Arabella shook her head, as did Harry.
“Very well,” Mrs. Hollingsworth said. “What is it you wish to know?”
Harry opened his mouth, but no words came out. What did he truly want to know? Did he really wish to revisit that dreadful day? Doubt crept in, and he faltered, uncertain of the purpose of their visit, until Arabella spoke up, her voice firm and clear.
“Mrs. Hollingsworth, when we were at the park, you mentioned that the coachman should not have been driving that day. What did you mean by that?”
The older woman looked at Arabella, then clasped her hands in her lap. “I meant that he was in no condition to drive. He was… unwell, Your Grace,” she replied, hesitating before looking directly at Harry. “Do you not recall what a heavy drinker he was?”
“A heavy drinker? No, I do not recall. My aunt never mentioned it.”
“Of course. Well, you were but a boy, and we servants are skilled at hiding such matters. But Franklin, the coachman, was indeed a heavy drinker—so much so that he nearly caused an accident just a few weeks prior.”
“He did?” Harry asked, rising from his seat in shock. He had no memory of this.
“Yes, Your Grace. When he was driving Sir Richard and Lady Templeton into town, he nearly drove the carriage into a ditch. Sir Richard was furious and threatened to dismiss him, but Lady Templeton intervened. She suggested that he be placed in the stables, where he could cause less harm. Sir Richard had made up his mind to dismiss him, but when Lady Templeton asked him, in front of the other servants at dinner, to keep Franklin on, he relented to save face. However, he assigned Franklin to her.”
Harry’s voice trembled with disbelief. “He assigned a man he knew to be a dangerous driver to my aunt?”
He had always known his uncle was cruel, but this level of malice was beyond comprehension. His poor aunt, put in harm’s way by the very man she loved.
“But why?”
“His pride, Your Grace,” Mrs. Hollingsworth murmured. “She challenged him in front of the servants, and he could not allow that to go unpunished. You know how he is—his pride comes before everything, even family. This is why he despises his daughter and hides her away from the world.”
“So, the accident was not Harry’s fault?” Arabella interjected, her voice steady.
Mrs. Hollingsworth looked at her in surprise, then turned to Harry, her expression softening. “Your fault? Why would it be your fault?”
Harry moved to the window, looking out at the empty street, where the evening shadows lengthened.
“Harry was told that he caused the accident by blowing his trumpet near the horse, thus spooking it,” Arabella explained, and Harry was grateful beyond words that she had spoken for him.
“But of course not!” Mrs. Hollingsworth exclaimed. “Is that what your uncle told you? Oh, that wretched man. No, the fault lay with the coachman. He had been drinking that morning—I smelled it on him. I even warned Lady Templeton not to get in the carriage with him, but she felt trapped, caught between her husband’s wrath and her better judgment. She tried to leave Miss Helen behind.”
Harry turned around, his brow furrowed in confusion. “She did? But Helen was with her in the carriage.”
“Yes, she was. Lady Templeton intended to leave Miss Helen in my care, but when Sir Richard saw that the child was not accompanying her mother, he became enraged. He took Miss Helen from my arms and followed Lady Templeton to the carriage. When she explained that Miss Helen did not need to come, since she was only going to be fitted for a gown, Sir Richard insisted. He claimed he was expecting company and did not want the child to disturb him. It was a ridiculous excuse, of course—myself or one of the maids could have cared for her—but he was adamant.”
“Did he know the driver was inebriated?” Arabella asked, keeping the conversation grounded while Harry struggled to contain his rising anger.
“I informed him, but he brushed me aside. He placed Miss Helen in the carriage and told Lady Templeton that since she had insisted on retaining the coachman, she would have to live with the consequences. You know how his rage blinds him to reason.”
Mrs. Hollingsworth’s expression softened further. “You were there that day, Your Grace. I remember you on your little pony with your trumpet. You were so proud of your playing. I recall because I came out with Sir Richard, and Miss Helen was crying, but then she saw you and laughed. It defused the tension. I was grateful to you, but your uncle chased you away—do you not remember?”
Harry shook his head, bewildered. “No, my uncle told me I accompanied the carriage as it left. The coachman told me the same thing when I spoke to him.”
Mrs. Hollingsworth rubbed her hands over her cheeks in distress. “Goodness, no. Your uncle sent you away before the coachman even climbed into his seat. The horses were calm—there was nothing wrong with them. Your uncle told you it was your fault?”
“Yes,” Harry admitted. “After the accident, he told me I had caused it by spooking the horses, and that everything that happened to Helen thereafter was my fault and my burden to bear. And the coachman confirmed it.”
“No, no,” Mrs. Hollingsworth said emphatically. “That is a terrible lie, Your Grace. The accident occurred because the coachman lost control. When the carriage toppled over, it was due to his incompetence and intoxication. It was his doing, not yours, and certainly not Lady Templeton’s. The coachman was let go, but Sir Richard did not blame him entirely. Instead, he let the groom go, saying he had not trained the horses right. The coachman was moved to another house and died soon after.”
She paused. “I suspect Sir Richard did not want it to be known that he knew the coachman was drunk and thus made up this lie. And to cover himself, he blamed the groom.”
“I remember none of this,” Harry said quietly.
“You were a child and grieving. I hardly remember anything about the time when my mother died, and anyone could tell me anything about it and I might believe it,” Arabella pointed out.
