He paused with his hand on the door and turned to give me a smile that was neither reassuring nor convincing. “Of course. Just a matter that must be attended to.”
“What kind of matter?”
The amusement deepened, revealing dimples in his cheeks. “I had not realized my whereabouts might distress you so much, Miss Reed. Do not worry, I will be back before you have time to miss me.”
Heat crept up my cheeks. I opened my mouth to retort, but before I could gather the words to defend myself,he disappeared through the door, leaving me stunned and speechless.
The brilliant scoundrel had flustered me on purpose.
I straightened quickly, brushing soil from my hands and untying my apron before hanging it on the hook by the door. I hurried through the study and out into the corridor, but found only Agnes in the entrance hall. She stood very still, staring at the front door where it had just closed behind Dr. Ambrose. Through the window beside it, I watched his tall figure striding down the path toward the gates, already half-swallowed by the growing rainfall.
“Agnes,” I said, and she startled as though I had shouted. “What happened? Where is he going?”
“Hmm?” She turned to me with a calmness that was too arranged. “Nothing to worry about… just a patient who needs tending.”
“A patient?” I frowned. I had not considered that he practiced medicine in an active capacity. “I thought Dr. Ambrose focused on research.”
“Well… that is true enough, but he does still see the occasional patient if needed,” she said, her hands fluttering nervously as she gestured toward the dining room. “Now come, you must be famished after such a long day. I’ve prepared a lovely supper, and it won’t stay warm forever.”
I wanted to press further—to demand something more than these careful evasions—but she had already turned, moving toward the dining room.
I sighed, following as expected.
It was not my concern, I reminded myself firmly. Whatever emergency had called Dr. Ambrose away was his business, not mine.
Agnes had prepared a roast that deserved better than the sparsely occupied table she brought it to. She set the plate before me, but ate nothing herself, claiming to have managed something earlier in the kitchen. She watched me with a tight restless attention that made the food sit heavy in my mouth, her hands twisting a napkin until her knuckles went white.
I made myself take each bite. I chewed and swallowed, and tried very hard to avert my gaze elsewhere. The dining room seemed larger than usual in the silence—or perhaps I felt smaller in it, more aware of the emptiness pressing in. It took several moments for me to realize why.
“Where is Hawthorne?” I asked.
Her hands stilled on the napkin she had been destroying. “Hmm?”
“Hawthorne.” I repeated, setting down my fork. “He is usually somewhere nearby.”
“He’s…” she hesitated. “He’s resting… he seemed terribly tired today, so I sent him to bed early.”
I studied her.
Agnes’s pulse fluttered visibly at the side of her throat when she became nervous. A delicate little thing. A trapped moth beneath skin. I had understood from the moment I met her that she was not a dishonest woman—from the way she navigated the things she could not tell me to the partial truths and redirections. She did not like to lie outright, and so shemanaged information in a way that, at least to her, felt like less of one.
She was a good person, with a wholesomeness I wondered if I had ever possessed—before the rot had spread through the roots of my body, before it had wrapped around my mind until no amount of light could heal the withered flower I had become.
“Agnes.” I said gently, leaning forward. “It is obvious that you are worried about something. You can barely sit still, and if you twist that napkin any further, I fear the threads will come loose.”
“I’m not—” She stopped, inhaled deeply, and smoothed her expression. “I simply worry about Dr. Ambrose being out in this weather. It’s gotten quite bad.”
She inclined her head toward the dining room window, and I followed her gaze. The rain had thickened considerably. The glass was nearly opaque now, the grounds beyond reduced to shifting darkness and the faint golden smear of the greenhouse lights.
I considered her explanation for a long moment. It was plausible, I supposed. I told myself this firmly, though unease remained, crawling just beneath the surface of my thoughts.
“I am sure he will be fine, Agnes,” I said. “He did not have to go far, did he?”
She shook her head. “No, not far. Perhaps you’re right. I shouldn’t worry as much as I do, but—“ She cut herself off, then sighed. “Never mind that. Eat your food before it grows cold.”
We finished the meal in silence.
When I finally set down my fork, she practically leaped to her feet, gathering my plate with obvious relief.
