As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I saw she was lying on her back, the covers in disarray, as if she had kicked them off.
‘Did you have a bad dream, dearest?’
‘I ... I ... Yes, Aunty Fliss.’ She sounded disorientated, as if she was still half-asleep. I smoothed back the hair clinging to her sweaty forehead. Whatever she had been dreaming about must have been frightening to make her cry out like that.
‘Hush now,’ I said soothingly. ‘It is all over now. It was just a dream.’
I pulled the covers up and adjusted them neatly around her and sat there holding her hand. She was trembling like a leaf. I dared not enquire what she had been dreaming about because it might cause me to have a nightmare too!
‘Aunty Fliss?’ she asked waveringly.
‘Yes, dearest?’
‘I know we still have several days at the castle, but would you mind if we went back to Bath very soon?’
‘Of course not. If you wish to go, we can leave forthwith,’ I said, trying not to sound overly excited at hearing this. But in truth, her words were music to my ears. ‘How does tomorrow morningsound?’
There was the sound of a breath releasing, and she squeezed my hand emphatically.
‘Oh, thank you!Thank you.And I am sorry that I have been so out of sorts ... I think I must be homesick.’
‘You have nothing to apologise for,’ I said quickly. ‘This castle could honestly make even the best people turn into trolls.’
She huffed a laugh at that, and I waited until she was comfortable and had drifted off back to sleep before I left her. It was only when I lay back down in Jane’s bed that it occurred to me that Lucinda’s vehement response thanking me to leave the castle was the mirror image of the one she had given when I had said she could stay.
PART FOUR
A Suitable Gentleman
Chapter 19
‘Ah, Mrs Fitzroy, are your companions coming down?’ enquired Mr Hart, checking his watch when I entered the dining room the next morning. He and Mr Smith-Withers had not waited and were halfway through their breakfasts.
My hand shook as I helped myself to some toast, two fried eggs, and some bacon from the sideboard. I had practically no appetite, but I had to give the appearance of normality.
‘I am afraid my niece is under the weather this morning, and Miss Austen is attending to her,’ I replied, sitting down.
‘Nothing too serious, I hope?’ asked Mr Smith-Withers.
‘No, no, just a headache. She slept poorly last night.’
Mr Hart said nothing in commiseration, but he was staring at me with an inscrutable expression, and my skin prickled with unease. A faint redness lingered on his left cheek from where I had slapped him. I averted my eyes from his and concentrated on eating.
‘Though it is a pity Lucy is not well enough to go raspberry picking,’ I remarked after a short while,as if it were troubling me.
‘Yes. Well, that can wait,’ said Mr Hart disinterestedly.
I swallowed my mouthful of food and forced myself to say with a smile, ‘But there is no need to postpone it. She said she is quite happy for me to go in her place.’
Mr Hart lowered his fork. ‘You will accompany me?’
I nodded. ‘And Mr Smith-Withers too, of course.’
Mr Hart gave his friend a pointed glance, and Mr Smith-Withers said hastily, ‘I have no wish to pick raspberries, but I will gladly partake of them with cream at supper. I shall be in the library if anyone wants me.’
‘Excellent,’ said Mr Hart, looking pleased. He wiped his mouth with a napkin and settled back in his chair, his eyes upon me.
Excellent indeed,I thought. Everything was going to plan.
