night. Gave me daisies when I went, and every day after that.’

‘He sounds like a charmer.’ Rebecca grinned.

‘Aye, he was—though not as much as the one Cecilia was after,’ Mrs Ffoulkes said pensively. ‘He was a slick one. Nearly married him, she did, but there was some trouble with another lass. Lucky escape, I think. She ended up with the vicar.’

Mrs Ffoulkes stopped, and turned to face Rebecca squarely. She studied the housekeeper carefully for a long, uncomfortable moment.

‘That’s who you remind me of,’ she said triumphantly. ‘Couldn’t think of it till now, but, yes, you look rather like him.’

Liam glanced at Rebecca and frowned. She was frozen, and what looked like fear had darkened her eyes.

‘Merrickson, yes, that was the name. Grain farmers, they were. Any relation?’

‘No,’ she breathed, unconvincingly.

‘Mrs Hardwicke, are you quite all right?’ Liam asked, concerned. The woman had paled, and he might have sworn her hand trembled ever so slightly as she set down her cup. ‘Are you unwell?’

‘What’s the matter, child?’

‘N-nothing,’ Rebecca stuttered, rising. ‘I’ve just recalled that I have some urgent matters to deal with back at the house.’

‘I’ll walk you,’ Liam offered, rising as well.

‘No, please, no need to trouble yourself,’ she said hastily, throwing on her coat and already making for the door. ‘Lovely to see you, Mrs Ffoulkes. Thank you for the tea.’

With that, Rebecca disappeared, leaving both Liam and Mrs Ffoulkes staring at the door, confused as to what had happened.

Liam remained at Mrs Ffoulkes’s for a while after Rebecca had gone, speaking with the old woman of nothing and of everything. Of the land, of her life, of his own, and most importantly, of what he had missed. Which had been so much. Too much. Not that he hadn’t already realised that. Only, today it felt different.

As Mrs Ffoulkes gave him her own recounting of the area’s history for the past ten years, Liam had felt more a spectator than ever, and less guilty than ever. For though things had been difficult, life had gone on.

As he walked back through the woods, then across the park towards the house, Liam realised that the weight he’d carried for years seemed slowly to be lifting. And all because of one stubborn woman. The ghost of a smile appeared on his lips, then quickly turned into a frown as he recalled what had happened in the cottage. The way she’d paled...

Fear.

What is it you fear, Mrs Hardwicke? I would—

‘Master Reid,’ called Tim’s voice. ‘Master Reid, may I have a word?’

Liam turned, plastering on a polite smile despite feeling as though he’d already been put through the mill this morning.

He noticed that Tim was running. Liam couldn’t remember having ever seen him run before; this must be spectacular news indeed.

‘What is it, Tim? A problem with the horses?’

‘No master, nothin’ at all,’ the groom said between breaths. ‘I need... That is, there is something I must tell you, my lord.’

Liam eyed the groom carefully. Tim was intent on examining the ground, and toeing some mud. He looked sheepish, and unsure, and entirely unlike himself.

I cannot take more terrible news...

‘Then you’d better tell me, Tim,’ Liam said, steeling himself. ‘And quick, for I now fear the worst.’

The groom took a deep breath, then met Liam’s gaze and straightened himself as though he were meeting his executioner. ‘I gave Mrs Hardwicke the key, my lord.’

‘You gave Mrs Hardwicke the key,’ Liam repeated after a moment, dumbfounded, his heart returning to its normal rhythm. ‘And what key might that be?’

‘The key to...to Lady Hal’s rooms. You must not be cross with her, ’twas I that let her in there.’

Liam blinked, the confession throwing him completely. ‘How did you even get it?’ he asked.

Neither the first, nor the most important question, but then Tim might have told him a thousand terrible things, and he wouldn’t be reeling as he was now. He couldn’t think straight.

‘I took it, when the Earl died,’ Tim said, his courage returning slowly. ‘I thought to keep it safe, keep her safe until you came back. But...’

‘I never came back,’ Liam said softly.

‘I know it weren’t my place, but I loved her, Master Reid. Don’t think I could’ve loved her more had she been mine. And she were good to me.’

It was Liam’s turn to nod, and bite away the tears misting in his eyes.

‘I wanted to protect her, you see. And then, Mrs Hardwicke came, and I thought she was just like the rest of them. But then...I seen what she did to Thornhallow, master. And I thought, well, I knew, she’d take care of her. And Lady Hal, she wouldn’t have liked the way things were.’

‘She always hated the darkness,’ Liam finished.

His eyes wandered to the glistening pool in the middle of the park, and he remembered sitting at its edge with Hal one eve, when she was barely old enough to form words.

‘I used to tell her when she got scared to look out there. At the moonlight on the water. So she’d never be without light,’ he breathed, speaking more to himself than the man before him.

‘I am not sorry for what I did, master,’ Tim said after a long moment. ‘I just thought you should know.’

‘Thank you, Tim,’ Liam said simply, returning to meet the groom’s gaze.

His gratitude was not only for the truth, but for everything the man had done to keep his sister safe. Tim nodded, knowing so even without Liam having to say.

‘I am neither angry at you, nor at Mrs Hardwicke. In fact, I’ve just come from speaking with her. I am the one who should be sorry. For having abandoned you all. For being so blind. I will make things right. I swear.’

‘Aye, my lord. We know you will.’

Tim bowed his head and turned back towards the stables. Liam stood there, unable to move for a long time as he processed all the day, all the past few days, had forced him to confront. He’d left Thornhallow that morning with the sole purpose of finding Mrs Hardwicke. Finding her, and finally making the apology he had realised she was due not hours after their confrontation in the East Tower.

For once his rage and regret had faded, it had been as though a veil had been lifted. Her words had rung incessantly in his ears until he’d been forced to admit that he had, in fact, been a blind, stubborn idiot, and that she was right about the house, and him, and Hal’s room.

There were no answers there. No redemption. Only grief.

Something everyone else seemed to have seen plainly. But for him, coming to terms with that had been the hardest part, and it had taken all his courage and strength to do so. Then to seek her out and say as much. To then be confronted with Mrs Ffoulkes’s words, and Tim’s...

Though the weight might feel as if it were lifting, Liam felt more confused and lost than ever. It was not in his nature to be so, and the worst part was that a voice somewhere deep inside told him that however troubling, unsettling and inconceivable it might be, Mrs Hardwicke might just be able to help him. Through whatever this was.

He had not lied when he’d said he wished for them to be friends. Improper though that might be. His housekeeper’s company seemed to calm and restore him. She soothed his soul, and not even his pride could prevent him from comprehending just how exceptional such a gift was. Selfish, perhaps, but then, he was not so foolish as to throw away what fate had sought to bring him.

Are you happy now, Hal? he thought, taking a moment to admire his accursed home before returning inside. I have made peace with her.

Liam could see her then, standing at her window wearing a smug smile of satisfaction.