They Buried Her: Chapter 4

“Hughes was following behind me in the carriage, he arrived this morning.” The voice blurs around my ears, but there’s no mistaking Mr. Farrow’s hard growl even through the pounding in my head.

“Is it wise sir, for all of us to take her back home together?”  This voice had a thicker accent.  A bit Northern, like someone born there, but didn’t stay for very long.  So then this must be Madeline.

“No.  You’ll be going home with Hughes. I’ve hired a coach to return her home.”

“And you’re going with her?”

“A woman of her standing traveling out through the city alone?  This would be the end of her reputation.”

“And since when have you ever cared about something like that?”

“She helped you.”

“Everett,” Madeline’s voice is stern now, “what are you planning?”

“Nothing you need concern yourself with.”

“My arse.” She hissed and I had to force myself not to open my eyes in shock.  “She did help me. Help us.  She doesn’t need to get caught up in my mess anymore than we need to get caught up with some fancy lords and ladies.”

“Such high standing a lady that she rode through a storm to a pawn shop in the dead of night?” Why would he ask something like that?  Each word of his question felt like invisible strings tying themselves to my limbs and I couldn’t take it anymore.  I opened my eyes, not having to try very hard to seem like I’d just woken up.

“How’re you feeling, Miss?”  Madeline leaned in close, laying her rough hand gently on my forehead.  

“I’m alright.  A little dizzy, I think.”  Even saying these few words brought a wave of nausea rolling over me.

“Would you please call for the doctor, Madeline?  And I’m sure a cup of tea for Miss Everly would not go amiss either?”  Mr. Farrow asked her lightly.

“Of course, sir.”  Sir, not Mr. Farrow this time. The click of the door leaves a heavy quiet in the room.

“Please know you need not worry.”  He sat up in his chair, much like my father when someone began to talk about the economy.  “The doctor has looked at you and, other than some pain, you’ll be alright.”  This shift in his tone, the way he’s speaking to me so differently than when he was speaking about me, made me feel uneasy.

“Where is the pawnbroker?”  As bad as she had felt coming into his shop without knowing his name, she felt awful now.  If memory serves her correctly-- everything before she lost consciousness was hazy and out of order-- he had defended her.  Perhaps even saved her life.

“Mr. King is tending to his shop.  He asked I let him know when you woke.  He’s quite worried.  Do you know each other well?”  I wondered if this would have seemed an odd question to me had I not heard his conversation with Miss Madeline.  Either way I would not have been able to tell him the truth.

“I hadn’t met him before last night.  That’s very kind of him to be so concerned about me.”  I hadn’t had much occasion to lie to anyone besides my parents. It was impossible to tell whether I was any good at it with a stranger.

“Certainly, he seems a generous man.  Or perhaps hoping for a generous reward?”  His eyes weren’t leaving mine and I thought I knew what it was he was searching for there.  To see if he had provoked me.  If insulting Mr. King’s honor would elicit some kind of reaction from me.  And though I knew his aim and truly did not have a relationship with Mr. King, he had helped me a great deal last night and at more than some personal risk.

“I’m surprised to hear you say this given the help he offered you.  You were losing the fight when I stepped in, I cannot imagine how it would have gone had Mr. Walton had his way and you were left to confront him on your own.”  Which wasn’t exactly fair or true, given that it was my kick to his side that first turned the tides of their row.  Happily, however, I saw that even though I had believed I was playing into his hand, his cool eyes widened in shock, completely taken aback by my words.

“Yes,” he said, recovering quickly, “you are quite right.  I have more reason to be grateful to him than anyone.”  

There was a knock at the door and then the soft click of it opening, Madeline appearing carrying a large steaming cup.  Behind her was a small, buttoned up man with a bulky leather case in his wrinkled hand.  

“Good morning, Miss. My name is Dr. Green, I’ve been in to take a look at you.  It seems you took quite the tumble.”  So he had not been told the truth.  The question was, was that for my benefit or Mr. Farrow’s? 

I was able to sip lightly at my tea while he examined me. Checking my heart rate and then feeling gently around the crown of my head, pausing when I couldn’t hold back my hiss of pain.  Mr. Farrow  had moved so the doctor could have his seat and was now having a quiet conversation with Madeline on the other side of the room.  She glanced my way once, giving me a nervous smile when she saw me watching them.  It was only a few minutes before she quietly left the room.  

“She’s well enough to travel.”  The doctor said over his shoulder to Mr. Farrow.  “Only short distances mind you, and be sure she gets something hearty to eat when you arrive home.”  

“Of course, Doctor,”  Mr. Farrow walked back over to them and shook his hand, “thank you for everything.”  As soon as the doctor had left, he turned to me and said, “Finish your tea and we’ll be on our way.  I’m sure you’re eager to return home.”  And I could only hope he didn’t notice how my drinking slowed to a near halt.

Loading me into the carriage turned out to be a surprisingly futile exercise.  At first we thought it might be enough for me to hold the railing as I went down the stairs.  However, this quickly proved to be a wild underestimation of my injuries.  At the first step my knee gave out and my aching head flopped forward, nearly sending me toppling down the stairs.  Mr. Farrow, who had had the good sense to get a few steps in front of me lunged forward to catch me, causing me to fall face first into his chest.  I had barely a moment of relief that I found myself leaning against him instead of toppling down the stairs before he shoved me backwards, my back colliding with the hard, wooden steps.

“It’s enough that I can’t ride my horse home Mr. Farrow, we need not make it so I can’t even walk.”

“Yes,” and I was surprised to see he was rather frazzled, “yes, my sincerest apologies.”  He was tugging at his jacket, bringing his lapels close over his chest. “Perhaps we can try another way.”  And he proceeded with an odd half carry, like he was trying to lift me without allowing any of his body to come into contact with mine.  His awkward attempts were taking so long that poor Mr. King, with his bad leg, felt obliged to climb up and get me himself.  

When we finally made it outside, Midnight had quite a fright at the sight of me in Mr. King’s arms, quite helpless. Rearing and kicking, she nearly overturned the carriage she was now hooked to. 

“Let me walk on my own a bit.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Miss.”  Mr. King said.   

“I agree with Mr. King.  Surely you don’t need the extra strain.”  Mr. Farrow told me from the position he took up at me head, his arms underneath me as though he should cath me should Mr. King lose his grip. 

“She won’t settle until she sees I’m alright.  It’ll only be a few steps.”  Slowly. Mr. King released his grip, allowing me to take my own weight.  Mr. Farrow continued to hover around me like he was ready to catch me at any moment, though after his last attempt I think I’d rather be left to fall.

Gingerly, I leaned onto my injured leg, testing it out.  Sharp, stabbing pain traced its way up my leg, pulling a throbbing ache behind it.  But it was only a few steps from me to her and then would only be a few steps back.  There isn’t anything that hurts too much to take only a few steps.  As soon as I was moving on my own, Midnight settled.

“Can you see I’m alright?”  I reached out to her, to comfort her initially and then to lean on her, my face resting against her neck.  Turning her head, Midnight snuffled around my hair and face.  “All up to standard?”  I laughed at her, and I think the sound was enough to put her at ease.  I turned to find Mr. Farrow waiting with his arm out.

“Surely this won’t be too strange for her.”  He couldn’t have known that the sight of me on a man’s arm would have been a strange sight to anyone who knew me.  That wasn’t something I wanted him to know either. I promptly laced my arm through his, quietly grateful for having something to lean on. Once at the carriage, he and Mr. King each took one of my elbows to hoist me inside.  I was quietly impressed-- I’m not exactly small.

Once safely inside with my skirts tucked in and the door shut, I leaned out of the window.  “Mr. King, I am truly so grateful for your help.  Thank you.”  

“Tell Mrs. Yardley ‘ello from me, will you?  And stay out of trouble if you can.”  That last bit he said more sternly, and I found it oddly comforting that he should care enough to have even said it at all.

“I will.”  I’d certainly try at least.  Though it was hard to shrug off the feeling that trouble was the only reason I was in this carriage at all.  Mr. Farrow walked Mr. King back to the inn’s entrance.  They spoke for a moment, longer than I would have thought, before Mr. Farrow extended his hand for a surprisingly good natured shake.  

“Are you ready to be getting home?”  Mr. Farrow asked as he climbed lightly into the carriage.

And it should have been an easy question.  Cursory.  But at the mention of home, my throat tightened, a burning emptiness filling my stomach.  Home was where Ava was.  What would home be for me now?  How could I face that word again when everything inside of me knew its meaning to be lost?  Something there has been no time to dwell on since I’d arrived here and now came flooding back to mind in this fresh moment of quiet.

Tears burned at the back of my eyes, my temples throbbing as I tried to hold them in.  Tilting my head back against the soft booth, I let out a long, slow breath, and managed to whisper,

“No.”  Eyes closed, I couldn’t see if he was even looking at me.  I thought perhaps I could feel it though.  The weight of his curiosity.  But granting me more grace than I expected, he gave the roof a gentle wrap with his fist and we were on our way.

The ride back was blessedly silent.  Though I don’t know if that would have been any different even if I had felt capable of conversation.  My misery lay over me like a steel blanket anchored in my clenched throat.

I couldn’t even muster the dread at what my mother would say.  Not that I had to wait very long to find out.  Only a few hours passed before we were pulling into our drive and she was outside, waiting.  I had opened my window shade sometime along the drive, tired of being trapped in thoughts of graveyards and sick buckets.  It was for the best I had, as it gave me some warning of what I would be entering into.  Never had I seen her look less like herself.  Drawn, like she hadn’t tasted food in weeks.

Everett got out first, turned and offered me his shoulder. I placed my hand on it, narrower than I expected, though I was grateful for it as that allowed me to grip more tightly.  He was sturdy as I hopped down onto my good foot, and had the sense to grab my other arm as my aching head had me ready to collapse again.  I could hear my mother call out,

“Thomas, you’re needed outside,” as she crossed the yard. Though not a shout, it was quick and sharp, and certainly the loudest I’ve ever heard her.  

“Mrs. Everly,”  Mr. Farrow took a small step towards her, attempting to make some effort to meet her while, I imagine, not letting me fall. “My name is Mr. Farrow, I am the Lord of Hollow Hill, only about a few days’ ride from here.  I was passing through to get to town when I saw your daughter had fallen from her horse on the road.  I took her to a doctor immediately, and am happy to report there is nothing seriously wrong.  Only a twisted ankle and bumped head.  He did say she would need some good peace and quiet.”

I couldn’t help but turn to look at him in surprise.  Not that he had lied, of course he would.  But that he had included such a recommendation.  That he was attempting to spare me and scolding or lecture.  

Thomas had reached us now, Mr. Farrow passing me gently over to him.  I felt a bit like a baby to be honest.  This was then made immeasurably worse when, instead of allowing me to lean on him, Thomas simply lifted me off the ground.  Any protest I may have uttered silenced by my mother’s voice in my head-- You don’t wish to be treated like a baby, yet you are crying like one.  As soon as I was steady in Thomas’s arms, he began to walk back to the house.  The last thing I could see over his shoulder was my mother extending her hand to Mr. Farrow and saying,

“Thank you for your kindness.  That you troubled yourself so for our daughter’s sake tells me that you are an honorable man.  I am Mrs. Everly, and it is my great honor to welcome you to my home.  Please come in and rest.”