She blushed faintly and smiled back at him. “‘Miss Barchester’ is so stuffy and formal. Please call me Nellie.”
His grin widened. “As long as you’re happy I’m not taking liberties. And of course you must call me Julian.”
“Thank you, Julian.” She flicked the blades up one last time. “From here on, no one will be taking liberties with me.”
Chapter Five
Two days later, the lowering sun squinted through the trees as Julian plodded towards the house on his tired mare. The animal slowed to snatch a mouthful of winter grass from the verge, but Julian didn’t have the heart to hie her on. At least one of them ought not to suffer after the miserable outing.
As he approached the house, Figgs loped out to meet him and take charge of the horse.
“Is my father home yet?” Julian asked.
“Nay, sorr,” the man whistled through the cleft in his lip.
Julian entered the house, relieved that he wouldn’t have to speak to Elijah for a while. He needed some time alone, time to make sense of all that had occurred today.
“Julian? Has something happened?”
The shadowy interior of the sitting room shifted, and Nellie moved towards him. She stood calm and poised, a piece of sewing in her hands, her coppery brown hair thick and glinting on her shoulders.
“I’ve had some bad news,” he heard himself say. He hadn’t meant to speak about his afternoon, but now he had, and it seemed he might as well continue. “Someone I know has died.”
“Oh, no.” She started towards him as if she meant to touch him, but appeared to change her mind and instead gestured towards the nearest settee. “Please, sit down. You look exhausted.”
Through his disquiet, he was dimly aware that the sitting room looked far neater than before. The windows were clean, the carpet swept, the dust banished, the clutter put away. All Nellie’s doing. And the shirt she’d been mending was one of his too. He dropped onto the nearest settee, and as soon as he hit the cushions a grey cloud rose up from his clothes.
“My goodness, you’re covered in ash.” Nellie tapped the sleeve of his coat, eliciting a further puff of dust. “Where have you been?”
“In the city, sifting through the remains of a burnt-out house. It belonged to a retired jeweller, a Mr. Cazalet. He died in the fire, in his bedroom upstairs.”
“That’s terrible. When did this happen?”
“Last night. I went to visit him today, but it was too late.” He rubbed his gritty eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose as frustration welled up once more. “Too damned late.”
Nellie’s skirts rustled as she stood. He heard the chink of glass against bottle, and a moment later she nudged a tumbler of brandy into his grimy hands.
“Tell me what happened,” she said as she reseated herself.
Nursing the tumbler between his hands, he gazed at her, grateful for her presence. After the horrendous hours he’d passed, she was a gust of fresh air, a drink of pure water. She was the one person he wanted to confide in. Needed to confide in.
He dug into the inner pocket of his frock coat and pulled out a small brooch. “See this? I was left on the doorstep of this house wrapped in a plain woollen shawl and nothing to identify me except this brooch.”
He handed it to Nellie.
“It’s not particularly valuable in monetary terms,” Julian continued, “but it’s the only link to my true parentage.”
Nellie nodded slowly as she traced the circle of tiny diamonds surrounding the ruby. “A delightful piece, nevertheless. It must be a comfort to you, knowing that your mother left this with you, that she didn’t abandon you out of choice.”
Grimacing, he took a swallow of brandy. Was it a comfort or a curse, possessing that brooch? Wouldn’t it have been better if his mother had left no clue? Plenty of newborn babes were abandoned by their mothers. He would have grown up happy and grateful for Elijah’s care and love, and not spared a thought for the woman who’d given birth to him. But instead that wretched bee brooch had needled him all these years, taunting him with the promise of finding his parents, reminding him each time he looked at it that beneath his veneer of success he had no history, no antecedents, no identity.
“Six months ago I decided to try to track down the owner of that brooch,” he said, his voice roughening as he recalled his quest. “I trudged from one jeweller to the next, making endless enquiries. As I’ve said, the brooch isn’t very valuable, so few people were willing to trawl through their records of twenty-odd years ago. I almost gave up, until I met Mr. Cazalet. He was retired and had plenty of time on his hands. He was happy to go through his old books, and eventually he found that yes indeed he’d repaired that very brooch more than twenty-five years ago.” He paused as he realised he was coming to a crucial part of the story. He sat up, the better to gauge Nellie’s reaction. “The person who brought in the brooch was a young woman called Ophelia Ormond, the sister of Thaddeus Ormond.”
Her skin paled, throwing her scars into rough relief. “Ouch.” She winced as she pricked her finger on the pin of the brooch. A tiny bead of blood welled up on her fingertip. “I know nothing about Ophelia Ormond,” she muttered, averting her eyes as she dabbed at the blood with a handkerchief.
“You don’t?” He kept his gaze fixed on her. “She’s been dead many years, but I thought perhaps Sir Thaddeus might have mentioned his sister to you.”
“What makes you think that?” She tipped up her chin defiantly.
“Because I know you’re connected to Thaddeus Ormond in some way.” She twisted her head away, but he continued, “Nellie, you’ve suffered a terrible assault, and your life has been irrevocably altered. As a physician, I’m aware I should allow you all the time you need to recover, but a man is dead—an innocent, harmless old man who did nothing wrong except help me with my enquiries, but now he has perished, and I fear I’m to blame.”
Nellie spun round, her eyes wide with shock. “But…you said the old man died in a house fire.”
“I told Thaddeus Ormond about Mr. Cazalet.” Julian pushed to his feet and gulped down the last of the brandy. The alcohol bit into his empty stomach, but there was no relief. “You see, I went to Ormond with my bee brooch, foolishly thinking he might be able to shed some light on my mother, but he was outraged at my impertinence. His family traced back to the Norman conquest, how dare I turn up on his doorstep casting aspersions upon his dead sister! I grew angry with him, insults were exchanged. I hammered him with all the facts I’d gathered.” Up and down he paced the carpet as his memories tormented him. “I told him about Mr. Cazalet, about Ophelia having the brooch repaired, and now…now Mr. Cazalet is dead, and it’s my fault.” Coming to a halt, he smacked his fist against the mantelpiece.
“But you can’t be sure of that.” Nellie jumped to her feet and stood in front of him. “Houses burn down all the time. It could have been an accident.”
“Perhaps, but my gut tells me otherwise. Sir Thaddeus warned me never to go near him again before ordering his footmen to throw me out of the house. I thought he was malignant and arrogant, but I didn’t comprehend how dangerous he was until I witnessed your abduction.”
“So…you were shadowing Sir Thaddeus that night.” She drew back slightly. “It wasn’t mere serendipity.”
“I should have known how ruthless he could be. I should have warned Mr. Cazalet that he was in danger.” But instead he had dallied at home, ministering to Nellie’s needs. Not that she required much help from him in her recovery. She was rapidly mastering the metal mesh glove and could manipulate the artificial fingers with expert dexterity. As for her facial scars, they were healing as well as could be expected and didn’t need a doctor’s attentions anymore. But he had continued to whittle his time away with her, telling himself his interest was merely professional, but knowing deep down it was much more than that.
He studied her anew. In the diffused interior light, her striped face took on an otherworldly air. Instead of mutilation and horror, he saw an unconventional beauty, a lustre emanating from her inner strength. But his
