‘The pigs?’
‘No, my lady—’
‘Warren?’
‘No, my lord—’
‘What is it, Henry, by God’s teeth, you’re scaring us!’
‘You have guests, my lady. Rather a collection of them.’
‘Who in the bloody Hell is visiting us?’ Thorn asked, turning to Hypatia, who seemed as bereft of clues as he.
‘I think it’s best if you see for yourself, my lord.’
God’s teeth, indeed.
Who in the bloody Hell it turned out to be was Mr Quincy, Mrs Quincy, Miss Quincy, Malek, and Helen; the queerest assembly of persons no fool would’ve ever devised, by Thorn’s summation. When he first saw them, gathered in the one receiving room they’d somewhat furnished, perched and sat on the sole old—but not moth-eaten, only frayed—settee, armchair, and footstool, he admittedly gawked.
No one actually said anything—nor were conversations interrupted, only a thick, awkward silence—for quite a long while after he and Hypatia appeared in the room, eyes turning to them in accusation—and apology as concerned Malek—as though he and Hypatia should’ve known guests were coming.
And there goes my jolly good mood.
As well as Hypatia’s.
Indeed, his wife had paled, stiffened, and looked as politely uncomfortable as one possibly could. He cursed them all silently, taking her hand, cursing himself too, for purchasing anyfurniture whatsoever; though unfortunately given the assembly, he doubted they would’ve simply left at such a discovery. He hated them all just then, for ruining his wife’s and his mood; for interrupting their bliss, and forcing them into whatever this was.
In fact, he hated them all more for what effect they had on Hypatia—dimming her light, her brightness, so blinding of late—more than for what effect they had on him. Which was rather insignificant he found, oddly. Malek, he was actually pleased to see—curious too—whereas Helen…he was mostly dumbfounded. No old sentiments, good or ill, sprang forth, merely a sort of quiet blandness.
Progress, forgiveness, a chapter closed.
‘Well, isn’t this a surprise,’ Hypatia finally managed to say, cutting through the silence, though it still held heavy, like walls, parted only to allow voice for the briefest moment. ‘Mother, Father, Epi…’
‘Helen Linnaman, or so I believe it still to be,’ Thorn said flatly, and if Hypatia deducedwhothat made Helen, or felt anything about that, she showed nothing, merely bowed her head in acknowledgement; as did Helen. ‘And Malek Smith, my old apprentice.’
‘My lady,’ Malek said, recalling his manners, and rising to bow.
‘A pleasure,’ Hypatia said. ‘Well, now that we are all introduced…’
She trailed off, and Thorn realised she was at a loss of what to say next; as in truth, he was, really he just wanted to askwhat the bloody Hell they were all doing here, but such wasn’t done in such varied company, and therefore, he barely refrained.
If Hypatia can, so can I.
‘We’ve been on a bit of journey,’ Thorn said instead. ‘So if you would allow us a few moments to refresh ourselves, we will joinyou in the garden for tea. Which Henry will have laid out by now, I’m sure.’
Helen looked as though she wished to flee, and speak to him alone, but he ignored her, and made to turn, taking Hypatia with him.
‘We had your things moved to your husband’s room,’ Mrs Quincy informed them, and Thorn gritted his teeth, tightening his hold on Hypatia’s hand. ‘Honestly, Patty, I have no idea what you have been up to here these past months. It truly is unbelievable the state of this house, and there was nowhere else for us to go, with Epi taking the only guest room apparently available. What did you expect, for us to sleep in the eaves like servants?’
To sleep anywhere but here, Thorn thought. Instead of saying it, or anything else uncharitable he was close to, he simply led Hypatia on, and out of that room. He—they both—needed a moment, to gather information from their treacherous servants, and centre themselves. Luckily, he found Mary waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs, looking verily apologetic.
‘I didn’t know what else to do, my lord. Her ladyship’s family…the others, we had no idea if perhaps an invitation had been forgotten, or a letter lost…’
‘You did fine, Mary,’ Hypatia reassured her. ‘There were no invitations lost or anything of the sort. It’s not you, but them. Though I cannot speak for his lordship’s kith, only my own kin, and in either case I cannot speak of whatever has conspired to bring them all here at once.’
‘Yes, when did they all descend?’
‘The Quincys, not an hour after your departure, my lord,’ Mary told them. ‘Miss Linnaman, this morning, with Mr Smith. Both indicated they hoped to be on their way as soon as they’d spoken to you, and were therefore unsure about requiring a place for the night, particularly as they understood the quandaryof accommodation. Mr Smith insisted he would find his own way, however Mr Reeves had stopped by, and overheard, so he is airing one of his cottages should it be needed. There are also rooms available in Sandham should we need them, depending on everyone’s needs and preferences.’
