Today's update is here, three hours early. It is my little gift to my poor sniffling Jazzeh...
CHAPTER 18
The Trevelyan sisters were extremely kind to Rachel in the following weeks. The first day was spent in trying to acclimatize to the house and its inhabitants, and the situation was novel enough to keep her attention. Though she was unstintingly polite and interested in everything around her, Rachel felt the loss of Andrew very keenly and it showed in her open face. Her immobility also restricted her from working round the clock which, as everyone knows, is the best antidote for the pangs of love.
Her hostesses could sense the despondency which enveloped Miss Warren and, while it was perfectly understandable after all that the child had suffered, it could not be allowed to continue beyond some time. The three women were dissimilar in looks, attitudes and demeanor; and yet, they tried to protect and cheer up their young guest in their own ways.
Miss Maud Trevelyan had been Andrew’s nurse, and the youngest of the sisters. Though well over sixty years, she still was a trim lady with her faculties as undiminished as her sharp eyesight. She was the most loving of the three women and mothered Rachel throughout her stay, cajoling her to drink numerous herbal drinks for her ankle and keeping her company through her enforced immobilization. She regaled Rachel with tale after tale of the children she had looked after; and even to a prejudiced listener like Rachel, it was clear that her favorite charges had been the Fairfax children. From her, Rachel got to know Andrew’s four siblings intimately – his elder brother Stephen who was now master of Silvermead Hall with a babe of his own, his two sisters Cecily and Clara who were ‘such delightful damsels’, and his youngest brother Gavin who had been Miss Maud’s last charge – now at Harrow and a ‘scallywag of the first order’. She heard about old Sir Anthony who was such a good landlord and how he became partly paralyzed after a fall from his horse while riding, and about Lady Fairfax’s dreamy nature and obsession with her multiple rose gardens. She was even given broad hints about a certain local landowner who was a family friend and ‘well on the way to being engaged to Miss Cecily’. The two women spent several hours happily swapping stories about families, students, the countryside, culinary recipes, Andrew…in short, everything under their sun.
Millicent Trevelyan, the eldest sister, was a soft butterball of a woman with a beautiful cooing voice, even though she was approaching seventy years of age. She was something of a leader in the village, and people often came to her for advice about sundry aspects of their lives. Miss Trevelyan also mediated between feuding families, bickering couples and so on. She was the shrewdest of the Trevelyan family and best stocked in common-sense – an ironical fact, since she was the one sister who had not stepped out of their village her entire life.
While Miss Maud had spent twenty-nine years as a children’s nurse in different parts of England and Miss Agnes had been housekeeper for the London house of a grand Duke for twenty-two years, Miss Trevelyan stayed back in their small cottage to keep house for their old father till he passed on. As she reminisced to Rachel one morning while crocheting, “He was the local blacksmith of Headley Down, and ‘twas one of his biggest regrets that he had no son to carry on his profession after him. Rightly so – though we would have done anything to continue our father’s legacy, working the smithy was of course out of the question. He had hoped for one of us to wed his successor, but the man who followed Pa was married. We were the most educated ladies of our village thanks to our Ma’s insistence on studies, but it never varied his opinions on our usefulness a jot. I took care of Pa unstintingly till the end; perhaps, I was determined to make him admit the benefits of having a daughter.” She chuckled, but it sounded hollow to Rachel’s ears. Her heart wrung with sudden sympathy for the elder woman.
“It was as if the day my father was placed in his coffin, I woke up from a deep sleep and realized that in my desire to please him, I was left a forty-six year old woman without accomplishments of any kind, and with no chances of marriage. I had the house; that was one blessing. My sisters were both established in their own paths of life by then, and I certainly did not grudge them their independence; but truly my dear,” she finished with a small smile, “I was most relieved when first Agnes and then Maud came to live with me after retiring. Life became much more…fulfilling, I should say. Family always makes such a difference, don’t you agree?”
Patting Rachel’s cheek, she softly added, “And now it is more exciting than ever! Thank you for bringing purpose back to the mundane lives of us old women. You are like a breath of fresh air that has stirred our stale existence, Rachel.”
The middle sister Agnes was a handsome and most active woman, who well understood Rachel’s irritation at being confined to the living room settee while the sun was shining tantalizingly outside the window. After all, her love for the environs of Headley Down was what took her away prematurely from her lucrative job in smoke-ridden London. She seldom had time for heartfelt talks with Rachel like her other sisters; and yet, it was Agnes who ordered a regular supply of books from the little parish library for the invalid’s pleasure, and faithfully brought back daffodils from her country rambles for Rachel as a taste of the outdoors. Once the young woman got well enough to move about on her own Agnes took her along on her walks, introduced her to the neighbours and involved her in sundry parish activities, overlooking all her sisters' protests about the need for secrecy and caution.
"Oh stop being so short-sighted all the time, Maud," she finally snapped in exasperation. "Think about it rationally. The news has already been spread across the village that we have the daughter of our third cousin Amelia visiting us for a spell. Some of them have already been to the house and seen her, rosy with health and laid up with a paltry sprain. They will wait for her to recover, but only for a while. What will everyone think if Miss Warren hides in the house indefinitely like an invalid or leper? Their curiosity will only be whetted and the villagers will become suspicious of her. But if she interacts with everyone normally, no one will pay her any mind and her novelty will wear off."
None could oppose the sound common-sense of this speech, and so Rachel was unleashed on to Headley Down society as soon as she was able to hobble around safely. Agnes even coaxed the girl into teaching at the Sunday school. She knew that with her gregarious nature, Rachel was certain to interact with the children in depth and as a result, mix with the locals and garner their sympathies. And things worked out exactly as she had expected; Rachel Moreland made an instant hit with their acquaintances, young and old alike. Within a few days, it was as if Rachel was a native of their small locality. She made sure that Rachel was so tired out by night-time that she had no strength left to brood over anything – other than her bed, that is.
Xxxxx
A mental breakdown had occurred on the second day of Rachel’s stay. Her tension had not found a release till then as she always had to keep control over her emotions on the run, deferring her fears and pains for ‘later’ to be scrutinized in detail after everything was ‘over’. The peaceful atmosphere of Thrush Cottage, and more importantly Andrew’s absence, signified the end of her incredible adventure and finally allowed her turbulent emotions to surface.
Rachel cried in her bed the whole day, and kept on crying till all the stress, fright and unrequited love had run themselves out of her system.
She could not correspond with her family or anyone at Denbries even now, though she had sent a couple of letters to her mother earlier from small hostelries when she was supposedly on the road with the girls and Brian for his health. She forbade her family from writing to her since her address was not fixed, and her last letter stipulated that she would not be communicating with them for a long time as she was too busy in nursing Brian to health to write. But the long nights painted vivid scenarios in her head about all the loopholes which remained in this story. Her family would surely try to track her down, and may even communicate with the Hall to get her present address some day. And, oh dear, Alicia and Diana might write to her at Lucy’s address after some weeks, thinking that the quarantine would have been lifted! Then of course, the fat will be in the fire! Each side would know that she was not with the other. Her house of cards based on lies would fall down at the first breath of investigation.
Lies, lies, lies…how had she become such a liar? Her father had taught her that lying was to be shunned in decent souls, that only cowards could not face the truth and resorted to lying. Now she was a bundle of lies, deceiving everyone close to her. She must be ready for intense consternation and interrogation on returning to the fold, at both ends. Then she would have to spew yet more lies to her family. What if someone had called in the authorities over her disappearance? Her job might already be kissed goodbye if it all came out, and her family would be hard-pressed to trust in her after this mad and hoydenish act. That is, if they believe such a tall story in the first place…
And Andrew – always Andrew – who, despite his physical absence, pierced her mind and heart with his presence at all times…
Rachel tormented herself thus for hours until her body could take such abuse no more and demanded rest. The old ladies were sensible enough to let her cleanse it all out of her body rather than entreat her to forbearance. Rachel fell into a refreshing slumber after her emotional upheaval; and when she woke up, her companions were there with a cup of soothing tea and light gossip about the tussles between the new organist and the churchwarden. No more tears were shed on Rachel Warren’s pillow in Thrush Cottage again.
As the days passed by, she was able to push morbid thoughts away with a return of her old optimism – let me look after today, and let tomorrow look after itself. No one in Headley Down suspected Rachel Moreland to be anything other than what she and the Trevelyan sisters professed. She soon settled into a routine of helping around the house and parish, just like she used to do in Little Hanstead. The soothing sameness assisted her to forget the experiences of the previous weeks and calmed her soul down to its regular equanimity, and soon Rachel Moreland was as approved in Headley Down as Rachel Warren had been elsewhere.
While her flight with Andrew had been one whirl of color and events, the month spent in Thrush Cottage passed away in a gentle haze.
Xxxxx
Complete lack of communication with the outside world had lulled Rachel to such an extent that she had almost forgotten her life outside Headley Down with its duck pond, Norman church, petty politics and simple pleasures. Her nerves no longer went taut at an unexpected situation in anticipation of danger. She had even stopped searching for Andrew Fairfax in every tall blond man she met on the road. Therefore she was completely taken aback one day when, on entering the living room with a basketful of pears from Mrs. Benson’s garden, she was greeted by Miss Maud and Miss Trevelyan’s excited faces. And an envelope, that Miss Maud was waving in her face.
“Look what the postman has brought, my dear! It is a letter from for you; and best of all, it is posted from London! Perhaps it contains news about Andy and Miss de Manley!”
Rachel all but snatched the letter from her hands. Was it from Andrew, or had her family tracked her down in some way? Her own fingers trembling with emotion, she broke open the unknown seal. A few pieces of paper drifted down from the letter, and Rachel grasped at them on the way.
It was money, and quite a lot at that! Who would be sending so much money to her like this? She picked up the letter and inspected the signature elegantly inscribed at the end. It was from Miss Miranda de Manley. Now, that was a surprise! She barely managed to mumble “’tis Miss de Manley who writes,” before she sat down to read the letter at the dining table itself. The tactful old ladies retreated into their kitchen with a shared smile. They would attempt to work and not pry till Rachel was ready to report the contents out to them in her own time.
“Dear Miss Warren,
I hope that this letter finds you in the best of health. I really do not know how to begin writing. I believe that though we have never been formally introduced, you have been one of my few real friends in the past months. You befriended me when I was a poor housemaid; and when my very life was at stake you agreed to transfer my danger to yourself, giving me a chance to survive. At a time when my brothers betrayed me, you, Rosie and Andy stepped in to provide protection and hope. Andy is family – but you are my angel.
“I doubt that I would be able to stop soon if I continue in this vein; hence, I will curtail my gratitude till I can express it to you personally. The purpose of this letter is to inform you that the clouds of darkness have finally parted; the menace is over. I turned twenty-one two days ago, went to the London offices of my grandfather’s legal firm and claimed my inheritance. It was not easy since James and Desmond had set some unsavory characters in wait for us near the lawyers’ chambers, but I had Andy with me and he managed to smuggle me into the auspices with the help of another friend of ours, Lord Allencourt. He had always been one of our greatest friends and had even warned me on occasion about Desmond’s profligate activities, but I had never heeded him in my blind faith. Alas, I could have gone to him for assistance during my panic-stricken flight from de Manley House, but he had been out of the country for months. To our great good luck, he returned to London a few days ago and thus, was on hand to help us in this particular venture.
“We went to Roger Allencourt’s home and there I was disguised in his sister’s clothes. Carrying Lady Gertrude’s parasol and chattering merrily with Allencourt about a family outing, I flitted calmly by the men on the office doorstep and they didn’t even give me a second glance! It was most thrilling, actually – I had thought that my previous experiences would have doused any desires for thrills in my heart, but apparently the human mind is quite resilient! As it were, the meeting took place without a hitch and the ownership of my estate and fortune was passed on to me by the afternoon. As of yesterday we are all free to get back our lives in peace and, thanks to your and Andrew’s diligence, no one need ever know about the whole distasteful affair – especially about your involvement in it.
“Andrew has regaled me with so many yarns about your time together that I feel like I already know you intimately. I think that your greatest worry at this time must be about Carillon Hall and if any suspicions were ever raised about your absence. Therefore, let me assure you that no one got any scent of your adventures out here, i.e., there (considering that I am now in London). Lord Edgerton stayed on for a week after you left. From what I could make out, he must have tried to corner Sally towards the end, but because I had passed on your warning to the ungrateful girl (even though she had not credited it much at that time) she had been on her guard and did not come to any harm. I can confidently state that it was a relief to more than one person when he left. You can guess my trepidations around that time, I think. When Hargrove returned with the gig and claimed that Andrew had tied him up and escaped, and a search of the house showed that a lot of silver that Andrew had polished the day before were missing, I felt like I was about to faint. Andy had warned me about that fellow, and seeing him return alone confirmed my fears that my sweet coz had been got out of the way, and now it was my turn. I had never thought of connecting your departure with Andy’s absence, you see. How I spent those days and nights… I believe I will carry that terror with me to my grave.
“I believe the happiest day of my life was when I met Andy again. I was woken up from my nightly slumbers by someone whistling my favourite tune from childhood outside the window. I verily believed I was still in dreamland! It was he, alternating between the shadows and moonlight on the ground. How fast I pulled on my coat and slipped outside, you can well imagine. He took me into the woods where he told me the entire saga of the past fortnight. I had to keep on pinching myself at odd moments to confirm that I was not dreaming…it seemed so unbelievable. He had had an uneventful journey towards Denbries, and was living in a tumbledown cottage in the heart of the woods surrounding Carillon since that evening. There he stayed for over two weeks while I counted down the days to my birthday. I have never been so eager for October 26th to come in my entire life! Every day was spent in dread, only marginally lessened by Andy’s presence in the vicinity though he was no longer in the same house.
“Your students missed you a lot, and I have overheard them on several occasions bemoaning the quarantine that had cut off all communication with you. The dear girls were afraid that you had also contracted scarlet fever and were keeping the information from them. Even Mrs. Hutchens and Mrs. Talcott sporadically mentioned how quiet the house seemed without your ‘dear face lighting it up’ (Mrs. Talcott’s words, not mine – though I concur wholeheartedly). The Herringfords have not appointed any new governess for the girls yet, though the mistress seemed to be getting impatient with the delay in your return towards the end. (I believe she was more concerned about her ‘darling’ Brian being without a nurse than about her daughters’ education.) In fact, this letter’s purpose is to not only inform you about all that had happened in the past few days, but also as a warning to return as soon as you can if you want to avoid their writing to your sister’s London address again.
“Yes, Mrs. Herringford had written there once, and by great good luck I had managed to intercept the letter before it could go into the mail bag in the hall. Being the maid had some advantages, after all! I also took the liberty of writing to them asserting to be your sister Lucinda and saying that you had indeed caught an infection, but would be returning to your post within a week or so. I professed going to London on my day off and visiting Cresswell Street to check on you, where Mrs. Moreland handed me the letter (I had to come up with some reason for the missing postmark, you see!). Andy had explained to me that your people are unaware of your recent activities, and that you may prefer to keep it that way, so I did my best. I assure you that no contact had been established between the two houses till three days ago (i.e., October 25th), but there is no guarantee that fate may not decree otherwise one of these days.
“I met with some of my friends in town yesterday, and have forwarded the story created in Brighton about the illness of Mrs. Webb, i.e. Rosie’s mother. I also spread it around that I had been on that France-bound ship for a short holiday in Cannes with Andy, thus accounting for our second disappearing act from society. ‘Of course, I had to return in time to claim my money and estate!’ Andrew is an expert on covering tracks, isn’t he? A cloak of lies seems to have shrouded this deplorable business quite well, and hopefully nothing can be discovered about it. I don’t want it to haunt our future. The past has had more than its share of upheavals and the future ought not to be greedy for any more, do you not agree?
“Andrew will be rejoining his company tomorrow. The poor man almost jeopardized his army career in looking after my affairs, and it was a stroke of luck that he had not been summoned to service earlier. As it was, the increasing unrest in our Eastern colonies had resulted in a recalling of most of the regiments, and Andy’s papers were waiting for him at Fairfax House after the drama was resolved. He is packing as I write, hoping to stave off his superior officer’s anger by reporting as soon as possible. Needless to say, I am extremely scared for him. He is my dearest relation now, he might be in trouble for helping me and he will be gone for who knows how long. His line of work will always create unease in the bosoms of his well-wishers and family, but right now I feel quite desolate at the idea of leaving him to a capricious Fate.
“I am staying at the Fairfaxs’ town house while I look around for a house of my own. That will be the first stage in my gaining control over my life and getting rid of my morbid fear of everyone around me. If you ever decide to write back to me, you can direct the epistle to this address and it will be forwarded on if I have shifted house in the meantime.
“I do hope that you would not object to my overtures of friendship, Miss Warren. It is rare to find a person as sterling as you in my usual circles, and I would like our bond to grow beyond its original disguised roots into an association for life.
“Eagerly awaiting your response,
I remain,
Miranda De Manley
(Or Rosie, however you may want to remember me)”
P.s: I have included some bills with this letter since Andy had told me that you had no money on you, and you will need to travel quite a distance to reach Carillon Hall. Please do not even think of refusing or returning the money; you are our responsibility until you reach the safety of your usual surroundings.
May God bless you, and keep you happy at all times.
-MdM-
Rachel drew a deep breath on coming to the end of this extraordinary epistle. Her first thought was, Andrew is gone! He…he has left England! But thank Goodness, at least he is unharmed – till now. And of course, Mira…Miss de Manley is safe too! She breathed a silent prayer of thanks to whoever might be listening for sparing the ill-fated cousins any more trouble in the inheritance matter. It took her some time to move beyond this and realize that even she was out of harm's way now. There was no need to worry any more. Like Miranda had written, the unpleasant situation was over, and she can return to her old life. There was nothing else to look forward to here either, considering that the Colonel must have left England by now and did not even think of sending a single word to her through Miss de Manley’s letter. It was better that he broke off their relationship in such a clean way; her hopes would not be raised any more by his ambiguous actions and words.
But then, why this wretchedness, this throb of betrayal in her heart?
“No, I will not think about that. My job might still be available,” she told herself, resolutely trying to find silver linings in the situation, “and now there is nothing to stop me from going back. I must pack up and set out for Denbries this very instant – it is only the 4th of November, but I cannot afford to waste a single day more since a few more might necessarily be lost on the road.” She need not trespass on the kind Misses Trevelyans’ hospitality any more and could concentrate on being ordinary Rachel Warren again, after what felt like a lifetime.
Please help me Lord, she entreated fervently in her mind, even as she informed her kind hostesses about the good news which the letter carried. You have helped me this far, please help me to keep anyone from discovering the truth at this point. Allow me to return back to my old life with equanimity. I do not know if I can bear more slings of Fate.
She would, of course, write to the address provided as soon as possible. Rosie…no, Miranda’s letter somehow made her much more real to her as a person than she had ever been through the descriptions of Andrew. Her natural ebullience, kindness (since she paid attention to all the topics that Rachel might be impatient to hear about) and lack of airs were evident throughout the letter. The inclusion of the cab fare and the sweet way in which she removed all Rachel’s inhibitions about accepting it showed a perceptive and worldly-wise temperament. She combined high spirits with a serious maturity, as could be deciphered from the fluctuating temper of the epistle.
She’s a charming person, Rachel thought reluctantly. She was honest enough to admit that Andrew could scarcely avoid falling in love with a fascinating person like this, and it was not Miranda’s fault that she held the heart of a wonderful man. She was too rare a friend to be lost by Rachel over something that was a pipe dream in any case.
But I wish he had not forgotten me so quickly. He claimed that we were friends – and yet, not a word from him in all this time to check on me. Nothing included in Miss de Manley’s letter to show me that his regard has not diminished with distance and time, that I meant something to him beyond a duty.
i wish that his professions of esteem were true.
--xx--xx--
A.N: A POEM FOR MY READERS
Sorry one, sorry all,
For making you want to squall
But worry not, the die is cast
Her sorrows for long cannot last
Her Prince Charming will come for sure
And his beloved's doldrums eagerly cure.
But alas, that will be the end of my lore;
And hence, they shall be separated some more. :)
-AM-