Chapter 14
Things seemed to have evened out a little for Isabella in the days which followed. She had not enjoyed for one moment telling Elliot the details, albeit scant ones, of her old family life. There was, she knew, so much more to tell than she had told, but it had been difficult nonetheless.
However, it had also been strangely cathartic, and she felt a certain sense of peace when she had drunk her milk and put herself to bed after assuring Kitty that she would manage alone that night.
She had slept more soundly than for some time and had even thought it likely she had not slept so well since she had rendered herself unconscious after collapsing to the flagstones of the chapel.
But this was not the sleep of injury; it was the sleep of relief and perhaps a little contentment.
Isabella had gone on to sleep very well for several nights following,and when she had woken not long after retiring some nights later, Isabella found herself surprised.
She had been enjoying her new feeling of comfort and safety and had assumed that her new deep sleeping patterns had been a part of it.
Isabella sat up in bed in the certain knowledge that she would not, not immediately, at any rate, get back to sleep. She knew it was after midnight, and it had been some time since she had eaten dinner. Isabella generally ate dinner before she went into the drawing room to sit with Elliot.
Being awake, she had realized that she was more than a little hungry and thought that if she did not creep down for something to eat; she would find it even harder to return to restful slumber.
With her decision made, Isabella rose from her bed and draped a pale pink shawl around her shoulders. She struck a match and lit the candle to light her way downstairs, even though the moonlight always seemed to stream through into the entrance hall.
When she opened the door and made her way out of the room, she paused for a moment to listen to the silence. Elliot would never hear her, his room being so far away from her own. It was true that she did not know where it was that Crawford Maguire slept when he stayed at Coldwell Hall, but she thought it unlikely that she would happen upon him in the middle of the night on the staircase. After all, she had not happened upon him once, day or night, in all the time she had lived there.
Still, Isabella made a mental note to set about her silent investigations once more and track down Crawford Maguire’s resting chamber. At least then she would have the complete lay of the land in terms of who kept to what part of the house.
She did not know why it was important, or even if it was important at all, but she intended to do it anyway. Perhaps now it was nothing more than simple curiosity, for she did not feel the trepidation and fear that she had felt when first moving there.
The great hallway was lit beautifully by moonlight, just as she had imagined it would be. Nonetheless, there was something comforting about the candle’s flame, and she held it steady as she descended the great staircase. When she was but halfway down, Isabella heard a sound she recognized.
It was the violin, although it was not the melody she had heard once before. It was not as haunting, although it was equally as beautiful. As a moth to a flame, Isabella made her way towards the library without a moment to stop, think, and reason. She simply wanted to hear the music.
She stood outside the door for a few moments and listened. The melody that Elliot was playing contained less sadness than the last. It was by no means jaunty, but there was a certain hope and lightness in it that cheered her.
Although she kept to the corridor for a few moments longer, Isabella decided to push the door gently open a little and see if Elliot would allow her admittance.
He perceived the movement immediately, and she was surprised that there was not a single pause in his playing, not a note was missed. He inclined his head a little in the darkness, and she knew that he was beckoning her into the room. She made her way silently in, glad of the candle in the near darkness.
She went immediately to the chair she had sat in the last time the two of them had spent time together in the library. She did not want to do anything different, nothing that would disturb him in his playing.
Isabella set her candle down on the small table beside her chair and leaned back, closing her eyes to enjoy Elliot’s playing.
The melody really was beautiful, and Isabella felt sure that it was another one that had never been heard outside the walls of Coldwell Hall. She was certain it was another of Elliot’s own compositions, so beautiful was it. What a shame that such a talent was so rarely heard.
As far as she was aware, Isabella was as large an audience as Elliot ever played to. With her eyes still closed, she imagined him night after night sitting in the library playing endless melodies alone. Night after night, year after year.
“Is that another one of your own compositions?” she said after several moments of silence at the end of the piece.
“Yes, it is a new piece. I am not entirely happy with it yet, but I am getting close.”
“It is something that you have lately begun to work on?” she asked with interest.
“Yes, I have been working on it these last weeks.”
Elliot was sitting face onto her, although it was true that the fire had died down to embers, and she could barely see him. The only light in the room was the pale glow from her own candle, and it was certainly not enough to see him in any detail. But still, as her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, she could just make out the two very distinct sides of Elliot Covington’s face.
Isabella thought him not so difficult to look at after all. However, she knew that things were so much different in the dim glow of a candle, and she was still not sure how she would manage to look upon him in the cold light of day.
“It is very different from the last piece I heard you play, but equally beautiful. I know I have said so already, but your talent is extraordinary,” Isabella spoke softly.
“I hope I did not wake you,” he said, and she could see his head tipped to one side in question.
“No, I could not hear you playing, I just awoke suddenly. I must admit that I was a little hungry, and I had crept down to see if I could steal away a piece of bread and butter from the kitchen. But then I heard the violin, and I knew you would be here.”
“Do you know where to find it all in the kitchen?”
“No, that is why I brought a candle with me. I thought I might need to have a thorough look. I have only ever been in the kitchen to speak to the cook, and I have never dared help myself to anything. I should not like to incur her wrath.” Isabella laughed, and she could hear him laughing too.
“Well, you wait here by the fire, and I shall sneak down into the kitchen,” he said in a conspiratorial whisper as he rose to his feet and leaned down to throw another log on the dying embers of the fire.
“I would not put you to any trouble,” Isabella said hastily although she was amused by the idea of a Peer of the Realm sneaking down into the kitchen to find some bread and butter for her.
Elliot hurried past her, not bothering to take the candle with him. No doubt he knew exactly where to find everything he needed in the kitchen.
He seemed to move away so noiselessly that it was as if he had never been there at all; as if she had been talking to a ghost. As the embers caught, and the log began to burn a little more brightly, Isabella was aware that the darkness had been lifted a little. Undoubtedly, the prospect had not occurred to Elliot, or he would not have thrown the log on in the first place.
He returned in no time at all carrying a small tray. He set it down on the table beside her next to her little candle holder.
“There, I hope bread-and-butter will do,” he said, and she looked up at him.
Between the candle and the fire, Isabella could see his face quite clearly. It seemed so very strange to look at him face on once again, and she was sharply reminded of her wedding day. That moment when he had turned to face her seemed to have happened slowly as if the world and everything on it had lost its vital speed that day.
However, to look upon him at that moment was a very different thing. His disfigurement was still shocking, that had not changed. But she was no longer made afraid by it. She felt almost upended by what a great shame it was that so beautiful a face had been destroyed. But not destroyed entirely, only in part.
To be able to see how handsome he really was, if only from one angle, might well have made the whole thing all the crueler, for it showed her most exactly what had been lost on the day he had been burned. And he had lost more than his handsome face that day.
“I hope you are going to eat some, Elliot,” Isabella said and continued to look up at him. “I cannot possibly eat so much bread by myself, and I should not like to waste it.” She laughed.
Elliot hurriedly took two pieces from the top of the great pile of slices on the plate and made his way back to his fireside chair. He seemed to have become excruciatingly aware of the light in the room, and she could feel his awkwardness returning.
“Thank you, I really am very hungry,” she said in as ordinarily a tone as she could manage before biting into one of the thick slices.
“I hope you will be able to sleep a little better once you have eaten.”
“I am sure that I shall,” she said and hungrily took another bite. “The cook really does make the most wonderful bread, does she not?”
“Yes, it was a very fine day when Kitty brought her to me. I have lived very well these last six years with our current cook.”
“And was she somebody that Kitty knew already?” Isabella said, remembering the system of procuring servants that he had described to her in detail.
“Actually, she had been a cook at Crawford’s house,” Elliot said with a laugh. “Kitty had been over there training up a new maid for Crawford. She often trains his staff, and he is very grateful for it. Anyway, I do not know how she managed to persuade Crawford to part with his cook, but she did. She thought that Mrs Garrett would suit me very well indeed and, in no time at all, that good woman was installed here as my head cook.”
“And what of Mr Maguire? Did he not mind at all?” Isabella laughed and thought the whole thing sounded most amusing.
“He made much fuss, believe me.” Elliot’s laugh grew deeper still, and Isabella could tell that he was genuinely warmed and amused by the memory of it all. “But it was a very good-natured sort of fuss. I could tell that he did not really mind, even though he went on about the thing for days and days. And every time he takes a meal with me here, he comments on all that he has lost.”
“But he would have rather that you had Mrs Garrett for yourself. He is a fine friend indeed.”
“He is. He immediately realized that it would be a much easier thing for him to go out into the world and find another cook who was equally suitable. He can advertise without any concerns whereas I cannot.”
“And now? If you needed new staff now, would you still have such concerns?”
“I do not know. Perhaps I would not, but likely only because I could hide myself away and leave the responsibility of it all to my wife.” He laughed again.
“And I would not mind the responsibility at all, but I cannot imagine that I would be as proficient at finding the right people as Kitty and Mr. Maguire seem to be.”
“I suppose they are well practiced in dealing with my self-imposed exile.”
“It is good to have people in your life who know you so well,” Isabella said before proceeding cautiously. “Elliot, forgive me for prying, but when was the last time you left Coldwell Hall? When was the last time you set foot out of the estate?”
“Heaven knows I have pried enough into your own life this last week, Isabella, and I can make no objection to you seeking similar information.”
“You may make any objection you wish. And I shall not blame you for it.”
“I shall answer you truthfully, Isabella, and tell you that I have not left the Coldwell Estate these last seventeen years. I was but a man of one twenty the last time I made any attempt at being out in society.”
Isabella was silent for some minutes, hardly trusting herself to speak for fear that her pity might show itself. She did not want to pity him because she knew he did not want to be pitied, but what a dreadful thing for a young man to keep to one place so long for fear of the reaction of others. It made her want to cry.
“You are shocked, are you not?”
“I am not at all shocked. Given how the society I once shared made me feel on one simple visit to the church, I cannot begin to imagine what it is you suffered at their hands. It does not surprise me for a moment that you have chosen to be away from them, and I am only sorry that you have felt the need to do so for so very long.”
“I would not wish to have your pity,” he said flatly.
“And you do not have my pity,” she said, fighting hard against it. “But I am sad nonetheless.”
“Well, I thank you for your kindness.”
“What happened? I mean, what caused you to choose that day never to go out again?” Isabella knew that she was on very shaky ground indeed.
“I was still recovering from my injuries, although I was recovered enough to be out of doors again. I had missed the world outside for the year that I had been an invalid, and I had decided to go out to my physician and have him check my progress rather than have him ride out to me. In truth, I had been quite excited by the prospect although understandably nervous.”
“Understandably.” Isabella spoke quietly saying just enough to remind him that she was still there.
“My driver drew up outside the doctor’s office, the very same doctor, in fact, who tended to you when you knocked yourself unconscious. Anyway, the driver I had then had been my father’s driver, and he had long since stopped attempting to look at me. He just could not face it and, back then, I could not blame him. I let myself out of my carriage and began to make my way to the doctor’s door. However, before I was six feet from it, I heard a bloodcurdling scream and looked down to see a child staring up at me. His mother hastily grabbed his arm and turned him sharply, but not before glaring at me as if I had purposefully caused some offence. The scream and the general commotion caused others to look at me, and it seemed as if the entire street had suddenly filled with people, all of whom were intent upon staring at me to indulge their curiosity to the fullest.” He paused, and Isabella remained silent. She did not want to say anything that might dissuade him from continuing. “At that moment, I could not stand it. I realized that I had made a grave error in seeking to reinsert myself into the world at large. I felt the greatest sense of being in the wrong place, of being wrong as a man. I wanted nothing more than to be away from there, to fly back into my carriage and have the driver urge my horses away.”
“So, you left?”
“I turned on my heel and charged back towards my carriage. The driver turned briefly but never once attempted to climb down from his seat on the top of the carriage. He simply left me there, and I realized then that I was not even the Duke anymore. I was Duke in name only, but not a man who would command an ounce of respect anywhere I went ever again. Even my own driver could not look upon me; he could not even open the door to my carriage.”
“I hope you dismissed him.”
“I can hardly remember what happened back then. If I were to guess, I would say that I had related the incident to Crawford and that he likely dismissed the driver. It was then that Crawford and Kitty began to take a good deal of interest in exactly who came here to Coldwell Hall to make their living.”
“And you have not been out since then?”
“No,” he said in a dry voice. “As I had desperately tried to open the door of the carriage, sudden nervousness and shame overtaking me entirely, I heard laughter. The crowd that had gathered, once the shock of my appearance had worn off and their gasps had ceased, began to find my plight most amusing. The more they laughed, the more I became flustered and could not get the door open properly. It seemed to take forever, and all the while I could hear their laughter. Men, women, and children, all of them laughing at the disfigured Duke who could not even escape them successfully.”
“That is truly despicable,” Isabella said in a low voice and felt a sudden surge of the purest anger.
“I had been quite determined to go out again, to give myself a little respite and to make another attempt. But every time I thought to do so, the sound of the laughter came back, and it seemed so much louder than the scream of the child and so much more destructive to my soul.”
“I am not surprised.”
“Every time I thought to go out again, I knew that I truly would not. I always found a reason why I could not go, and not very plausible reasons, it must be said. But I was fooling nobody, not even myself. In the end, I decided to admit that I was never going to leave Coldwell Hall again. When my decision was made, I cannot begin to tell you the strength of the relief that washed over me. I knew I would never have to face them again, and I felt glad.”
“Elliot, I am so very sorry,” Isabella began, “but might things not be different if you tried again?”
“I have often wondered over the years. But when I heard how you had been treated at church, a beautiful woman with not a blemish anywhere, I knew that nothing was different. It is the instinct of groups to act as a single entity. They all turn as one, stare as one, and laugh as one as if they are all functioning by the kind permission of one mind. I would never trust them with my soul again, and I fear that that is what I would risk by attempting it.”
“I understand, Elliot.” Isabella’s voice was a whisper.
She knew she could not push him any further on the matter.
“I am a curiosity, Isabella, and by marrying me, you have become one also. I should have realized that from the very start. I am sorry.”
“You need not apologize for you have done nothing wrong.”
“Have I not?” he said desolately.
“No, you have not.”
Isabella knew that Elliot was preparing to end the conversation again. With the flame low in the fire and the room in darkness once more, he rose to his feet.
“Goodnight, Isabella,” he said and waited for her to leave the room first.
“Goodnight, Elliot.”