Page 26 of The Lost Lord
“No. You are to lie back and take your rest. I shall inform Lord Northcote.” Mrs. Kent insisted. Her lighter footsteps followed Livingstons unmistakable heavy steps retreating. Miriam rushed to the window. A moment later, Mrs. Kent’s parasol and form crossed the street and came into view. Richard had come dressed in his best suit with a beaver hat that concealed his face. His gloved hands worried the edge of his jacket. Miriam traced the windowpane with one fingertip. He and Mrs. Kent engaged in a short conversation, during which Richard’s head bobbed twice as if an agreement. Had Mrs. Kent repeated her father’s warning? Miriam’s heart sank.
Mrs. Kent turned away abruptly. Richard glanced up at her window. Miriam waved, gently at first done with increasing fervor as she realized he could not see her. Whether for the glare on the window or his attention diverted to the wrong window—the house did have many more than it needed—a sense of foreboding overtook her. This couldn’t be the last time she saw him.
“Don’t let my asthma ruin this,” she whispered. “I love you.”
Alone, Miriam tried the words on for size. She whispered it again against the windowpane. Her breath could not fog the glass on a warm day, but she traced the letters with her fingertip anyway. I. Love. You.
They felt childish, like scrolling unfamiliar letters on a slate with chalk.
They felt womanly, as though she had been ushered into a secret world she wasn’t sure she yet understood.
Most of all, they felt right, and that was enough.
“What are you doing out of bed?” Mrs. Kent glowered from her doorway.
Caught in the act of disobeying her nurse’s orders, Miriam froze. “I wanted to see him.”
Slowly she unfolded her knees from the divan beneath the window. On her feet she felt lightheaded, though whether that was the result of the medicine she had ingested or the abrupt change of altitude, or the head-spinning, exhilarating knowledge of her heart’s true desire, Miriam couldn’t say. Meekly she collapsed into her soft mattress of horsehair and wire and let her nurse tuck the sheets around her legs.
“His lordship asked me to give you this.” Mrs. Kent produced a small ivory square of paper from her pocket. Miriam tore into it with the eagerness of a child at Christmas.
Dear Miriam,
I cannot participate in this façade moment longer. My feelings for you are too strong to withstand the loss of your gentle presence on this earth. I am deeply ashamed for having put your life at risk this afternoon. I beg your forgiveness and wish you a full recovery. Know that you shall always hold a very special place in my heart. I cannot risk your health for my own pleasure.
Devotedly yours,
Richard Northcote
“No,” Miriam whispered. Pain stabbed through her like a thousand knives. She would rather endure a hundred asthma attacks than lose him.
“I needn’t read the contents to know what it says. His lordship told me as much. He adores you,” Mrs. Kent said sympathetically. “Enough to leave you alone. You ought to be grateful.”
“I’m not,” Miriam gasped. Was there any better proof that Richard loved her, too, than his willingness to leave her? Yet, she did not want this. “Please. I need to be alone right now.”
“I am here for you,” Mrs. Kent replied, hesitating at the doorway to her bedroom.
“I am asking you not to be. Please. Go.”
The moment the door clicked shut, hot tears leaked out her eyes and onto Miriam’s cheeks. One way or another, she would show Richard that she was strong enough to love him in every way.
* * *
“Watch your foot!”
Howard’s warning came not a moment too soon. Richard leapt backward and narrowly avoided having his foot crushed by the box rolling down the gangplank. Howard, with his peculiar genius, had devised a diabolical contraption. It was a length of rods on pins suspended between two planks. Lighter crates could be half-rolled, half-pushed down the platform while heavier items were lifted with hooks and raw muscles. In this fashion they could cut the time it took to unload a ship by one-third.
This box, however, was too heavy for the roller plank treatment. Moreover, its lid was loosely secured. The entire crate appeared rickety. At this point in the afternoon, Richard was too hot and too tired to care about poor manufacturing. But the possibility of losing his toes made him lose his temper instead.
“Damned cargo,” he cursed, and kicked the box hard to move it the last foot onto the safety of the pier. The lid jostled loose. In the three-inch gap, something moved.
Not something. Someone. Several someones. A shine of dark skin. The whites of terrified eyes stared back at him.
“What…” Richard trailed off.
“Secure that box,” snapped Howard. When Richard didn’t move, he grabbed a mallet and slammed the crate back together. “Help me move this.”
Knowing what the box contained, Richard wordlessly helped his friend shove the heavy crate up the dock and onto a cart to be moved to the warehouse. It sat alone and accusatory on the cart. When they were done moving it, Howard cast a baleful glare at Richard.
