Page 2 of The Ones Left Behind
He is not here to save you now.
No, she thought bitterly, though she knew it was unfair. Peter had been killed and she had been left behind on her own. She had known before she asked that Peter’s family had no love for her. They had objected loudly as had the old earl when Peter had decided to marry her and take her with him.
“We can all be together forever,” he had said kindly.
He was not the one she had wanted to marry. It was water under the bridge, she thought as she stopped atop the stone bridge and watched the small stream trickle beneath, her last pair of shoes so thin it was a miracle they had not yet worn a hole through the sole.
More memories beset her where she stopped to rest, of skipping stones when the water had been deep enough, fishing and swimming… It felt like a lifetime ago, though it had only been five years since they had escaped for the Peninsula; two since Peter’s death. Now she felt trapped and hopeless again.
She had written to Peter’s brother, Sir Nigel, when she returned, but although he had made it clear there was no home for her to be found with Peter’s family, he had given her twenty pounds of guilt money. Twenty pounds did not last very long, even with the strictest of economies.
She had learned how to cook and mend whilst following the drum and that had been the only way she had survived thus far. If she’d had family to live with, then perhaps she could have managed. But now, short of selling her body, she had run out of options.
After walking the long drive, she raised her hand to the knocker of what had once been her home. The lion’s head watched her as though it would devour her.
The door opened to the face of a stranger. “May I help you?”
This was not at all what she had expected. The butler was to have recognized her, yet a stranger’s face stood before her, one of perhaps forty years with dark hair that was barely etched with grey around the ears. As she stood there in her widow’s weeds, which were in as poor of shape as her shoes, she began to lose heart.
“I would like to see his lordship,” she said, making certain her diction indicated she was a lady even if her appearance did not.
“I am afraid his lordship is not here,” the man returned, though not unkindly.
“I should like to wait for him. I have travelled a great distance to speak with him,” she pleaded.
“You may be waiting a very long time, ma’am. His lordship is off fighting with His Majesty’s army on the Continent.”
Kitty grasped her chest. “He went back?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“How could he?” Tears came unbidden to her eyes. He had said at the time of Peter’s death that he would also be returning home to take over his duties as Earl. He had also assured her, if she ever needed help, to come there and seek it of him. Yet here she was, and he was back on the Continent, fighting against the horrid Napoleon and risking his life. Had Peter’s not been enough?
“I think you had better come in, ma’am,” the strange butler said. Kitty was too dismayed to argue and followed him in to the receiving room off the entrance hall. “I will have some refreshments brought to you while you compose yourself,” he added and bowed himself out of the room.
What was she to do? Would anyone still know her there? She had no proof of who she was. It had never occurred to her that Matthias would be gone. Suddenly she could not control the tears that fell. She had kept them in for so long they refused to be held back.
“Oh, my poor dear,” a kind elderly voice said as the servant set down the tea tray and held out a fine linen handkerchief to Kitty.
“Thank you,” she said, trying to control her emotions. She blew her nose and took a deep breath. “Forgive me. I was not expecting his lordship to be absent. He said, if I ever needed anything…” Kitty dried her eyes and looked up. “Mrs. Harlow?” she asked, recognizing the elderly housekeeper, who was still short and stout, now with her familiar top knot completely white and her smile lines deeply etched into her face.
“Miss Kitty?”
“’Tis I.” She nodded.
“Why I would not have recognized you!”
“I am in a sad state,” she agreed. “Things have not been easy since Peter died.”
“I did hear the awful news. I had thought you might return to Willowsbend.”
“They did not care to welcome me there. I have been trying to make my way in London.”
The housekeeper handed Kitty a cup of tea. “I cannot say I am surprised. Sir Nigel is not the most charitable of gentlemen. What can I help you with? I have no doubt his lordship would wish it.”
“He said as much, but I would not have come had I any alternative. I thought perhaps he might find me a position.”
“I do not think he would be pleased with that, Miss Kitty.” She frowned, using the pet name from Kitty’s youth.
