Chapter Nine
Annabelle closed the door to Logan's room quietly. Having spent the entire morning in the gardens, he hardly made it back to the house before falling asleep in Annabelle's arms. Pacing from the door completely lost in familiar surroundings she somehow arrived at her bedchamber where her she sought to be alone.
Stumbling into the room while simmering in Nathaniel's hurtful words, she found herself oddly accompanied. A ghost trapped in an oval glass stared at her from across the chamber. Scanning the room, she searched for something. Something heavy and solid. Anything that would relieve that God forsaken mirror of its damned duty. Seizing a hairbrush in sheer desperation, she lifted her hand intending on shattering the mirror to hell when she froze.
The brush fell from her fingers, hitting the floor with a cutting sharpness. And in finally seeing herself, Annabelle too fell.
Barely breathing, her nails dug into the cold hard floor, clawing her closer to the pale figure watching on with wide, alarmed eyes. With an outstretched hand, she hauled in a breath and pressed a quavering, unbelieving finger to the glass. Maybe it was all a dream, an illusion to her teary eyes. Perhaps by touching this unknown face, it would ripple away. She touched the phantasm, and it remained.
She retracted her hand to her pale face as the ghost did the same. Shaking her head in disbelief, she closed her eyes. Who was this girl? And where had Annabelle vanished to?
Into Martha, her conscience offered.
Inching closer to the oval mirror, her mouth dropped in horror, not able to find Annabelle anywhere on the grief stricken face of this reflection.
She touched her cheeks of sunken colorless skin. No blush adorned them anymore, just paleness, reminiscent of a slow, torturous death. The soft supple skin that radiated with life was no more, all replaced by a gray veil draping her whole existence.
Trailing her hands to her lips, they trembled under her touch. Thin and dry...nothing like the plump, pink roses she once owned. Her rose had long withered leaving behind fruitless, scorched vines.
She lowered her eyes she stood; needing to see more of this woman she had never taken the time to meet.
Slowly unbuttoning her dress, Annabelle watched callused hands and blistered fingers fumble with the small buttons. Rough hands, weathered and chafed by much labor and cold, trembled in shame. Certainly not the hands of a lady, the lady her mother had trained her to become.
The flowered dress tumbled to the floor, the harsh sweeping sound cutting through the painful stillness. There was no turning back.
Stepping from the bundling fabric, Annabelle lowered the worn petticoat. The sharp hitching of her breathing pierced the silence as cold air assaulted her skin through the tattered chemise. She pushed the abandoned clothing from view with numbed feet.
She trailed a hand down her thin arms and shut her eyes. Bones barely covered by dry skin throbbed under her hesitant touch. She skimmed her fingers back towards her shoulders, down her pulsing neck and impoverished breasts. Cringing, she tensed as they traveled over her sore and protruding ribs. Then her hands unexpectedly stopped at her stomach.
Stiffening, she begged her hands to retract, but they masochistically refused, rather pressing down further at the flat surface. Annabelle suppressed a sob and clenched the thin fabric harboring the abdomen that would never carry her dream. The one dream she would treasure more than its father.
She bent over in painful realization as soul wrenching screams shattered through the stillness of the room. Looking up at her reflection, Annabelle realized the screams came from her very mouth. Her conscience remained silent as too her body and her mind. Together, they all watched in mourning as her soul finally broke.
Surrendering to the ache, Annabelle crashed back to the floor, her limp hair cascading over her eyes. Rocking to the fading memory of her broken heart, she lifted numb fingers and stroked the stringy veil. Her once auburn ringlets that bounced with each step simply hung as thin brown strands scarcely curled. Brushing them aside gently, she held her breath and looked at her eyes.
Cradled by black crescents, she stared at the hazel eyes that were once her personal mood stones, changing with every emotion. But only one mood plagued her since entering the Melbourne house and her eyes reflected just that in their depressing, dull green. Of course Nathaniel didn’t remember her. How could he? She didn’t remember herself.
Dropping her head into waiting hands, Annabelle finally wept. Never had she ever had to accept such a painful truth. Not since the passing of her—
"Mother," she whimpered. "Oh, mother how I need you. Look what I've become. I've stayed in this forsaken place, enduring all pain waiting for him," she lamented. "He knew where I was, but he never came. He never came." She wept, letting her weary head rest on her reflection as endless tears smeared on the glass.
Running delicate, haunting fingers along the silken fabric, Annabelle, smoothed down the last of her mother's dresses, tucking sachets of mint in between the flowery material. She lowered her face into the trunk, searching out her mother's smell one last time before lowering it to a close.
Frozen, she closed her eyes, resting her grieved head upon the black chest.
"Annabelle, your cousin says there is no space left for the trunks," a familiar voice spoke softly. "You will have to leave them, I'm sorry."
Numb, Annabelle remained silent.
"Annabelle—"
"Yes, I understand," she barely spoke, her voice hoarse and ragged. Of course she understood. No doubt Mrs. Melbourne took anything of value, but who wanted the old dresses of a dead woman? Annabelle exhaled. What kind of monsters would unearth a young girl, forcing her to leave all her possessions? Demons, Annabelle believed, only demons. Surely it had to be the reason why her mother hadn't ever mentioned these cousins and why they insisted on collecting her in the dead of night.
"What will happen to the dresses?" She lifted her eyes to the distant woman. "Can't you take them with you and perhaps I can visit sometime and see them?"
"I'm sorry, but my quarters are very small as is," she replied, instantly having trouble with words. After an uncomfortable silence, she resumed, "I'm certain your cousins will find someone to care for them. You can arrange it with her." The newly fashioned woman smiled compassionately.
Annabelle shivered at the lies. The dresses would get lost, somewhere along with the warm smell of her mother. Her heart grew dimmer as an unnatural coldness rippled through her.
Standing slowly, Annabelle paced to her father's desk where her mother often sat reading, writing letters, or sowing; 'anything to keep the mind from running away with me' she would say. Annabelle smiled reminiscently.
Picking up her mother's bible she pressed it to her heart. "And what of her books? And my father's things?" she asked, suddenly realizing she was alone. Thirteen and alone.
The familiar stranger walked beside her and ran her fingers along the worn covers. "Your aunt is having everything auctioned," she said as delicately as her touch. Closely watching the woman, Annabelle couldn't help but wonder of her new appearance. Being a simple governess never granted anyone luxuries such as private coach and pearls, yet the stunning woman displayed both with ease. As if it was a normalcy.
Shaking the thoughts from her head, Annabelle didn't answer. Instead her eyes lingered on the exquisitely laced hand grazing her mother's books, her writings, her pens.
"He didn't come," Annabelle whispered, watching the hand momentarily pause. With a sigh, it resumed as did Annabelle, "But then again, he hasn't written me either. I've written him many times yet he hasn't written me once in the past four years," she confessed, the words heavy on her tongue. "Perhaps it was foolish of me to think, but I thought that maybe I once meant something to him…" She faded into a painful whisper, the words clawing at her throat. Annabelle chuckled bitterly at her stupidity, then turned to face the sylph like figure moving away from her.
Fiddling nervously with her exquisite silk bonnet, the woman said, "William has had a lot on his mind, Annie dear. His life has changed now."
" William?"
The woman laughed. "Oh, forgive me, love. I've been meeting so many new faces lately, names just..." She twirled her hand illustrating her confusion. Her giggle quickly simmered. "But don't you worry. I'm sure Nathaniel will write when he finds the time."
Sighing, her expression sharpened. "Annabelle, I know Nathaniel was very special to you as you were to him, but things are very different in London. He has a new life there and he is very happy."
Pressing the bible closer, Annabelle struggled to keep the tears from falling. He was happy...
The woman stepped back. "The carriages are all ready. Are you set dear?"
Mute, Annabelle nodded feeling her soul chip away with each echoing footstep. Her veins braced onto her bones, begging to remain put but the pain pushed her along blindly. Slowly inhaling, Annabelle closed her eyes, recording each sensation, each smell, everything of the home that was once hers but would be no longer.
Reaching the door, Annabelle could almost see her mother at the threshold, waiting with open arms as she often did at the end of the day. The image stabbed her as she passed through it, dissolving it into nothing but a mist.
She looked into the unknown carriage. Dark, seedy eyes glared at her. She stopped.
"Will you tell him where I'll be?" Annabelle asked over her shoulder. "Will you tell him, for when, for if he decides to write?"
The woman smiled. "Of course darling, I will tell him where you've gone. But now you must go."
With one last glance at her old home, Annabelle nodded. "Thank you Mrs. Hawkins."
Numbed, Annabelle sat back, staring at the crying ghost. "He knew where we were, but he never came for us," she told her reflection. "We've been fools, Annabelle. We’ve been nothing but fools."
***
The horses galloped calmly through the serene country side, their hoof beats only adding to the melody of the chirping tress and trickling of surrounding streams. Dropping his head back to view the clear skies, Nathaniel thanked the heavens for a relatively speedy escape. Madeline had been less than discreet in her attempts to conveniently forget her bearings therefore leading them further away from the stables. Luckily, her attempts proved futile as Nathaniel remembered the way very well and didn't hesitate in taking lead of their expedition. Upon reaching the stables, they encountered a waiting Mr. Melbourne along with a stiff and flustered Milton. By the expression on Milton's concerned face, Nathaniel gathered a letter had come, and he had been right.
Nathaniel's blood pumped at the prospects of the letter hiding in his inner pocket. It burned at his breastplate, but with Mr. Melbourne's voyeuring eyes, reading its contents had proved impossible.
Rubbing the powerful steed beneath him, Nathaniel sought anything to keep his mind from the blistering parchment. Instantly, a flustered face rippled into focus bringing an equally gentle smile to his lips. But why on earth was he thinking of Martha?
He fixated on the strange thoughts that haunted him before Madeline rudely interrupted. He recalled Martha’s brittle wrists pinned against his chest; so fragile and feminine. Remembering her startled eyes as he held her against him sent a tingling sensation through his veins.
He focused on the faint memories that begged to be remembered. Something had happened the night before, of that he was sure. But what? Instantly flashes of bare, ivory skin tugged at his senses. He swallowed. He could almost taste her. The soft hushing of the trees brought with them the mild sounds of soft moans and pleasurable sighs...
Struggling for a breath, his whole body hardened as the wispy thoughts became concrete memories. He gripped the reigns tighter, remembering the feel of her in his arms, her cool skin trembling under his fingertips, the taste of honey on her lips. It had been real! Real and--
Purely ravishing, his conscience whispered.
Startled by his own possessing desire, he brought the black stallion to a halt, quickly dismounting. Tugging his cravat to keep from suffocating from the rising heat within him, Nathaniel shook his head. It couldn't be....could it? How could he have possibly forgotten?
The brandy, he remembered. He had been drunk, but what of her? She didn't seem like the wanton kind. Perhaps it hadn't been her.
'That's not what I'm afraid of my Lord'
The words paralyzed him. It had been her. The way she tugged at her coat and seemed as tense as a rod ready to snap. It had been fear in her eyes!
Her frightened gaze ushered in an even more distressing thought. She had cried. Under the silvery moonlight, moment before almost claiming her, she had cried and then run.
Nathaniel groaned. "Stupid! Stupid man!"
"Pardon me?" a scruffy voice echoed through his thoughts..
"Forgive me, Mr. Melbourne. I was thinking of something foolish I forgot to do."
Mr. Melbourne waved a hand dismissively. "No worries, but back to the matter at hand: Have you decided yet?"
Nathaniel blinked. "Decided?"
"Yes good man! When the wedding shall take place?"
Is that what they were talking about? Nathaniel hadn't heard a word the entire ride, focusing solely on the letter.
Nathaniel patted the horse firmly. "I haven't yet proposed Mr. Melbourne and am not entirely certain there will be such a proposal."
The old man settled back, his voice taking on a more paternal tone much to Nathaniel's dismay. "I was under the distinct impression that when you arrived, it was to ask for Madeline's hand, that she was your first choice."
"I was under the distinct impression, Mr. Melbourne, that blackmail was hardly ever considered a choice," Nathaniel snipped as ice burned his veins.
"Blackmail? That is such a ghastly word."
"Ghastly?" Nathaniel clenched his teeth to keep from verbally assaulting the man. "The only reason I am in this ghastly place is because of your letter stating that you had knowledge of something pertaining to me. Something that would 'have me seeking a special license and a parson instantly in order to marry your daughter. Since you have yet to tell me what this reason is, any sort of proposal is impossible."
Paled, Mr. Melbourne dismounted with difficulty due to his short legs and protruding belly. Nathaniel looked on wishing the black mare would take off, trampling the old bastard underfoot.
"Yes, well," Mr. Melbourne paused, struggling through labored breathing. "I am in possession of some information that would have you pleading for my daughter's hand."
Nathaniel wrestled with thoughts of murder though concealing it took some trouble, "Then tell of this information as you are not the first nor will be the last to toss some ridiculous story at my feet in hopes of your daughter becoming the next Lady Hamilton."
Mr. Melbourne stopped, his vacant black eyes narrowing slightly. "Annabelle."
Chuckling, Mr. Melbourne walked ahead triumphantly. "I've learned you seek her yet know not of her whereabouts."
Relief and dread swept through Nathaniel. His worst fear that somehow Mr. Melbourne learned of his true identity had kept him awake for days before his visit. But Mr. Melbourne didn't know of his secret. His confession had been worse, much worse.
"You know," Nathaniel said carefully, his voice threatening to snap, "You know where she is? How do I know you're not lying? Like I said, you won't be the first or the last--"
"It has come to my knowledge from a very reliable source...but that's of the least importance. What I wish to know now is when you plan to marry my daughter." The man laughed then erupted into a suffocating fit of coughing.
Unable to contain his rage, Nathaniel jerked away his horse reins. He could kill the man! He could tear him apart with his bare hands, but murdering Mr. Melbourne would kill all hopes of finding Annabelle. He had to think. Studying the man, Nathaniel knew him to be telling the truth. But how could he possibly get it out of him without having to marry the daughter?
Beat it out of him?
Ah, yes. Always the more sensible option, Nathaniel thought but quickly retracted. He couldn't beat the man, lest Mr. Melbourne add giving him a grandchild to his threat.
Nathaniel sighed. "And what of your daughter? How does she feel about all of this? About a man being forced to marry her? Surely you know once I find Annabelle, I have no intentions of being with your daughter...perhaps only under law."
"Oh rubbish! Let's drop the formalities Hamilton." He coughed, clearing his throat further. "In exchange for marrying my daughter, I will tell you where Annabelle is. I, in no way expect you to fall in love with my Madeline. Your job is to marry her and give her a worthy name. Whether you honor her or not is entirely up to you." Mr. Melbourne coughed violently. "Perhaps it’s best I head back."
"I'll ride back with you—"
"Nonsense." Mr. Melbourne argued, mounting his horse with just as much difficulty. "You have much to think about."
"What if I choose not to marry your daughter and forget all about Annabelle?" Nathaniel tossed as a last effort before accepting defeat.
Mr. Melbourne laughed. "A man in love is driven to madness. You, my lord, are a man in love." He kicked his horse into a gallop and vanished into the dense forest.
Feeling his throat constrict as panic and rage consumed him, Nathaniel reached for his crimson lifeline, but another object offered him a small reprieve.
He tore the scarlet seal and unfolded the letter. Nathaniel held his breath and read,
"Dearest Cousin,
Straightaway I will tell you what I have discovered of your dearest Annabelle. For once I have some rather good news laced with the usual bad.
I've visited Richmond, as I do every other month in hopes of someone remembering anything surrounding her sudden disappearance, but unfortunately, all remains the same. No one remembers anything but black carriages vanishing into the night. In a desperate attempt and for purely selfless reasons, I can assure you, I visited the local brothel. Seems that one of the lovely ladies, in better times, once cared for the late Mrs. Frost before her passing. While she knows not of Annabelle's location, she did offer a rather interesting bit of information.
In the confessional talks brought on by near death, Mrs. Frost spoke of having entrusted Annabelle’s care to a governess in London. She mentioned a few places and names, but it will take me some time to get to them all. I will begin my investigation right away. We will find your dearest girl.
I am sorry I cannot tell you more, but equally hope that this letter offers you a bit hope in an otherwise bleak and dark time."
The rest of the letter morphed into a sea of blurred letters and smudged ink as hopeful tears stained the parchment. Finally an answered prayer!
Madly mounting his horse, Nathaniel rode the stallion hard back toward the house, his mind racing just as fast.
As the blood pumped wildly in his veins, he accepted many things. He was partly to blame for not finding her. He should have found some way to get to her when her letters stopped coming. Once he came of age, he should have gone after Annabelle instead of sending Richard to do his investigating! After all, he was no longer a boy being forbidden by his mother to travel to Richmond for fear of being exposed. It was his fault, and he was paying the price but he would remedy it. If it killed him he would find her.
First thing in the morning, he would ride out to his home town. Together, he and Richard would get to the bottom of this mysterious governess and in turn find Annabelle. It was his last option. The only option before all time ran out.
But what of Logan?
Nathaniel cursed. Surely he couldn't drag Logan to Richmond with him. He'd be too busy with Richard to properly look after him. But who could he possibly trust with Logan that was within reach? Of whom Logan would actually trust?
That was it! Martha!
Leaning forward, Nathaniel encouraged the horse to go faster. He would entice Martha to leave the hell that was the Melbourne's. She couldn't refuse him. She wouldn't! Why would she? Sure they had to still discuss their previous liaison, but he would apologize and then offer her whatever she pleased, carte blanche. A raise? Done. The heavens, Done!
Besides, she was miserable and abused. By offering to take her with him, he would not only be securing Logan's wellbeing, but hers as well. He would not only be offering her a stable position, but one where she would never have to fear being beaten and mistreated another day of her life.