Authors: Catherine Winchester
“I am still amazed that he was well enough to try such a thing.”
“He was drunk,” Hope explained. “I smelled whisky on his breath, and too much drink can make people reckless.”
James sighed. “I just don't understand why a man like him, who seemingly has everything that he wants, would be so angry and bitter.”
“No, I don't understand that either.”
Hope debated with herself for a moment but he had been honest with her, so she felt better about being honest with him.
“Ever since the attack, I can't help but wonder how she endured it. I know that I should be getting up and using the bath chair, but I just can't.” Her eyes filled with tears.
“Do you know why not?”
“I'm frightened,” she admitted. “And I know that it isn't reasonable or rational, but in here feels safe, and out there...”
Touched by her honest admission, James reached out and took her hand as it rested on the covers.
“You know, even the longest journeys begin with a single step.”
Hope looked into his eyes as she considered his statement. The longer she thought about it, the more she realised that he was right. She was about to suggest that she try when he spoke up, not wanting her to feel uncomfortable with him.
“Shall I take MacDuff out before we start?”
“Oh, yes. Yes, that is a good idea.”
So James left with the dog and Hope bit her lower lip as she considered his words again. Maybe she could do this.
She swung out of bed and, rather inelegantly, hopped over to her dresser. She pulled a clean night shirt on, then belted her dressing gown over it. Even if she had wanted to get dressed in her full regalia, she didn't have time. She worried that if she didn't do this now, she might never find the courage again.
She slipped her feet into her slippers, although her sprained foot was too tight with the splint and bandage, so she left that slipper off and hopped over to the doorway. She opened the door, peeking out into the hall, like some thief in the night. Her behaviour was ridiculous and she recognised it as such, but she couldn't help it. Thankfully, no one was about, so she hopped into the doorway and looked around. The stairs were to her left but there was quite some gap before she got to the railing to hold onto. She knew that she could call for help but she didn't want to.
She was just about to try to hop from the doorway over to the railing, when James came up the stairs. He put MacDuff down at the top and smiled warmly at her.
“You did it!”
She shrugged, feeling uncomfortable for taking pleasure in such a small act.
“In all good conscience, I can't let you hop around on one leg so if it helps, the next few dozen steps are on me.” He held his arms out towards her.
Hope debated with herself for a moment but he was right, she had come this far, she might as well go a little further, so she nodded her agreement.
James carefully picked her up, bridal style, and then made his way downstairs with her. Waiting at the bottom was the bath chair, in to which he placed her. She was surprised when something cold and wet nudged her hand and she saw MacDuff standing beside her, his splinted paw held in the air.
“Did you do the steps all by yourself,” she asked him, more thrilled by his accomplishment than her own but if he could do it, she could too.
James just stood there, making no attempt to wheel the chair anywhere. He waited until she was through with the dog before he spoke.
“Do you want to go back up?” he asked.
Hope looked back towards her bedroom but found the idea terribly dull.
“I believe it's about time for afternoon tea, perhaps we could take it with Mama.”
“That sounds wonderful.” He went behind the chair and took the handles to push her towards the family parlour. Someone must have oiled the chair recently, because it moved with relative ease.
A few servants passed them and did a double take, but Hope did her best to ignore them. She didn't want to feel odd, even although that was how she had been behaving recently. Thankfully, her mother and father didn't seem to think there was anything unusual about their daughter being wheeled into the parlour in her night clothes and dressing gown.
“Hope, darling, how are you?” Martha asked, pulling the bell to have more cups brought up.
“I'm fine, I think.”
“Good.”
Lucien went over to her and kissed her cheek. “It's good to see you, darling.”
“I didn't expect you to be here,” she answered guilelessly.
“No.” His smile faded somewhat and Hope noticed how worn he looked. The maid came in then with more cups and Martha began to serve the tea. James wheeled Hope closer to the sofa where Lucien and Martha were sitting, taking the armchair himself.
“What's wrong?” Hope asked.
“It's Malcolm,” Lucien confessed, although he didn't really want to. “Dr McCoy came to see me earlier. Apparently Malcolm has caught an infection and is in a serious condition.”
Without thinking about it, Hope reached out for James' hand, trying to offer him some comfort since this seemed to be news to him too.
“Is he still in jail?” Hope asked.
“No, he was released earlier today because... well Dr McCoy believes he has developed blood poisoning. He was released because he is not expected to last the night, but Dr McCoy can at least offer him comfort in his clinic. He assured me though, that Malcolm is secured to the bed, so you don’t have to worry about him getting free.”
“Just about James being charged with murder.” Hope finished.
“Yes,” Lucien admitted.
Hope didn't know what to say. She wanted to rage and yell and curse, but instead felt as although she was shrinking. How could this be happening? It was two weeks since the duel, how could he get an infection now?
“I've written to Mr Klein and asked him to come and advise us further as soon as he is able.”
James looked to Hope, certain that the news would please her. He thought that he had detected an attraction between them and even although it pained him to see her with another man, he wouldn't object if it pleased Hope. Right now he would do almost anything to make her smile like she used to, so he was surprised when Hope seemed to recoil slightly.
Hope didn't want to see him. Her mother had suggested writing to him, but she didn't want anyone to have to see her in the state she was. Her bruises were healing, some almost gone, but now Edward Klein was unfamiliar, different, and she didn't want him to see her as the pathetic creature that she felt like at the moment.
She knew she couldn't object though, because James needed to know the legal situation. Martha handed her a cup of sweet tea and she drank it.
“Who would have ever thought that I would be upset that Malcolm Arundell is dying?” she asked rhetorically.
“Wait a moment though, if Malcolm does die, wouldn’t that mean that...”
Martha caught James' meaning, that Honoria could return but she didn't want them to discuss such a thing when servants could be listening and shook her head.
James loaded up a plate with sandwiches and a slice of cake and absently handed it to Hope, before preparing his own. She hadn't eaten much recently but being distracted, she ate almost unknowingly.
“Do you suppose they will charge me with murder?” James asked.
“Hard to say,” Lucien replied. “You did cause him serious injury, but I suppose it comes down to whether your bullet hole introduced his infection, if that can even be ascertained.
“Jails are hardly hygienic places,” Martha offered. “Perhaps we could make a good case that he caught the infection there.”
“Possibly,” Lucien agreed. “We could argue that if he hadn't attacked Hope, then he would never have been in prison where he caught the infection, and it's possible that he even reopened the wound during the struggle. Or the prosecution could argue that without his bullet wound, he would not have caught the infection, regardless of being jailed or not.”
Hope listened to their conversation with interest but didn't put forth any of her own ideas. She knew nothing more than her father and perhaps a great deal less given that he was a magistrate, so she didn't feel as if it wasn't her place to offer an uninformed opinion.
Chapter Twenty Three
When James came to see Hope on the Friday, he had been teaching at the school again, so he was later than usual. Hope had gotten dressed the last two days (which with a splinted ankle and wrist, was quite an ordeal, even with a lady's maid) but she had still kept largely to her room.
Now she was sitting by the fire and turned to James when he came in, smiling at him.
“Shall I take MacDuff out?” he asked as usual.
“Not today. He's getting about largely on his own now, so I just let him out of the room when he cries and one of the servants sees him out to the garden.”
“I'm glad he's feeling better,” James said as he took the armchair next to her.
“How was school?”
“Frustrating,” he admitted with a sigh. “Sally earned her blue ribbon today, the first that anyone has earned, but all that intelligence will go to waste. She could easily become a teacher but I spoke to her after class last week and her mother has already asked at the cotton mill, about the possibility of her being taken on. I don't think she'll even be allowed to stay another year.”
Hope nodded sadly; she too had lamented the same thing. In fact the only reason why Sally was still in school, was because Mary had been to see her family and offered to pay the school and lunch fees out of her own pocket.
“Unfortunately, Sally's father died in a factory accident a few years ago, leaving the mother struggling to survive. They have already moved to a smaller home but Sally has three siblings under six. Her mother leaves the children who are too young for school with a neighbour, but one woman's wage just isn't enough to support six children. Her oldest brothers, who are ten and eight, are already working. Sally is lucky to have been able to remain in school at all.”
“Eight?” James sounded shocked. “That's far too young to send a child to work.”
“I agree. There is talk in some circles of increasing the minimum age for work to ten but even that isn't enough, 12 would be better, even 14.”
“Is there nothing that can be done?” James asked.
“Mary was trying to improve Sally's sewing skills, so that she might get a job in my father's factory; he pays slightly higher wages than many, especially to women and children.”
“That is hardly a solution, though.”
“Maybe not, but my parents have agreed to promote from within and with her brain, she could end up working as a supervisor, a clerk, a bookkeeper, or even running one of our shops.”
“But saving one child doesn't help the others,” he argued. He hadn't meant to get into a discussion about such things, but he was pleased to see the fire back in Hope's eyes.
“What more can we do? My father has testified to a House of Commons committee in the past, about the working conditions in factories and specifically, about how his lower hours and larger wage don't affect profitability, but as long as those with money make the law, it will always be an uphill struggle.”
“Which is why we desperately need to get the vote for all men.” James said.
“All people,” Hope amended, then blushed when she realised that they were back to their original argument. “Sorry.”
“Don't apologise,” he said, reaching out to take her hand. “It warms me to see your spark coming back again.”
“Even when I call you ignorant?” she asked in a small voice, remembering her words to him the day he tried to propose.
“That stung, I confess, but you were right.”
Hope looked over at him, shocked by such an admission.
“Reading my sister's journal was an eye opening experience to me. Since then I have done a lot of reading and come to realise that you were correct. Until we give all women
feme sole
status, women like my sister will continue to be at the mercy of men like Malcolm.”
“That's quite a change from your earlier opinion.”
“I know. I must apologise for my behaviour when we first met and you are right, I was wilfully blind, I didn't want to rethink my views on the world. Besides which, I thought that being an educated man and having spent years at seminary school, I was already wise and I was too proud to admit that I might be wrong.”
Hope couldn't quite believe that this man was the same James she had first met. He was now so humble and sincere, so willing and above all, non-judgemental. Not that her parents told her that she needed to pull herself together or anything, but she knew that they felt that way. Or she strongly suspected they did. She even realised that they felt that was because they were concerned about her, but it didn't stop her from disliking their visits.
James though, well he was just a friend, never judging, never coaxing, never asking her to do things and rarely even asking her any questions. She was certain that when she first met him, he would not have handled her situation with anywhere near the same tact and care.
“Who are you and what have you done with my friend?” she teased.