Impoverished Miss, Convenient Wife. Michelle Styles
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back. His coat twitched as if he knew she would get her words wrong. Suddenly she wanted to rush down the stairs and demand to be returned to London. But that would be admitting failure.
Phoebe allowed herself three steps of panic and then regained control. She knew why she was here. James deserved his chance in the army. A friendship with the Earl of Coltonby was not to be underestimated. Who knew where it might lead not only for James but for Edmund as well? She owed it to her stepbrothers. After all, she bore some responsibility for their predicament.
She took another step and knew there was more to it. She had seen the tears in Lady Coltonby’s eyes and knew how torn she was between her love for her nephew and her need to protect her unborn child.
‘Miss Benedict, I am waiting. Unless of course you want to give up before you have begun.’
Phoebe gathered her skirts in her free hand and marched up the final few stairs. ‘Quit before I have begun? Never!’
‘Well said, Miss Benedict. I hope you will not have cause to regret those words.’
He flung open the door. Phoebe stifled a gasp. The single guttering oil lamp threw shifting shadows on to piles of broken toys and dirty linen, and an overturned bowl of congealed brown liquid oozed on the floor. A freezing wind blew through an open window as a young boy with only a few shreds of hair on his head stood screaming on the bed, his hands clenched around the rails of the iron bedstead. Phoebe shivered slightly and fought to keep her stomach from churning as all around her the echoes of his cries rose. How could anyone with an ounce of compassion in their body permit this to happen? Where was this misbegotten nurse who had been hired?
She glanced up at Mr Clare, but his face had become even more set, harder and more forbidding.
‘Robert, be quiet this instant! You will do yourself injury!’
‘Aunt Diana. I want Aunt Diana.’ A tear trickled down the boy’s face as he rocked back and forth. A terrible squeaking from the bed combined with the wailing to create an unholy din. ‘She is here! I heard the coach! You promised!’
‘Stop this racket!’ Mr Clare thundered. ‘Immediately, Robert Clare! You are ten, not four! Behave yourself, boy!’
The boy stopped his screaming so abruptly that the silence seemed unnatural. Everything appeared suspended in time as if she had inadvertently stepped into one of the panoramas at the Exeter Change. The scar on Simon Clare’s face stood out bright red against the paleness of his cheek. His hands curled tightly as if he was making a supreme effort not to hit the wall. His son’s pleading face was turned towards him.
Her stomach knotted. She felt helpless standing there watching the scene, but her voice refused to work.
A gust of wind rattled through the room bringing with it a flurry of hard stinging snow, breaking the spell.
‘Who opened the window? The room is freezing.’ Simon struggled to contain his temper. The window had been opened to the elements. Against his expressed orders. Windows were to be kept tightly latched at all times. He had been very clear on that. Every one of the staff knew the order. It could only have been one person. The blackness of his nightmare was complete. ‘Robert, did you open this window?’
Robert slowly shook his head as he hugged his arms about him. ‘I am cold. I want a fire!’
Simon slammed the window shut and threw a bucket of coal on the fire, before he turned towards the boy. ‘Somebody must have! Windows do not magically fly open!’
‘I…Ihavenoidea.’ Robert’s teeth chattered as Simon eased him back under the covers. ‘It just opened! When I woke, I was cold.’
‘My orders are quite strict on the matter! No window is to be opened!’ Simon struggled to hang on to his temper. Memories of the last time he had discovered a window open like this assaulted him. ‘Are you sure it wasn’t you, Robert?’
‘It wasn’t me!’ Robert looked up at him with injured eyes.
‘If not you, then who?’
‘Mrs Smith did,’ Robert mumbled, ducking his head. ‘She did it, because I was naughty.’
‘Mrs Smith? You will have to do better than that, Robert. Mrs Smith is a trained nurse. I cannot abide a
liar. Who threw the beef jelly on the floor?’
‘Hate beef jelly. Particularly when it is cold.’
Behind him, Simon Clare could hear Miss Benedict make a little tutting noise in the back of her throat, judging him and finding him wanting. His humiliation was complete. And Robert had been exposed as the liar the nurse had said he was. Why had his life come down to this?
He glared at Mrs Smith, who had come into the room with a superior expression on her face. She was the fifth nurse he had hired for Robert. ‘Did you open that window against my expressed orders?’
The woman looked uncomfortable, but did not speak. The back of Simon’s neck prickled.
‘I did, sir,’ Mrs Smith said finally. ‘I thought the cold air would calm him. In such cases—’
‘Balderdash. I have no wish to hear about other cases and theories. You disobeyed me!’ Simon fought to retain a leash on his temper. For once Robert had not been lying. Did the foolish woman not realise what damage she could have done? The nurse cowered slightly as if she expected to be beaten. He heard Miss Benedict’s sharp intake of breath. Simon sighed. When had he ever had a servant beaten? He might shout, but it was beneath him to discipline his servants in that fashion. He was no boorish aristocrat who gave way to his passions.
‘But…but…please, sir, it was the only way. He was yelling something fierce. I thought it would shock him back to his senses. He threw beef jelly at me.’
‘Never, ever disobey me again!’ Simon banged his cane down on the floor. ‘In fact, get out of my sight and pack your bags!’
‘You need not ask me twice. No amount of money would make me stay and look after that…that monster of a child!’ The nurse turned on her heel.
He shook his head in disgust. Yet another staffing problem to deal with.
The pain in his head grew, throbbing and blotting out everything. He gave his head a shake and with an effort forced the pain to recede.
He thought that once Diana arrived, everything would get easier, and he could dispense with the nurse. But instead he had been landed with a former débutante and Robert was becoming more unmanageable by the day.
He refused to even think about what the doctor had said about how Robert’s mind could be affected by the illness. He wouldn’t let it happen. Robert would get well. He wanted his boy back.
‘I want Aunt Diana. I heard the carriage.’ Robert’s green eyes blazed defiantly as he banged his hand against the iron bedstead. ‘Aunt Diana! Aunt Diana!’
‘And this is the way you behave? Creating a mess like this? To get attention? You would make your aunt cry.’
‘Mr Clare,’ Miss Benedict said in a soft voice, as if he had done something wrong.
‘I want my aunt!’
‘You have shamed me, Robert. Truly shamed me.’ Simon shook his head. ‘When this is cleaned up, then we will discuss your aunt.’
Robert closed his mouth, attempted to draw a breath and failed. As Simon watched in horror, the boy’s limbs and face began to jerk uncontrollably.
A small noise came from Miss Benedict behind him in the doorway. Simon wanted to tell her that this was not the Robert he knew.
‘Stop that, Robert! You can control yourself if you want to. Concentrate, boy!’ A surge of fear swept through him as Robert gave no indication that he had heard. He wanted to do something for the boy. He wanted to prevent what was coming next. ‘Cease that noise this instant!’ He put a hand to his head and whispered, ‘Please!’