The Seventh Miss Hatfield (15 page)

I was grateful for his kindness and handed him the reins with a nod of thanks.

‘So, where are we off to, then?’

He inclined his head towards a bend in the path just ahead. ‘That path leads to an old abandoned sawmill on the property. I used to love to go there as a boy, just to think and play. It was a true source of comfort for me when we came here in my youth.’ His eyes turned serious. ‘It still is, at times. I’d like to show it to you.’

‘That would be lovely,’ I replied. How could I shake him out of his reverie and the sadness that had suddenly descended upon him? Ah, I had it. ‘Henley, you were right after all.’ I sighed.

‘Right? Right about what, pray tell?’ He raised an inquisi- tive eyebrow at me.

‘Why, about my being able to run faster than our Miss Bessie here!’ We both burst into gales of laughter at that and I felt uplifted, having been successful in shifting his mood, suspecting that his melancholy had something to do with the loss of his mother at such an early age.

When we arrived at the sawmill, Henley helped me down and then tied Bessie and Jasper to a hitching post in front of the old mill. The buildings were in great disrepair, nearly crumbling. I was astonished they’d been allowed to decompose to such a great extent rather than being torn down. Mr Beauford was normally so intent on everything looking just so. Henley read my mind, as he was becoming all too good at.

‘You’re wondering why Father didn’t have this mill torn down completely a long time ago,’ he stated, rather than questioning me. ‘It was one of the few things I’ve ever begged him not to do, and he actually honoured my request.’ He took my arm and gestured towards a small stream to the side of the mill. ‘One of my favourite thinking spots is right there, under that old oak next to the stream. I believe there’s plenty of room for two beneath it. Just for a little while – do you mind?’

I shook my head. ‘Not at all.’ I was touched that he wanted to share this special place with me.

We walked in comfortable silence until we reached the tree, and then he dusted off the ground a bit before helping me to sit. He plopped down beside me and stretched out, leaning back, propped up on his elbows.

‘I used to love gazing into the stream and daydreaming, when I was a boy. The sound of its movement was mesmerizing. It made all my troubles fade into nothingness, if only for a few minutes.’ He was getting that dreamy-eyed look again, but it wasn’t quite sadness I read there this time. More like a wistfulness. ‘It makes me remember that time is a river and will always go on. There’s no turning back, so you might as well live life to the fullest.’ I wondered what he might have said if I’d corrected him and told him the truth. Would he have believed me?

‘Why was it so important to you that the mill remained standing? Were you ever tempted to ask your father to have it restored, make it a going concern again?’

‘Oh, heaven forbid!’ he exclaimed. ‘That would have been the last thing I wanted. This old relic has always been one of the only places where time slowed down for me, where I could sort through my thoughts in solitude and quiet … There’s far too much busy industry going on at the steel factory, noise and soot, smoke and grit.’ He took a deep breath and indicated I should follow suit, which I did. ‘There! Nothing like the fresh country air to clear the mind and the lungs, eh?’

‘Yes, I quite agree.’ I nodded. ‘So, Henley, you prefer to let the mill just disintegrate naturally, rather than destroying it for progress’s sake?’

‘Something like that,’ he replied. ‘It felt like the kindest thing to do would be to let it return to dust in its own time, rather than knocking it down and forcing it.’ He got up and foraged around on the bank of the stream. I followed to see what he was searching for.

‘Here.’ He handed me a smooth, flat rock, one of about six stones he’d found and was holding in his other hand. ‘Have you ever skipped a rock before? Don’t fib – I can tell if you do, you know.’ His tone took on a chiding mock-schoolteacher tone.

‘Yes, I’m learning that about you,’ I said. ‘No, actually, I’ve never skipped a rock. Please, kind sir, give me a demonstration.’

‘Happy to oblige, as always,’ he said, and took a mock bow before squatting down a bit to assess the best place to make his throw. He dropped all but one of his rock treasures onto the ground beside him, then cocked back his arm and smoothly let the stone fly with a flick of his wrist. I watched, enchanted, as the rock skipped one, two, three, four times before disappearing beneath the stream’s surface.

‘Oh, bravo, Henley!’ I applauded, and nearly dropped my own rock in the process.

He bowed again, like a proud performer. ‘It’s all in the wrist, really. Just pick your spot on the water’s surface, imagine the rock smoothly sailing across it, and then release the rock as you flick your wrist. Go on – give it a try,’ he encouraged.

‘All right,’ I said, not feeling particularly confident. ‘But if I can’t learn how to do this, please don’t put me out to pasture with Bessie, I beg you.’

A burst of laughter escaped from deep within Henley’s core – a true belly laugh the like of which I’d never yet heard him utter. ‘Oh, my – you are a card! Come on, then – show me what you’re made of.’ He’d returned to instructor mode.

Taking a deep breath, I did my best to emulate his every move and, to my surprise, my little rock skipped three times before diving down under the water.

Now it was Henley’s turn to applaud. ‘Quite the natural skipper, you are,’ he said as he bent down to pick up two more rocks. ‘Now, let’s alternate and send these other little fellows skipping in after them.’ He handed me my next small missile. ‘Ready? Ladies first,’ he said with a gallant half-bow.

This time my rock did four skips, and not to be outdone, Henley’s managed six. ‘Quite impressive!’ I cheered.

He picked up the last two stones and handed one to me. ‘No time to rest on our laurels – last round. Ready, go!’ he commanded.

My last little rock was more of a skimmer than a skipper, barely managing two brief skips before sinking. Henley pretended not to notice and flung his own immediately after it, making it skip only once. I believed he’d purposely not done his best, so as not to make me feel bad.

We laughed and went back to sit under his oak. He talked for another hour or so, periodically picking up a stick to draw in the dirt, as though to illustrate a point. This intriguing young man had so many interesting philosophies about life. He told me how he’d always loved to write, and at one time had wanted to become a teacher. It soon became apparent that the last thing he wanted to do was take over the family steel business.

‘We’d best be getting back, I suppose,’ he said with a sigh. ‘It’s nearly lunchtime. Here, wait a moment.’ He bent down and peered first at one of my ears, and then the other. ‘Oh, good,’ he said, as though to himself.

I looked at him, puzzled. ‘What on earth is wrong with my ears, if you don’t mind me asking?’

‘Oh, I simply had to check and make sure I hadn’t talked them off,’ he teased. ‘You let me go on and on about myself again, and I learned nothing about you. I hope I didn’t bore you too terribly much.’ He cast his eyes downwards as we approached the horses.

‘Not even one little bit,’ I assured him. ‘I’m thoroughly enjoying getting to know you, Henley.’

He sent me a quick grateful smile. ‘Yes, but you’re still a woman of mystery. I must stop all this pontificating and coax you into telling me more about yourself!’ He untied the horses, keeping hold of Bessie’s reins to see if I’d let him help me mount. My stubborn pride prevented me, however.

‘I quite like it when you pontificate,’ I responded as I swung up onto Bessie’s back. I was surprised how easy it was, and Henley looked surprised as well.

‘Well done!’ he said, mounting Jasper. ‘Let’s away to the house … Father will be wondering what’s become of us, I’m sure. I’ll have Wilchester walk them back to the stables to save us a bit of time. Shall we?’

‘Yes, let’s! C’mon, Bessie, old girl!’ I kicked her ever so slightly and, to my great surprise – and probably Henley’s as well – she broke into a bit of a trot and easily kept pace with Jasper all the way back to the house.

‘You’re a good judge of horses, Margaret,’ he said as we dismounted. ‘The old girl obviously has life in her yet. Wilchester!’ he called out, and the man was there in what felt like an instant. How could he possibly intuit so quickly where and when he’d be needed? I wondered. ‘Here, Wilchester.’ Henley handed him both sets of reins. ‘Take the horses back to the stable and ask Wellesley to give them a good rub-down and some extra hay and carrots, would you, old man?’

‘I’ll see to it, sir,’ Wilchester replied, walking away with a horse following on either side.

Henley dusted himself off, and I did the same. What would Mr Beauford think of us, showing up for luncheon all dusty and a bit late? My question was answered almost immediately, as Henley’s father met us at the door.

He looked us both up and down, shook his head slightly from side to side as though in confusion and sighed. ‘Henley, my boy, why do you insist on neglecting your studies? You know I intend to introduce you to the board of directors next week, and I want you to feel prepared and comfortable.’

‘Oh, Father, I’ll be prepared, never fear.’ Henley patted his father’s shoulder with loving respect. ‘How comfortable, on the other hand, I can’t promise.’ He winked at me behind the old man’s back, and I knew there was more to his words than a mere jest. He really didn’t want that to be his life path. ‘Besides, someone must think about Cousin Margaret’s interests, you know.’

I wish I could say I came up with a plan to grab the painting and run that very night following our ride to the mill. Believe me, I wished many times after that day that I’d found the courage and ingenuity to pull it off. But there I still was, four days later, feeling in many ways more lost than ever and growing increasingly frustrated.

Despite Henley’s protestations that he wanted to entertain me a bit and escape from his studies at the same time, the routine had been the same for the past three days. Meals would pass with the servants silently filling our plates, then removing them as we finished eating. The food was always delicious, but after the second day I gave up commenting on it, since neither Mr Beauford nor Henley appeared to be much concerned with conversation at mealtimes. In fact, Henley was retreating further into himself every time I saw him. His days were consumed with hour upon hour of study with his tutor; and although Mr Beauford’s health seemed to be improving, he spent his days primarily in his study, so there was never much opportunity for me to look at the painting, much less abscond with it.

And what of my own days? Well, I walked the property and pondered many things, between breakfast and lunch, and again from lunch until dinnertime. No one appeared to notice – or care, for that matter. But as the days passed, the strange feeling I was experiencing only intensified. Being in this time for so long was beginning to make me feel uncomfortable, and with each passing day, the unease was evolving into a constant queasy nervousness in the pit of my stomach. It was as if my body was turned against me … as if nature itself was turning against me.

I made sure to visit the stables each day, and to give Bessie a carrot or a cube of sugar. I confided quite a lot to that dear old horse, knowing she’d never betray my most peculiar confidences about being a time traveller who often felt about as much at home as a fish would out of water.

‘You’d best be careful,’ I heard Henley’s voice behind me say one day. Startled, I turned around from Bessie’s stall door to see him standing there, holding a small bouquet of wild flowers. He extended them to me, and I took them with a smile. I’d missed him terribly, but didn’t dare let him know how much.

‘Thank you, Henley. I’d best be careful about what, exactly?’ I enquired.

He leaned over and examined Bessie’s ears. ‘Well, you certainly don’t talk to me so freely, but I see Bessie has won your confidence,’ he began, still carefully checking her ears. ‘I simply must make sure you haven’t succeeded in talking her ears off, the same way I was worried I might have done yours.’ He grinned, satisfied that the horse’s ears were still intact. ‘And don’t you know that horses gossip, too?’

‘Yes, well, that’s quite considerate of you. I’m sure Bessie appreciates your concern, but she actually appears to love our little chats,’ I replied. ‘In fact, many times, she nods her head in agreement, don’t you, girl?’ I asked my four-footed friend. As if on cue, she nodded twice. Henley and I both broke into laughter.

‘For someone who’d never been on or around horses much until a few days ago, I do believe you’ve already learned how to train them, Miss Margaret,’ he declared.

‘Well, be that as it may,’ I said, taking his arm and steering him towards the stable door, ‘what presses upon my mind right now is how you’ve managed to escape your tutor’s and your father’s watchful eyes?’ I added, softly, ‘Not that I mind you paying Bessie and me a visit.’

He smiled, pleased to hear I was glad to see him. ‘It wasn’t easy, I assure you.’ He lowered his voice to a conspira- torial tone. ‘I asked Mr Lawrence a question that has absolutely nothing to do with the steel business, knowing he couldn’t resist going off to research it. Then it was simply a matter of slipping out of the house through the kitchen, so as not to pass Father’s study – easy as pie!’ He snapped his fingers for emphasis and gave me a wink.

‘What does that phrase mean, I wonder?’ I mused, just to make small talk and extend our time together. ‘How easy is pie compared to, say, cake, or your favourite – ice cream?’

He threw back his head and let out another of those belly laughs I’d first heard the other day at the mill. ‘Oh, you’re still quite the peculiar one, I see.’ He wagged his finger at me. ‘And don’t ever change that about yourself. What goes on in that mind of yours while you have so much time on your hands?’

‘Oh, nothing of great interest,’ I mumbled. ‘But I have another question for you – whatever did you ask poor Mr Lawrence to cause him to abandon his pupil in order to resolve it?’

‘Ah, that.’ Henley stroked his chin, as though he were a much older man with a full beard, replete with the wisdom that comes with a long life. ‘I simply asked the old fellow if he knew anything about how the Egyptians had managed to erect those amazing pyramids, and if he felt their construction methods might have any bearing on the future of the steel industry.’ He smiled, pleased with himself that he’d temporarily stumped his tutor.

‘But that did have to do with the steel business, then,’ I protested lightly.

‘For argument’s sake, yes, you have a point. But Mr Lawrence is so very focused on eating, breathing, sleeping and … Well, I won’t be indelicate as you’re a lady, but his every thought and action has revolved around steel since my father took him on as his protégé, long before I was even born. I believe he must have thought he’d be the heir apparent to the business until I showed up on the scene. Pity he can’t live out that dream – we’d both be happier.’

I stopped in my tracks. ‘Henley!’ I startled him with my firm tone. ‘You simply must tell them that you’d rather be a writer, or a teacher. Or a butcher, baker or candlestick maker – I don’t care what you want to be, I just want you to be happy. But they won’t know how unhappy you are unless you tell them.’ I gazed up at him, wondering where the ringing passion I heard in my own words had come from.

‘What a tirade! I didn’t think I inspired such fire in you,’ he said. ‘Oh, please, won’t you tell me your real name? I’ve – I’ve come to care for you so very much …’ He grabbed me by the arms and pulled me towards him, but I resisted.

‘This is neither the time nor the place for such things,’ I replied, hoping he’d let it go. ‘You simply must let your father know how you really feel.’ I stomped one foot for emphasis, and Henley nervously laughed.

‘I’d much rather let you know how I really feel,’ he said softly, advancing towards me once again.

This was dangerous ground we were approaching, and I dared not do anything to encourage his behaviour, no matter how conflicted my heart was. So I turned my back on him, as it was the first thing that popped into my mind. I stood stiff and still, doing my best to surround myself with icy coldness to keep him at a safe distance. He felt it, I knew, because he remained behind me and said nothing, waiting for me to speak first.

‘Henley,’ I began, not daring to turn around and face him yet, ‘I have feelings for you, too. I know you’re aware of that. But this is a dicey game we’ve started, to say the least. I want to tell you more about myself, and I promise, when that’s necessary, I’ll do my best to tell you everything I can. I owe you that much for all your kindness. But can’t you see that right now, the most important thing is for you to take charge of your own life before it’s too late?’ I turned to look at him then, knowing all too well what it felt like to have one’s lifepath taken over and controlled by other people and situations. My memories of being Cynthia faded a little more each day.

Henley nodded and wiped his forehead with his sleeve. ‘It suddenly got a bit warm, did you notice?’

I nodded, slightly amused by his awkwardness in changing the subject; something at which he was usually a master. At least I’d staved off his advances, for the time being. ‘Will you promise me that you’ll make every effort to tell your father what you really want to do with your life? Or if you’re unsure about that, at least tell him you definitely don’t imagine yourself as the new head of his steel business? Please, Henley – for your own sake, my friend.’

‘All right – that’s what a man would do, you’re right. I’m no longer a silly schoolboy. I can stand up for myself and tell Father what I want. Or at least,’ he said with a rueful smile, ‘as you so eloquently pointed out, what I know I don’t want. I’ll endeavour to do that tomorrow evening.’

‘Why wait?’ I asked. ‘Why not go to him right now, while your courage is up?’

‘Well,’ said Henley, ‘that would be next to impossible as Father went into the city late this morning. He’ll not be back until about noon tomorrow. But I give you my word, I shall approach him about this after dinner tomorrow evening.’

‘I see,’ I replied quietly as we headed back towards the house, but my mind was racing. If Mr Beauford was to be gone all night, perhaps I could finally get into the study and make off with the painting. After all, things with Henley were becoming rather intense, and I’d best extricate myself from this situation soon – the sooner, the better, in fact. We stopped on the porch, just in front of the house’s main door.

‘That’s good, Henley. I’m proud of you,’ I assured him with a steady smile. ‘I’m sure that when he hears how you really feel, he’ll work with you to see what the alternatives may be.’

‘I wish I had your confidence.’ He sighed. ‘Well, I’d best go and look up poor old Lawrence and see what he’s found out about those ingenious Egyptians. He’s probably still rooting around in the library, looking for a book about them.’ My friend tipped an invisible hat in my direction. ‘Until dinner, madam,’ he intoned.

I was too distracted to engage in our normal play-acting. ‘Yes, see you then,’ I said, and began to climb the stairs towards my room, but watched out of the corner of my eye to make sure Henley disappeared down the hall and into the library where he and Mr Lawrence always studied. Once I saw that he’d done so, I quietly backtracked down the hallway towards Mr Beauford’s study, hoping that Mr Beauford had left the study door unlocked. Miss Hatfield must be quite anxious by now that we had been out of contact for so long and I had been unable to succeed in my quest. Something in the pit of my stomach lurched a bit at that thought, and I felt a strong foreboding that something wasn’t quite right.

Glancing up and down the hallway to make sure no prying eyes were aimed in my direction, I swiftly closed my hand upon the doorknob to the study. I quietly turned it – or, rather, attempted to do so. It was locked! ‘Drat,’ I muttered to myself. This could only mean one thing. I was going to have to figure out how to pick a lock!