The Prizefighter’s Hart by Emily Royal

Chapter Seventeen

Why couldn’t she find a cool spot in the bed?

After a day spent clearing the pinery, Thea had sunk, gratefully, into the bath which Betsy had drawn. The faint aroma of lavender still clung to her skin as she lay in her bed. But sleep eluded her.

A low rumble echoed outside, and she climbed out of bed and crossed the floor to the diamond-paned window. A flash illuminated the landscape, and she counted, under her breath, until she heard another rumble.

The next flash lit up the sky with a jagged, vertical streak of white fire. Two breaths later, the telltale sound of a crack overhead was followed by an explosion in the air.

A scream ripped through the air—a high-pitched wail of pure terror—and the skin tightened on the back of her neck. She drew her shawl round her shoulders and went in search of the source of the scream.

Thea wasn’t afraid of storms, but they had the power to cause considerable damage. When she was a child, a bolt of lightning had felled a tree near her home—and a rumor circulated about a stablehand who’d been struck while out walking and turned to ash.

Another scream tore through the air—from Rowena’s room.

Thea broke into a run and entered Rowena’s bedchamber.

The light of a solitary candle threw sharp shadows across the chamber, picking out the shape of the bed and the vase of flowers on the table beside the window.

But the bed was empty.

“Rowena?” Thea called out. “Are you there?”

A soft whimper came from the far corner.

“Rowena, sweetheart?”

Thea moved forward and found her huddled in the corner, her gaze fixed on an imaginary object in front of her.

Thea had heard tales of children walking in their sleep. Doctor McIver always said it originated from some past event that the child was incapable of dealing with while awake. Had something happened in Rowena’s past?

She crouched beside her and took her hand.

The girl’s eyes cleared and focused on Thea. Almost immediately, she pulled free.

“Leave me alone.”

“Rowena, dear,” Thea said. “I…”

A flash illuminated the room, and a crash ripped through the air. Rowena let out a scream and pitched forward.

“The storm!” she cried. “I can’t bear it!”

Thea placed her shawl round Rowena’s shoulders and drew her into her arms. This time, the girl made no attempt to resist.

“Hush,” she soothed, rocking her to and fro. “I’ll not let any harm come to you.”

Another flash illuminated the room, and Rowena gave another cry. Thea counted one…two…until the telltale rumble.

“The storm’s moving away,” she said.

“H-how can you tell?”

“By counting after each flash. The number you reach is how many miles away the storm is.”

She stood and held out her hand. “Let’s get you up.”

Ignoring the proffered hand, Rowena struggled to her feet. Then, another flash lit up the room.

“It’s coming back!” she wailed.

Thea took her hand. “Let us count,” she said. “One…two…three…­four…five…”

A low rumble sounded.

“There!” Thea said. “Five miles. It was only two before, so it’s moving away. There’s no need to be frightened.”

“I’m not frightened.”

The tremor in the girl’s voice contradicted her words.

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of in fearing a thunderstorm,” Thea said.

“I don’t…” Another flash interrupted Rowena, and she gave a low cry and bit her lip.

“Storms can be dangerous when they’re directly overhead,” Thea said. “But the noise isn’t the problem—it’s the lightning, which can damage anything tall, such as trees and towers. That’s why you must never shelter under a tree in a storm—and it’s why the tallest buildings have lightning rods.”

“What’s a lightning rod?”

Thea smiled. Curiosity was the best antidote to the girl’s fear. “It’s a device which helps lightning travel to the ground,” she said.

“What do you mean—travel?”

“Lightning wants to get to the ground, so it has to travel there,” Thea said. “Much like your papa when he’s traveling home to you in the carriage. With a carriage, it’s safer for everyone if it sticks to the road. You wouldn’t want to be wandering in the woods and be run down by a coach and four. It’s the same with lightning.”

“So, it’s like a road for lightning?”

“Exactly!” Thea said. “Lightning likes to travel through metal. So if rods of metal are placed on the tallest buildings, they’ll attract the lightning and prevent it from striking anything else nearby. Sandiford Church has one—I’ll show it to you on Sunday.”

“How do you know all this?” Rowena asked.

“I studied the works of Benjamin Franklin,” Thea said. “If you like, I can order copies of his publications for you to include them in your study. Science is there to explain what might otherwise frighten us—such as thunderstorms.” She gave Rowena a playful nudge. “Of course, when I was a child, my brother teased us about thunderstorms being the Almighty moving his furniture about. I swear that last rumble was Him tossing a longcase clock down the stairs!”

Rowena giggled, then stopped herself. “That’s blasphemous!”

“I hardly think we’d incite condemnation for conquering our fear with laughter.”

“Miss Ellis says that lessons are best learned through fear and discipline.”

Good Lord!What nonsense was that woman teaching Rowena?

“What else does Mrs. Ellis say?”

Rowena looked away. A rumble echoed in the distance, and she stiffened.

“Rowena?” Thea prompted. “You can tell me—I won’t say anything to Mrs. Ellis.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Is she unkind to you?”

The girl hesitated, then shook her head. She drew the shawl tighter around her, and Thea caught a glimpse of a bruise on her wrist.

“Your poor wrist!” she cried. “What have you done to it?”

“I fell out of a tree. I’m always doing it.”

The answer sounded a little over-prepared.

“My sister-in-law has a liniment for bruises,” Thea said. “I’ll write and ask her to send me some. I wish I’d had it when I was a child—I was always falling out of trees.”

“You climbed trees?” Rowena fixed her wide-eyed gaze on Thea.

“I was quite proficient.”

“I bet you’re not as proficient now.”

Thea laughed. “If that’s a challenge, then I accept.”

Rowena’s smile disappeared. “All adults say that. They make promises which they don’t fulfil. You’ll be no different.”

“My nieces and nephews would beg to disagree with you,” Thea said.

“My mother…” Rowena began, then she shook her head and looked away.

“You can speak of your mother if you wish.”

“She always kept her promises. She took me out for picnics every Sunday after church.”

“Every Sunday?”

“Yes, that’s right,” Rowena said, her tone defensive.

“We can do that,” Thea said. “I’ll ask Mrs. Morris to make up a basket for us. What did you like to eat on a picnic?”

Rowena hesitated, then shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Where did you go? Did your mama have a favorite spot?”

“I can’t remember.”

“But she took you there every Sunday!”

“Yes, she did!” Rowena cried. “And she sang me lullabies. Every night. She was always there. She sang all my favorite songs.”

She folded her arms and stared at Thea as if daring her to challenge.

“I have several song-sheets I brought here with me,” Thea said. “They might include some of your favorites. We could sing them to honor your mama. What songs did you sing together?”

Rowena frowned. “I can’t remember the names.”

“Perhaps you could hum a melody?”

Rowena closed her eyes, then shook her head. “I can’t remember, but I know I loved them. I loved them very much. They were my favorite.”

Why did the girl feel the need to repeat herself?

“Don’t you believe me?” Rowena asked.

“Of course I do, dear,” Thea said. “I just find it a little strange that you cannot remember the details.”

“It’s true,” Rowena said. “My mama…oh!” She broke off as she glanced toward the door.

“Rowe?” a deep voice spoke.

Griffin stood in the doorway. “Is everything all right?” he asked.

“Yes,” Rowena said a little too quickly.

“I thought I heard screaming,” he said. “And the storm—I know you dislike storms.”

“Your daughter is well,” Thea said. “We’ve been discussing lullabies and picnics, haven’t we, Rowena? I thought we might take a picnic tomorrow once the weather clears. I hear you used to enjoy them.”

A frown rippled across his brow, then he nodded. “Every Sunday after church. And lullabies every night.”

“Perhaps you remember the songs?” Thea asked. “I could see if I have them in my collection.”

He shook his head. “I’m not sure.”

“Of course not,” Rowena said. “You were never there, were you?”

She climbed into the bed and drew the blanket round her. “I’m tired now,” she said. “May I be excused?”

“Rowe…” Griffin began, but Thea placed a hand on his arm.

“Leave her be,” she whispered. “The storm’s passed. She’ll be fine.”

He retreated, and Thea followed, closing the door. When she turned to face him, he was already halfway down the corridor.

“Husband?”

“What is it?”

“Rowena’s troubled by something. Do you know what it is?”

He wiped his brow, and for a moment, she caught a flash of sorrow and regret in his eyes.

“Griffin?”

He let out a sigh, and on impulse, she took his hand.

“She’s all I have in the world,” he whispered. “Nothing matters except her.”

“I know,” she said. “Rest assured, I’ll take care of her.”

She released his hand, then returned to her chamber.

Nothing matters except her.

Thea climbed into her bed and drew the covers around her.

But still, sleep wouldn’t come, not now she understood—he loved his daughter, but he would never love her.

*

Why did hehave to stick his bloody great feet into the mire once more?

The stricken look on his wife’s face as she turned from him almost matched the fear in Rowe’s eyes when she saw him in the doorway.

He seemed doomed to always say the wrong thing at the wrong time.

He’d woken to the crash of thunder and been plagued by the image of Louisa’s body, broken and twisted, illuminated by the lightning. Rowe’s scream had taken him back to that night—so like her mother’s scream when she’d known she was falling to her death.

And her face—the ashen face staring up at him with the dark, dead eyes. When Rowe was angry or stressed, she became the mirror image of her mother—an image he recoiled at.

Yet his wife had taken his daughter in her arms and comforted her while he’d watched unobserved.

In a few short weeks, Dorothea had shown Rowe more love than her real mother had ever done.

At all costs, Rowe must be protected from the truth.