Blackmoore by Julianne Donaldson

Chapter 35

Present Day

“Good morning.”

I cleared my throat and tried again for something louder than the ragged whisper I had just produced.

“Good morning, sir.” That was a little bit better. Mama pushed me forward, making me stumble into Henry’s grandfather’s room. I glared at her over my shoulder. “I told you I would do this. Please stop pushing me.”

She waved her hands at me. “Just get on with it. I’ll be standing guard out in the hall. That servant will discover he wasn’t needed in the kitchens and be back here in under five minutes, unless Maria can distract him.” With another shove at my back, she cleared me of the door, which she shut firmly behind me, leaving me in the dim room.

Henry’s grandfather was not sitting in his normal chair by the window. He sat up in bed with a tray of food beside him. At the sound of the door closing he looked up, his grey eyes settling on me for a moment.

“Kate Worthington,” he said, his gravelly voice quiet in the still room.

My heart pounded out a message that this was all wrong—that I could not go through with this. But I had made a bargain, and bargains had to be fulfilled. I stepped toward him. “Yes. Good morning, sir. I hope you are well today.”

At my approach, his gaze shifted from me to the door. His fingers clutched at the blanket covering his lap, twitching at it, and his gaze twitched too, back and forth, between me and the door. His legs moved restlessly, and when I reached his bedside, a panicked look filled his eyes.

“Will you ...” He licked his lips, his fingers pulling at the threads of his blanket. “Will you go outside and close the door and then come back in again?”

I stopped, looked at him closely, and said, “Of course.”

My heart beat fast with the feeling that something was not right. I walked to the door, opened it, and passed through the doorway into the hall. Mama saw me and came toward me, but I shook my head at her as I closed the door, waited a moment, and then opened it again. He was waiting for me to come back in. His look was alert and suspicious and worried. As I stood again inside his room he said to me, “Now ... which Kate are you?”

Dread and fear pooled in my stomach. I looked around, as if I could find an answer to his madness here in the room. “I am Kate, sir. Kate Worthington.”

“Whose Kate Worthington?”

I swallowed hard. I was certainly not Henry’s Kate. And I was not my mother’s or my father’s. I was, in fact ...

“Nobody’s. I am nobody’s Kate.”

His gaze pierced me for a moment before he closed his eyes and began to move his head back and forth, back and forth, while muttering, “Nobody’s Kate. Nobody’s Kate. Nobody’s Kate.”

It made my heart quicken with fear. Dismay filled me. I should not have come here. I should never have seen this. Backing up slowly, I reached for the door handle and quietly eased the heavy door open.

Mama stood right outside the door, leaning toward it eagerly. “Well? What did he say?”

I shook my head. “Come away from here, Mama. He is not well today. We must leave.” My hands were shaking.

“Nonsense.” She brushed past me. “Every man can be persuaded. Even the mad ones.”

I watched with dread as she entered his room. Upon seeing her, his eyes grew wide, fear and alarm etched in his wrinkled face. He dived under his blankets, lifting the covers so roughly that the tray of food clattered to the floor, and pulled the blanket over his head. She reached for the blanket, as if she would pull it off him, like forcing a turtle from its shell.

“No!” I yelled, suddenly terrified for him. I rushed forward and grabbed her arm. She looked at me with eyes wide with shock. “You mustn’t do this. Leave him be!” I pulled her even when she tried to push me away, and I did not stop pulling her until I had wrestled her toward the door.

“What’s this?” The butler appeared in the open doorway. “What are you two doing in here?”

Mama yanked her arm free of my grip and quickly smoothed her hair, shooting me a dark look before turning to the butler with a smile.

“My silly daughter was trying to give me a tour of the house, and she became completely turned around, I’m afraid. Perhaps you could tell us how to reach the main staircase.”

The butler looked from us to the bed, where Henry’s grandfather hid under his blanket, to the food scattered all over the rug. My cheeks burned with embarrassment when he turned his accusing glance my way.

“I shouldn’t leave my master at the moment,” he said, his tone clipped, his expression bordering on hostile. “However, I am sure you can find your way out of this area well enough on your own.”

Mama lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. Her face was red, her hair escaping its pins from our struggle a moment before. She looked wild and fierce, and she said in a haughty tone, “No matter. I shouldn’t like your assistance even if you were to offer it.”

“Come, Mama,” I murmured. “We should go.”

She spun on her heel and strode to the door. But at the door she paused and said to me in a loud voice, “Take heed, Kitty, and remember this lesson: An ill-trained servant is the mark of a weak and sloppy master.”

Shame burned through me. Putting a hand on her back, I pushed her through the doorway and did not stop pushing until she was in the corridor and I had shut the door behind us. As soon as I dropped my hand, she whirled around and faced me. Her steel-trap eyes were blazing with anger and indignation.

“How dare you push me from a room?” she hissed. “How dare you set a hand on me to turn me away from what I want?”

I said nothing. I couldn’t speak past the shame that choked me.

“You have made a grave error today, Kitty.” She pointed a finger at me. Her voice trembled. “A very grave error, indeed.”

I thought of the mistle thrush singing against a storm. I thought of perching myself high on a tower and singing into a gale and never stopping. Power and resolve surged through me. I turned around, and I walked away from her. It was what I should have done last night or this morning.

“In fact,” she called, “I no longer think you deserve Henry. I think I shall have Maria trap him instead. You shall have Mr. Cooper.”

I kept walking.

“What do you think of that, Kitty? What do you think of this end to your bargain? You will not have your precious India after all. You shall have old Mr. Cooper. In fact, I shall write to him immediately and tell him you have accepted his offer.”

I reached the staircase and slid my hand onto the smooth wood banister.

Her laughter rang out louder than my steps. “So you see, child. You see? I have won in the end. Just as I always knew I would.”