Sylvia Andrew – Reawakening Miss Calverley (страница 9)
James saw how pale and weary she looked. ‘If your memory doesn’t return, Anne,’ he said gently, ‘I’ll make sure you’re not left alone to find your way. Do you believe me?’
She nodded and he went on, ‘But now I think you’ve had enough for today—let me call Rose or someone to see you to bed.’
Before she sat down, she hesitated and said, ‘Will I…will I see you tomorrow?’
James shook his head. ‘Not tomorrow.’ She looked disappointed and he explained, ‘I must spend the day at Roade, but I’ll see you the day after. We could go for a walk in the garden if you are strong enough. Meanwhile, promise me you’ll stay in this room while I am away. Walk a little, read your book—and try not to worry.’ He went to the door and turned to bid her goodnight, but when he saw the droop to her head he found himself saying, ‘I’ll see if I can call on you tomorrow before I go out. Goodnight, Anne. Sleep well.’
Chapter Four
Rose was slow in coming, and Anne sat gazing into the fire for some time after James had gone. Her fears were briefly forgotten as she allowed herself to dream. So Mrs Culver had been wrong—James was not about to marry anyone, not engaged, and, from what he had said, didn’t have anyone in mind either…
And after Rose had come and gone she lay awake, inventing a fairy tale to keep her fears about the future at bay. She would recover her memory, and turn out to be an entirely suitable bride for an Aldhurst—the daughter of an earl perhaps, or even a duke. They would fall in love, marry and live happily ever after at Hatherton. What would it be like to sleep with the man you loved, to have his arms around you, holding you, caressing you…? Her last thought before she finally fell asleep was that, though Lord Aldhurst was most unlikely to fall in love with
But Anne paid dearly for indulging in these romantic fantasies, with a series of nightmares. She was faced with a dark red door that she knew was familiar, but she struggled in vain to reach its knocker…Then, in the way of dreams, the door changed into a spreading pool of dark red blood, and, terrified, she fought to save the man lying at its centre, her heart racing and gasping for breath, struggling against the cruel hands that were dragging her away…Suddenly the hands holding her were James Aldhurst’s hands, and she sobbed with relief as she looked again from the protection of his arms and saw that both the pool of blood and the body at its centre had disappeared. She turned thankfully back to him, but when she looked up, his face was cold and distant and he pushed her away, and gradually disappeared into the distance, deaf to her cries.
She woke up at last unrefreshed and lay for a while with traces of tears on her face, her mind full of the images in her dreams. They frightened and confused her—was there a clue to her identity in them? She puzzled over them for some time, but the images meant nothing to her. Her life before she had been found on the drive was still shrouded in grey fog.
And in the cold light of morning her romantic fantasy of the night before seemed more like the delusions of a lunatic. The end of the dream had been telling her as much. Lord Aldhurst would keep her safe until she knew what she was to do, but he could never consider her suitable to be his wife. Although Mrs Culver might have tried to deceive her about his marital plans, her warning was clear enough. He was the last of an ancient and distinguished family and the world would expect him to find a bride of equal rank. Wealthy, handsome, well born, with a duty to his family—why on earth should an Aldhurst ever look at penniless Miss Nobody of Nowhere, who was not even very beautiful?
For a moment she felt very sorry for herself, but was soon ashamed of indulging in so much self-pity. It was time Miss Nobody stopped being so poor-spirited, pulled herself together and started to take charge of her life instead of leaving it to others! She also had things to do!
When Mrs Culver came in an hour later she was astonished to see Anne walking round the room with grim determination.
‘Whatever are you doing?’ she exclaimed. ‘You shouldn’t be up for another hour at least. You’ll wear yourself out. Sit down and rest. Rose will fetch your breakfast.’
Anne sat down gratefully in a chair and said, ‘I’m not really ill any longer. My legs are weak, that’s all, and they won’t get any stronger if I don’t use them. It’s time I had some exercise. I don’t intend to be a burden to you all any longer than I have to.’
Mrs Culver gave a satisfied nod. ‘I’m sure I’m glad to hear you say that. And if you wish you can put on your own clothes again. I have them here. We’ve washed and pressed them for you, so they are perfectly clean.’
‘Thank you. But I’m afraid
The request was reasonable enough, and if Mrs Culver experienced a touch of resentment at the hint of command in this nameless nobody’s voice it did not show. ‘There’s a bath in the dressing room next door—I’ll get the maids to fill it. And Rose will wash your hair.’
An hour later, when Anne was sitting in front of the fire while Rose dried her hair, Lord Aldhurst walked in. ‘Good morning,’ he said with a smile, ‘I’ve come to see how you are.’
‘Th-that’s very kind of you,’ stammered Anne. ‘I…I hardly expected to see you at all today. Though you did say…’ Her voice faded. This wouldn’t do. She pulled herself together, stood up and gave him a slight curtsy. ‘Good morning.’
His eyes were on her hair, which was hanging loose in dark chestnut waves down her back. ‘You look different,’ he said.
‘I should hope so indeed! Rose here has just spent a great deal of energy cleaning me up. And I feel much the better for it.’
He came forwards and, frowning, took up a lock of her hair. ‘It’s…it’s a different colour. I thought your hair was darker,’ he said.
Anne suppressed a smile and removed the hair from his fingers. ‘No, my lord,’ she said gravely, ‘it merely needed to be washed. And now it is clean. I’m sorry if you don’t like its colour, but that is what it is, I’m afraid.’ She laughed and added, ‘I consider myself fortunate. When I was a child it was much redder and I had a temper to match.’
There was a sudden silence. Then she said in a strangled voice, ‘How do I know that?’
James nodded. ‘I’m not sure, but it’s a good sign. Your memory seems to be returning, if only in fragments.’
‘That was a singularly unimportant fragment,’ said Anne bitterly. ‘My name would be more welcome.’ Then she attempted another smile, and added, ‘But beggars can’t be choosers—I suppose I should be grateful for anything at all.’ There was another short silence, and then she went on in a more formal tone, ‘Thank you for your enquiry, my lord. I am much better. I hope you have a pleasant day.’
He paused, then said, ‘Have you breakfasted? If not, do you feel strong enough to come downstairs to have it with me?’
She was so taken by surprise that she didn’t know what to say. ‘With you? I…I thought you wished me to stay in this room?’
‘I would like you to stay in your room while I am out—but you would be safe downstairs with me. Of course, if you would prefer not to join me…’
‘No, no! I should like to! But I can’t be seen downstairs with my hair like this.’
‘Shall we say in ten minutes? I’ll talk to Mrs Culver. And Rose can do whatever is necessary to your hair.’
He bowed and left the room. Rose was already busy with brush and comb, twisting and winding Anne’s hair into a graceful knot on top of her head. When she had finished she gave it a final pat and said, ‘There, miss! You look lovely. His lordship will be pleased!’ She paused. ‘But I wouldn’t be so sure about Mrs Culver.’ Anne privately agreed with the maid, but she said coolly, ‘His lordship will be relieved to see that I shall soon be strong enough to take up my own life again. And so will Mrs Culver. Thank you, Rose. Show me where the breakfast room is, if you please.’
If the caretaker at Roade House had expected to see James early that day then he would have been disappointed. James spent more than an hour over breakfast and the morning was half over before he finally rose from the table. Anne sat opposite him, a touch of colour in her cheeks and a swathe of glossy hair falling from the simple knot on top of her head. She was an altogether different creature from the pale waif he had rescued, and she intrigued and delighted him. Her dress, as Cully had said, was of poor material and very simply cut, a servant’s dress, but she wore it with an air. Though he knew she felt vulnerable, even frightened, at her inability to remember anything about herself, no one would have guessed it from her composed manner. Her conversation was of necessity not about herself, but it was lively, sometimes displaying a touch of irony that perfectly matched his own, and occasionally revealing a keen sense of the ridiculous that made him laugh out loud.