Chapter Six
It was hardly dawn three days later when Susannah made her way towards Hyde Park. The streets were silent and still, no one about to see her, which
was much to her liking. She preferred the silence and solitude. It gave her ample opportunity to reflect upon her actions, as she had avoided doing in recent years.
What in the world was she doing?
Even in her mind, she knew it was a foolish thing she was about to do. She ought to be retreating into the darkness from which she had come, but instead of doing what was wise, she was venturing into the madness before her, ignoring every warning currently coursing through her.
Seeing Colin the other day, feeling his touch upon her, speaking to him, all had weakened her resolve and she had been helpless to confess what he wanted to know. She was only relieved that she could keep the details from him, dark and ugly as they were. At least she had some strength left.
He was too much of a gentleman to completely abandon her when she was in need, so there was still some heart to him, however small or hidden it might have been. She did not flatter herself that what he was doing was anything more than a sense of duty, long-instilled in him and his brother, to help those of their acquaintance. She remembered him saying his father had been a very generous man once, before his nature had turned and he had become the creature he was at present.
It would have been so easy for Colin to have followed the same path.
She shook her head at herself as she walked the cobblestone towards the park. She thought as if she knew him still, as if they were still friends. She knew no more about him than he did of her. For all she knew, he could have been the chilling and somber man who had lashed out at her and spoken so harshly against her.
But in her heart, she knew that couldn’t be true. It was a good man who had offered to help her, though it could not be of any benefit or consequence to him how she lived or suffered. In spite of her injuries towards him, in spite of the complete betrayal of their young but fervent friendship, he was willing to help her.
She did not expect kindness. She was ready to accept more thinly veiled anger and insults, more buffeting about by his bitterness. She ought to have insisted to find work on her own, to keep her sense of pride and honor and not let him interfere in her matters.
She had no pride left and no honor to speak of.
If it were herself alone, it would be one thing. But for her son, she would travel into the very darkest depths of humility and mortification so long as it saved him. She would endure whatever she must to see his suffering ended.
Colin had connections that could prove valuable to her, if he would use them in her stead. All of this could be a rather intelligent move on her part, and could be the thing that saved her and Freddie. Or it could be the final straw that broke her weakened and brittle will.
But she wanted to go, wanted to see him again, despite everything. Because even an angry, bitter, cruel Colin was a soothing balm for her shattered soul and aching heart. He had been her dream every day, and now he was here, in the darkest, bleakest abyss of her life. She had been in such darkness before, when living with her husband. However, even in that nightmare, there was at least hope for the future, and she knew her place. But now, the darkness stretched on as far as she could tell, as far as she could imagine, and, as it was then, all she could do was cling to Colin. Even if he despised her. Even if it killed her.
It could not be worse than living without him.
But he couldn’t know that. He needed to live in a world where right and wrong were clear, and hearts should not be broken, and old loves would never resurface. The past remained in the past, and did not haunt the present nor the future. The villains were never good at heart, could never be redeemed, and all suffering they endured was deserved.
He couldn’t know the truth.
She flexed her fingers, scolding herself for not having brought the gloves Sasha had loaned her. The mornings were beginning to be cold and brisk and she was going to have to figure something out if they were to remain here. Her clothing would not sustain her for a winter.
Nor would Freddie’s.
Right, that must be her focus. Not just repaying debts or keeping herself from a debtor’s prison, which was undoubtedly where this would all end if she did not find work soon, but her son. Her poor and innocent son, who still assumed this was all an adventure, and had no idea that she never knew where dinner was going to come from, or that the meager earnings she received from doing the linens and mending at the inn only paid for their lodging and the occasional hot dinner. For one.
Her head swam a bit and she forced herself to place one foot in front of the other. She could not remember the last time she had a full meal herself. She did fair enough hiding it from Freddie, he was young enough that distraction still worked every time, but eventually he would notice.
Eventually, they all would.
The park was just ahead and a dense layer of fog lay like a shroud upon it. She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself tightly, wishing she owned a thicker coat. It would be embarrassing to recall how long she had spent poring over which of her dresses she ought to wear to this meeting, and she only had four, including the finer one for parading. The jacket, however, was the only one she had, worn and threadbare though it had become.
Why she cared, she refused to think on. What she wore had very little significance to her, and even less, she was sure, to Colin. But this was her best fitted one, and while that did not say much, it should keep him from being so shocked at her appearance.
Or at least commenting on it.
But then, Colin usually said whatever he wanted, polite, appropriate, or not.
And in case she had forgotten that, the last two meetings with him should have reinforced it enough.
She crossed into the park and looked for the bridge at which they were to meet. She’d only been to the park twice since she had arrived, and she promised Colin she knew where it was, but that had been a little fabrication. She had an idea, but nothing was certain…
Her breath caught painfully in her chest when she saw it, and the shape of a man standing upon it could just be made out through the mist.
She moved close enough to be able to make out his features, taking this one moment to watch him unobserved. This was the last time she would ever see him, he would undoubtedly make certain of that. And he would be right to do so, she would only ever bring him lower. The less he had to do with her, the better. For him, for her, for all of them. The ugly truth of her past would resurface soon enough, and she could deal with it by and by.
But Colin…
He was the only good thing in her past. The one thing that had not been tainted.
If she stayed, that would not remain the case.
So for now, she would take a moment and look at him, without any defense at all.
How could a man have grown more handsome in fifteen years? He was still as lanky as the boy she knew, but had filled out in the muscular form of a man, and it quite suited him. His hair seemed darker in this morning light, and it was longer than she remembered, and as he ran a hand through it, mussing it a bit in the process, she had to hide a smile. He had never maintained a neat appearance by his hair, no matter how perfect his brother’s had always been. But where Kit was solemn and serious, Colin was easy and relaxed. Warm smiles, infectious laughter, and twinkling eyes that spoke of mischievous thoughts.
At least, that was who he had been.
She watched as he leaned forward against the railing of the bridge, his eyes focused on something across the water. He seemed tense through his face, neck, and shoulders, but then he released a sigh and his features relaxed. He rubbed his hands together lightly and his eyes narrowed slightly as his focus intensified.
What if she never approached him? What if she pretended to forget and never saw him again? She would always have this, knowing that he was alive and well, with at least moments of calm and peace, and she could content herself with that knowledge and this memory. Why should she force more pain and affliction on herself by this torment?
As if her thoughts were said aloud, Colin suddenly turned his head and his eyes found her, in spite of the mist. He did not move otherwise, his expression did not change, and no trace of distaste or disapproval could be seen. He stared at her, as she did him, and she felt the connection somewhere behind her navel. She could not look away, not for a moment, and she dared not even blink for fear it would all vanish before her.
He watched her steadily, his face devoid of all emotion, good or bad. No hostility or resentment, but no hint of smile or welcome either. He simply watched and waited.
He exhaled again, a small puff of fog dancing from his lips, and she echoed it herself, the tightness in her chest abating just enough to breathe once more.
She couldn’t avoid it now.
Susannah swallowed once and made her feet move, heading directly for the bridge. She sent a brief, but fervent prayer that she might remain composed. He must never know of her turmoil.
“I wondered if you would even come,” he said in a low, cold voice as she approached, that maddening vacant expression still on his face.
Her mouth tightened at his clipped tone. “I might have had a long walk.” She had unwittingly matched his tone and she exhaled in frustration. He was helping her, and she needed to be grateful. She softened her stance and tilted her head a touch. “And I might have wondered the same thing myself.”
He grunted softly, whether in satisfaction or irritation she couldn’t tell, and straightened. “Well, what has happened since we last met? Any success on your part?”
All business, then. It would suit her better, pretending this was not an old friend helping another, but a stranger doing a good turn. Reluctant thought it might be, help was still help. And if she had to tell him just how far she had sunk…
She winced at the flash of pain in her chest and looked away towards the trees. “I have an interview with a family on Tuesday for a position as a governess.”
“Very good. Who?”
“The Tarletons, I think.”
“Never heard of them.”
“And you know everybody?”
“Everybody worth knowing, yes.”
She tried not to laugh. He was so sure, so certain. And yet she could hear the curiosity in his smart responses. “They are new to Town. Visiting relatives.”
“Ah, so a temporary position?”
She wrinkled her nose up, and looked down at her shoes. “Yes, so it seems.”
“Well, that won’t do.” He tsked clamping his hands behind his back. “It may pass for the time being, but not if you want to pay off those debts soon.”
“Thank you for that lovely reminder,” she muttered, tucking her blasted strand of hair behind her ear and scratching at the straw bonnet.
He huffed and took two steps towards her. “Look at me.”
The order sent a habitual shock through her system and she craned her neck at the sensation, hating herself for the reaction yet again. But she did as Colin directed, and met his gaze.
His eyes searched hers for a moment, and he looked as if he would speak, but then he exhaled slowly. “Who is the relation these Tarletons are visiting?”
“Lady Greversham, or some sort, is what I was told.”
Colin snorted a laugh and covered it with his hand.
“What was that for?” she muttered, folding her arms. “If you are going to be disapproving again, I promise I…”
“No, not at all,” he interrupted, sounding too much like his old self for her comfort, “I just dearly hope that crone is not a part of your interview process, or you’ll never survive.”
He stopped himself then, and cast a harsh look at her as if she had been the one to say something indelicate.
She arched a brow at him, but ignored whatever sentiment he had been trying for. “I also have appointments with a milliner, a companion interview for a blind woman in Cheapside, and they’re looking for a laundress in the Seven Dials. I thought I might try my hand at that.”
His brows snapped together and his jaw tightened. She was goading him, and he knew it. But it seemed he could not bring himself to ask if such claims had truth to them, no matter how curious he might be.
Unfortunately, they were all true.
“Well,” he said with a turn of his back, “I have three other opportunities for you, which makes me wonder what in the world you have been doing with yourself.”
She chose not to comment, though a great many replies ricocheted in her mind. She merely waited for him to inform her of his great work and let him feel his duty fulfilled.
“There is a family near Trafalgar named Hayes with three children who need a governess. Not high quality, but well enough to set you up.” He did not look at her, but kept his eyes fixed across the water again, as he had before. “Also a businessman in Piccadilly wants a female assistant so as to encourage ladies into patronage of his shop; I seem to recall you were fairly good with numbers, thought it would be worth trying. And lastly, the modiste that you tried for last week says she could use some spare help, her assistant is apparently useless, but she is a relation so she cannot terminate her.”
He turned and looked at her then, utterly superior, and she was not prepared for it. She had been gaping at his speed and agility with the words, but she could follow clear enough. He seemed amused by her shock and he smirked.
“I have also,” he continued, still smirking, “taken the liberty of procuring some items for you.”
He had done what?
“I beg your pardon?” she stammered, watching in bewilderment as he reached down and picked up a parcel.
He gave her a rather frank look of appraisal. “You’re never going to find work if you dress like that.”
She felt her cheeks flame and put a cold hand to one.
“Here are three dresses, all needing work done, and all will be very ill-fitting as is. The modiste has no use for them, cannot sell them, and was rather glad to be rid of them.” He hefted the parcel in his hands and held it out to her. “See what you can make of them.”
Susannah took a few steps back, her other hand suddenly clutching at her jacket. “No.”
Again his brow furrowed. “No?” he repeated slowly. “No what?”
“No, thank you.”
He frowned in earnest. “Stop that. These are decent quality, they are not new, and they are certainly not fancy enough to offend or give you airs. Come on and take them.”
She would not take anything from him, not like this. She shook her head, not trusting her voice at the moment.
He rolled his eyes and thrust it out again. “I am not being kind. I told you I would help you to find work, and in order for you to keep your end of the bargain and obtain the aforementioned work, you need to not look like a worn out scarecrow.”
“There’s no need to be cruel,” she finally said, perhaps a touch loudly, for his eyes widened in surprise. She turned her hand over against her cheek, the freezing skin soothing the embarrassment. “I’m quite humbled enough, I don’t your help there.”
“I apologize, I did not mean to be.”
She scoffed and gave him a brief look. “Yes, you did.”
He twisted his lips, still watching her, and his shoulders relaxed a bit. “I only mean that you need to look your best.”
“What do you think I meant when I said I had not the resources to pay the debts?” she barked, not willing to be patronized by him, not now.
He looked utterly bewildered. “I… I assumed…”
“You assumed wrongly,” she replied, her indignation fading, yet again, into fatigue. “This is the best I have.”
“Not anymore.” He stepped forward and opened the parcel so she could examine them.
She could not resist; she looked down and saw that the fabric was sturdy, muted, and entirely suitable for a woman in her position. She could not pretend that she was not in need of clothing, particularly if she were to not appear desperate. She had barely managed to gather clothing for Freddie to wear in the next few months, she had not time nor funds to do the same for herself. This would relieve a burden, there was no question.
But did she dare take it?
She looked up into Colin’s blue eyes, still fixed unnervingly on her. “Don’t be kind to me, Colin,” she said quietly. “I am not your pity project.”
“I already told you, I am not being kind,” he replied in the same tone. “And this is no charity.”
“What is it, then?” she asked, feeling helpless and awash in far too many thoughts and emotions.
“An investment,” came the simple answer.
She held up a warning finger. “I will not be in your debt, not for anything.”
“I am not keeping a tally,” he scoffed, though his eyes were serious.
She gave him a hard look. “Aren’t you?”
He did not reply to that.
She sighed, swallowed her ridiculous pride, and took the parcel from him, rewrapping it. “Thank you for your help, Mr. Gerrard, and for these. It was very good of you to help me. I will make sure to look into the posts you have mentioned, and you may be assured that your efforts have not been in vain. And now I must get on with my day, and I am sure you have very many things to do. Good day.”
She turned without looking at him and hurried back the way she had come.
“Susannah?”
His voice was too soft, too familiar, and not at all the cold and short tone of late. And it stopped her just as surely as if he had bellowed. She closed her eyes, willed herself to care just a fraction less, and turned around.
He had come forward maybe ten paces, but was still a bit of a distance away. His expression was now uncertain, confused, and cloudy. “Will you… will you come back on Monday?”
That took a moment to sink in and she could not understand it. “Why?” she asked bluntly, ignoring the tingling in her toes.
He rested a hand on the railing once more. “I think I need to make sure that my investment is worthwhile. You know, that my help actually means something.”
She laughed in disbelief, and it was the oddest sensation, for she actually felt lighter at his uncertainty. “It already means a great deal, I can assure you.”
“I highly doubt that,” he replied with a small half-smile.
“No, it does.” Why should he doubt it? Was her need not obvious?
“I don’t know,” he mumbled, running a hand through his hair again.
She tilted her head slightly, watching him. “Colin, it really does.”
He met her eyes and dropped his hand. “No, I mean… I don’t know.” He swallowed and shook his head. “I don’t know what I am doing and I don’t know why.”
She let the words hang for a moment, carefully considering them, before responding. “I understand,” she finally said.
“Do you?”
She nodded once, keeping her eyes on him. “More than you know.”
He stared at her for a long moment, then softly asked, “Will you come on Monday?”
“Same time and place?”
He nodded.
“Then I will be here.”
She thought he might have smiled, but he only nodded again, then turned and walked across the bridge, casting a very quick half look over his shoulder at her.
She released a heavy sigh when he was gone and took a moment to collect herself. She needed to be stronger, to steel herself against him. She ought not to have agreed, but she needed the help so desperately. And she wanted to see him again, despite his bewildering mood shifts and unspoken accusations.
But she needed to mind herself, or she would begin to hope.
Someone was crying.
Or, rather, someone was most desperately trying not to cry and was failing miserably.
Colin groaned as he heard the noise in his study and set his work aside. He was hardly going to accomplish anything while someone was so distressed. It was far too early for such feminine emotions. It was probably a maid, they tended to be overly emotional when they thought no one was about.
Or it could have been Bitty, he reconsidered. That made him push out of his seat. If Rosie had been teasing her again, at this hour of the day, he was going to have to turn strict disciplinarian sooner than he thought. Or, more likely, he would make Kit do it. Kit could be the mean one.
He searched for the sound, a bit muffled now, and room by room his confusion grew. Where in the world was it coming from? It was too old a person to be Ginny, and she did not hide her cries. She wailed them for all to see and hear. And he was beginning to doubt Bitty as well, for she would seek out comfort when it was needed.
That left him with either a maid who would need to be sent down to Mrs. Porter for a cup of tea, or…
He stopped when he reached the doors to the ballroom. There, sitting under the end table between the two sets of doors, was the crying person.
Rosie.
She had her face buried in her knees, arms encircling them, her dark curls spilling over them like a blanket. Her little girl frame shook with her cries and she was trying her hardest to make as little noise as possible. Poor thing had no idea that in this part house, all noise carried elsewhere.
He approached slowly and sank onto his haunches before her. “Rosie?”
His sister jerked up, eyes wide, cheeks streaked with tears, and her lips quivering.
It was the saddest sight he had ever seen.
He smiled softly at her. “What’s wrong, poppet?”
She sniffled and ran a sleeve under her nose, which amused him. “Nothing,” she said moodily, swiping at her cheeks.
“Doesn’t look like nothing,” he quipped with a bit of a smile. “You look quite distressed.”
Her stubborn chin lifted and she was no doubt building up quite the retort, but then it crumpled and her lips quivered again. “I got lost again,” she whispered in broken tones.
Was that all? He sighed softly and squeezed her arm. “That’s all right, it is a rather large house for just us, and I did not give you a very good tour of it. I’m not a very good host.”
“No, you’re dreadful at it,” she replied instantly, though there was no force behind her words.
He smiled softly. “What were you trying to find?”
“The library.”
That surprised him. Rosie was such an active, mischievous girl, he would not think the solemnity or solitude of the library would suit her. “You like to read?”
She nodded, sniffling once more. “Mama used to read to me after the girls were asleep.” Her jaw trembled and more tears began to roll down her cheeks. “I miss my mother.”
He had to swallow his own lump at that and he tugged his little sister out from the table. “Come here,” he urged, relieved at her complete lack of resistance. He pulled her against him and tucked her under his chin. She shuddered against him and still tried to keep from crying, even as her little arms latched onto him.
“You can cry, Rosie,” he murmured, kissing her head. “I won’t tell a soul.”
It was as if a dam broke in his strong and willful sister. She cried against him, soaking his shirt with her tears, and he could not have cared less about it. He simply held her close, occasionally stroked her hair, and carried her into the library so that her cries would not carry. He settled them into a chair, soothing her with whatever words came to mind.
When she was at last calmer, Rosie began to talk about her mother, about her memories, about what life was like before they had come here. While the other girls had forgotten, Rosie recollected everything. She watched her mother wither away into nothing, watched over her sisters, and wondered when or if Loughton would ever come for them.
He never did.
“I didn’t care,” Rosie said now with a shrug, her tears gone. “He had never been a father to us before, so why should he now? But someone would need to tend us, I couldn’t raise Bitty and Ginny, and then that man came for us…”
Colin frowned and cursed Loughton silently. Leaving his daughters alone and only sending a man of business to pack them up and move them to London? It was unimaginable, and yet it had happened.
Rosie sighed and rubbed at her eyes. “You can’t tell Bitty about this. I’m the older sister, I have to be strong and make sure she doesn’t miss Mama or home either.”
“I won’t tell Bitty,” he assured her, meeting her eyes. “But I will tell Kit. You understand why.”
She nodded once. “I know. You are our brothers and you must take care of us, but…” She shrugged and gave him a sad half-smile. “It is very strange.”
He laughed and hugged her quickly. “‘Course it is, Rosie. We’re Gerrards.”
She snickered and pushed back with a smile. “Can you show me the books?”
He nodded and scooted her off of his lap. “Absolutely, assuming I know anything about them. I can barely read myself.”
“Well, that figures.”
They scanned the shelves and he started a pile for her based on her suggestions and insistence. She became quite animated as they did so, and he was entertained by her antics as she gave him abbreviated accounts of stories he pretended not to know. She had quite the memory for details, strong opinions on how things should have gone in the story, a vivid imagination, and an understanding of characters and themes that was rather impressive for anyone, let alone a girl of nine.
He decided that when she was older, she would either become a scholar, an author herself, or a spy for the Crown.
They sat down to begin looking through the books together when a commotion was heard from the front of the house. He heard Bartlet’s staid tones greeting someone, servants shuffling about in their duties, and a few distinct voices echoing their way to his ears. Then, without warning, his name was called with no respect for any others in the house.
He grinned in relief and delight.
His friends had arrived.