Heart of the Beholder

20

THERE ALWAYS SEEMED TO BE so much to do and not enough time to do it all, especially sleep. Bridgette had actually put herself to bed early, but spent the night tossing and turning. A headache had crept up on her while she’d walked home the day before, and it was now a pounding migraine. Her body ached like she had run a hundred miles without stopping. The rising sun pushed its bright light against her closed eyelids. Maybe if she pretended to be asleep, the day would wait to start until she was ready.

A loud clatter made Bridgette jump off the sofa and put her fists up, as if she knew how to punch someone. Birdie stood by the stove with a pot in hand, a pan and kettle at her feet. The room spun, and Bridgette let herself fall back onto the sofa and groan. “Goodness, Birdie, you about caused my heart to stop,” she said and put a hand to her thumping chest.

“Birdie starving,” she complained. “You w-were sleeping dead.”

“I was about to get up,” Bridgette said, struggling to get air in her lungs.

“I shook you, and y-you sleep,” Birdie said with a frustrated grunt.

“You tried to wake me?” Bridgette asked. “I don’t remember that.”

“You were dead,” Birdie said plainly. Bridgette tried to laugh, but ended up having a coughing fit. She groaned again. “You didn’t g-go to the well.”

“I was too tired,” Bridgette mumbled. “I was planning on doing it after I got back from the manor. I will get started on breakfast,” she said and stood up again only to sit back down before she toppled over. “We have a problem.”

“Birdie starving.”

“Okay, we have another problem.”

“The b-birds are constipated.”

Bridgette couldn’t find the energy to laugh. “Well, then, we have a third problem.”

“What p-problem?”

“I seem to be ill.” She had a coughing fit again.

“I will g-get Doc,” Bridie said enthusiastically.

“No, it's okay,” Bridgette cut in. “I am sure there is nothing to be done except get rest. Do any of your birds want to deliver a message for me to Thornwood Manor?”

Birdie grinned and shuffled out of the cottage. Bridgette managed to stand up and use the sofa to support herself as she walked toward the table. She got a piece of scrap parchment, along with a quill and ink, and wrote out her apologies for not being able to come to work today. Birdie came back with a feathered friend in her arms. Bridgette had learned it was a pigeon in the beginning of her friendship with Birdie. She rolled the message up, and Birdie tied it to the gray bird’s leg. Birdie then carried the bird to the open door and sent it off.

“How do they know where to go?” Bridgette asked, gingerly standing up from the table.

“I t-tell them, Bridgeet,” she said, as if it were obvious.

“I see,” Bridgette sighed. The pressure in her head increased as she bent down to pick up the pots. She groaned as she stood back up. Come on, Bridgette. Just get breakfast made and then you can lie back on the sofa, she silently encouraged herself.

After fetching water from the almost empty water bucket, Bridgette managed to make porridge for Birdie and her mother. She did not have an appetite, so once the food was served to the others, she lay back down, and pulled her blanket over her head.

Bridgette was sure she had fallen asleep, when she felt a cool hand on her forehead, which startled her. She snapped her eyes open to see Birdie looking worried. “Bridgeet, you are b-burning like fire.”

“Will you get a cloth wet for my forehead?” She closed her eyes and shivered.

“No,” Birdie complained. Bridgette opened one eye. Birdie looked lost. “The w-water is all gone.”

“Where did the rest go?”

“I p-put it on the dirty dishes,” Birdie said with a shrug.

“Oh, well, thank you.”

“I w-will get more water!” she exclaimed and ran for the back door.

“Birdie, it is okay—” Bridgette tried to say, before getting cut off by coughs.

“Bridgeet needs water, Birdie gets w-water,” the woman proclaimed with the empty buckets in her hands.

Bridgette sighed. It would be nice to have water to drink. “Fine, but don’t fill them all the way. Last time, you only made it halfway home before I had to come find you.”

“Right away, Bridgeet,” Birdie said and was on her way.

When the door was shut, Bridgette made herself as comfortable as she could and closed her eyes. Time passed, but it was hard to tell how long. She felt like she was on the edge of a dream. Not fully conscious, but not quite asleep.

A knock made her jolt out of her trance. Sometimes Birdie forgot to put the buckets down so she could open the door. Bridgette stayed on the sofa and waited for her to figure it out. Another knock came. This time, Bridgette was conscious enough to know it didn’t sound like Birdie trying to knock on the door while holding buckets full of water. It had to be Doc. How convenient.

Bridgette pushed her aching body up and wrapped the thin blanket around herself. She slowly made her way to the door and opened it.

“Bridgette?”

Her stomach flipped. Was she dreaming? No, she had to be so sick, she was delusional. She tried to laugh, but ended up doubled over with a coughing fit again.

“Bridgette, are you alright?”

She gasped. “I am not sure. My mind had almost convinced me that you are really here.” Everything started to spin again, and she grabbed for the door, which annoyingly swung away from her. She swayed, but was caught by a pair of strong arms. She inhaled the scent of old books and paint. How detailed could a dream be?

“EDGAR, IT IS FAR WORSE than I feared,” Thane said, keeping Bridgette upright.

“Take her inside. I can start making the soup,” Edgar replied.

He lifted her in his arms and stepped inside. “Where is your room, Bridgette?”

“Right here,” she whispered.

“Where is your bed?” Thane asked, confused.

“The sofa.”

Thane stood frozen in the little house with Bridgette in his arms. She slept on the sofa? He looked around. Surely she had a bed. There was a tiny table against the wall with two mismatched chairs. The sofa itself was very worn. The blanket she was wrapped in was faded, torn on the edges, and threadbare thin. She shivered.

“Are you alright, my lord?” Edgar asked. Thane looked at him from under his hood, speechless. The valet gave him a look of understanding. “Sometimes it is shocking to see how life goes on outside your own.”

Thane nodded absentmindedly. He looked down at Bridgette, her head resting against him. She shivered again. He had half a mind to sit on the sofa and keep her in his arms, but that would not do. He lowered her onto the sofa as gently as he could, making sure her head was supported against its armrest. Thane stood up and reached for the clasp at his neck and smiled. There were two clasps today; one for the black, hooded cloak he usually wore and another for a smaller, burgundy cloak made of velvet, worn under the black cloak. Thane undid the second clasp and slid the smaller cloak off. After he had previously found himself without a proper way to keep her warm and dry, he made sure he had an extra cloak, just in case.

Thane tucked the cloak around Bridgette’s shoulders and stepped back. She looked peaceful, but the evidence of illness was apparent in her pale complexion and sweat-damp hair. A memory of his mother on her deathbed flashed in his mind. “Edgar, what do I do? How do I help her?” he asked with panic rising in his chest.

Edgar stepped over and put the back of his hand to her forehead. “It is probably best to keep her warm, but a wet washcloth might help keep her comfortable.” The old man knelt beside the sofa and spoke softly. “Miss Bridgette, where do you keep your water so I may make you some food?”

“Birdie went to fetch more water,” Bridgette mumbled without opening her eyes. “Might take…a while…” Her words drifted into steady, deep breaths.

“Birdie is her friend who helps her with things,” Thane clarified for Edgar.

“I see,” Edgar said, standing up and brushing his trousers off. “Well, there seem to be dishes to be washed. I can do those, and if Birdie is not back by then, I can see if I can find her.”

“Good plan,” Thane said.

“Thank you, my lord,” Edgar said and turned toward something that looked like a sink without a faucet.

A single door on the far wall caught Thane’s attention. Bridgette had said Birdie helped with her mother while she was gone. He stepped quietly around the sofa to the door and knocked softly. No one answered. He looked back at Edgar, who was busy scrubbing a pot. Carefully, he turned the knob and pushed the door open an inch. Through the slit, Thane saw a small bed. He opened the door all the way and stepped in. A woman who looked a lot like Bridgette, but with gray hair and wrinkles, lay in the bed. The sight of her was almost frighteningly similar to the last memories he had of his own mother. She looked fragile and weak. At least she had multiple blankets thicker than Bridgette’s.

Something fluttered in the corner of the room. A white bird sat on the edge of the open window. Thane stepped over to it and held out a finger. The bird nudged him with its beak.

“Who are you?”

Thane spun around and met eyes with Bridgette’s mother. She looked up at him, with curiosity, from where she lay. His first thought was to leave the room, but didn’t—a hooded figure running out of the room was not the first impression he wanted to give. He stepped over to the bed and bowed. “I am Lord Thornwood, Bridgette’s…friend,” he said awkwardly. “A pleasure to meet you…?”

“Clara Meadowbrooke,” she said weakly and cleared her throat.

She looked like she was struggling to get in a more comfortable position, so Thane went to her and eased her up into a sitting position. The woman was so light and thin, he worried he would break her. Once she relaxed against the headboard, Thane stepped back and sat on a wooden stool by the bed.

“It is so nice to have a visitor.” She smiled. “Bridgette should have taken your cloak. Please make yourself comfortable.”

“I prefer to keep it on.” Why did that sound so inane and ridiculous?

She gave him a soft, scolding look. “Didn’t your mother teach you good manners? How can people know who they are talking to if you don’t let them see?”

A deep ache swelled in his chest. “She did teach me, but I have become something she would not be proud of.”

Her brow furrowed, and a deep crease identical to Bridgette’s appeared. “As a mother, I must disagree. If she loved you before, she loves you now, no matter what you have done. That is the way it works.”

“If only it were that easy,” he said.

She smiled with a hint of sadness. It wasn’t pity, but understanding. “Sometimes Bridgette and I do not see eye-to-eye. She can be such a stubborn girl and vex me at times, but I still love her with all my life,” Clara said with a fond smile. The moment ended when a deep rattling cough took over her body. Thane reached for a cup near the bed and poured water into it. He tried to give her the cup, but her hands shook so violently she could not do it. He slowly raised it to her lips and helped her drink. She swallowed, and the coughs subsided. “Now, will you let me see who you are?”

“You do not want to see me,” he said, ashamed.

She reached a shaky arm out and grabbed his wrist. “Please, I would like to see the face of the one who has been helping my little girl. Let me thank you properly.”

Thane took a deep breath as he looked at her hand touching him. The ache in his chest was unbearable now. He couldn’t remember the last time his mother had lovingly touched him. He couldn’t remember the last time he had let her do so. Clara gripped his wrist harder. Thane reached a hand to the top of his hood and pushed it off his head. He looked down at the floor and waited for her disgust. She did not say anything. Hesitantly, he looked up at her. As soon as his eyes met hers, she grinned. “There you are.” There was no fear in her eyes or uncertainty in her voice, just acceptance. He touched his face and felt for the mark and the burn. They were still there. Maybe she was blind? Maybe she wasn’t stable in her mind? “I knew she should have taken another chance on you.”

“Who? Bridgette?”

She nodded and smiled mischievously. “She told me she wanted to quit the position.”

“She did?” he asked in surprise. “When?”

“I am not sure. It is hard to keep track of the days, but I believe she was frustrated because she had only made it one week,” she said.

Thane thought back to the end of the first week of Bridgette working at the manor. It was before she had started bringing his lunch tray, before they played chess. His stomach churned when he remembered the look of fear on her face when he’d yelled about the portrait of his mother. She had backed away and tripped over something in response to his outburst. He had been so selfish. Of course she’d wanted to quit. But she hadn’t.

“She told you about what happened?” he asked.

She nodded solemnly. “Yes, she did. She is a tough one, but I think the incident reminded her a little too much of her father, and he wasn’t the nicest man in the end.”

A wave of nausea hit Thane at the realization of what he had done. In that moment, when he had towered over her with his anger, she had seen him as she had her father. The man who he would have easily torn to pieces if he weren’t already dead. Thane had made her feel small and incompetent. He took in an uneven breath and said, “I have ruined so many things. There is no hope to fix it all.”

“No, no, my boy. We all make mistakes. My husband did. I do. Even Bridgette makes mistakes. She was ready to turn her back on the position after one unpleasant experience. I had a feeling that would have been a huge mistake, especially after how relieved and proud she was to be hired there. So, I encouraged her to go back. I am glad my gut feeling was not wrong. I would feel so much guilt if you were not the gentleman you are.” Thane had no words. Was he really the man she was talking about? All he could think to do was cover her hand with his own. “Thank you for taking care of my girl.”

“Thank you for encouraging her to give me another chance, even though I am the last person who deserves redemption,” he said, not willing to look in her eyes. “I guess that means she has changed her opinion of me?”

“I would assume so,” she said, sounding uncertain. “I have not had a good moment to talk to her about it because I sleep so much. The only times I am conscious enough to carry on a conversation, she is either at your manor working or carrying out chores and errands.”

“I apologize for keeping her from you,” he said.

“Don’t apologize. Bridgette is her own person; she makes her own decisions. And again, she is very stubborn. When she has a plan, she will carry it out to the end, most likely without asking for help.” She chuckled, then coughed so hard, she wheezed. Thane grabbed the cup again and helped her drink. She looked absolutely drained of energy. Thane helped her lie back down and made sure the blankets covered her arms. “I know she loves working in a manor. It is the closest she has ever been to living like a true lady. I have always feared… her father… made her too discouraged…” Her eyes closed, and Thane thought she had fallen asleep until she said, “to try…”

“To try what? Becoming a lady?” Thane asked, confused.

Clara’s lips curled into a soft smile. “She always loved… the parties.” She breathed deeply for several moments. “Thank you for taking… care… Bridgette.”

“It is my honor to do so,” he whispered, then stood to exit the room. As he closed the door, he caught a glimpse of the white bird still perched in the window.

He turned away from the door. Edgar glanced at him then looked surprised. “Your hood, my lord.” Thane quickly reached up and pulled his hood back over his head. Edgar had finished washing the dishes and had put them away. “I think I shall go look for Birdie and see if she needs help.”

“Do you know where you are going?” Thane asked.

“I know the general direction of the closest community well,” Edgar said.

“How far is it?”

“Far enough,” Edgar said with a smile. “I shall return quickly.”

Once the valet was gone, Thane sat on one of the chairs at the small table. Bridgette slept soundly on the sofa, but Thane had no idea how she could get good rest on such a piece of furniture. His neck hurt just thinking about it. He tapped his fingers on the table for a minute, then stood up. He walked around the small room and took in the place Bridgette called home. The kitchen had a small stove and fireplace. There was a sink without a faucet, and one cupboard for food. He opened the coat closet by the front door. It held a few items of clothing, including Bridgette’s uniform she wore at the manor. There was a lone shelf on the wall which held random knick-knacks and also the book on gardening he had let her borrow. Once he was done looking at everything, he sat down again. It was uncomfortable for him to think that after Bridgette worked all day at the manor, she came home to this; a house that could fit into his bedchamber alone.

brIDGETTE BLINKED HER EYES OPEN and sighed. There was a pleasant aroma that made her stomach growl. Her head was still throbbing, but at least it wasn’t debilitating. She pushed herself up and brushed her unkempt hair out of her face. Her limbs were sore and stiff, but she didn’t feel feverish anymore.

“How are you feeling?”

Bridgette’s stomach flipped. Lord Thornwood sat at her tiny kitchen table with Birdie. Lord Thornwood in the flesh, hood and all. Her eyes went wide, and she covered her face with her hands. “I thought I was dreaming. I can’t believe you are actually here in my cottage.”

“She seems to be more like herself, my lord.” Edgar was standing at the stove, stirring something in her little pot. That was where the smell was coming from. “Are you hungry, Miss Bridgette?”

“Birdie hungry,” Birdie moaned from her chair.

Bridgette's cheeks heated as Lord Thornwood’s shoulders shook with a silent laugh. “Um, yes, I think I might be able to stomach something,” Bridgette said.

Edgar filled a bowl and set it in front of Birdie, who grinned like a child with a bag full of sweets. Edgar filled another bowl. Bridgette closed her eyes as another dizzy spell hit her. “That smells wonderful, but I fear I'm too weak and dizzy to even lift a spoon,” Bridgette mumbled.

“May I?”

Bridgette opened her eyes. Lord Thornwood took the bowl from Edgar and moved his chair closer to her.

“That is, if you are alright with it,” he said.

She couldn't believe what she was witnessing. “What are you doing here?” she asked him.

“You promised me another game of chess, so I had to come and see what was important enough for you to cancel our plans,” he said in a sly tone.

“Oh, is that why?” Bridgette said with a smile.

“Yes, and now I see you are very ill. Will you allow me to feed you this soup Edgar made so you may return to your full health and be able to keep your promise?” he asked with a spoon full of delicious-looking soup ready for her to eat.

She laughed and coughed, but nodded. Lord Thornwood gracefully fed her the spoonful of broth and potatoes. She moaned her approval. “Edgar, this is incredible.”

“It is my mother’s special recipe she made every time someone was sick. The spices help the body to recover quickly, and the flavor can uplift the spirit,” he said fondly.

Lord Thornwood gave her another spoonful. His motions were almost tender. In that moment, there wasn’t much she wouldn’t give to see what was under his overbearing hood. Birdie slurped up her soup happily at the table. Edgar turned to the sink to clean some dishes. Bridgette swallowed a third bite. “What are you really doing here?” she asked as quietly as she could, so only Lord Thornwood would hear.

“I told you: chess,” he said with a chuckle. He held up another spoonful, but she shook her head. She wouldn’t eat if he didn’t give her an acceptable answer. “I was worried.”

“So worried you came to my cottage?”

“After what you told me about that Jack fellow, I guess I was paranoid he did something else,” he said. He held up the spoon again, and this time she accepted the offering.

“That is very kind of you,” she said and took another bite. Her body loved the warmth and substance of the meal. She felt her aching muscles relax and her eyes got sleepy again.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Yes,” she answered.

“You take care of everything here? With your mother and Birdie?”

“Yes. My days start early by getting fresh water, doing the laundry, and making breakfast.”

“Then you come to the manor?”

“Yes.”

“And then you come back here?”

“Yes. I make sure everyone has eaten and has everything they need. Then we sleep and do it again.” Bridgette yawned and let her head rest against the back of the sofa. “Does my daily routine fascinate you?”

“You take care of everyone else,” he said. Lord Thornwood set the bowl and spoon on the table, then leaned his forearms on his knees. “Who takes care of you?”

Bridgette’s eyes were so heavy, she could barely keep them open. “No one, I suppose.”

“You should change that,” he said under his breath.

Bridgette opened her mouth to ask what he meant by that, but Birdie spoke up before her. “Bridgeet, h-he is a man.”

“Thank you for that revelation, Birdie,” she whispered.

“A rich man,” she said clearly.

Bridgette opened her eyes. “Birdie,” she warned.

“A husband—”

“Birdie! Have you told our guests about your lovely birds?” Bridgette quickly cut in.

The older woman didn’t miss a beat and smiled as if she were about to talk about the weather and said, “The b-birds are constipated.”

Edgar coughed from his place by the stove. Bridgette wanted to crawl in a hole and hide. “You know what, Birdie? I have changed my mind. Will you go fetch Doc?”

Birdie tilted her head in surprise, then nodded and hurried out of the cottage. When the door closed, Bridgette shut her eyes and rubbed her temples. “I apologize. She says anything and everything on her mind. I am trying to teach her what is and is not appropriate, but she prefers to ignore my advice.”

“What was she going to say about husbands?” Lord Thornwood asked as he leaned back in his chair.

“I have no idea,” she said as casually as she could.

He tapped his fingers on his knee. “I think you do,” he said lightly.

“It's not important,” she said, twisting her blanket around her fingers. She looked down, confused at the soft texture. “What is this?” she asked as she slid her fingers over the deep red, velvet material.

“A gift,” Lord Thornwood said.

She lifted it up and smiled. “It's a cloak.”

“I came prepared this time.”

“That is very gentlemanly of you,” she said with a yawn. A cough came from her mother’s room. “Oh, I should give her some water,” she said as she tried to stand.

Lord Thornwood stood up and motioned for her to stop. “Don’t get up. I will help her.”

“But—” Bridgette said as she watched him walk around the sofa to the door.

“Rest, Bridgette,” he said before entering her mother’s room.

“He is right, Miss Bridgette. You need to rest, or you will not get better,” Edgar said as he coaxed her to lay her head down and tucked the cloak around her. “We will stay until the doctor arrives.”

The last thought Bridgette had before falling asleep was that she couldn’t remember the last time she had been tucked in for bed.

THANE TOOK THE STAIRS TWO at a time when they returned to the manor. As soon as he entered his paint room, he tore off his cloak and threw it on a chair in the corner. Everything that happened next was a blur of mixing paint to get the perfect hues and putting brushes onto a canvas. The motions were familiar, but the process was exhilarating. He had a vision in his mind that took over every other thought, and Thane knew the only way to remedy it was to paint.

There was a knock at the door. He didn’t break his concentration. After a few moments, the door opened.

“Your supper is ready, my lord,” Edgar said. Thane added more paint to the already covered canvas. He heard the valet walk up behind him, but didn’t take his attention off his project. “This is your best work.”

Thane pulled his brush away and stepped back, looking at his art. “Are you sure?”

“I honestly have never seen anything quite so stunning, my lord,” Edgar said with pride in his voice.

“Do you think she will like it?”

“I think she will love it,” he said.

Thane blew out a heavy breath and paced to the window. He rubbed his face, but stopped when he felt something wet. He looked down at his hand and laughed at the streak of yellow paint.

“Edgar, can you tell me why I feel like burning down all the houses of all the men who have ever done any wrong to a woman, but also want to put on an opera so I can sing out all my feelings and share the good that still exists in the world?” Thane asked while looking over Bridgette’s garden.

“You do not sing,” Edgar said flatly.

“Exactly!” Thane exclaimed, then rested his forehead on the cool glass. “I feel restless and eager for something to happen or for something to do. If I stay still, I feel I will go mad, but I do not know what I am supposed to do or where I am supposed to go. I know what I want, but I don’t know if it aligns with what she wants.”

“You could ask her,” Edgar suggested.

“I could, but what if it goes horribly wrong and I ruin everything?” Thane said, frustrated. His breath fogged the window.

“Would you rather stay on the safe side and wonder what could have been, or risk it all for the chance it does align?”

“To be honest, I could live the rest of my life cursed if she continued as the maid and I saw her every day.”

“What if she could be here not as a maid, but as a lady?”

Thane thought back to what Clara Meadowbrooke had said about Bridgette being a lady. An idea flickered in his mind. “Edgar, do you still have contacts with different merchants and servants?”

“Of course, my lord,” Edgar said. Thane turned to look at his valet, who gaped at him. Thane touched his face. Did he turn more into a beast? “Your Highness,” Edgar said with a bow. The man had not called him that since Thane had left him at the overturned carriage on the night he fled from the castle.

Thane ran into his bedchamber and pulled a sheet off one of the mirrors. What he saw was not expected. There was still the mark of the curse and a burn, but there was also something else that Thane hadn’t seen since before the curse, maybe even before his mother died. There was a light in his eyes.

He reached a hand up and ran his finger through his hair and laughed in shock.

“I have a plan, but I am going to need your help, Edgar.”

“Anything for you, Your Highness.”