“I suppose I ought to have said a tisane rather than a cup of tea,” she said, glancing at him as she went about her work. With the candle just before him and the added light of the fire, Judith caught her first true sight of his face, and she paused.
Judith thought she knew enough of Mr. Hatcher to say he was unflappable. Yet, the person seated before her was not the business partner or capable self-made man she’d met. Dark crescents lined his eyes, which were red from his sleepless night. The weight of his silent troubles bore down on him, making him look more lined and cragged than a man of four and twenty ought. But when his gaze met hers, Judith swore she was staring at a child clinging to the hope that daylight would chase the nightmares away.
Judith’s throat tightened, and she continued with her work, preparing the mixture as the water came to a boil. In a trice, she had the herbs in the teapot and rested it on the kitchen table to steep. Mr. Hatcher watched her movements, and though it was odd being studied in such a manner, she did not begrudge him it. Judith recalled watching her mother prepare tea; there was something peaceful in the movements.
“This is my favorite cure for restless nights. Equal parts lavender, chamomile, and apple mint to help one relax and sleep,” she said, pouring the water through the strainer. “With a generous squeeze of lemon and dollop of honey for flavor.”
Handing him the cup, Judith brushed a comforting touch on his forearm. He stared at where her hand rested, and she was surprised at the impulse that had her taking such liberties. Pulling away, she moved to the cupboard to avail herself of a few biscuits. Mr. Hatcher watched her every moment, his gaze never leaving her as she set the treats on his plate and took the seat opposite him. The brew was a tad strong, but it was exactly as she liked it, and the warm sweetness settled inside her as she drank. In other circumstances, Mr. Hatcher’s gaze would’ve unsettled her, but there was something so sad and broken in his eyes that Judith couldn’t maintain her previous fears.
His expression was inscrutable, and the fellow offered no explanation for his overwrought state as he sipped on the tisane. But words weren’t necessary at that moment. Whether it was a spell cast by the shadows or the unusual setting for this interlude, Judith welcomed the silence. It wasn’t weighty. It was the comfortable absence of noise when words weren’t necessary.
In the back of her thoughts, Mr. Byrnes’s advice resurfaced, telling her that it mightn’t be amiss for her to speak to Mr. Hatcher about her finances. Perhaps he’d welcome the distraction. Yet Judith couldn’t bring herself to disturb the quiet. Now was not a time for such matters, and sharing a cup of tea doesn’t mean the young man would be eager to help his business partner’s governess.
Shaking her head, Judith smiled to herself and nursed her cup, willing the herbs to work their magic over her. She did not need more agitated thoughts to disrupt her evening. Between the hour and the warmth in her belly, Judith’s eyes began to droop, and she hoped the journey back to her bedchamber wouldn’t undo the tisane’s work.
Judith rose to her feet and set her teacup and pot in the sink to be washed in the morning.
“Good night, Mr. Hatcher,” she whispered as she moved past him. Her candle holder remained on the table, but there was no need for her to take it. She knew the house far better than Mr. Hatcher, and he would need it to navigate out of the kitchen.
Her eyes adjusted as she stepped out of the dim light of the kitchen, but she paused at the threshold when Mr. Hatcher said in the barest whisper of a voice, “Thank you, Miss Delmonte.”
Judith stared at the young man’s back. Something in his voice had her examining him. “It was my pleasure, Mr. Hatcher.”
And with that, she left him to the silence and his drink.
Chapter 16
Stowell Cottage had seen little entertainment of late. The previous owners had avoided bringing others into their home in hopes that the neighborhood wouldn’t notice all the missing furniture and decorations that had been sold to pay the creditors (though Silas doubted it did any good for neighbors always knew such embarrassing details). In the short time Deborah had been mistress of the place, she’d managed a few gatherings, though the majority of her plans had been waylaid by the vast redecoration that was needed before she thought the place ready for such scrutiny.
Silas wondered what his wife would think of the group filling the drawing room. No doubt she’d have misgivings concerning the state of the refreshments or the placement of the chairs (as Deborah had opinions on how to improve everything around her), but Miss Delmonte had done a fine job organizing the afternoon. To one side sat a makeshift stage, which was little more than a swath of fabric draped across one wall with a series of pillows seated in a circle for the younger patrons of this afternoon’s entertainment.
Standing with the other adults, Silas nodded and smiled as the Beechworths, Slades, and Sappertons conversed about the forthcoming play, but his thoughts were far from the conversation. Other than the Slades, he was not well-acquainted with the others, and his sister-in-law and her husband were not generally talkative with him. As he was in no mood to chat, it was a blessing. So, he engaged his guests only as much as politeness dictated and mostly wondered about the final preparations being made in the adjacent room. It served as a good distraction from thoughts of theMercury.
If the ship was truly lost, it wouldn’t ruin Byrnes & Co. by any means, but it would be a blow to their pocketbook. Such setbacks were a natural part of business, but with so much of their revenue tied into this single venture, they were far more vulnerable to loss and the vacillating economy. Expansion was their end goal, and to lose one of their two ships—
Silas straightened his jacket and tucked his hands behind him. There was no good to be done in fretting about it.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” called Miss Delmonte, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. With all the regal air of one announcing a grand entertainment, she said, “If you would please take your seats. Our play is about to begin.”
But then she smiled at the children, beckoning them to choose a seat as the adults took their far more comfortable chairs just behind the row of pillows. It took a bit of maneuvering for each child to find the place they deemed perfect, but she had them in hand quick enough and stood center stage.
“Welcome to this afternoon’s production ofThe Handsome Prince,” she said, clasping her hands before her. “The play was written by our own Helen Byrnes and performed by the Titchley Players. Now, join us for a fantastical story about magic and adventure, in which our hero and heroine are faced with mighty danger.”
The children at her feet tittered while the adults smiled, and Miss Delmonte moved from the stage and took her place to one side as Helen emerged from the doorway and moved onto the stage, her cheeks pinking as she spoke her lines.
The story unfolded as the handsome prince was introduced (though Griffith lost some of his dashing regality when he interrupted his lines to wave at his friends and papa), and then the evil fairies entered the fray. Though not terribly familiar with fairy tales, Silas thought such tales usually featured only one villain and not two, but Leah’s recitation held more enthusiasm than clarity and needed a partner to assist her. Together, she and the other little girl managed their villainous endeavors with few issues—even if Leah refused to relinquish her place on stage without much prompting from her partner.
All the while, Miss Delmonte stood at the ready to prompt forgotten lines or stage direction, soothing away nerves or disappointments with a skill that had even the most disheartened of the company willing to try again.
Though not a connoisseur of the dramatic arts, Silas had seen a few performances before, and without doubt, not a single one compared to this one. The children in the audience laughed and jeered, adding their own sentiments to the actors’ efforts, which only added to the overall delight of the adults. As delightful as a well-done drama can be, there was magic in the children’s enthusiasm, and each misstep only added to the delight of the moment.
This was precisely what Silas had needed. The past sennight had been a never-ending stream of problems to solve and disagreements to mediate, added to by the uncertainty of theMercury’sfate. It wasn’t until that moment, laughing at the children’s antics, that Silas realized just how worn he was until that ever-present tension in his shoulders vanished. The tightness in his middle remained, but the merriment of the moment allowed him to forget about it all and lose himself in the delight of his children.
When Silas had pictured life at home, this was very much what he’d envisioned. Leah and Griffith continued to call out to him at various intervals, waving at him as though he would miss some crucial moment in their performance. Even Helen’s gaze turned to him from time to time, her eyes aglow when he applauded her scenes.
And it was all due to Miss Delmonte. Her gentle influence and tender support had healed so much of the breach, rather than creating it as Deborah had. Perhaps it was unfair of him to think such things, but his wife had been incapable of keeping their disputes private, which only amplified the troubles they faced.
The play arrived at the climax, the evil fairies were slain, the princess rescued, and the hero rode off with his lady love as her kingdom celebrated. With a little prompting, Miss Delmonte had the players gathered to take their bows as the audience rose to their feet with thunderous applause.
