Page 8 of The Enigmatic Governess of Buford Manor
Now he stopped speaking, appearing embarrassed by his gaffe as he gazed about, seeking such a person. Rose could almost read his thoughts, Who in such a modest home would have such capabilities now that Philip was gone?
“I can read, sir,” Rose told him with surprising sharpness and he appeared taken aback by the revelation. “While I am not quite a bluestocking, of course.”
“Of course,” he replied smoothly. “And I shall leave my address. I do hope you will use it if you should find yourself in need of comfort.”
He turned stiffly, leaving Rose to stare after him with eyes filled with yearning.
“Why did you cut him off?” she asked, anger coloring her voice. “I must know what happened to Philip.”
“For what purpose, Rose? It will not bring your husband back to you.”
“Yes but - but–” she sputtered, her mind wrought with confusion. Bridget did make a good point. There was no real need to understand the gory details of her husband’s death.
I always expected this news. Why do I handle it so poorly? I was prepared for it.
“I must know!” Rose choked, and her neighbor patted her hand as if she was a small child in need of placation.
“You will,” Bridget assured her, her tone softening. “Simply not today. Today, you must eat, rest and celebrate Philip’s life.”
The little I had to do with it.
Her heart was broken to realize the men in uniform had spent more time with her beloved than she. Yet Rose did not protest, sinking back into the chair with Bridget’s guidance as if she had lost all ability to fight.
“Finish your plate,” the older woman insisted, and Rose dutifully reached for the dish.
I must listen to Bridget. She has mourned the loss of her son. She understands the pain I am feeling.
The knowledge did not make Rose hurt any less.
* * *
A gentle clanging roused Rose from a fitful sleep. She lay in her bed, her long fingers wrapped into the quilt serving as an anchor through her nightmares.
In her dreams, she was on a sinking ship, engulfed in raging flames, Philip just beyond her reach.
“Do not go further!” she cried. “Come back!”
He did not seem to hear her as he surged toward the men who shot guns from the side of the massive ship, the din of war filling her ears.
“Philip!” she screamed but he was falling to the ground in a cloud of gun smoke and as she howled, rushing toward him, the smoke stung her eyes until she could see him no longer. Captain Balfour appeared, looming over her with a cruel smile, his thin lips curled over his crooked, yellow teeth. His sooty eyes were the same color as the grey of the smoke encasing them both.
“There is nothing you can do now, Rose. He is lost at sea.”
Rose began to scream until her eyes parted and she realized she was safe in the warmth of her bedchambers.
The rattle below her bedroom grew louder and Rose sighed, raising her body upright. She still wore the black dress and for a moment, she could not recall retiring to her bedchambers but slowly, the vision of Dr. Bernard standing over her returned. Idly, she wondered how long she had been asleep.
Surely not more than a few hours,she reasoned as she made her way toward the staircase.
“Bridget?” she called tentatively, descending the stairs. “Is that you?”
“Yes, child.”
She followed the voice into the galley where her neighbor tended to the offerings left by the kind townspeople.
“Has everyone gone?”
“Yes. You needn’t be up.”
