Hope's Betrayal (22 page)

“Darling man, I
would like nothing better.”

“What did you
say?”

“I said I can
think of nothing I want more than to be kissed by you.”

A swooping,
darting, sense of euphoria lit his face and yet still he made no move.

She took his
hand in hers and pressed it to her lips, snuggling it against her cheek.

"Kiss me.
Please."

Drawn to the
tender plumpness of her lips, the air sang between them. Gentle as a dove he
claimed her mouth, brushing and teasing until her lips parted. Trusting, she
followed his lead, she mirrored the brush of tongue against delicate lip and
his body started to melt.

Huntley was intoxicated,
never before had a woman aroused this fearsome urge to possess and cherish. He
needed Hope to be his. Until now his life had meant doing his best by King and
country, but in that moment his focus shifted. The realisation was sobering.

“Until you, I
hadn't met a real woman.”

“What do you
mean?”

"You are
resourceful, intelligent and kind.”

“Hmmm, you
forgot beautiful and witty.”

Huntley shook
with laughter, “Neither did I mention modest.”

As their
laughter died, Hope smiled sheepishly. “When we leave this room, I won’t hold
you to anything.”

“Do you regret
our kiss?” A pulse hammered in his throat?

She took a
shuddering breath, “If all I am to you is a dalliance, then forget everything.
I will not make the same mistake as my mother.”

Slowly Huntleys
heart found a more regular rhythm. “Miss Tyler, if you permit…” A shout in the
corridor disturbed him. Huntley cocked his head.

“Did you hear
that?”

“What?”

Some way down
the corridor came another muffled shout.

"Someone is
calling a name…and it sounds like 'Huntley.'"

The voice grew
louder. A look of comprehension dawned on George’s face.

“What the..?”

Huntley
recognised the voice—deep and rich male tones. The door opened and a man with a
long nose set above a sullen mouth, glanced in.

"Oswald!"

His first
instinct was to shield Hope, so he stood in front of her, but Oswald missed
nothing. But then Huntley registered the distress on Oswald's face and his
blood chilled.

"What is
it? Has something happened?"

Out of breath,
Oswald gabbled.

“Captain Huntley,
thank goodness I've found you! Come at once, your mother has collapsed.”

*****

Hope's concern
for Lady Ryevale was matched only by anguish for Captain Huntley. She knew that
to be discovered in a compromising position would mean, as an honorable man, he
would feel bound to offer for her—a proposal she would refuse. She wanted to
marry for love, rather than be trapped by gossip.

"Come."
Oswald urged Huntley, "Your mother is asking for you."

With a curt nod,
George accepted Oswald's supportive hand on his elbow, while Hope followed
close behind. Moving as swiftly as the Captain's leg allowed, they headed back
along the corridor.

"How did
you know where to look?" Huntley asked.

Oswald peered
down his long nose. "I asked a footman. They see everything while saying
nothing."

"Oh."

"Don’t
worry. I gave the man an inducement, to make sure he doesn’t talk."

"That's
very good of you. Thank you."

Hope reappraised
her dislike of Oswald and offered up silent thanks.

"Where is
Her Ladyship?"

"I had her
moved to a side room." He indicated the next door on the left. "Here
we are."

"Tell me
what happened?" Huntley's voice caught.

"After
you…err…went for refreshment, I was chatting to Her Ladyship when she started
to complain of feeling unwell."

"Unwell? In
what way?"

"Stomach
cramps, and then a few minutes later, all but passed out." He reached for
the door knob. "Now, shall we go in?"

Hope didn’t
think she could have felt any more wretched, that was, until they entered the
small parlor and she saw Lady Ryevale.

Lying on a
chaise longue, covered with a blanket, Her Ladyship was almost unrecognisable.
In the past half hour she had aged twenty years; her complexion which had been
soft and dewy, was now ashen and beaded with sweat. Her eyes were closed,
sunken and hollow in her skull, her lips so pale as to be transparent. She lay
unmoving, and except for the occasional groan, seemed unconscious.

George stood
stock-still, too shocked to move. Hope pushed past him and ran to Her
Ladyship’s side.

"Lady
Ryevale? Can you hear me?" Hope touched the older woman's hand, which felt
clammy and cold. Fear gripped Hope. Her Ladyship looked so very ill…and so
suddenly. She turned to George for reassurance, only to see the same horror
reflected on his face. Their eyes met and Hope willed him to react. Slowly, he
seemed to rouse himself.

Captain Huntley
cleared his throat. "We must take her home immediately. And send for
Doctor Joseph."

A footman, who
had been hovering in the shadows, stepped forward. "Captain?"

"With all
haste have the Huntley couch brought around."

Oswald held up
his hand. "Captain, I took the liberty of ordering my carriage. It is
already waiting. Take it, and I will use yours."

"Thank you.
Once more I'm in your debt."

"Think
nothing of it."

Huntley stepped forward,
leaning over his mother and made as if to lift her.

"Damn, this
bad leg."

"Would you
allow me to help?"

His face
unreadable, George stepped back. "By all means."

In one swift
motion, Oswald lifted Her Ladyship into his arms. The footman returned.

"This way,
sirs. I've had the carriage brought to the closest entrance."

"Thank you,
my man."

Hope followed
the sombre party in despair. It was because of her George hadn’t been with his
mother when she collapsed. Sadness touched Hope's heart. From the beginning,
she had brought nothing but trouble on the Huntley's.

*****

Doctor Joseph
arrived, with the wide-eyed look of a man unexpectedly roused from sleep. He
was shown straight up to Her Ladyship’s chamber. Hope sat outside in the
dressing room with Captain Huntley, waiting. Both too shocked to speak, all
they could do was stare at the bedchamber door and pray.

Twenty minutes
later Doctor Joseph emerged, rubbing his head.

"The
swiftness of her illness…and the severity." He looked troubled. "Most
unusual."

Captain Huntley
stood. "Do you know what's wrong with her, doctor?"

Joseph pulled a
face, and Hope noticed how he avoided Huntley's eye. "Hard to say."

"But you
have your suspicions?"

Joseph fidgeted,
pursing his lips and looking increasingly ill at ease. "Captain
Huntley…George…are you aware of anyone who would wish your mother harm?"

Huntley stared.
"No, of course not. What a strange thing to say." He turned to Hope,
as if seeking confirmation.

A cold trickle
of fear ran down her spine. Hope went to Huntley and squeezed his arm.

"Doctor,
why do you ask that?"

"Because,"
he looked greatly troubled. "Because her symptoms could…and I only say
could…be consistent with poisoning."

"Nonsense.
Don’t be ridiculous." Huntley guffawed.

"That's why
I'm hesitant." Joseph straightened. "I suppose from the acuteness of
the onset is not incompatible with food poisoning." His face grew a little
brighter. "Perhaps that's it, food poisoning."

Hope watched the
doctor closely, and wondered if only she saw the doubt in his eye.

"Will she
recover?" Huntley asked.

"That, I'm
afraid, is in God's hands. But with time, and a good nurse…we can but pray
so."

Hope took it
upon herself to nurse Lady Ryevale. That night she sat in vigil by Her
Ladyship’s side, sponging her brow and touching a damp flannel to her parched
lips. When Lady Ryevale was racked by tremors, Hope was there to comfort her;
as she moaned and writhed with stomach cramps, Hope held her hand and prayed.
The hours ticked by, marked by Her Ladyship’s labored breathing and the chimes
of the hall clock. That night seemed the longest of Hope's life and to her
immense relief, as shards of dawn broke across the darkness, Her Ladyship still
clung to life.

Morning came and
Lady Ryevale opened her eyes, and as weak as a kitten, her hand squeezed
Hope's. She awoke with a powerful thirst, a thirst with Doctor Joseph insisted
was not assuaged, for fear of vomiting, and so with dutiful patience, Hope
sponged Her Ladyship’s lips. But her patient grew neither better nor worse,
shivering and weak.

That day, the
following night, and the next day, Hope refused to leave her charge's side.
Shadowy figures came and went. Captain Huntley came often to sit by the bedside
and urged Hope to rest, but each time she refused.

On the third
night, weary to her very bones, she had a cot put at the end of the bed. But
sleep evaded Hope. She lay awake, alert to Her Ladyship’s slightest movement,
in case she needed attention.

As Her
Ladyship’s illness entered its third day, Hope was so tired, when she blinked,
her eyelids scratched across her corneas like sandpaper. Bleary-eyed, Hope
looked up as a figure entered the room.

"Hallo."

Her vision swam
as she made out George Huntley—despite her fatigue his presence still made her
heart leap. His expression sombre, he leant heavily on a walking cane and made
his way to the bedside.

"How is
she?"

"The
same."

"You should
rest."

Hope shook her
head. "I can’t, not until I know she's alright."

"This isn’t
your fault." He said softly.

"If I
hadn’t danced with Oswald then I might have been there when she first felt
ill." If anyone understood, Huntley would.

"You don’t
know that—and besides, it was me who took you away, it's just as much my fault
as yours."

They stared at
each other, comforted by the companionship of guilt. 

“Dare we hope
the worst is past?”

“Let us hope
so.”

Huntley moved to
his mother’s side and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Lady Ryevale smiled
softly in her sleep.

It was such a
small sign, but after all the days of worry, tears welled in Hope’s eyes.

“Here.” George
pushed a handkerchief into her hand. Hope blew her nose, hiding in the
voluminous folds, for she no longer had the strength to deny her feelings for
Captain Huntley.

“You look
exhausted.”

“Thank you, that
makes me feel so much better.”

“I meant no
insult—you always look beautiful.” He bit his lip. “But you are tired, take a
break, I shall sit with Mother.”

“No, if it’s all
the same to you I'd rather stay.”

Huntley regarded
her archly. “Mother will be fine. Go, get some rest.”

“I promised to
stay, even while she slept.”

“I can do that
just as well.”

“But…”

“Unless I am so
irresistible you are cannot tear yourself away.”

Hope stared at
him in horror. Were her feelings for him so obvious?

“Your face is a
picture.” He joked. “I was teasing. Go. Thanks to you, she's going to be
alright.”

*****

That morning was
a turning point, and over the following days Lady Ryevale's health started to
improve. The wracking pain ceased and although weak, she could sit up and asked
for broth. It was only then Hope allowed herself to give way to exhaustion and
slept for a whole day. Even so, she insisted on staying within earshot in case
Her Ladyship called out and rarely went further than the next room. And so it
was, that one afternoon Hope sat in the adjoining dressing room, staring out at
the dismal weather. She sank into a welcoming armchair, and through the blur of
fatigue, could think no further than a nice cup of tea.

Hope fingered
the bone china cup as it burnt her fingers. The tea too hot to drink, she
replaced the cup in the saucer and rested her head back against the wing-back
chair. With her eyelids so heavy and limbs like lead, there seemed no harm in
resting her eyes while the tea cooled. 

She had no idea
how long she had been asleep. She woke with a start, disorientated by the long
shadows. She reached for her tea, to find it disappointingly cold. Something
had woken her, some sound. Hope listened. Lady Ryevale still slept, her soft
snores drifting from the adjoining room. Then she heard voices in the corridor,
growing more distinct as they drew closer. Male voices. In an instant she
recognised George, his deep tone struck a chord in her belly—and the other; a
melodius baritone she recognised as Mr. Oswald.