Never a Road Without a Turning (22 page)

Pip covered the brazier and set it safely away from anything flammable before offering his arm to Agnes and leading her out the front doors. He didn’t feel right making her climb out the back again. As he led her across the yard, Pip thought he saw something flash in an upstairs window, but he looked again and found nothing.

Only a sliver of moon hung in the sky, but the reflection on the snow provided plenty of light to see by. When they reached the edge of the yard in front of her father’s farmhouse, Agnes stood up on her toes and kissed Pip on the cheek. The gesture had a sense of finality, but Pip didn’t comment on it, he simply watched in silence as Agnes hurried to the house and her sisters helped her through a window at the side.

Pip ran the short distance back to the cottage to keep warm, collected his blankets from the barn, and crept back through the kitchen to his bedchamber. By that time, the storm inside him—memories trying to break free and feelings he no longer wanted—had subsided, replaced by a shield of numbness. And when Mrs. Applethwaite called for him the following morning, Pip rolled out of bed and prepared for work as always.

But that day, as he entered the kitchen to break his fast, the housekeeper blocked his path.

“The master has sent for you.”

“I didn’t hear the bell,” Pip said as a sudden jolt of nerves threatened to shatter his illusion of detachment.

“That’s because he didn’t ring,” she replied irritably. “Not that it matters, but he was awake and dressed when I went to stir up his fire and bring him his tray. Now he’s waiting in the library, so get along with you.”

Pip swallowed at the stone that now seemed lodged in his throat and went to the library as he was bid. Instead of sitting in his usual place, Ash stood in front of the mantel staring at the coals.

“Close the door,” Ash ordered without looking at him. The man looked as haggard as Pip felt. His cheeks were hollow, the pale gray light from the windows making his skin look ashen and casting ghastly shadows over his face.

Pip’s heart ached just looking at him, but Ash didn’t give him time to fret. He began to speak as soon as the latch clicked into place. “I saw you last night with that girl. I assume she’s the same one as you were with before.” Pip opened his mouth to make excuses, but Ash didn’t give him the chance. One of his elegant, long-fingered hands slashed through the air. “I don’t wish to hear another word. I brought you here to tell you you’re dismissed. Mrs. Applethwaite will give you any wages you are owed, and you may take any gifts you have received, but I want you gone within the hour.”

The numbness lifted quickly, but Pip feared if he gave in to even one of the emotions suddenly raging inside him, all of them would come rushing out, damning both of them in the process.

Ash still wouldn’t look at Pip, and his next words cut Pip even more deeply because of it. “If you’re thinking of blackmailing me or telling
anyone
about what happened between us, remember it is your word against mine. You would be up before the magistrate and facing the gallows long before I ever did.”

Pip took a step back, as if he’d been slapped. He knew Ash didn’t think highly of him, but he’d assumed the man had more regard for him than this. Silence hung heavily between them until Pip managed to force a single “Yes, sir” from his throat. He spun around and left before he broke down.

As he exited the library, Ash’s bell began ringing for Mrs. Applethwaite. She passed Pip on his way to his room, but he didn’t look at her. He clenched his jaw against the tears that threatened to unman him and rushed on without stopping. He dragged his bag, a gift from Maud, out from under the bed and began throwing his few possessions inside with a ferocity that betrayed his anger. When he came to the house slippers, the beautiful waistcoat, and other articles Ash had given him, Pip nearly broke down, but he quickly shoved them into the bag and moved on.

Once his dresser was empty and the small pile of coins he’d managed to save were safely in his pocket, Pip cast about the room one more time to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything, and his gaze fell on the small stack of books resting on the windowsill by his bed. The bag dropped from his numb hand. He went to the books and traced his fingers over the spines until he touched one at the bottom of the stack—
Posthumous Poems of Percy Bysshe Shelley
. Pip opened it and leafed through the pages until he found the one he was looking for.

“Love’s Philosophy.” He didn’t have to read the words. He’d memorized the poem weeks ago.

Without stopping to think, Pip rifled through his bag until he found the stack of letters from Maud. He tore the bottom off one and scribbled a few words on it in pencil before tucking the slip of paper into the book and putting it back on the bottom of the stack.

His wages waited for him on the kitchen table, but the room was otherwise empty. He would receive no parting remarks from the Applethwaites, not that he’d really expected any. He didn’t stop or turn his head as he left the yard. Nor did he take any time to say good-bye to the horse. He didn’t dare. One word of farewell, even to a bloody horse, and he’d be weeping like a babe for sure. He simply closed the gate behind him, threw his bag over his shoulder, and took off down the road toward the village. This early in the morning he hoped he’d be able to catch the post home to Penrith and not have to spend a minute longer in Keswick than he had to.

T
HE
MOMENT
Maud opened the door, she took one look at him, dragged him into her kitchen, and pushed him into a chair. Before Pip could utter a single word, he was handed a steaming bowl of stew, a plate of buttered bread, and a mug of tea. Pip decided he must have looked damned awful, because the five other times he’d come home again after being sacked, he’d received a dressing down and had hours of making excuses and cajoling to do before Maud even thought about mothering him.

As it turned out, he didn’t have to explain himself that night either, because he nodded off as soon as his dishes were empty, and Stubbs was the one to drag him to his bed. Maud’s husband was taciturn at the best of times, and thankfully, the man merely grunted a few times and walked out as soon as he’d dumped Pip onto his bed without requiring any conversation.

Pip slept the sleep of the utterly exhausted. He didn’t remember dreaming anything at all, and his limbs were so stiff upon waking that he must not have moved an inch all night. The next day, the house was alive with noise as it always was, but Pip slept through it until close to noon, judging by the sun outside his window.

A sense of peace settled over him when he finally opened his eyes. His room was exactly the same as he’d left it. The tables and dresser were still littered with the bits of string, rocks, baubles, and paper flowers the children had given him. The worn and patched blue coverlet beneath his hands was as familiar and comforting as always. He closed his eyes and drew it up to his chin again, hoping the world would forget him for a few more hours.

But it was not to be.

The moment he got settled again, Maud tapped once on the door and then came in. Pip pretended to be asleep, but he watched her through slitted eyes while she set a steaming ewer on his dresser and then stood by the bed, staring down at him. “Ye’ve been abed since nine last night. Time to get up, ye lazy lout.”

When Pip opened his eyes the rest of the way, her hands were propped on her hips, and she was trying to look stern. But Pip could see the worry underneath. Maud had never been very good at hiding her feelings, and after months of dealing with Ash, she was a most welcome change.

In a sudden rush of gratitude for her presence alone, Pip reached out and took one of her hands in his. “I’ve missed ye, Maud.”

Her frown deepened as her concern overshadowed any other feeling. In an attempt to soothe her, Pip did what he should have from the start. He plastered his cocksure grin on his face, kissed the hand he held, and winked at her. “Who else would bring me a bit of toast and sausage in bed whilst I recover from me long journey ’ome?”

The performance lacked his usual rakish charm, and Pip could tell Maud wasn’t falling for it, but she played along just the same. “Get off with ye. If ye want to eat, ye’ll come to me kitchens like everyone else. An’ ye won’t get no supper lyin’ about in bed all day neither. There’s plenty t’ keep ye busy, so get yerself dressed.”

Pip’s grin faded quickly after she left, but he dragged himself out of bed and washed and shaved in the blessedly warm water she’d brought him. The meal she fed him when he finally appeared in her kitchen bespoke her concern for him. His plate was piled high with eggs, sausages, and toast with jam, and Pip tucked in with relish.

She waited until he was done before shooing the rest of the maids out of the kitchen and sitting down next to him.

“Are ye goin’ t’ tell me what ’appened now?”

Pip swallowed and he suddenly regretted stuffing himself with quite so much sausage. “I were sacked, again,” he answered simply.

Her lips twisted and she rolled her eyes. “I know that. What I don’t know is why, and whether or not the girl’s parents’ll be seeking reparations, or if we should expect an angry ’usband bangin’ on our door someday soon. Ye didn’t even last ’til Christmas, this time.”

Pip’s lip turned up at her exasperated tone, and he chuckled tiredly as he shook his head. “No fathers, husbands, or brothers. Ye don’ need to worry about that.”

She studied him for a bit before she reached over and took his hands in hers. “What’s wrong, lamb. I haven’t seen you like this, since—”

Pip stood up, cutting her off before she could finish that sentence. “I’ll be all right. I can’t talk about it now. I need time and I hope I can ’ave it ’ere. I don’t plan to leave again, Maud. I’m ’ere t’ stay, if ye’ll ’ave me.”

Maud rose and wrapped her arms around him, squeezing him tight with all the softness and warmth he’d come to count on since he was a child. “Of course, my beautiful boy. Ye’re famly, always. Master Carey’ll want t’ speak to ye. But I think that can wait until ye’ve ’ad a little time. Go down to the stables. There’s someone there who’s been missin’ ye somethin’ awful. ’e’ll be sure to lift yer spirits if anyone can.”

Pip’s smile this time was genuine as he squeezed her ample form back and then headed for the door. He’d just reached for the knob when Maud called after him, “Did ye love the girl? Is that what it is?”

Pip closed his eyes for a moment before he replied, “Weren’t a girl.”

Maud harrumphed. “Woman, then.”

“Nor that neither,” Pip said, a tiny bit of his good humor rising with baiting Maud.

“Ye weren’t alone so long ye started on sheep, were ye?”

Pip snorted. “No.”

He stepped through the door and closed it behind him before she could ask him anything else. He took the path down the hill to the stables at a run, the quicker to get out of the bitter wind. For a while, Pip hovered over the brazier set up just inside the building, thawing his hands, before he went in search of Peter.

The boy was in one of the stalls at the far end of the stables, brushing Clover, the pretty little pony Master Carey had bought for the children to ride. At seven years of age, Peter’s little blond head barely reached the pony’s shoulder, but he handled the brush and Clover with practiced ease.

Pip hovered outside the stall and simply listened to Peter croon nonsense to the creature until he felt its soothing effects himself. Eventually Peter finished his work, threw a blanket over Clover’s back, and stepped out of the stall. When he finally spotted Pip waiting for him, he dropped the brush and any pretentions of decorum and launched himself into Pip’s arms.

“You’re back!”

Pip grinned and spun Peter around in a circle. “Aye, lad. Ye’re a sight for sore eyes.”

“Are you staying for Christmas?”

“I ’ope so. I ’ave no plans to be anywhere else, at any rate.”

He set Peter down, and the boy stared at him, his face scrunching up into an adorable frown. “You look awful.”

Pip put a hand to his chest and pretended to be deeply wounded. “What a thing t’ say. An’ me only just come ’ome.”

Peter stuck out his tongue. “You know what I meant. You haven’t been ill, have you? You look ill.”

“Only a little fever, months ago. Nothing to worry ye.”

“Then why do you look like that?”

Heaven preserve him from tenacious and inquisitive children. What happened to his air of rakish charm, infamous throughout the countryside, if even a child could see through it?

“I’m only a bit tired, is all. I’ll be good as new in a couple o’ days, ye’ll see.”

The look Peter gave him then was a near perfect imitation of the one Master Carey usually reserved for him—eyebrow raised in haughty disbelief while his mouth quirked to the side in both amusement and resignation. Pip knew Master Carey was fond of Peter. And Peter had certainly begun to sound like the gentleman. But Pip hadn’t realized they’d spent enough time together for Peter to start looking like the man as well.