Chapter 7: Warrick
1096 Words
Chapter 7: WarrickThe next morning, I stripped down and studied myself in the mirror. There wasn’t a mark on my body, and I walked easily and without a limp.
Well, of course there wasn’t, and of course I did. That damned gypsy stew. It was too heavy a meal for so late in the evening, and who knew what was in it? Squirrel? Cat? I grimaced and shuddered.
The explanation was simple: I’d had indigestion, which had led to that dream.
I put it out of my mind and washed and dressed, packed away the clothes I’d worn the night before, and went down to the breakfast parlour.
The sideboard was laden with all manner of eggs and breakfast meats, and I understood why as I saw who sat on either side of Father—my half-brothers…John and Harry, their plates piled high with eggs, sausages, and thick slices of ham.
That also explained why Mother wasn’t at the table. There had never been much love lost between them. She most likely was having breakfast in her bedchamber. In addition, for as long as I could remember, she hadn’t been a good traveller, so whenever we had to be on the road, she tended to eat light. A tray of tea and dry toast would have been brought up to her chamber.
Father glanced up from the newspaper he’d been buried behind and grunted when he saw me.
“You got in late enough last night,” he said.
“I climbed the tree outside my window. I hope I didn’t disturb you.”
He grunted again. “Ridiculous method of entry.”
“Mother had the doors locked.”
He snapped the newspaper. “Should have given you a key long ago.” He returned to the latest international occurrences
Yes, he should have, and why hadn’t he? It was too late to inquire about that now. I helped myself to tea and toast, and took my seat at the far end of the table. “I didn’t expect you to come see us off,” I murmured to my brothers as I reached for the Marmalade. While I had the Synclaire eyes—deep blue—I had Mother’s dark looks. Along with them, I’d also inherited her inability to travel well, something else that filled my father with irritation.
“We came to wish you a safe journey.” John was usually in Town, since he was being groomed for a position in the government. And of course Harry was usually with his regiment.
“That’s kind of you.”
Silence descended on the room, and then Harry said, “I understand you’ve had quite the adventurous summer.”
I paused in the act of dropping a second sugar cube into my tea. Did he still think something was going on between Thomas and me? In this instance he’d have been right, but I had no intention of revealing that.
“Yes, as a matter of fact,” I replied blandly. “Thomas and I got in quite a bit of fishing and hunting.” I sipped my tea, then touched my napkin to my lips. “That was what you meant, wasn’t it?”
Harry burst into laughter, shook his head, and resumed eating.
“Tell me, Warrick. What do you plan to read at university?” John asked, and for the moment, the conversation was safely turned as I discussed my intention to study architecture.
* * * *
Not long afterward the door to the breakfast parlour opened and Mother entered the room.
“Are you finished with your breakfast, Warrick?” Her gaze flickered over John and Harry. “Good morning,” she said stiffly.
“Good morning, Lady Helena.”
That was one of the things that infuriated her: that neither of her two stepsons would address her as “mother.”
“Warrick?”
“Yes, I’m finished.”
“Then we should be on our way.” We’d be taking the travel coach to the local station, and from there our train would take us to London. Mother insisted we stay in London for a number of days so she could replenish her wardrobe.
Interestingly enough, I had no problem on horseback. However, Mother had insisted I accompany her in the carriage.
Father set aside his newspaper, rose, and approached Mother. “I hope you have a good trip, my love. Send me a telegramme to let me know when you arrive in Montreal.”
“Of course.” She proffered her cheek for his kiss, then did the same for John and Harry.
I shook hands with Father and my half-brothers and offered Mother my arm. We walked out into the watery sunshine, and in spite of myself, I looked around for Thomas.
He was nowhere to be seen, and I was uncertain as to whether I was relieved or disappointed.
The coachman held open the door to the carriage, and we climbed in and settled ourselves for the first leg of our journey.
Neither Mother nor I looked back to see if Father remained on the doorstep to wave us off. He didn’t believe in farewells of any kind, at least not when they concerned Mother or me.
Mother took out her needlepoint and set to work embroidering another seat cover for the dining room. I wondered if she planned to mail these to Father, and I had to smother a snicker.
I lost myself in thoughts of the previous night and the time spent with Thomas. How long before we saw each other again?
“While we’re in London, I thought we might take in a play or two in the evening,” Mother said as her needle flashed in and out of the cloth.
“Whatever you like.” I wished I could have asked Thomas to meet me there.
“Splendid. You…er…you can find something to amuse yourself during the day?”
“Yes.” I thought about whiling away the hours in bed with Thomas. However, that wasn’t going to happen. “I’d like to visit the Tower of London. And I’m also interested in studying the architecture of St Paul’s.”
“Splendid,” she said again.
“As long as we get to Liverpool by Tuesday next.” That was when we would set sail for Montreal on the RMS Ceto. With good weather, we’d arrive a little more than a week later.
She frowned at me and resumed her needlepoint.
And I resumed thinking of Thomas.
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