The Mistress of Trevelyan (22 page)

"The family has their memorial at Prynne Hill Cemetery," he replied, his words terse with disapproval. "Now would you care to inform me of what incidents you speak?"

"No," I said. "But you can tell me what the plans are for Master Justin's birthday. He will be eight in a few weeks."

"Plans?"

"Yes. What sort of celebration is planned?"

"There is none. We are not a trivial household."

"A celebration of thanksgiving is not a trivial matter. I will attend to Master Justin's birthday. The children and I will be back for tea." I left before he could delay me further.

No matter what little we had, my mother had always spent the day of my birth giving thanks and making me feel very special.

Within minutes I had gathered the children, and we sailed out the door, ignoring Dobbs's glowering expression. I led them first to Holloway Park, where I'd planned to tell the children what we were about. I decided to take them to visit my mother's resting place first, then to their mother's.

They didn't even smile or try and run down the lazy green slopes as the other children were doing. "We need to find the prettiest flowers to take with us."

"Where are we going, Miss Wovell?" Robert put his hand in mine. His tears had dried, but the hurt dealt to him this morning still lingered in his young eyes.

I knelt down to meet them eye level. "First, I would like us to visit the place where my mother is buried. I want to take her some flowers just to let her spirit know that I love her. Then, if you would like, I will take you to do the same for your mother."

Robert's eyes widened. "My mommy has a resting place I can see?"

"Yes. Would you like to go?"

"Oh, yes. And I can take her flowers, too?"

"I think that will be a very beautiful thing to do. Why don't you collect some of those purple flowers over there and let me talk to Justin."

It was good to see Robert dash off eagerly after the flowers.

"I want to take a rose," Justin said. His voice was flat, as if he didn't dare let the tiniest bit of emotion escape from him.

I met his gaze, wondering how long he'd be able to keep the dam from bursting. I prayed it would be soon, for I was beginning to understand Stephen's concerns. I'd heard of children who'd shut themselves off from the world and never opened to it again.

"We will go to the florist in town and buy one, then."

He nodded. "What will it look like? My mother's resting place."

"You have never been?"

"I don't remember if I have."

"If your mother's grave is like my mother's, then it will be not too different from the grass where we stand and a headstone with her name. But I am sure your father made her place more special."

Robert ran back, arms full of purple flowers, cheeks smudged with dirt, and grass stains on his knees. His eyes shone with triumph. My heart squeezed as it hit me. I loved them with all of their problems and moods, smiles and sadness. They'd become a part of my heart.

Helping Robert with the flowers, we made our way to town. At the florist, Justin chose a large red rose, and Robert picked a daisy to add to his collection.

We soon reached my mother's simple grave. I lovingly set the flowers at the foot of the wooden cross with her name on it. Justin stood off to the side, not getting close to the grave. "I come here and talk to her sometimes and tell her what's making me happy or sad."

"Does she hear you?" Robert asked, moving to my side.

I looked up at the sky. "I do not know, but if she can, I want her to know that I love and remember her." Leaning over, I pulled away a few weeds trying to grow among the thickening grass. "Someday I will be able to buy her a special headstone, so everyone who passes by will know how well she was loved."

"Do you think my mommy has a special headstone?"

I stood. "Let's go see. She is resting in a place closer to the town."

Leaning down, Robert set one of his flowers on my mother's grave, then put his hand in mine.

"Thank you," I whispered, squeezing his hand.

The walk to Prynne Hill Cemetery passed in silence. I'd hoped to find a gardener or caretaker to tell the exact location of the Trevelyan's memorial. As it was, we had to search through the place. Every now and then the boys would stop and ask me to read a marker, and Robert and I would talk about what that person's family or life might have been like. They were surprised to see a good number of the buried were children.

"Your father is blessed that you both are so healthy. Other parents are not nearly as lucky."

I breathed a sigh of relief when we came upon a beautiful granite statue, a replica of the angel that graced Trevelyan Manor's gardens. There were two headstones at the foot of the angel, under her protective shadow.

" 'Benedict W. Trevelyan, Sr. Born 1815. Died 1871. Loving husband and esteemed father. Though lost at sea you'll remain in our hearts forever.' This would be your grandfather." No wonder Benedict's mother looked so sadly out to sea.

"I didn't knowed he was here with my mommy. He can take care of her, can't he?"

"Yes, he can. So can the angel. She's the same angel in your garden at home."

Robert nodded solemnly. "That is good "

"Very good." I looked over to see Justin near the other headstone and nudged Robert that way with me.

" 'Francesca Ortega Trevelyan. Born 1848. Died 1872. Wife of Benedict W. Trevelyan, Jr., and beloved mother of Justin and Robert'. " It was a beautiful headstone, engraved with a fancy scroll along its edges; the grave itself was well tended. Both the boys stood silent. I knelt down and placed the few flowers I carried at the foot of the grave. She'd only been twenty-four years old. I was twenty-four years old. My stomach churned.

"Did our father putted our names there, saying we bewuved her?"

"I am sure he did," I said quietly.

"Can I touch it?"

"Yes."

Robert walked hesitantly up to the headstone. He squatted, carefully laying his bouquet against the headstone. Then he traced his mother's name with his finger.

Justin hadn't moved, though he looked as if he were barreling forward or about to do so. It was as if he stood outside an invisible barrier, unable to press himself through it. His breaths seemed ragged, and I wondered if I'd made a mistake in bringing him here.

"Justin." I kept my voice quietly soft. He didn't answer or look my way, but he did move closer to the headstone. His hands shook as he held out the rose. I winced as I saw how he held the flower. He had both his hands wrapped tightly around its thorny stem.

He dropped the flower on the grave. I could see blood staining the white paper the florist had wrapped the stem in. And I felt as if my heart bled at the sight. I moved to stand next to him, unable to leave him so alone.

"Why?" I asked softly, taking a handkerchief from my pocket and pressing it gently upon his cuts. "Why did you hold the thorns so tightly?"

He looked up at me, pain etched tightly upon his wan face. There were tears trapped behind the shadows of his dark eyes, tears with no hope of ever being freed. The set of his shoulders was too rigid. Just like his father.

"My hands are full of thorns," he said. Then he turned from the grave and walked away, leaving me with the bloodstained handkerchief.

The tears I'd been holding back quietly streamed down my face. He remembered the story I'd told him about Cynthia Parker and her son Quanah.

"Justin? Robert? Miss Ann?"

Looking up against the bright glare of the sun, I saw Stephen hurrying our way. Justin stopped walking and shoved his hands into his pockets.

"Uncle Steph, are you here to surprise us?" Robert ran to greet his uncle.

I dashed at my tears, scrambling to gather my composure.

"I do not suppose you are here by coincidence," I commented as Stephen approached.

"No, Dobbs contacted me. I would have been here earlier, but I was in the middle of a meeting with my banker. What the devil is wrong?"

"Aside from our garden being vandalized, circumstances just led to this being an appropriate time for Masters Justin and Robert to express a remembrance to their mother. I do not believe they have ever been to do so. It is an important part of easing grief."

Stephen's eyes widened. "I was not aware they had not been here." He looked over my shoulder to the memorial, and sadness filled his eyes. "She should not be there, so alone."

"It is all right," Robert said, patting Stephen's hand. "Grandfather is there. He can take care of her. The angel, too."

Stephen blinked, surprised. "I guess you are right. You know what else you are right about?"

"What?"

"I am here to surprise you. They have a new flavor for a candy stick, and I need your expert opinion about it. In fact, I told the proprietress that she could not sell any until she had your approval. Shall we go to the confectioner's shop? Perhaps even get some gumdrops and chocolate as well?"

Justin shrugged, but began to follow his uncle.

I welcomed the distraction, thinking it would be best for the boys to have a little bit of sweet added to the bitter tastes of the day. The candy was nice, but the laughter Stephen's antics elicited when he made coins disappear, then found them behind our ears, was even better. We barely made it back before it was time for me to meet Mrs. Trevelyan for tea.

As it was, I had to rush to the solarium. Stephen stayed in the schoolroom with the boys to play chess, after which they were going to eat an early dinner and go to bed. Stephen promised to take them to play with Cesca in the morning, an activity that I'd somehow involved myself in.

I wasn't sure exactly what I would say to Benedict's mother. I couldn't very well come right out and ask her if she'd murdered her daughter-in-law. Yet I was determined to find out if she was responsible for all of the odd incidents. I feared she was not. Churning up her grandson's garden didn't seem to be in character.

"You are almost late," she said as I strode into the room.

"Good afternoon to you, too." I smiled, noting that she was alone. "Is Maria planning another visit to my room while we meet?"

"Miss Lovell, I have no idea what—"

"Mrs. Trevelyan. Neither of us have time to waste on pretenses, and we are too intelligent to spend energy on frivolous inanities."

"No. Maria is out with Constance today."

"Good," I replied, sitting down before she invited me to do so. "I have several untoward incidents that I wish to clear up. But first, I find myself thoroughly fascinated by what I saw last night"

"An old woman walking with a cane?" she asked, pouring two cups of tea from a server situated next to her. "Sugar?"

"Yes, please. Actually, I was speaking of the book you held. Did your husband write and publish a book, or was I mistaken in the author's name?"

Setting down the sugar, she stared at me a moment.

"You were not mistaken." She handed me the tea, and I took a sip. "Ben was an expert hybridist. He loved roses and went around the world collecting different varieties.

"He was in the middle of writing a second book on the subject when he died. He was returning from collecting more specimens abroad when his ship wrecked." She sipped her tea, seemingly staring into its depths a moment "And his book was never finished."

"I know that is not an easy thing to live through. The death of a loved one."

She set her teacup down. "Miss Lovell, let me be frank with you. I do not want you in this house."

"Your reasons would be? And please do not tell me it's because I laundered clothes. Your dislike of me is entirely too personal."

Her dark eyes burned with anger. "You are a threat to my family because both Benedict and Stephen are somewhat intrigued by you. Francesca succeeded in almost completely destroying Benedict and Stephen and nearly Katherine as well. It will be years before my sons' wounds will heal, if ever. Both are teetering on a precipice. And as I see it, you are the very breeze that will push them over the edge."

"How? What did Francesca do?"

"Evil has no greater face than that of an angel. While you are no beauty, Miss Lovell, I see you are like Francesca."

I placed my cup of tea on the table. "Mrs. Trevelyan. Were you standing in the tower window looking at the bay the first day I began work, and again the other day? Did you stand in the hallway behind me only to duck away when I turned?"

"And if I did? This house is my home."

"Did you enter my room in the middle of the night? Did you send me a note telling me to stay at my own peril? Did you destroy your grandsons' garden?" With every sentence, her eyes grew wider with surprise.

I had the answer I needed for now. Whatever Mrs. Trevelyan might have done to Francesca, she was not behind the most disturbing incidents. I had an even more dangerous enemy within the house on Trevelyan Hill than she. And I began to question the wisdom of confronting the situation as directly as I had planned to do this evening.

Standing, I said, "There is one thing you may have not thought of, Mrs. Trevelyan. What if I am the wind that's blowing your sons back onto solid ground? What if your withdrawal into grief and infirmity is only making the precipice on which they stand even shakier? You have grandsons that need you even more than your sons. Are you going to wait until they disappear over a precipice before you realize that? Unless they know it already, I suggest you let your family see you and up walking. They need signs of hope that the future is not condemned to the pain of the past."

"How dare you!"

"I learned today that there is nothing I would not dare when it comes to protecting Justin and Robert. I love them." I left before she recovered.

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTEEN

Thursday, Mr. Anthony Simons arrived early for our ten-thirty sign language lesson to find us romping around the stained glass foyer like cowboys gone mad-- Justin, Robert, and I had had a very busy morning. We'd met with Stephen in the stables and spent two hours with Cesca. Even I'd been forced to pet her and give her a carrot.