“You cad!” she hissed. “How dare you—”
“Speak the truth?” interjected Silas.
“Papa, please.” Helen tugged at his jacket, but he pulled away, his gaze not leaving Ruth.
“You were never worthy of Deborah.” The woman’s voice was low, though it had all the growl of a lapdog. “She would’ve been the making of you, and you treated her abominably.”
“Papa!” The child wrenched on his jacket, and he spun on her.
“Stop that, Helen!” Silas knew they were the wrong words before they left his lips. He knew he would regret them. He knew they would wound. Yet, he could not seem to keep hold of his tongue. Whatever tranquility the afternoon had granted him evaporated, leaving him all too exhausted and worn.
Helen reared back, dropping his jacket as if it were a burning coal, and stepped into Miss Delmonte. Ruth seized onto that with the vigor of a fire and brimstone preacher, railing against his newest sin. The Sappertons bundled their daughter out the door while the Beechworth horde stared with puzzled expressions at the exchange. Pinching his nose, Silas tried to regain his control, but something struck his shin, and he looked down to see Griffith glowering at him, his foot cocked back for another attack.
“Don’t you speak to Helen like that!” he shouted, but Miss Delmonte pulled him back before he followed through with his second kick. Handing Leah to the nursemaid, Miss Delmonte nudged Griffith away from the fracas and gathered Helen close. But the child pulled away, running out the door.
Christopher drew his wife near, leading her to the door. But Ruth looked over her shoulder and said, “I pray Deborah’s spirit is unable to witness what you are doing with her dear children. She would be ashamed of you.”
With that parting shot, the enemy quit the field, though Christopher sent Silas an apologetic nod as they left. His energy seeped out like water from a rancid sponge, and Silas collapsed onto a nearby chair that had been brought in for the play. Leaning forward, he leaned his elbows on his knees and rubbed at his forehead. In a matter of minutes, the afternoon had gone from a delight to a disaster, and Silas couldn’t begin to understand how it had happened. Or, more importantly, how to heal the damage he’d done.
Chapter 18
Caring for the children’s minds was the governess’s purview, whereas the nursemaid managed their physical wellbeing, seeing to everything required to keep them healthy and hale, and Judith was very glad for the distinction when bedtime arrived. Exhaustion made evenings difficult, and it was a universal truth that children’s energy often grew in relation to their caretaker’s exhaustion, and life was more pleasant when she was allowed to avoid such conflicts.
Tonight was an exception. Helen had hardly spoken a word in hours. Despite their planned dinner celebration in honor of their theatrical success, the child had remained silent; the light in her eyes had been snuffed out, her shoulders hanging low as she refused to meet anyone’s gaze. Leading Helen through her nightly rituals, Judith tucked her into her bed.
“Your collection is growing at a rapid pace,” Judith said, smoothing out the bedcovers before turning a smile to the shells lining the windowsill and shelves. It was reaching a point where there was hardly a space in the bedchamber that did not have some bit of beach detritus. There were at least one or two that were of too fine of quality for Helen to have found on her own, making it clear that Mr. Byrnes was doing his best to add to her selection.
Helen said nothing, but neither did she turn away from Judith as she smoothed a stray lock of hair that had pulled free of the child’s braid.
Perhaps it had been a mistake to invite the Slades, but the children had wanted their aunt and uncle in attendance, and as the pair were willing to make the journey from Whitmouth, Judith saw no reason to exclude them. Of course, the little remarks Mrs. Slade had made concerning Mr. Byrnes in the past had hidden far more animosity than Judith had anticipated.
Pulling the bedclothes close, Judith brushed a gentle touch across Helen’s cheek. “Sleep well, dearest.”
Helen’s eyes connected with hers, and Judith’s heart broke at the sorrow shining in those eyes that were the twins of her father’s. The child turned on her side, curling into a ball, and Judith stepped away, blowing out the lamp on her nightstand. Shutting the door behind her, Judith leaned against it and hoped tomorrow would be better.
Good gracious. Things had been going so well, and in a matter of moments, everything had been undone. Touching a hand to her head, Judith sighed and considered that. Not entirely destroyed, of course, but for goodness sakes, Judith wanted to shake Mr. Byrnes. All parents made missteps, but his had been of epic proportions.
Pushing off the door, Judith pointed her feet towards her bedchamber but thought the better of it and made her way to their library. A flush of heat stole over her at that stray thought. It wasn’t “theirs” by any means. Nothing in this house was “hers.” However, that room had become their favorite, and it was growing more difficult not to think of it with fondness.
Judith strode through the door and found Mr. Byrnes in his usual position on the sofa. Slouched in his seat, his elbow rested heavily against the arm of the sofa, his jacket cast off and waistcoat unbuttoned to allow the dejected pose. His eyes were fixed on the fire, which was once more lit to chase away the bite in the air as spring gave one last valiant effort to forestall summer. Her usual seat was empty, and Mr. Byrnes nodded towards it when Judith drew closer, though he did not meet her gaze. Situating her skirts, she took her place and rested her clasped hands on her lap.
“I had thought to do some mending tonight, but Stowell Cottage has none,” Judith spoke with an air of nonchalance, though her eyes never strayed from him. “I’ve never known a household not to have mending.”
Mr. Byrnes leaned over, propping his head up with an elbow against the arm of the sofa. “Hatch is fond of that chore. It’s a necessary skill for a sailor, and he made a fair bit of coin doing it for the others. He says it is relaxing.”
Judith frowned at that, contemplating what Mr. Hatcher would be like if he were relaxed. The man couldn’t be more rigid, and Judith couldn’t help but wonder if the hobby was doing its job.
“I think you are right about Mr. Hatcher,” she said.
One brow rose at that, though Mr. Byrnes continued to stare at the fire.
“About him being kinder than he seems. Silent and stoic, certainly, but I do not believe him as cold—”
“Just get on with it.” Mr. Byrnes straightened and faced her finally. Though his words and tone were hard, his eyes were so miserable that she could not take any offense at his outburst.
“On with what?”
Mr. Byrnes huffed, slumping back into his previous position. “With your lecture about how much I ruined this afternoon. That we were having a delightful time until my temper got the better of me. That I caused a scene, which painted me in a poor light among my children’s friends and their parents. That I behaved as no parent ought and have done irreparable damage to my children.”
