But that only made the breath in her lungs shudder, and Phoebe fought to clear her eyes as the world blurred. Despite defending herself from her husband’s aspersions, she wasn’t a simpleton. There was no mistaking the correlation between her actions and the consequences standing before her. Whether intentional or not, this was her doing.
“I am sorry,” she whispered, though the words were too small.
Mr. Colby chuffed and shook his head. “The world would be much simpler if blame were so easy to lay. Do not fret, my dear. My actions brought me to this moment far more than yours.”
Heaving a sigh that puffed and billowed around her, Phoebe looked away.
“‘Tis the truth, Mrs. Godwin,” he said as a heaviness entered his tone. “I always knew remaining was a gamble, and I ought to have made the journey long before this. Or set aside funds for my dotage, rather than drink it all away. Or chosen to remain home and become the mason my father wanted me to be, rather than join the Navy. A good many decisions led to this moment, and only one of them was yours.”
Reaching for the basket at her feet, Phoebe handed it to him. “I have packed you some of that lemon cake you like so much and some bread and cheese for the journey.”
“Ah, you are a dear,” he said, giving it a good sniff. “This will do me a world of good. You’ll see.”
“Be safe,” she whispered.
“Don’t you worry about me, madam. I shall be right as rain, one way or another.” But that statement was punctuated by a wracking cough that did little to soothe her feelings.
Samuel moved closer, but Phoebe stepped away when he placed a hand on her back.
“Take good care of your wife, sir,” said the old man, shaking the rector’s hand. “A good marriage is the greatest source of happiness, and your Mrs. Godwin is an excellent woman.”
Not willing to explore the meaning or motivations behind that warning, Phoebe shifted to stand beside Mrs. Broad, slipping her arm through the lady’s; despite the thick coat, Mrs. Broad was already shivering, and Phoebe wanted to get her back beside the fire as soon as possible.
The Constable and Samuel helped Mr. Colby up next to Mr. Masters before the former took a place in the back of the cart.
Tipping his hat, the escort said, “Do not fret, ladies. I will have him delivered to the next parish safe and sound. It may take a few days to relay him between the parishes, but he’ll be home before he knows it.”
Except the only home he had was the one at her back.
With a flick of the reins, the milkman set the cart rumbling down the lane, the jugs rattling with every bump.
“He shan’t make it to his parish,” whispered Mrs. Broad, though she raised a handkerchief and waved it vigorously as the cart disappeared around a bend.
“We will simply have to pray for a miracle,” said Phoebe, though her heart wasn’t in it. Guiding Mrs. Broad toward the house, she added, “Now, let’s get you warm lest you take ill.”
But before they did, Mrs. Broad paused and shrugged off the borrowed coat. “My thanks, Mr. Godwin. You are a kind lad.”
That “kind lad” retrieved it without looking at Phoebe, though he managed a polite nod to Mrs. Broad before shrugging it on and marching off down the lane.
Silence was generally a comfortable thing for them. Or had been when they were content to live those parallel lives. They hadn’t felt the need or desire to speak, and though those moments had been steeped in apathy, matters had been mostly peaceful.
Now, the silence felt weighted and deliberate, and a night’s sleep had simply placed more distance between the pair—one that neither was willing to breach and left Phoebe feeling all the more alone in the world.
“That man takes too much responsibility on his shoulders,” sighed Mrs. Broad. “I don’t know another rector who would bother to rise early to see off a removal. My Mr. Broad was an angel of a man, but I doubt he would’ve thought to rouse himself from a warm bed for such a small matter.”
“It isn’t small to Mr. Colby,” replied Phoebe, leading her along.
“Nor is it for your husband.”
Those words hovered between them, too near the mark to be met head-on, but Phoebe did not want to think of Samuel. Theache in her heart was too great for her to contain if she gave it free rein, and she did not want to weep.
So, Phoebe fixed her attention on guiding Mrs. Broad along the path with a measured pace, welcoming the distraction of seeing the older woman safely inside. Small though it may be, the task was something concrete to do. Something that did not require her to give shape to the feelings she couldn’t bear to examine.
Mrs. Broad’s cottage received them with a familiar warmth that carried the faint scent of herbs, though it was noticeably emptier without Mr. Colby seated in his place by the fire. Phoebe helped the lady settle, smoothed the shawl about her shoulders, and saw her tucked in with quiet efficiency.
And when she stepped back outside, Phoebe did not hesitate before turning in the opposite direction that Samuel had taken, setting a brisk pace that warmed her toes and filled her lungs. But the silence followed her still, heavy and unresolved.
Chapter 32
