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“Leave me alone!” That was clear enough. This was followed by another groan.
“It’s best to leave him alone.” Phoebe tugged at her sleeve to pull her away from the door. “He’ll emerge on his own, eventually.”
That didn’t sound at all good. “How long does this last?”
“Three days, usually. Sometimes four.” Phoebe reached out to grab her. “We’ll have to stay here until he comes out of his room again. I am so glad you are here and that I am not alone. I don’t know what I would have done.”
Phoebe suddenly appeared vulnerable and frightened, and it reminded Anna that despite her precocious ways, she was young, still. Too young to have to deal with such situations. Anna patted her hand reassuringly. “Come, let’s have some supper, and then off to bed. Surely, tomorrow the situation will look different.”
Chapter 5
The next morning, they had breakfast in the tap room, and there was no sign of the earl.
“We shall have to wait until he comes out on his own,” Anna said, setting down her napkin. “How about we practise some French conversation, Miss Phoebe? You said you needed to improve your French.”
She grimaced. “Yes, but that was a fib only to get my uncle to take you with us. Now that it’s just the two of us, there is no need to maintain the charade. I’ll spend the morning in the meadow picking some flowers.” She jumped up.
Anna grabbed her wrist quickly and pulled her back down in her seat. “Mais non, mademoiselle,” she said softly, and continued in French, “you forget I am the headmistress Miss Hilversham and today we shall practise basic conjugation of the -er verbs and definite and indefinite articles.”
Her face fell. “But—”
“No buts, mademoiselle. I am here as your teacher, and your uncle hired me to teach you French. Unless you’d rather I do not do so, in which case I question my presence here and I shall have no problem at all returning to Paradise Row and resuming my former activity.” Anna wasn’t certain whether she could really leave Phoebe alone with her terrible uncle, but she would have to do precisely that if the girl did not cooperate. It would be a shame about the money, really, but she’d also be relieved to be rid of the burden of having to take care of a girl she had no business taking care of. In addition to the mad earl, of course.
Phoebe’s shoulders slumped as she stared at the floor. No doubt a similar thought had occurred to her as well. “Very well, Anna,” she whispered.
“Miss Hilversham,” Anna corrected. “If I am to do this, you must cooperate, and you must call me by that name. And you must accord me all the respect and politeness you would accord to me if I really were Miss Hilversham. Can you do that?”
“Very well, Anna. I mean, Miss Hilversham.”
“Bon. Now, let’s turn to French…”
Anna and Phoebe spent the remaining morning practising and conversing in French. They interrupted their lessons for a nuncheon and afterwards took a walk in the meadow near the inn. Later, they had tea and spent the remaining afternoon reading The Adventures of Sinbad from the Arabian Nights, which had been a favourite of Miss Robinson, a former teacher who had married Lord Tewkbury and moved to London. Phoebe had never forgiven her for that, for Miss Robinson had been her favourite teacher. She’d read Sinbad’s tale at least ten times and knew it by heart. Anna gave her the challenge of retelling the tale in French. Thus, dusk fell, and St John still hadn’t emerged from the room.
“He isn’t opening the door,” the innkeeper’s wife informed Anna, for she’d tried to bring him trays with a light repast, a tea tray and later some dinner. But she had to return down the stairs each time, bearing the untouched tray.
Thus, they spent the second day, and the third. By the fourth day, Anna was worrying about what to do, for not a sound could be heard from inside the room. What if he had died? She imagined his cold, stiff corpse on the bed, the eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling. She shuddered.
Hesitating by the door, she gathering all her courage to knock. Just as she raised her hand to rap on the door, it opened magically, as if on its own. She jumped back, her heart slamming against her ribs.
There he stood, even more dishevelled than he’d been before, his pale face glowing in the dark, his eyes flickering wildly under bushy eyebrows, his chin and cheeks covered with dark stubble.
“My lord,” Anna gasped.
“Water,” he croaked.
Well, one thing was for sure. He wasn’t dead. Neither had he turned into some sort of monster. Yet.
It took her a minute to understand that he’d said “water”, an entirely normal, reasonable kind of word. He didn’t express a desire for blood, or brains, or anything remotely like that.
“A-at once, sir,” Anna stammered, and ran down the stairs.
She returned with a tray that held not only a jug of water but also a bowl of vegetable soup and bread.
The room inside was pitch black as all the curtains were firmly drawn. The air was stale and sour, smelling of vomit and urine. Anna gagged. She placed the tray on the table, ran to the windows, tore the curtains aside and opened the windows to let in fresh, clean air. Then she turned to take in the room. The blankets were on the floor, as were items of clothing that he’d torn off. The water bowl lay overturned on the floor, his coat was lying in a puddle that Anna hoped was water, not something else. Shards of glass from a broken mirror lay sprawled on the floor.
“Good heavens, what happened?” As the weak sun flooded into the room, she saw that he was merely wearing a shirt, his trousers flung to the corner of the room. Mesmerised, she stared at his powerful, strong legs. He leaned against the bedpost, cradling his head in both his hands as if shielding his eyes from the sun.
“Close the curtains,” he groaned.
