Amy Snow (53 page)

That night I write a very long letter to Henry. When I have finished, I copy it out again. I address one copy to Albert Crumm and the other to the Longacres in Bath. I put a brief note in each envelope begging that if they know where Henry is they will forward the letter to him without any delay at all. The following morning I rise early and travel to York with Joss.

I go to the post office and see the precious letters into the hands of the postmaster, thinking of Aurelia as I do so. I have not committed Aurelia's secret to paper but I have committed all else that is precious to me: my feelings, my regrets, my love, my hopes. I have told him that if he wishes me to come to him he need only tell me where and I will be at his side as soon as is humanly possible. I have told him that when I see him I will tell him everything, and exclude him from nothing, not ever again.

Despite this, I feel desolate. I feel I have wronged him by agreeing to share my life with him and then, at the first test, insisting that I manage things alone, running out on him at only a moment's warning. In my mind's eye, I see him rumpled and bewildered in his nightshirt, running his hands through his hair, watching me slip through his fingers.

“You will not leave me like this, Amy.” It was not a command, I realize now; it was a plea. The memory is almost enough to make me lose hope, except then I remember Elspeth's wise words: we were both at fault, both only human. Perhaps he can forgive me, love me
despite
my faults, as I do him.

I find myself feverishly calculating dates. When might I hope to hear from him? If he is with the Longacres or his grandfather, I might receive a reply in just a very few days. If he is not, but they can send my letter straight to him, it will be a little longer. If they do not know his whereabouts, it may be weeks before my letter even finds its way into his hands. It may be months! How might I be patient so long?

I have never been in love before. I do not know what is forgivable and what is not, but I do not hold out any great hopes that I can reasonably expect a reprieve. Still, I have promised myself at least to
try
to believe that love and happiness can be mine, even if precedent suggests otherwise. I have done what I can for now, and if he does not reply, or if he is still angry with me when he does, then I shall go to London and speak to his grandfather. I shall ask him to persuade Henry to listen to me, just once, out of the goodness of his heart.

But if he no longer loves me, if there is someone else who can make him happier or if he simply does not wish to take the risk that is Amy Snow, I shall let him go, indeed I shall, and wish him well at all times from the bottom of my heart. But not until I have done everything in my power to win him back.

So I vow, as I set off back to Fountain Cottage. I did not intend to walk; I had thought to ask Joss if he might spare his apprentice for a short while to drive me. But, lost in my ardent ruminations and silent, fervent promises, I have somehow missed the shop altogether and passed beyond the city walls. I hesitate, then decide to walk. It will pass more time and the way is a pleasant one. I realize how sweet solitude is when it is not enforced, how contented it is possible to be in one's own company when it is not the only possibility one has.

The day grows warm, so I take off my bonnet and swing it as I walk. I am surrounded by green and there is no one to see. Besides, I could not spend so long with Mrs. Riverthorpe without coming to relish flouting convention even a little.

By the time I reach the lane that leads to the house I am warm and no doubt a great deal flushed. I can feel my rebellious hair hovering about my head like a cloud of bees and I promise myself a seat in the shade, a book of poetry, and a comb, when I return. I feel a little embarrassed when I see that Elspeth has had a visitor in my absence.

Whoever it is strides from the cottage in the direction of York. In a minute our paths will cross and I think briefly of hiding before remembering that anyone is free to think me a fright if they wish; I care not. It is very liberating. I squint, wondering if it is anyone I have already met. It is too slender for Jeremiah, who would be at work in his butcher's shop now anyway. Indeed, it looks a little like Henry from here, but I see five-and-twenty Henrys on any given day, such is the extent of my preoccupation. So I keep walking and swinging my bonnet.

My bonnet flies from my grip; the ribbons are satin and my fingers are slippery with perspiration. Now I look even more preposterous, flinging my bonnet about the countryside. Thanks to a sudden, stray breeze, it bowls towards the walker as though eager to meet him.

He snatches it up with a large smile, a smile I see a thousand times every day, and so I still do not realize, even when I am standing directly in front of Henry Mead, that he is truly here in Yorkshire.

“Amy Snow,”
he says, looking at me in wonder, as though I am rare and precious and marvelous. I see anxiety and determination do battle behind his smile. “My God, it's good to see you. I can't be without you, Amy, so don't ask it of me.”

“Henry?”

All my self-castigation, all my fears for the future fall away. In that moment I am so happy just to see him that I feel I shall never want anything else, ever again. We look at each other for a long, charged moment and then I run into his arms.

“Oh, Henry!”

As if my words were the cue he needed, he picks me up and swings me around and around.

“I love you,” he murmurs into my hair, the words muffled and gruff.

I am weak with love and relief. I feel as though tides are rolling through me. All I can say, over and over again is “I love you,” and “Henry.” For five months now my life has been governed by words. The clues, the letters, what I could say and all I was forbidden to say. Now at last I can lay it all down and follow my feelings; I can surrender.

When he finally sets me down, I refuse to let go and stay clinging to him, my arms ecstatic to be reunited with the breadth of his shoulders, my face determined to stay buried in his neck.

This way is better than words.

The words come later, after we have returned to the cottage and Elspeth has supplied us with lemonade. She takes the children off to the fields and they protest mightily at being removed from this interesting stranger with the mischievous eyes.

“However did you find me, Henry dear?” I ask, kissing the hand of his that I am clutching in both of mine.

“No thanks to you, my love,” he supplies cheerfully.

“I am so sorry. I was afraid to write to you, and I did not know where to reach you. What if you had fallen out of love with me? What if you were too angry with me? I'm afraid I am not at all experienced in these things, which of course is why I have handled it all so badly. But I have written to you at last. Two copies! I have posted them this morning.”

He laughs. “I look forward to reading them, my beauty. Not in love with you? Foolish girl, that could never be. When you left, I was furious. But it was only because I was hurt, and feared I'd lost your affections. I did not know I could be such a boor, Amy. I am sorry!

“I went to Richmond, for I did not know what else to do. I thought I did us a better service by securing an income and acting in faith than by chasing after you to York, with feelings still running high between us and you still perfectly unreasonable, my love.”

“Henry!”

“Yes, yes, perfectly unreasonable. And I still impatient and indignant and completely lacking in comprehension. Does that sum us up, do you think, Amy?”

I ruefully agree that it does.

“It was hard to concentrate, you may be sure, for I wanted to bolt at every moment and leap onto a northbound train. But I stuck to my purpose and I secured the post!”

I kiss him in delight. “Well, of course you did! Oh, congratulations, that is splendid. And did you like the school?”

“Very much. Mr. Merritt is an amiable gentleman and the docile young ladies I saw hard at work in the schoolroom no doubt have a barrel of their own ideas tucked away behind their ringlets, which I long to hear and encourage. I shall be as subversive as possible, you may be sure! The building is very well appointed, and you know Richmond of course—a delightful place. I think I could do very good work there, although I shall give my firm acceptance only if you approve. I realize a great many things may have changed with you since last we spoke.”

“Only that I am surer than ever that I want to be with you, Henry, and that at last I am free to be so. But carry on, please.”

“From Richmond, I returned to Bath. I went straightaway to Mrs. Riverthorpe and demanded she tell me where to find you.”

I laugh at the very idea. “Lord, how brave you are! What happened?”

“Well, she told me.”

“Henry, no! That cannot be. She would
never
tell you! She would not tell
me
!”

“I was exceptionally fearsome, my dear!”

I look at him skeptically.

“Oh, very well, it was not quite that simple. I wore her down—I bored the information out of her, quite literally. I told her I refused to leave her house until she told me. Then I proceeded to talk—on and on, about how much I love you. You know how she hates that. She left the room. I remained.

“She swept past an hour later, changed into one of her gaudy costumes—in truth, I have never seen anything like it—on her way out to a ball. I was still there. Oh, her
face
!” He laughs helplessly. “I wish you could have seen it. Anyway, I followed her out to her carriage, talking all the way, and she slammed the door and rattled off, leaving me halfway through a sentence. No matter! I had plenty more sentences! I knew where she was going—you know Mrs. Riverthorpe, she won't go to something that isn't the talk of the town—so I went too.”

“You had an invitation?”

“Of course not. But this is where a history of mischief making comes in exceptionally handy. I got myself all dressed up—you should have seen me! You would have swooned, I expect. I shimmied in through a window, swaggered about the place until I happened on Mrs. Riverthorpe, and made a great many more protestations of my love for you. Oh, she was not content to have her evening of grand company and salacious gossip interrupted, you may be sure!”

“I
am
sure! You were lucky she did not have you thrown out.”

“Oh, she did! I was there but five minutes before they flung me through the front door and threatened me with arrest. No matter. I was waiting for her at Hades House when she got back.”

“And I can imagine what sort of time of night that was!”

“Indeed. I believe Gus and Ellen thought I had taken leave of my senses for the duration, but I had the bit between my teeth. Mrs. Riverthorpe is a stubborn old bird and tough as nails, but I am in love, and that gives me the upper hand every time when it comes to irrational endurance. Anyway, the long and the short of it is it took me a week to wear her down, and I am not sure she will ever be glad to look on me again, but I am here and we are together again at last, and I want to tell you that I am sorry, heartily sorry for everything I said before you left. Do you forgive me, Amy?” He looks at me so solemnly, and lifts my hand to his lips.

“Henry dearest, I forgave you the instant I had left you. I'm sorry too. I am so long accustomed to secrets and solitude that making you part of my life just then suddenly seemed impossible—and I ran away. But now I will tell you everything, if you will also forgive me.”

“It is already done and never was needed. So . . . are you really free now? You have learned Aurelia's great secret?”

I nod, my eyes shining. Freedom at last.

“You need not tell me, Amy, if it does not feel right. You need
never
tell me if you do not wish to.”

Bless him. I can see how he burns to know.

So I tell him.