Chapter 19

Sarah

"And yet, no joy is ever unalloyed,and worry worms its way into delight." ― Ovid

Sarah awoke early on her first day as a betrothed lady. She stretched luxuriantly and smiled to herself remembering Philip's proposal. He wanted to marry her, Sarah Cranshaw, a thirty-year old spinster—not some pretty young debutante. She hugged that happy thought to herself.

But an instant later, a shadow flitted over her. She could not say why she felt a moment of unease. Something felt not quite right. It was silly really. She shook the feeling away and got out of bed determinedly. It was early enough that she might just catch Ambrose before he left for the day. She dressed quickly and hurried down the stairs to the dining room.

She found Ambrose at the table, finishing off his morning cup of coffee. In a rush of affection, she went to him and kissed his cheek. "Good morning, Ambrose," she said gaily.

He had been staring absently at his cup when she came in, a sombre look on his face. At her show of affection, he glanced up, his expression clearing. "Good morning, love," he replied. "You are up early. Exhilaration got your sleep?"

She laughed. "Something like that. You must own that it is a most unusual and unlikely state of affairs for me, being engaged. It is taking time to become accustomed to it."

He smiled humorously. "Well, my dear, you have several months to become used to it, after which you will require several months more to accustom yourself to being a married lady."

She put an elbow on the table inelegantly and cradled her cheek with the palm of her hand. "Such big changes to my life," she mused. "I shall be living in that grand house with a butler and a host of servants at my disposal. How strange that will be."

"And the most important change of all, is that you shall have a husband to share your life with for better or worse. Are you sure, Sarah, that it is Mr Templeton you wish to spend the rest of your days with?"

She was about to assure him that this was so, then remembered the shadow that had passed over her spirit a few moments ago. "I think so," she said uncertainly. "For so many years, he has been the person I yearned for, thinking it was hopeless. To have him propose feels like a dream."

"Sometimes, dreams are better left in the realm of imagination."

"You do not sound as if you approve of the match," she parried with a frown.

"It is not for me to approve or disapprove," he stated equably. "I have nothing against the man."

"Yet still you have doubts," she remarked.

"It is just that I find his sudden courtship of you after so many years' acquaintance a trifle strange. Why now?"

"It could be that after so many years of determined bachelorhood, he now feels an urge for more stability and companionship," Sarah suggested, her brow furrowed. "He implied as much to me in one of our conversations."

"And is that enough for you?" Ambrose asked with a frown.

"It is a sound base upon which we can build something more in time," replied Sarah, sounding more confident than she was. She smiled at her brother reassuringly. "I do not expect, at this stage in my life, to experience the mad throes of romantic love. That is the stuff of young dreams. I will take his admiration and regard, and all the privileges that will come to me as his wife, and embrace all these gifts with gratitude." It was almost as if she were trying to convince herself, as well as her brother. She reached a hand to his. "I think I will be very happy with Philip."

"Your happiness is all I have ever wanted."

"I know," smiled Sarah. "You dear, excellent man."

He rose to his feet and kissed her cheek. "And now, I must be away."

"Do you go to Stanton Hall?" she enquired.

"Not at first. I have business at the home farm, after which I shall stop by at the main house. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, nothing much," replied Sarah. "I meant to go to the library there for some books and thought I would walk with you."

"We can walk part of the way there together. Hurry though."

Quickly, Sarah wolfed down a slice of buttered bread and drank her coffee. Then she went to fetch her coat and bonnet, going to meet her brother at the door not two minutes later. Together, they set off for Stanton Hall in positive spirits, Ambrose turning right towards the home farm while she continued straight on to the main house. She went to the servants' entrance, not wanting to bother Siddons, whose rheumatism had flared up lately. On nimble feet, she headed up the stairs and along the galleried corridor towards the library.

As she stepped over the threshold, she knew at once that something was amiss. A strong aroma of liquor wafted towards her. She closed the library door behind her and carefully walked a few steps more into the room. There, across from her on the armchair on which she had once sat crying many years ago, rested a man, fast asleep.

She tiptoed forward, her pulse suddenly racing. Who was he? She examined him from the soles of his feet to the greying beard on his face, the skin of which was tanned a deep brown. A long, pink scar slashed across the top of his left cheek. Even in sleep, he exuded a sense of danger, as if he could rise in an instant, place his large, rough hands around her neck and squeeze the life out of her. She shivered and stopped a few feet from him, the skin on her arms prickling. She did not recognise this man, though there was the hint of something familiar about his form. He could not be an intruder, for surely his presence would have been known by the servants. Who was he and why was he here?

She was about to tiptoe back out of the library when, as if sensing her presence, his eyelids lifted. Brilliant dark eyes stared at her. She knew those eyes. Could it be? No! But yes. It was him! A rush of elation swept through her.

"Benjamin," she whispered.

In an instant, he was on his feet and striding towards her. The reek of alcohol, as well as the fierce look on his face, had her stepping away in fear. Her back hit the door, and her hands scrambled frantically for the handle.

"Don't go," he cried, his voice gravelly and deep. "I will not harm you, Sarah."

He stopped two feet from her and raised his arms in surrender. She paused too and stared, bewildered.

"I am sorry to scare you so," he continued in that raspy voice. "My appearance is much changed, I know, but it is me, Benjamin, and I would never harm you."

There was nothing to fear. It was Benjamin, her dear friend. Though why he was here and stinking of alcohol, she did not know. Of course he would be changed. It had been five years, during which time he had been at war. When last she had seen him, he had been a young man of twenty-two, a mere boy. Standing before her was a grown man who had seen and done things no man ever should.

She expelled a breath. "Benjamin, I did not expect to see you here. Pardon my poor manners. This has come as a shock."

He ran a bandaged hand through his dishevelled hair, looking shamefaced. "Again, I apologise. If I had known that you would be coming here this morning, I would not have exposed you to any of this… unpleasantness." His eyes pierced through her then shifted to the floor. He said in a softer voice, "I shall go presently to my room and make myself presentable. Perhaps then, you will agree to meet me in the parlour, if you have not grown a disgust of me."

She nodded vigorously. "Yes, yes, that is a good idea." She needed time away from him to regain her composure. She had never expected to see him again, and yet here he was, looking so changed. Her heart tripped over in her chest. With a bright smile that did not quite reach her eyes, she stepped aside to let him pass.

"If you will excuse me," he said gruffly, and hurried out of the room.

As soon as she was alone, she sighed in relief. She closed her eyes and rested her head against the door, willing her heartbeats to slow. Benjamin was here. How could it be? And what was the matter with him? What had happened? She snorted derisively. Of course, she knew. That dreadful, miserable war was what had happened. But still, she had questions aplenty. Why was he here now? What had happened to his hand and why had he apparently drunk a bottle of whiskey and fallen asleep in the library? In the midst of her joy at seeing him was the conviction that something was very wrong.

She opened her eyes and straightened her posture, wrinkling her nose delicately at the strong aroma of whisky that emanated from the discarded bottle on the tray. With a shake of her head, she hurried out of the room and went to search for Siddons. She found him polishing silver in the dining room.

"Good morning, Siddons," she said, putting some cheer into her voice. "I see we have a visitor."

He turned to her in alarm. "Miss Cranshaw, do not tell me you went up to the library!"

"I did, and I saw," she said grimly. "He is gone now to his room to fix his appearance and shall come down shortly. I suggest we have a pot of ginger tea at the ready for him, to help with the after-effects of intoxication. A generous breakfast too."

"Yes, miss."

"And Siddons, do tell me why it is I find Benjamin with bandaged hands and reeking of liquor in the library."

The old butler grew agitated. "Miss Cranshaw, I do not know. Mr Stanton arrived unannounced yesterday morning in a rented carriage and seemed in good spirits, if preoccupied. He went to wash and change, then told me he was going out for a walk. Several hours later, he returned with mud spatters on his clothes and blood on his hands. He refused any offer of help and gave no explanation as to what had occurred. Once he had changed and dressed his wounds, he asked for a bottle of whisky to be brought to him in the library, and there he has remained ever since."

Sarah frowned in consternation. "Do you have any idea where he went?"

"None, miss."

"I see. Well, let us get some food and tea into him, and perhaps then he will give me an explanation."

She turned and headed to the parlour where she sat impatiently, waiting for Benjamin's reappearance. It took him a quarter of an hour before he walked into the room. He came straight towards her and bowed, saying, "Sarah, I must apologise again. I never envisaged our reunion would turn out like it did. Let me start over, please. It is good to see you again."

She curtsied. "It is good to see you too, Benjamin," she said, sounding formal even to her own ears. "It troubles me though that you have injured your hands and seemingly spent the night in the library inebriated."

He hung his head and sighed, but before he could respond, she spoke again, "No, do not attempt an explanation until you have had something to eat and drink. Come along, breakfast has been laid for you in the dining room." She turned to go, and he followed her obediently, taking a seat across from her at the dining table. She poured a hot infusion of ginger tea into a cup and passed it to him, so saying, "This will help with your woolly head."

He sniffed it and scowled but drank uncomplainingly. When he had emptied his cup, she poured him another, then busied herself loading a plate of eggs and sausages. This too she passed to him. As she went to butter some slices of bread, he demurred. "I am not an invalid, Sarah. I am well capable of buttering my own bread."

She ignored him and continued buttering the bread without a word. She placed the plate beside him and nodded towards the food, making it clear she expected him to eat. With a resigned sigh, he did as he was bid. She watched him, her eyes missing nothing as he ate every morsel. When he was done, she handed him a cup of coffee, which he accepted with a muttered, "Thank you." He sipped from it, not looking at her.

She waited a moment longer, then spoke, "Now, will you explain, Benjamin. What happened to your hands? Did you get into a fight?" She wondered who on earth he could have fought with. Nothing made sense.

He stared at the bandages on both hands. "Of a sort," he muttered, then was silent.

Sarah's impatience grew. She huffed in annoyance, "What sort of answer is that? Tell me what happened."

The eyes he raised to hers were bleak. "I got into a fight with a tree," he said gruffly. "It is what I do sometimes when I get into a rage. These days, I am quick to anger. Better I punch a tree than another human being."

"And even better if you punched nothing," she replied tartly. "Why were you angry? Tell me." What was he keeping from her? What could send him into such a rage that he would hurt himself so? Her heart bled in pain for him, but she felt frustration too at her inability to understand what was happening.

He looked away in irritation. "Never you mind. Let us change the subject matter for it begins to fatigue me. Tell me of your news."

"You still have not told me why you are here," she continued, as if he had not spoken.

"Am I under obligation then to explain my every move?" he drawled derisively.

"No, of course not," she replied, stung, "though as your friend, I would think it within my rights to ask why you have made the journey to England all alone when you have only recently reunited with your family."

He sighed dramatically. "This interrogation is getting to be tedious. Why should I not come here? This is my home too, in case you had forgotten."

"I–I did not mean it that way," she stammered. "Only that it is an odd thing to do."

"Well, I am an odd person, so perhaps not such an odd thing to do."

She saw he was not going to give her any more of an answer, so she changed course. "How long do you propose to stay?"

He shrugged, looking unconcerned. "A few months, maybe more. It depends on Daniel and when he decides to return. He does not seem to be in any hurry to do so."

"Are you here to fill his shoes while he is away?" she asked, perplexed.

He inclined his head mockingly. "I am to take over the reins here during his absence. So you see, I get to play lord of the manor. Quite an improvement, don't you think, for someone who only a few weeks ago was hunkering down in a tent at night. I think so, at any rate, and I intend to make the best of it. What better way to start than with a bottle of Daniel's finest whisky?"

Sarah stared at Benjamin in consternation. This was not the friend who had written her all those heartfelt letters. This Benjamin was a stranger to her. "Indeed," she said dryly. "Well, I wish you joy as lord of the manor."

He began to tap his fingers impatiently on the table, as if he wanted to end the conversation. She too was not in any mood for further discourse. She stood, readying to leave. "It was good to see you again, Benjamin. No doubt we will see more of you in the days to come." She walked to the door, and he stood too. She put up a hand to stay him, "No, there is no need to see me out." She opened the dining room door, then paused and looked over her shoulder. "Oh, I nearly forgot. You asked me for my news. Well, I am happy to say that as of yesterday, I am engaged to be married to Mr Templeton." She threw him one final cross look and left the room, making her way quickly out of the house.