After dressing, I headed down to the kitchen to make tea, but was interrupted by a rapid knock from the front door.
I hesitated.It could be Beatrice with updates about Edmund.Or Maddox, if he had forgiven me.Or one of our neighbors asking about the sewing Ma had volunteered me for.She had made do on her threat last night, telling our entire street that I was free to do their mending, and I, to my immense frustration, had accepted when our neighbors expressed their gratitude.It turned out I had a limited amount of no’s in my arsenal when it came to Ma.
Taking a breath, I answered the door.To my relief, Beatrice stood at the threshold, wrapped in her usual brown shawl.
After a brief greeting, she informed me that Edmund’s ankle had healed completely, but his fever had not yet broken.He had vomited up the broth she had given him yesterday, then had fallen back into a restless slumber.
“That’s terrible!”I exclaimed.“How is he now?”
Beatrice sighed.“In a more stable state.But my old bones need a break and I reckon that guard of yours needs one too.I thought I’d call you to watch over the invalid for the rest of the day.Here’s the key to the shack.”She withdrew a brass key from her pocket and handed it to me.
Ma’s voice came from the top of the stairs.“Who are you chatting with, Giselle?Talula needs her table runner fixed for the Harvest.She can’t present her roast without it.”
“Yes, yes, I know,” I said irritably, quickly lacing up my boots as Beatrice let herself in.“I’ll work on it when I’m out.”
“Out?Where can you possibly be going?”Ma said, her footsteps coming down the stairs.
“A walk.Beatrice is here to visit!”I sang, slipping out the door before either adult could protest.I was glad guests were Ma’s weakness.She couldn’t simply leave them unattended.
Rows of witchlights were strung outside, illuminating the cottages and trees in yellows and oranges as I followed the path down to Beatrice’s shack.When I approached, I was surprised to see the door of the building ajar.
I pushed it open.It creaked on its hinges, but no one was within save for Edmund’s sleeping form.The air smelled like herbs and dust.I stepped inside and set down my things.There was a small green armchair and a low table that hadn’t been there before.
A rattling came from outside.I panicked, hoping it wasn’t a nosey witch who would stick their head in out of curiosity.I went to close the shack door, but a pale hand pushed it back open.I jumped back with a yelp.
“Oh.”Maddox stood at the threshold, pushing a strand of blond hair out of his face.A small wagon was behind him, filled with familiar luggage.“Hello.”
“Hi,” I said.
“I went to get our things from Alexander’s,” Maddox said after an awkward pause.
I stepped aside so he could drag the wagon in, though there was hardly enough room.He managed to angle it just so, then closed the shack door behind him.Unable to come up with anything to say, I went to the wagon and began unloading Edmund’s suitcases.
“Beatrice told me to watch Edmund for the rest of the day,” I said.“Why don’t you take a break?You’ve been here all this time.”
Maddox shrugged.“I’m supposed to be guarding him, remember?Besides, there’s nowhere else to go.”
We fell into silence, and though it wasn’t a comfortable one, it was at least a productive one.Maddox unloaded the rest of the luggage and pushed the wagon outside.I pumped some water for Edmund, checked his temperature, and rearranged his blankets.After a while, I settled myself on the armchair by his bedside and pulled out Talula’s table runner.It was an intricate, lacey thing of crocheted leaves and flowers.I was no genius when it came to crochet, but I knew enough to fix the scalloped border that had begun to unravel.
I tucked my knees underneath my chin and stuck a crochet hook into the edge, looping over the white yarn I was working with.Maddox reentered.The room flared brighter as he lit another lamp and set it beside me on the low table.
I continued crocheting.Yarn over, pull through.Yarn over, pull through.The motions were near hypnotic.
Maddox sat cross-legged on the floor and pulled out a sheath of wrinkled papers.The click of glass against wood drew me out of my haze.
“What are you writing?”I asked as he dipped a pen into the ink well he had just set down.
“My novel.”
I looked down at the sheaf of papers in front of him, all covered in dense handwriting.Neat, to my surprise, although I shouldn’t have expected anything less from a nobleman’s son.
The scratching of pen on paper ensued.
“You’re actually doing that?”I said, setting down my crochet hook.
Maddox’s pen stilled.“I said I would.”
I didn’t think you’d actually do it,was on the tip of my tongue.I pressed my lips together but he must’ve caught my meaning anyway.
