Cassandra straightened. She could only imagine what this must look like, Mr. Warrington and her engaged in hushed conversation.
But then again, perhaps it was exactly what it looked like.
Mrs. Helock swept in with a fresh candle and set it atop a table. “Thank you for staying with her, Mr. Warrington. I’ve arranged things in the kitchen for the time being. I’m happy to sit with her now.”
He nodded and looked down to Mrs. Towler’s still form. “Very well. I’ll be back to check on her soon.”
Mrs. Helock turned to Cassandra. “No need for you to remain either. I’ve got things quite in hand.”
“I don’t doubt it, Mrs. Helock. But you can’t stay here indefinitely by yourself. I will come by in a few hours and take your place so you can get some rest.”
At first Mrs. Helock’s eyes flashed with indignation. But then her expression softened to one Cassandra had never seen before. Was it sadness? Exhaustion? Defeat?
Cassandra did not wait for a response before she followed Mr. Warrington from the room to the small landing just outside.
They paused in the shadowed corridor, next to a bay window that framed the courtyard below as dusk was falling. As he turned to face her, he ran his hand down his face, scratched his fingers through his hair, then shook his head. “I’m sorry. I’ve said more than I ought. I’m afraid I put you in an awkward situation.”
“No, no. I—I’m glad you did. I’m glad to know more about you. About your family.”
He appeared almost nervous. “With everything happening I forgot to ask you how your day with Rachel was.”
“I think she enjoyed herself. It was good for her to be around other women closer to her age. She’s social by nature.”
“And you? How did you enjoy the day?”
She hesitated. “I hate to bring it up to you in light of what is happening.”
“A diversion, Miss Hale, would be very much appreciated.”
She retrieved the folded vellum from the pocket in her gown. “Something happened. That is, something was found, and I am not sure what to make of it.”
His brows drew together. “What is it?”
“Here.” She unfolded the paper and extended it, pointing to her name. “See? That’s me. It has to be. 1787. That is the year I was born.”
He turned the paper over. “This has been ripped out of the record book, hasn’t it?”
“It appears to have been.”
“Where did you find this?”
“Betsy came across it in the church vestry. At the bottom of a closed drawer of all places. She shouldn’t have been searching there, but her intentions were to help. Who would do this?”
He folded it and returned it to her. “Clearly someone who doesn’t want your identity confirmed.”
“But Mr. North checked days after I arrived in Anston. So it was before anyone, even Peter Clark, would have known I was here.”
Mr. Warrington raised a blond brow.
There was only one way to interpret his expression. “What—you think Mr. North tore it out?”
Mr. Warrington drew a deep breath. “He does have access to these sorts of things.”
Silence hovered awkwardly between them in the darkened corridor.
“May I be blunt?” he blurted suddenly, almost forcefully, as if the words he was about to speak could no longer be withheld. “It’s obvious that Mr. North is taken with you. His intentions are glaringly evident, and not a soul could question him on that count. After all, you are, well . . .” His words faded and he cleared his throat, as if changing his tactic. “Of course he’d find you charming. But think for a moment. What if he was already aware of your inheritance when he arrived? He said himself that people tell him things. Maybe he has reasons to keep you from knowing the truth. I, of course, don’t have the answers or any evidence as such, merely an observation.”
Cassandra bit her lower lip. Firmly. In the space of two hours, each man had warned her of the other. She’d considered Mr. North a bit conceited and arrogant perhaps, but deviant?
And yet, the confident set of Mr. Warrington’s jaw challenged that thought.
His tone lowered. “I would hate to see you taken advantage of, by anyone.”
“I’ve made my way so far alone,” she said proudly. “You needn’t worry about me.”
“I know. You have your dagger.” His tease lightened the mood only slightly until the directness of his words refocused them. “What I mean is that I’ve grown very fond of you. I think you and I share similar thoughts. Perhaps similar views of the world.”
At this, she could only stare.
Did he know how his words were affecting her?
“But then again”—his tone darkened—“perhaps now is not the time to talk of such things.”
Not ready for their conversation to end, she nodded, battling disappointment.
After they bid a rather solemn farewell, Cassandra returned to the nursery. As she did, Mr. Warrington’s steps echoed in retreat in the opposite direction. She was not exactly sure what had transpired between them, but one thing was certain: not only did she have to worry about her future, but now she had to guard her heart.
Chapter 38
The next morning, Cassandra awoke with a start.
She immediately winced and rubbed the crick in her neck, stretched, and glanced around the sick chamber. Around midnight she had relieved Mrs. Helock of sitting with Mrs. Towler, and apparently sometime during the midnight hours she’d fallen asleep.
Cassandra stood, tightened her shawl around her shoulders, and crossed over to Mrs. Towler’s bed. A gentle, bright glow from the early sun filtered through the filmy curtains, and the fire simmered in the grate. Mrs. Towler appeared as she had the night before. Her chest rose and fell evenly with her breathing, but her skin was even paler than normal. Cassandra sat next to her on the bed and, unsure of what else she should do, took one of Mrs. Towler’s limp hands in her own, just as she had many weeks prior with Mrs. Denton.
As much as she tried to fight it, at the sight of Mrs. Towler she was transported back to Mrs. Denton’s final days. Their illnesses were quite different, and yet there were so many similarities in the way the events transpired. Cassandra understood this woman did not like her and did not approve of her. In fact, Cassandra was probably the last person Mrs. Towler would want sitting with her. But perhaps this would be a turning point for them both. Cassandra wished she had handled her final hours with Mrs. Denton differently. Perhaps now was the chance to change the tide with Mrs. Towler.
Approaching footsteps sounded in the corridor, and Cassandra turned to see Mrs. Helock in the doorway holding a tray.
“She hasn’t woken yet.” Cassandra shook off her own sleepiness and nodded toward the tray. “I don’t think she will take anything.”
“This isn’t for Mrs. Towler,” the housekeeper said. “This is for you.”
Surprised, Cassandra looked at the tray of tea, bread, and jam. “For me?”
“You’ve been kind to sit with her.” Mrs. Helock set the tray at the end of the bed and moved to the other side to adjust the blankets.
Shocked by the change in the woman’s attitude toward her, Cassandra studied her from the corner of her eye. Mrs. Helock had been crying. A handkerchief was tucked haphazardly in her sleeve, and she was still dressed in her wrinkled muslin gown from the previous day.