Page 40 of Exile's Return
‘Four in the evening or thereabouts. It’ll be dark soon.’
‘I didn’t mean to sleep so long.’ Agnes swung her feet out of bed and stood up, stretching.
‘Her Ladyship gave orders you were not to be disturbed,’ the girl replied. ‘And she said to tell you, your friend’s fever is broken and he’s sleeping soundly, so nothing to worry about. You want me to help you with your gown?’
Agnes let the girl help her on with her skirts and lace her firmly into the only clean gown Agnes possessed. With expert fingers, the maid twisted and pulled Agnes’s hair into a neat coil in the nape of her neck, with curls framing her face. The effect was charming. It seemed a long time since Agnes had done anything more with her hair than force it under the hideous cap.
‘Ye’ll do,’ Essie said, standing back to admire her handiwork.
Agnes attempted to smooth the worst of the creases from her skirts.
‘Where will I find the family?’
‘In the winter they eat in the parlour. I’ll take ye down.’
As she passed Daniel’s door, Agnes asked Essie to wait. She pushed open the door and entered. Daniel lay on his back in the disordered bedclothes, one arm outflung above his head and his face turned away from the door. Ellen dozed in a chair by the fireplace.
Agnes crossed the room, the floorboards creaking at her approach, but neither Ellen nor Daniel stirred. At the bedside, she looked down at the sleeping man. Beneath the tan his face was grey, his eyes deep sunken in coal-smudged pits. The scar across his cheekbone seemed to stand out more sharply in relief, but from the steady rise and fall of his chest, he seemed to be sleeping untroubled by fever.
She bent and brushed his forehead with her lips. He stirred and muttered, turning his head away, but did not wake. She closed her eyes and said a silent prayer of thanks before tiptoeing out of the room.
The Thornton family had gathered around a table in a pleasant parlour. A clattering of chairs greeted her entrance as the two men rose to greet her. Lady Thornton greeted her with a smile and indicated the place that had been set for her next to a young man who bore a strong resemblance to Sir Jonathan.
‘I apologise for being late,’ Agnes said as she took her seat.
‘Not at all,’ Lady Thornton said. ‘You were beyond exhaustion. I hope you feel a little more rested now?’
Agnes nodded. ‘I am indeed. Your bed is extremely comfortable.’
Lady Thornton smiled.
‘Now, some introductions are in order,’ Sir Jonathan said.
‘To your right, Thomas Ashley…’ and so the introductions proceeded around the table. The shy girl with a heart-shaped face, who smiled at her shyly from under downcast eyes, was introduced as Tabitha Thornton, Jonathan’s daughter. The fair-haired woman, a few years older than Agnes, was Lady Eleanor Longley, and the young girl of ten or twelve who sat beside her, Lady Eleanor’s daughter, Anne.
‘We didn’t think we would inflict the small ones on you tonight,’ Lady Thornton said with a smile.
Agnes returned the smile, thinking of the fretful child she had heard as she woke. ‘I do hope to meet them. I miss my own…well, not mine exactly, but they have been in my care since they were born.’
‘Whose children are they?’ Lady Thornton enquired.
Lady Thornton’s calm gaze rested on her face and Agnes had the unnerving feeling the woman could see right into her soul and sense the lie, or at least the half-truth.
She gathered herself and managed a smile. ‘My nephew and niece.’
Lady Thornton frowned. ‘And what has become of them?’
Everyone at the table turned to her. Agnes looked from one curious face to the other. No point in lies, not here in this company, so Agnes told them her story, concluding, ‘and Master Lovell very kindly offered to escort me at least part of the way to Charvaley.’
‘But if they have been given into the legal guardianship of this man Ashby, what do you hope to accomplish once you reach there?’ Lady Thornton enquired.
What indeed, Agnes thought.
She looked down at the soup in her bowl, her stomach rumbling its protest at her tardiness.
‘I hope to satisfy myself that the children are well and happy,’ she said without much conviction in her tone.
Agnes caught the quick glance that flicked between Sir Jonathan and his wife. The more she said it, the more foolish her journey seemed. Tobias Ashby could just turn her away at the gate and she had no legal standing, no right to demand entry. Her only right was to demand the return of her few possessions still at Charvaley. Nothing more.
