Margaret rubbed her hands together nervously.
“If my brother went missing, Margaret, I’d not be able to sleep at night.” She needed the woman to be honest.
Margaret’s shoulders drooped. “You know, miss, I had that thought several days ago, and all I could recall was me mum, who I know is dead. And me sister, I suppose, but she left us five years back, and we don’t know where she’s gone.” A hand went to Margaret’s mouth, her fingernail against her lower teeth.
How sad to have such a fractured situation, yet Charlotte wondered if in some ways her own family was just as disjointed. “There’s no one more recent? You weren’t... married, were you?”
Margaret pursed her lips. Their small turn about the garden had them almost back to the line of clothing. “My memory is still patchy, miss, especially ’bout what’s jist ’appened. I don’t think I was married, but now that you ask, it makes me worry.”
Charlotte placed a hand on the woman’s shoulder as they stopped near the clothing line. “Think on it, will you? We’ll speak again soon, but please come talk to me if any memories come between now and then.”
“Yes, miss,” Margaret said, bending down to pull out a sheet from her basket. The woman seemed more than eager to get back to her work. As she pinned up the linen, Charlotte heard Margaret start to hum absently. She turned away but recognized “The Water of Tyne” as the tune danced through the air.
Her family had always preferred she learn the classic songs of Town, the ones most accepted in a ballroom, but she loved this Northumbrian melody above all else.
She had no plans until that evening, and the desire to ramble between the hedgerows seized her. Taking up the tune to her own lips, she began to sing as well. The early-June air called Charlotte farther into the gardens, inviting her to forget her worries for a while.
Chapter 19
Alex knew it was earlyto be riding, but he had a meeting with the Alnwick foreman this evening, making this the only free day he had to travel to Otterburn. He would have forgone this errand altogether, but George Roylance’s letter had seemed urgent. He knew the worry and unease of having a problem outside of one’s control. He knew, too, the effect traumatic accidents caused on one’s psyche.
Otterburn Castle rose tall and imposing before him as he pulled his horse to a stop and dismounted. As castles went, he remembered learning, this one was on the more diminutive side. But it was no small feat for a family outside of the peerage to have enough money to take residence in a castle, and it stood as a physical reminder that he didn’t measure up to them.
He pushed aside his reflections and knocked quickly on the door. A few birds sang in the trees above him, and then the unpleasant call of crows sounded in his ears. Soon the butler, with wide eyes, opened the door. “Good morning. We weren’t expecting you quite so early.” He glanced at the pendulum clock in the vestibule. “Allow me to show you to the nursery. Then I will find George.”
“There’s no need,” Alex replied, escorting himself down the familiar passage. “I know where it is.” As he walked, the distant sound of a woman’s voice seemed to float into the corridor. He stopped by the only window on his way, one that overlooked an enclosed kitchen garden with a hedge just beyond it. Though he could see no one, the voice was clear and beautiful.
“I cannot get to my love if I should dee,
The water of Tyne runs between him and me;
And here I must stand with a tear in my e’e,
Both sighing and sickly, my sweetheart to see.”
He’d loved this melody all his life. How many times had he heard it sung? But standing in this castle, separated from so much he’d once loved, gave the song new meaning. Everything in his life felt near but just out of reach. Not in the least, he admitted, being able to grow close to Charlotte.
He ran his finger along the edge of the windowsill before pressing on. Whichever kitchen maid belonged to that voice, she ought to be commended for her skill.
When he rapped on the door to the nursery and heard nothing, he let himself in. It hadn’t occurred to him that most of the house might still be asleep, unlike the working class, who never slept in. But here, amid luxury and ease, of course people wouldn’t have early tasks they had to wake for. Alex’s eyes traveled to an open door that led into the bedchamber. Then he saw the boy across the room, his back to Alex, slumped over, as the lad stared at a short block tower near a small table. A tray of food on the table, heaped with more sticky buns than one boy ought to ever eat, completely untouched. The nurse was nowhere in sight, but the room was tidy, as though she’d been there already this morning. Walter turned to look at him then, and Alex stiffened at the marked difference in the boy’s face. His face was eerily thin, and circles seemed to make deep caverns under his eyes.
Despite his skeletal appearance, Walter’s eyes widened just a fraction in recognition.
Alex waited for the boy to move or say something, but other than the slight reflex of his eyes, nothing happened.
When the boy looked away and maintained silence, Alex tapped his finger against his clasped hands. He thought he realized what was going on but wanted to explore the problem a little. “Good morning, Walter,” he breathed. “George told me you asked for me. Is that so?”
After several long moments, no reply came. Alex wasn’t surprised. He tried a different avenue, sitting on the couch across from the table. “That’s a good stack of sticky buns you have there. I know some boys back in Newcastle who’d kill for those.”
Still Walter said nothing, but a lazy hand grazed one of the blocks.
“It doesn’t look like you’ve been eating many sticky buns... or really anything lately.” He smiled. “A growing boy like you needs to keep up his strength.”
Two eyes, reminiscent of a sad hunting dog’s gaze, looked to the ground.
“I know how it is though,” Alex dared, hoping he would hit close to the problem. “When I was a little older than you, my father left me, and it was one of the scariest times of my life. I didn’t want to eat for days. I grew tired and weak. But finally I forced myself to eat some bread. And, you know, that turned things around for me. It’s easy to dwell on the past, I realized, but better to press toward the future.”
Walter’s brow drew together as he processed Alex’s words.
