“Good night.” He lifted a hand in farewell as he climbed the path up his hill and Enyon turned back the way they’d come.
Every step upward, though, made his heart weigh a little heavier. When he got inside, Mamm-wynn would no doubt ask him, as she had every other time he came home since Wednesday, if he’d found Beth yet. And, like every other time, he’d have to tell her no. He’d tried explaining that Beth was where she wanted to be—without sharing the worry his sister’s exact words had buried deep within him—but Mamm-wynn didn’t even seem to hear those assurances.
He couldn’t blame her. He didn’t believe them himself.
A few minutes later he was passing through the familiar doors of home, listening for an indication of where his grandmother was to be found. When he heard the strains of the piano, he followed the music with a smile. She didn’t play much these days. Her hands were too arthritic, and her eyes had trouble reading music. But once in a while she would sit and play one of her old favorites that both fingers and mind had memorized long ago.
He slid as quietly as possible into the drawing room and sat in his favorite chair, just listening. The song wasn’t exactly as smooth sounding as it had once been, but it still brought a smile to his lips. And when she finished, he applauded, as he’d always done.
She spun daintily on her bench, fluttering a bow and smiling. Not at all surprised, it seemed, to find him there. “That one was for you, Ollie. And for her, of course.”
His smile flickered. “Who? Mrs. Dawe? I didn’t think she cared for Bizet.”
Mamm-wynn laughed. “No, not Mrs. Dawe. You silly thing. As if you don’t know very well of whom I’m speaking.”
Did he? Should he? She couldn’t mean Beth. His sister had never enjoyed opera at all, even just the instrumental parts. It had always been a bit of a joke in the family. “I’m afraid I’m at a loss.”
Still chuckling, she stood. “I won’t tell her you said so, darling. Don’t worry. Though really, a man ought to know his wife’s taste in music.”
His . . . wife? A stone took over where his stomach had been earlier. Not knowing what to say, he just watched her hum her way from the room.
Maybe she’d thought him his father. Though that scarcely brought any comfort. Whether she thought him someone else or thought he had a wife, the truth of it was the same: confusion had clouded her mind again.
He buried his hand in his hair and leaned on the arm of the chair.
He wished she’d just asked about Beth again.
9
Rain—or its weak, misty sister—had plagued them again for days, and while Mabena might have braved it on her own, she wasn’t about to suggest that Lady Elizabeth Sinclair simply don a mackintosh and wellies and they go to Tresco as planned. Because Libby would do it in a heartbeat, and then Mabena would be parrying curious glances and outright questions all day as to why an earl’s sister was prancing about in the rain.
It had taken her until church on Sunday for her to put aside her irritation over that too-chatty Charlotte Wight. She needed nothing to put her in another mood. Not when Libby, by her very desire to be forgiven for something she didn’t even do, made her feel so very prickly in all the wrong ways.
And the thought of people smiling and laughing over her employer being so different from what they expected just soured her mood all over again. So they stayed on St. Mary’s through the rainy days, talking to ferry captains and bakers and grocers and anyone else Beth was likely to have spoken to while she was here.
Not that any of them offered the slightest insight as to where she could have gone when she piled her boat full of stuff and sailed out of Hugh Town’s quay. Like Mrs. Pepper, they’d all just assumed she’d gone home, and no one had seen her or her boat since. But they did confirm that she’d stockpiled enough food and whatnot to see her through weeks, when one combined her purchases from different stores. Wherever she was, she was well enough fed, and the weather had been mild.
When Tuesday dawned bright and promising, it took only one brow-raised half-smile from Libby to have Mabena sighing out her agreement over breakfast. “Yes, all right. Today we’ll go.”
Libby’s excited squeal made her feel more like a heel than ever. A lady shouldn’t be so blasted easy to please. Mabena almost wished, as she scrubbed their porridge bowls clean, that Libby were more like her mother—or even the ghastly Edith. At least then the Scillonians would exchange five words with her and have no question at all as to why Mabena kept her dress buttoned up to the chin and hadn’t come home once in two years.
“Are you trying to scrub the enamel off that bowl, Mabena?”
The soft tease tried its best to pull a smile onto her lips. But the sour won. Mam would accuse her of having put vinegar in her tea instead of sugar. “Yes, that’s it. Blighted enamel.” She set the bowl atop its mate with too loud a clatter. And glanced up.
Mistake, that. It showed her Libby’s pinched brows, and the uncertain curve of her lips. “Have I . . . ? Or perhaps you’re embarrassed to be seen with me on Tresco? By your family?”
The sigh that heaved its way up took all the fight out of her. “Don’t be silly, Lady Elizabeth. Perhaps it’s the other way round.”
It wasn’t, exactly. A lady couldn’t possibly expect her maid to come from anything grand. There was no reason to be embarrassed by her family. If anything, Libby would find the Moon home to be more than she likely expected.
But every time Mabena saw it, she still heard those vile words in her ears. “You aren’t enough, Benna. Your father’s a blighted shipwright, not a gentleman or an academic. You—you’re more suited to be a maid to the sort of woman I need than a lady yourself.”
Blast that blighted Cador Wearne. She ought to have kicked him from the bluff then and there, straight into the Atlantic he was so set on crossing. With the rage he’d kindled in her chest, she probably could have kicked him all the way to those coveted academic circles of his precious London.
“Mabena?”
And now she was gripping those bowls like she’d as soon grind them into dust with her bare hands as put them away. She slid them into their place in the cupboard and forced a smile. “Sorry, my lady. Bitter memories keep finding me. This is why I haven’t come back till now, I suppose.”
And she wouldn’t have come now if Beth Tremayne had the good sense to mind herself and not go disappearing. Mabena wasn’t ready to face all this. Not by half. And now she was casting blame on her oldest, dearest friend.
She dragged a long breath into her lungs. “Let’s bring a change of clothes. If I know you at all, one day in the Gardens won’t be enough. You’ll want to go back tomorrow, so we’d better just plan to stay overnight.”
Libby looked ready to skip to her room. Such a simple thing really shouldn’t bring an earl’s sister this kind of joy. “Perfect. Where shall we stay? With your family? Or is there a hotel or inn or something?”
“My mam would be honored to have you—and may disown me if I tried to stay anywhere else.”
“Meow.”
Mabena scowled down at the striped nuisance winding about Libby’s legs. She’d tried to forbid the cat from coming inside, but it had “slipped in” the other day when Libby held the door open—deliberately too long, if one were to ask Mabena—and had hidden under the lady’s bed until Mabena had given up trying to force it out.