Chapter 13

13

I count myself in nothing else so happy

As in a soul remembering my good friends.

Richard II, Act 2, Scene 3

"Maggie! Dearest, where have you been?"

Once inside the dark sanctuary of Ann's rooms, Winny's face was the first to appear. Both of her sisters came running out of the shadows, throwing themselves around Maggie and sweeping her into a tight embrace. She sank into their arms, hearing footsteps from around the corner as Ann, Emilia, and Ruby came to investigate the commotion.

"We were worried sick and put about to all the staff and anyone who would listen that you should be summoned at once," said Violet, pushing Winny to the side and holding Maggie at arm's length. Violet's inspection was thorough and completed through a beady glare. "Is something the matter with you? Your face is very strange. Did that Darrow man or his brother tie you up? We have heard the most conflicting and wild stories!"

Maggie gently removed Violet's digging fingers from her shoulders, and carried herself, exhausted, to Ann. Poor Ann had been crying most of the evening, if the tear tracks and welts beneath her eyes were any indication. "I have not been tied up or anything of the sort," Maggie reported to them all. They moved as a singular organism, around the corner, down the short hall, and into the low-lit, warm core of Ann's bedchamber. The red curtains stirred gently around the balcony, honeysuckled air blown up from the gardens below. Fanny was there, dutifully laying out blankets and pillows for the sudden profusion of ladies crammed into Ann's quarters.

She gave Maggie a quick, apologetic glance as she smoothed her hands across a heavy quilt.

As the women huddled on Ann's bed, all eyes and ears were trained on Maggie. They were like a gaggle of wives waiting for news of the war, all clasped hands and mouths open in anticipation.

"I'm sure Fanny has told you what she knows," said Maggie, looking her way once more.

"She has, and though she behaved badly indeed, we must not forget that a gentleman of Paul Darrow's experience is horribly persuasive," Ann replied. "Do you think he was the man in shadow on the balcony?"

"I do." Maggie took her hands and sighed. "And his own brother believes him to be the culprit, too."

Fanny cursed Paul Darrow softly, receiving an admonishing look from both Ruby and Winny.

"Recall, sisters, that we found a note beneath a vase on a bench in the gallery," Maggie went on.

"Of course! And it must be related!" Violet exclaimed. "I was so distracted with our aunts that it utterly slipped my mind."

Maggie briefly explained the note on the bench to Ann and the others, catching them up, finishing with "And it mentioned a meeting at midnight, a blue-and-gold place. Mr. Darrow—not the horrid one, the other one—and I thought it might mean the Sapphire Library or perhaps the new Grecian temple, but we could only choose the one to investigate. We went to the library at the appointed time, but we must have guessed wrong, for the couple did not appear."

Which reminded her: Mildred and Eliza. She blanched and slithered toward the edge of the bed, tugging her sisters as she went. "We shouldn't stay any longer, Ann. I think it would be best if we returned to our rooms, or Aunt Eliza will notice our absence and fret."

And judge. And condemn.

"Absolutely not!" Violet tore her hand away, sulking. "Ann needs us."

"I'm inclined to agree," Winny added softly. She worried her lower lip with her teeth. "If it is pleasing to Ann, and she wishes it, it would be better to surround her with the support she deserves."

Ann touched both sisters on the shoulder gently. "Of course you should stay. There is a dangerous man on the loose, tying up ladies, terrorizing the house with his devilry. I would much prefer to know you are all safe here with me."

Ruby giggled, kneeling at the foot of the bed. Her cousin Emilia elbowed her. "It isn't funny," she hissed.

Withdrawing, Ruby rubbed her arm. "But it is just like the scoundrels in your books—"

"How would you know? Your head is only ever in the clouds," Emilia muttered.

"I read," Ruby shot back, wrinkling her nose. She charged on defensively. "And everyone says my penmanship is unmatched, and it is only because I spend so much time copying out passages from The Romance of the Forest ."

"So that is where my books are going, it's you that's stealing them!"

"Borrowing!"

The girls went on, bickering harmlessly. In her heart, Maggie wanted to stay. It was warm there, and she was so very tired. But she couldn't stop thinking about her aunts, and how cruelly they had described her. Before she could argue, Ann drew Maggie away from the others and the bed and toward the blousy curtains of the balcony. As she passed her cousin, she added, "Hush, Ruby, or my headache will return with claws!"

Ruby shrank and retreated to the corner, where she took up one of her ill-gotten books from Emilia and kept to herself. Giving a stilted curtsy, Fanny left them, latching the door behind her.

"Sweet as clotted cream but sometimes just as dense." Ann sighed. "Now, Maggie, just as your sister noted, your expression has been wrong since you came in and I would know why. 'Tis my name on the line, yes? If there is something I should know…"

Maggie lowered her voice and took Ann's hands in hers, squeezing. "When I was in the library with Mr. Darrow, we happened to overhear my aunts discussing some…distressing aspects of my character. My life. In short, Ann, they tore me to pieces. Wolves rend with more kindness."

"Ah, and so you would whisk away your sisters to please your aunt?" Ann's serious frown melted away.

"If she can be pleased."

Ann's eyes brightened and she pulled Maggie closer. "Exactly."

"I don't know, I just don't know," Maggie whispered, looking out the window and toward the sloping lawn. All the lanterns had been put out. The darkness there seemed to pulse, consuming, infiltrating the room with velvety black fingers. She shivered. "They want Mr. Gibson for me, and I have a mind to relent."

"New South Wales?"

"The very same."

Ann pushed her jaw forward, and she nodded slowly, rhythmically as she visibly combed through her feelings on the matter.

"All they think about is money. And the way they talk about my mother! I had no idea they resented her this deeply for marrying Papa. If only I could be free to pursue my book, see it published, that would be income for us, perhaps even enough to grant Violet a good dowry. But there is no time and no lenience, the world for us is what it is, and Aunt Eliza has a mind to turn us out of her cottage to punish me, teach me a lesson, and if Mr. Gibson is rich and willing…"

Softly, Ann laughed at her. It wasn't mean-spirited, just pitying. "So then, you will marry Mr. Gibson and be as wealthy and embittered as your aunts."

Maggie gasped. "Ann!"

"What? Am I wrong?"

"Not at all wrong," Maggie admitted with a tense shrug.

"But it is easy for me to say such things, for I have gotten everything I wanted, or at least, I did have everything. Now that is imperiled because of one couple's public mischief, and the readiness of others to turn on a foreigner. Nothing is constant, Maggie, nothing is certain, except perhaps what ultimate desire burns in your heart." Ann gestured toward her own bed, where Winny and Violet had curled up side by side, napping like kittens in a basket. "Your sisters adore you, Maggie. They will forgive. They will understand. You are not your mother, and they are not your aunts."

Maggie said nothing, her heart too big for her chest. There was too much to consider, and foremost in her mind was how selfish it would be to never think of her sisters' happiness and only prioritize her own. Society would not change just to please her, and the weight of such things tended to crush the person, not the rules.

"Now," said Ann, leaning into her. "You and Mr. Darrow were alone in the library? For how long exactly?"

It was Maggie's turn to laugh, this time incredulously. "Is that all you can think about at a time like this?"

Ann drifted away from the window to rejoin the others on the bed. "My mother prepared me for such things long before I ever touched English soil. She warned me that my first mistake would be my last, that if I could make myself into the image of a perfect English gentlewoman then I would be tolerated, that I must not be just accomplished, but the most accomplished, that I must not be beautiful, but the most beautiful. That I must not be agreeable, but the most agreeable. These were not suggestions, Margaret, they were rules governing my survival."

"It sounds impossible," Maggie murmured, following. Fanny had returned carrying a tray of light refreshments. She hadn't realized how hungry she was until her eyes landed on the food.

"It's meant to be, and the frustrating part is that your aunts know it," Ann told her simply. Then her golden eyes brightened as Fanny brought around the food, and she picked out a small pastry studded with glistening dates. All the girls scampered close to find something to eat. Ann reclined on the bed, studying Maggie with keen interest. "Nothing would distract me better than a story, Maggie. Perhaps you could start with what transpired this evening between you and Mr. Darrow."

"You're relentless," Maggie muttered, perusing the tray of treats. But the women had gathered round, and it was clear there was no escaping this interrogation. Curiously, she found it easy, even exciting, to discuss the perplexing Bridger Darrow.

Later, she slept fitfully. Violet snored and Winny's feet were pressed against hers, ice-cold. Lapsing in and out of consciousness, her dreams were filled with stormy eyes and a looming presence, not sinister, not imposing, just there and watchful. It was not long until a disturbance outside the doors roused them all, for the physician from town had finally come and he was eager to see Ann. The ladies composed themselves in a panicked flurry, with Ann pretending to be at death's door while everyone else sniffled into handkerchiefs and blotted their eyes. Fanny left them to welcome the doctor, Madigan. He was known to the family, dined with them often, and was, according to Ann, a well-meaning but nervous person.

Ann called Maggie to her side with an urgent waving of her hand, turned onto her side, and whispered, "You mustn't linger here with us. Did you not have suspicions that the kissing couple might meet at the Grecian temple?"

"I can't imagine they would risk meeting there in broad daylight," said Maggie, hearing the doctor shuffle inside.

"No, but there could be some trace of their coming and going, and…oh, Maggie, I don't know, but we mustn't give up looking," Ann cried, rubbing her eyes to make them redder. She didn't have to try very hard; it was obvious she had not slept and had spent most of the night crying silently. "I don't know how much longer I can bear to lie about being ill!"

"Then, of course I will go," Maggie replied, squeezing her friend's hand with a heartening smile. That seemed to soothe Ann. And Maggie was grateful for an excuse to leave, for it was becoming stifling to sit in the bedchamber with so many anxious ladies.

"See that Ruby and Emilia leave with you," Ann added, then closed her eyes, pretending to breathe heavily. "They are terrible liars."

"Very well. You must be our wretched Lavinia awhile longer, Ann, but only until you are triumphant Hero."

Ann managed a weak smile. "It is not so hard to act like death has come for me. The pain of losing Lane's love and trust—"

"It is not lost. Soon he will regret ever doubting your loyalty and throw himself at your feet begging for forgiveness, and when he does, I sincerely hope you hesitate, if only to teach him a lesson."

Madigan peered into the room, arriving on soft tiptoe steps, his wig crooked and his face sweaty. At his approach, Violet tossed herself across the bed, whimpering and wailing. Fanny, eager to curry favor with Ann again and do her part, had unearthed a porcelain basin and a cloth, and came flying through the archway, flinging Maggie aside to press the wet rag to Ann's forehead.

It was clear to her that the women present had the situation in hand, props included. Madigan stammered out a greeting that was immediately eclipsed by Violet demanding that he cure Ann at once.

"A new bride! And to die so young of a broken heart, one cannot bear it!" she shrieked.

"Ladies, p-please—"

"God bless you, sir," Maggie said somberly as she passed him. "Thank God you are here, and just in time, too. I fear Ann has taken a turn for the worse."

"H-heavens…" He trundled over to the bed with a leather case tucked under one arm. Judging by his pink, flustered face, Violet would soon have him believing the sun rose in the west and set in the east. Or at the very least, that their friend was ill enough to require his immediate and sustained attention.

"Emilia? Ruby? Why don't you come along with me, now, give the doctor room to work his miracles," said Maggie, summoning them to her side with a quick pat on her hip. Emilia hesitated, glancing haltingly at Ann, but Ruby seemed ready for a change of scenery. The chamber was hot, the curtains drawn, the set for their drama giving the perfect, dreary impression.

Winny followed them a few steps, taking her leave at the door. She leaned in close to Maggie to embrace her. "Be careful, sister. I know your feelings toward Mr. Darrow have changed, but his brother is still a menace, and it makes me shudder to think he is out there somewhere, prowling the grounds."

"I promise not to visit the temple alone," said Maggie.

But she would not be going with Emilia and Ruby, apparently, for Ruby had already trotted off down the hall, and Emilia had attached herself to Lane and Mrs. Richmond, who had come to oversee the doctor's arrival. Poor Lane looked wretched, though her aunt, freshly dressed for the day and draped in a lace shawl, kept her expression a tight mask. There was fury and outrage boiling under there, Maggie just knew it, but she greeted her cousin and aunt politely, then excused herself. She was eager to change out of her ball gown and into something more appropriate for snooping around; a quick look toward any of the windows revealed a dark ceiling of clouds. It would likely rain, and she would need a sturdier frock.

"There is a small party having a picnic later," Lane told her in passing. "Mother thought it would be a clever way to distract the remaining guests."

"Someone has to clean up this mess," she heard her aunt mutter as Maggie thanked Lane and hurried away. A picnic might be the best way to blend in while searching the temple, for her sister was right—it was dangerous to set off alone, and she dreaded to think of what Paul Darrow might do if he caught her by herself in the Grecian temple, far, far away from the main house and any helpful bystanders.

Finding her way back to the chamber she was meant to share with her sisters, Maggie allowed herself a brief nap, blissfully alone in the big bed, then forced herself to start the day, wash, and dress. She chose a cornflower blue walking dress that Violet always said brought out her eyes and a striped spencer with thick, embroidered toggles.

There was a soft swishing sound from the direction of the door. Maggie went to discover a small, folded message had been slid into the room. Puzzled, she snatched it up, noting the lightly perfumed scent and elegant hand.

Miss Margaret Arden,

Though we are only a little acquainted and not yet friends, I feel I must issue another heartfelt warning. It gives me no pleasure to write these things to you, but I feel honor bound to protect another woman from the great harm I suffered at the hands of Mr. Darrow. Perhaps only my pride and confidence were wounded, but the scars linger and sometimes burst open, renewing the pain.

He is not a man to be trusted with the heart of a sensitive woman. There is no evidence to suggest that he has changed in the years since our acrimonious goodbye. He has no regard for the opinion of ladies, no respect for women generally, but excels in hiding the depth of his disdain. For much of our courtship he concealed his ill feelings, only revealing them when I bared my soul. It was not lightly that I confessed to him my interest in composing my own poems and stories and sharing them with the world. His reaction was quick and brutal, and the insults cut deep. He assured me that no one would ever be interested in what I had to say, that the mind of a woman was better occupied with painting tables and decorating bonnets, and that the true subtleties of literary achievement were attainable by men alone. Upon my honor, he said it, and I have the letters still to prove it.

If his beliefs do not offend you, if you think him to be truly reformed, then ignore this note and my previous warnings. I leave his judgment in your capable hands, and, if you were to take my advice and withdraw your friendship from Mr. Darrow, I know we could be very good friends indeed. Unfortunately, until such a time, I cannot allow myself to be drawn back into his web of cruelty and misdirection.

Yours,

Regina Applethwaite

Regina's fixation on Mr. Darrow struck her as more than just simple jealousy. After all, Regina was perfect in almost every way and could have whomever she wanted. It seemed foolish to discard the lady's misgivings altogether, particularly when she hadn't made up her mind where Mr. Darrow was concerned.

And yet. And yet. His eyes had burrowed into her thoughts. All the well-intentioned warnings in the world might not be enough to pry him loose.

The rain held while she bolted down a light breakfast in her room, sitting before the very window where her pages had made their escape. It felt like years had passed since that moment. Her eyes wandered from the table to the window, to the closet where the remainder of her manuscript was tucked away. It was a shameful secret, she realized, and one she had been too willing to flaunt about. Her Aunt Eliza was probably even then in conversation with Mr. Gibson, exaggerating Maggie's charms, and being sure to never bring up the mysterious pages that had appeared all over Pressmore. If she married him, she would have to keep her heart's longing, her passion, stuck in a closet like her book. And it would have to be guarded with a permanent lock while she had his children, grew old, and became as resentful and cold as her aunts.

Maggie pillaged the desk for quill, ink, and paper. All the ingredients for a letter were present, though she was not addressing anyone in particular. Words flowed out of her. She had been without a quill and ink for two days and it felt like a burning flood had built up inside of her. She had to let it out, and so she did, tip scratching furiously across the pages. It all came out—her shock and sadness, her worries for Ann, her fear of letting down her family, Regina's note, and then, without warning:

If I could marry a man like Mr. Darrow, a man who understands the importance of books, the good they can do, the magic they create, then I might be content after all—to make my family proud without packing my heart away in a dark and dusty room, that is my dearest wish. There is no Margaret Arden without her writing and her books. One day, that will prove a boon, not a burden.

She looked down at the page, startled, then hastily struck through the last few sentences, folded the paper, and stuck it back in the desk drawer, leaving it there with Regina's note.

He hates your book, and an intelligent woman is convinced of his villainy.

But a man can change.

Maggie stood and paced to the far window, sliding against it. The cool window was heaven on her cheek. Outside, she noticed a thin stream of people wandering out of the house and down toward the hedge maze. The picnic! Had so much time passed? Maggie pinched her own wrist on Ann's behalf, then grabbed the spencer and hastily buttoned it on. The ribbons on her bonnet streamed from her hand as she ran from the room, hoping with a fast-beating heart that Mr. Darrow would see the guests and join them.

Join her .