Chapter 6

Six

R uth waited until the Earl had gone before setting off to find the Duchess. She tried to focus on the matter at hand and ignore how cold Lord Darnley had seemed in their recent conversation. He had clearly been disappointed in her and in his aunt’s lack of progress, but Ruth knew that things like this took time and was more hopeful. It doesn’t matter what he thinks of me, she tried to tell herself. All that matters is Lady Cecelia and the job I’ve been sent here to do. Still, she couldn’t help thinking about Lord Darnley’s chocolate eyes and the disappointment they’d held.

She found the Duchess still waiting in the arbor, on the same stone bench, looking out at the scene beyond.

"Were you listening to our conversation?” Ruth asked her.

“I could not hear you,” Lady Cecelia said, turning away from the hedge and crossing her arms. “You were too far away.”

Ruth sat beside her. “You would have heard everything quite clearly if you had agreed to meet with the doctor yourself,” she said gently. Then, after a pause, she added, “Why did you refuse to see him? I thought we had an agreement, you and I.”

The Duchess started picking at the light muslin cloth of her shift. Her fingers plucked along the fabric as though she were playing a musical instrument, drawing a silent melody out of the plain white folds. She was quiet so long that Ruth had almost given up on receiving an answer when the Duchess at last spoke.

“I don’t refuse to see him,” she said softly. After all the frenzy of her behavior over the past few days, she seemed strangely content. She seemed to know her own mind for the first time since Ruth had met her. “I just can’t see him now. When the time is right, I will make myself ready for a proper interview. At present, I am quite well in body and spirit and in no need of physic.”

Ruth heartily disagreed, but pushed her disapproval aside and tried to understand. “You complain of feeling ill, and you seem at times confused, my Lady. Do you not think these things would be remedied by a doctor?”

“Perhaps,” the Duchess said simply. She offered no other explanation or argument. Just the simple “perhaps” that hung between them now, quiet and noncommitting.

Ruth took a deep breath. “The doctor himself did not think you were in need of his services,” she said, shrugging. “In truth, he spoke of you as though you were a victim of nothing more than a spot of loneliness. He said that your actions and your ailments could be explained away without the diagnosis of madness or hysteria.”

She had only spent the span of 24 hours with the old lady, but in that time she had hardly heard the woman speak two sentences at a time — and these were always strange and mad phrases, or else antagonistic declarations like the day before. Now, however, Lady Cecelia seemed thoughtful and sad. She folded her worried hands in her lap.

“If he doesn’t think I’m mad,” she asked slowly, “and if he thinks I am merely lonely, then what does he put forth as the cure?”

“He says that you will likely benefit from companionship,” Ruth said simply.

The little old woman looked up at those words, and for the first time her face seemed clear and open, as though she was almost happy.

“What else did he say?” she asked. “He seems a most learned man to have come to such a conclusion.”

“I think he seemed intelligent, and likely a leader in his field,” Ruth assured her. “He simply seemed to imply that loneliness could be a harmful thing, and if given the chance, we might be able to salvage your happiness with some friendship.”

“I do not wish to be a charity case,” the old woman said suddenly.

“You are not the only one that needs friends,” Ruth said quickly. “Please know that our shared companionship is a benefit to myself as well as to you.”

The old woman stared at her for a long time. Ruth felt uncomfortable, as though she was one of the little insects she’d seen pinned on display in the Engletons’ library. At long last, Lady Cecelia stood up and cleared her throat.

“I would like to dress for dinner tonight,” she said. “Do you think you could assist me in my preparations?”

Ruth was so astonished that she took a moment to respond. Dress? For dinner? The woman before her looked every bit the part of an invalid, and a mad invalid at that. It seemed wholly unlikely that this brief conversation, and a mere brush with the doctor, had been enough to change Lady Cecelia’s outlook so completely. She didn’t know for certain, but imagined the old woman before her had not changed for dinner in some time. She gathered herself quickly, not wishing to scare the older woman with her disbelief.

“Of course I can help you,” she said. “Come with me.”

The two walked upstairs, Ruth helping support the other’s frail figure, and when they arrived in her chamber Ruth went to the large oaken wardrobe at the far end of the room and unlatched the dusty doors, revealing a long row of satin and silk gowns ensconced within.

“Do you know what you wish to wear?” she asked.

Lady Cecelia didn’t hesitate. She walked over and ran her feather-light fingers over the fabrics until she stopped on a deep navy gown and pulled it out. It was lighter than it looked, for she was able to carry the long folds with ease over to the bed. Ruth went back into the wardrobe and reappeared with proper undergarments, a fresh shift, and stays. She helped the older woman dress, going through the motions more slowly than usual, as one might tiptoe around a frightened hare.

Lady Cecelia, however, showed no signs of bolting or changing her mind. In fact, she shed her fearful demeanor almost completely and merely stood like a statue in the centre of the room, turning on occasion to help Ruth with the dressing, and otherwise looking at her figure in the mirror with all the sophistication and ownership of a fine lady.

Ruth buttoned the sleeves around her delicate wrists and laced up the back, noticing that though Lady Cecelia seemed a good deal frailer than when this dress had originally been made, it still was a stunning sight against her pale hair and fair freckles. Ruth finished by pinning up the old lady’s hair in a simple fashion with the old French curled lock falling down one side of the woman’s head. It was hardly fashionable these days, but something told Ruth that Lady Cecelia was a woman of old times, with a heart stranded somewhere in the past.

A ribbon necklace and pearl earrings finished the ensemble, and the old woman smiled at herself in the glass.

“It will still be an hour before dinner is laid,” Ruth said quietly. “Why don’t you make yourself comfortable by the window and I will tidy up the room before we go down.”

“You should go change,” Lady Cecelia said, peering at her as though seeing her for the first time. “You have a plain garb. People will think that you are in trade.”

“I am in a trade, of sorts,” Ruth said with a little smile. She was not offended by the older woman’s comment, just as she would not have been offended if a child had said such a thing to her. “I have nothing else fine to wear. If I were to change for dinner I would simply be changing from one dull ensemble to another.” She laughed and shrugged. “But I will say that your wardrobe is impressive,” then, slipping it in sideways as if she didn’t really care she added, “perhaps we can work through it day by day — you wear a different gown every evening until I have seen them all.”

Lady Cecelia smiled and reached her hand up to gently touch her hair. “Perhaps I will,” she said softly.