Page 34 of House of Thorns
Chapter Ten
Guilt
A raindrop struck the tip of Olivia’s nose as she reached for the knob of the shop’s door. She shot a quick glance at the dark clouds churning overhead as a gust of wind blasted her face. No doubt, it would be another night for the pots.
The day had been a horrible one in all respects. She’d lost every penny she’d saved. While, with hard work, she could recover, it was still a terrible blow. And Nicholas? From the moment he’d arrived, her pulse hadn’t stopped racing. What kind of woman was she? She couldn’t harbor feelings for her cousin’s soon-to-be husband…but then, Deborah hadn’t responded as expected on that score. She’d acted as if she hadn’t wanted Nicholas there.
She’d have to visit Deborah, soon— when their grandfather wasn’t there—to clear the confusion. Olivia clenched her jaw. Her grandfather. No. She wouldn’t waste a single moment of her time thinking of that cantankerous old man—especially when she had a roof to fix and a concert to organize.
With her thoughts spinning in circles, she hurried to the parlor.
“Good evening, child,” Mrs. Lambert greeted as Olivia stepped inside. “I’m afraid it’s bad news. The night watchman’s been down with a fever this past week, and the neighbors have noticed naught a thing.”
Olivia grimaced. Of course, such would be her luck. Her money was as good as gone. She didn’t even want to think of her mother’s locket.
“Still, you mustn’t give up hope, lass,” Mrs. Lambert said. She tilted her head at the window. The rain had begun to fall in earnest. “It’s not all bad news, aye? It’s raining something dreadful.”
“And that isn’t bad because?” Olivia scowled. Her shoulders ached. She couldn’t bear the thought of lugging even more tiles onto the roof.
To her surprise, Mrs. Lambert chuckled. “Then, you haven’t noticed.”
Olivia glanced around the tiny room. Nothing had changed. Her father still sat at the piano, locked in his own world. Puzzled, she turned back to the woman. “Noticed?”
“I shan’t spoil the surprise then, lass.”
Olivia shook her head, bewildered, but when no more information was forthcoming, she shrugged and joined her father at the piano.
This night, he didn’t respond when she dropped a kiss on the top of his head. He stared into the distance, his fingers running over the keys. The melody was a sad one. Mournful. Tears misted her eyes. She knew what it meant. His thoughts dwelt upon her mother.
Olivia turned away.
“You’ll need me in the morning, lass?” Mrs. Lambert asked gently.
“Early, if you can.” Olivia dug in her reticule for the shillings and dropped them in the old woman’s hand. At least, she could still pay that small debt. She yawned and cocked a rueful brow at the steady beat of the rain outside. “I’ve still got a roof to repair.” Then, music to print and deliver, musicians to pay…and an opera singer to find. She sighed. “Is William still here?”
Mrs. Lambert hefted herself from her chair and began packing her darning into her basket. “His mum came and fetched the lad. His da’s gone and broke his leg on the farm. He’s needed at home, child.”
Olivia frowned, frustrated, although she couldn’t deny a sense of relief. As far as shop boys went, he did precious little for his pay. Most likely, he’d saved her the trouble of letting him go.
“You’ll be a sight faster without him, lass,” Mrs. Lambert commented with a nod, her mole hairs bobbing in agreement. “Well then, I’ll be off.”
As the door closed behind her, Olivia led her father past the kitchen to his bedroom on the other side. At the door, she paused and breathed deeply of the faint rose and lavender scent. Even after nearly four years, the room still smelled like her mother. It was almost as if the curtains, counterpane and rug didn’t want to let her go as much as they didn’t.
With a sigh, she guided her father to the bed. He sank against his pillow and expelled a long breath himself, but then, for the briefest of moments, a lucid gleam entered his eye.
“You need to oil the Devil’s Tail, lass. I can hear it squeaking all the way into the parlor.”
Olivia blinked. She’d noticed the sound from the printing press’s handle just that morning.
“And check the tympan alignment. There’s a knocking that’s worrisome.”
Olivia held her breath. Knowing she had only a fleeting moment, she looked deeply into her father’s eyes. “I love you, Father.” Before she’d even finished, he was already fading away.
“Olivia, child, my how you’ve grown,” he murmured absently.
His moments of clarity were so few and far between, mostly serving as a painful reminder of what she’d lost. Sometimes, she wondered if she’d rather not have them, at all.
Tears gathered, robbing her of speech.
