“You feel it, don’t you, Mama?” Louisa said. “As do I. Every time. Cannot explain it, though.”
“Feel what?” Aldous asked, but Louisa merely shrugged. Grace said nothing.
“It’s this way.” Charles gestured and then headed off down the hallway, where sounds of human occupation could be heard: muted conversation, a spate of coughing, a man’s laughter. Following, Grace kept her eyes ahead, a hard lump of emotion already forming in her throat. It had been agreed that morning,before coming to St. Giles House, that she would enter Samuel’s room alone, while the audience, such as it was, would remain nearby. What happened after that had yet to be determined.
Charles paused by a door that stood slightly ajar, and regarded Grace, inclining his head. Words were not necessary. Grace nodded her understanding, lifted onto her toes to kiss Aldous’ cheek, and then pushed the door open.
Taking one hesitant step and then another, she halted and regarded the profile of the man seated at the small table. He was obviously tall and plainly thin, his clothes hanging loose on his frame. A halo of white curls softened the edges of a face—what she could see of it—touched by time, the flesh sallow, as if it had not seen sunlight in a good while. Standing quite still, she took in the man’s every detail: the tilt of his head, the slope of his brow, the line of his nose and jut of his chin, the shape and movement of his hands. Even the way he sat.
The man paid Grace no mind at all. He was too busy playing his silent game of dominoes, setting up the small rectangular tiles with hands that trembled a little. Even as she watched, a single tile slipped from his fingers and bounced to the floor with a clatter. He appeared not to notice, but simply carried on with his game. And, as she continued to observe him, a transformation took place in her mind.
His shoulders broadened and his arms grew strong, filling the loose sleeves of his jacket. His thighs thickened, smoothing out the bagginess of his trousers. The white curls adorning his head darkened to a rich chestnut, glinting here and there with hints of gold and copper. His finely sculpted hands ceased their tremble, long fingers confidently adept as they continued to set up the dominoes. And his countenance sloughed off the years—ten, twenty, thirty or more—till his face glowed with youth and vitality. Then, in her mind, he turned to look at her, eyes brightand blue as a summer sky, smiling as he spoke. “Will you play, Grace?”
The clatter of another discarded domino shattered the image, and the silent white-haired man returned. But no matter his age, no matter what time and war and suffering had done to him, Grace would have known him anywhere. Her gloved hand flew to her mouth, stifling a sob, yet unable to prevent her acknowledgement of his true identity.
“Julian.”
From behind her came a couple of soft gasps and a distinctly male mumble, though she did not dare to look back. To do so, to see the expressions on the faces of those she loved, would be her undoing. Instead, recalling what Louisa had described, she moved forward and crouched to pick up the dominoes, readying herself for what was to come. Almost immediately, Julian’s hands stilled, and she felt his gaze upon her. Keeping her eyes lowered, she rose to her feet and set the errant tiles on the table. Then, for the first time in over thirty years, she looked into her brother’s face.
And her heart broke.
Tears blurring her sight, she touched his scarred cheek. “Oh, my beloved brother,” she said, her voice tight with emotion. “I knew you were alive; I just knew it. I never stopped believing. May God have mercy, how you must have suffered. I am sorry. So sorry.” The tears escaped, rolling down her cheeks. “Do you know me, Julian? I am Grace. I am your sister.”
Julian blinked and opened his mouth as if to speak but made no sound. Rather, he appeared to study her, tilting his head slightly as he did so. Did her words mean anything to him at all? Did he even recognize his own name? She had the impression he was puzzled, and assumed it was because he was seeing someone who looked like Louisa but was more than twenty years older.
“I am Grace,” she repeated, placing a hand atop her heart. “Your sister.”
He blinked again and looked down at the dominoes as if expecting them to provide the answer he sought.
And perhaps they did, Grace thought. Perhaps they held the key that opened his mind. She settled onto the opposite seat and reached over to touch his hand. “Will you play, Julian?”
At that, his head came up and a soft sound escaped him. She thought she saw it then, reflected in that brilliant, blue eye.Recognition.She held her breath.
A moment later, he smiled a beautiful, crooked smile, pulled a folded handkerchief from his pocket, and leaned over to wipe the tears from her cheek. “Play,” he said, nodding his encouragement in exactly the way she remembered. “Play, Gray.”
Grace laughed through yet more tears and looked toward the door to see she was not the only one weeping. Even Aldous was decidedly watery around the eyes.
“Julian’s coming home, Aldous,” she said, and began to choose her dominoes. “My brother is coming home at last.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
On a dampafternoon in early November, the carriage carrying Julian Frederick Thackeray, Baron Westerdale, pulled up to the main door of Highfield Hall. Grace, seated beside him, placed her hand atop his.
“Are you ready, Julian?” she asked, not expecting an answer.
He looked down at their hands for a moment and then returned his gaze to the window, the contents of his mind known only to him.
Grace was under no illusion that the weeks and months ahead would be easy, but her decision to bring her brother home had never been in question. He belonged at Highfield as much, if not more, than she did. Despite his terrible injuries, he was still the true heir. He was born here and would, inevitably, die here. But, till that day came, the time he had left would be spent in as much comfort as possible.
Preparations had been made over the past few weeks. The little-used parlor next to the library had been set up as Julian’s apartment, complete with bed, a seating area and, of course, a table with a set of dominoes already in place. Aldous, with his military connections, had interviewed and hired a man by the name of Geoffrey Singleton. A retired army orderly, the man had also lost an eye while in military service but was still relatively young and quite physically able. Acting as avalet de chambre, he would be attending to all and any of Julian’s needs, as required.The household servants had been told what to expect, as well as what was expected of them.
The rest of the family had also been thoroughly prepared. Grace had prayed that everyone would see past Julian’s terrible deformity. That they would understanding it was not something to be feared, but merely a mask disguising a gentle soul who had suffered terribly.
Already, news of Julian’s identity had spread as far away as London, and perhaps farther. It could hardly be avoided, of course. Aldous had naturally contacted the relevant war departments, advising them that a lieutenant, thought lost at Waterloo, had been found in a Yorkshire institution. How Julian had ended up in a variety of institutions would never be known. “War is chaotic,” Aldous had said, simply, when Grace had asked the unanswerable question.
As for today, it had been decided that Julian’s return to Highfield Hall should be done quietly and without fuss. It was, after all, a monumental transition, and Grace wanted as little stress as possible placed on him. Consequently, only she and Aldous had accompanied him in the carriage, and the rest of the family, including Louisa, had been asked to wait till he had settled in before making themselves known.
So far, though, he’d shown no sign of stress at all.
