“May I ask what compelled you to the docks so early in the morning?” Mrs. Abbot asked in a gentle voice.
Mr. Wortham released a slow sigh. He ran a hand through his hair and stepped forward. “It was me.” He turned his eyes to mine.
Mrs. Abbot frowned. “You were meeting him there alone? In the dark?” She scowled in confusion and disapproval. Awkwardness hung in the air.
“No,” Mr. Wortham spoke up, “I challenged her to it. I had no idea she would really try.” He shook his head and looked at the floor. A muscle jumped in his clenched jaw.
How stupid he must have thought me to be.
And how right he was.
Despair clawed at my throat until I could hardly breathe.
Mrs. Abbot still looked confused, but didn’t press the subject further. Instead, she wiped away a tear that had bled down my temple and into my hairline. She placed her hand on my shoulder, so gently I hardly felt it. “Try to rest, my dear. You have been through quite the ordeal.” I looked up at her eyes, full of sympathy and regret. She wasn’t looking at me with disgust like I had expected. But I was disfigured! I was ruined, buried even deeper in shame than I had been before.
I tried to imagine that Mrs. Abbot was Mama, looking down at me from above. I focused, drawing every memory together, and realized that I had never seen that caring, sympathetic look in Mama’s eyes before. She would never accept me this way. She would never love me. Lord Trowbridge would never have me. I was completely and utterly ruined. Nothing could save me now.
No one would ever choose me now.
But had I ever been chosen before? Had I ever been loved?
My chest ached as tears continued their course down my cheeks, soaking into my hair and pillow. As I tried to fade back into sleep, I turned my head to the side, where I wouldn’t haveto see all my spectators and their expressions. I couldn’t bear the disgrace.
My eyes drifted across the room to the old pianoforte. The chipped keys seemed to mock me, and a new onslaught of pain drove into my chest, a pain I had never felt so keenly in my life. I would never be able to play music again.
I had lost the pianoforte today too.
That same ache I had been feeling for weeks now blossomed inside of me, bruised, bleeding, and broken. Only now did I realize it was my heart.
Chapter Eleven
“Now is the winter of our discontent.”
At dinner, I was brought a tray of all my favorite foods. Clara must have told the Abbots. It wasn’t the usual meal foods, but lemon tea cakes, grape juice, and treacle pudding. I had loved all of these things before moving to Craster, and Clara must have spent a great deal of time having them prepared. I drew a deep breath of unexpected gratitude and looked upward at the face that brought them to me.
Lucy smiled down at me. “Hopefully this will help you recover some of your strength.” She placed the tray on my lap, and her eyes flickered to my wrapped hand. She swallowed.
“Did you see it?” I asked, my voice trembling.
Lucy averted her eyes and stepped around the sofa to sit beside me. Her large eyes shone bright and beautiful in the candlelight. I could only imagine how unbecoming I must have looked. The fingers of my undamaged hand touched the ends of my hair.
“Yes,” Lucy answered. Her voice had softened, as if sharing a deep secret. “When Mr. Wortham carried you in here, Ithought you had died. You were so very pale, and there was so much blood…” My stomach sickened and Lucy’s eyes focused on something in the distance. “I didn’t know what had happened until I saw that Mr. Wortham was holding his jacket tightly around your hand. When he placed you here, the surgeon arrived shortly after, and so did your sister and Miss Bentford. I was sent to retrieve water, and when I returned, your hand was exposed.”
My heart pounded, quick and weak. “How terrible is it, truly?”
“Mr. Watkins was able to stitch most of the skin back in place, but there will be scars. And the fingers…” Her gaze fell.
I already knew. My lips pressed together and I choked on a sob. I was pathetic, sitting here sobbing about something that couldn’t be reversed. At first, being sent here, I had thought my dreams were gone, every hope of happiness erased. But I had still felt a small shred of hope. There had still been a future with Lord Trowbridge I could have chased. I could have made Mama proud and lived in comfort all of my life.
But now there was nothing left for me. No man would ever see past the crippled, disfigured hand I now bore. I had lost my beauty and I had even lost my music. My heart filled with so much aching despair that I felt it would burst. How was I to release it now? It would be impossible to play the pianoforte, to send everything that made me hurt away and into the sky where it could no longer touch me. Instead, it was resigned to fester in my heart until it destroyed me.
“Where is Clara?” I choked.
“She is meeting with Lord Trowbridge and his daughter. She insisted that she cover the position of governess so the two of you should not lose your income.”
I released a shaky breath, drying my tears. Of course Clara was there. She had risen to a duty without questioning it. Shenever hesitated to step up and help me, even when I was so terrible to her. And she was not the only one. Mr. Wortham had rescued me, even when I had threatened to ruin his life by sending his letter to Lucy and had mocked him for being in love. I had manipulated him, and yet he still continued to show me kindness.
“Thank you, Lucy.” It was all I could say. She nodded tentatively, as if she didn’t know what else she could do. After a moment, she stood and left the room.
