But even without looking, the nightmare rushed back at her, so vivid and startling that her heart sank with that same unbearable shock. Why did Mamma still come here? Why did any of them?
They should have stripped the shelves of their books. They should have burned the rug. They should have locked the door and never entered again.
But here they sat, the two of them, burdened with the tragedy known so well by these walls. OrwasMamma burdened? Did she return in sentimentality? Or did she hardly recall that day at all?
“Mamma.” She warned herself against speaking, but the word came out breathless.
“Hmm?”
“Do you ever…” Courage fled. She cleared her throat. “Do you ever think of him?”
“Who?”
“Papa.”
“Yes, of course I do.”
“What do you think about?”
“Silly girl, what a question.”
“Please tell me.”
“Oh, very well.” Mamma sighed and swung her foot back and forth under the chair. “I think of how odious he was for traveling. He could not bear a horse because it strained his back, he could not ride a carriage because it pounded his head, and he could not sail a ship because he cast up all his accounts.” A slight, amused chuckle. “Poor man. He was quite content to remain at home and do nothing.”
“He was happy at home. I remember that.”
“Yes, but do not think only of his adverse side. He was a good man, despite his lack of adventure.” Leaning up in her chair, Mamma stretched her arms. “La, how exhausted one gets from doing nothing all day. Does that not prove the importance of good company and laughter?” She reached down to adjust her slipper. “I do think I shall retire to bed now—”
“Do you ever think of that night?” The question ached from her throat.
As if sucked back into the memory, Mamma took one quick glance at the center of the room. She stiffened and cleared her throat, as if ridding herself of the past. “You would do well to go to bed too, I daresay. Here, you may finish my novel.” She dropped her book into Georgina’s lap. “It is most tedious anyway. Good night.” At the doorway, Mamma paused and turned back. “Oh, and dear?”
“Yes?”
“I forgot to relate the news to you. My dear friend Sir Thomas Hawes has just written from Bath. He and his sister are taking the waters and have found them quite superb, and for the sake of my health, I have agreed to join them.”
Georgina pressed the book to her chest. “But you have only just returned.”
“I am sorry, dear. But you shall be quite entertained here, I am certain. With all the balls forthcoming, I imagine you shall not miss me at all.” With nothing more than a quick smile and wave, Mamma quit the room.
Silence invaded with her absence.
Georgina stood, squeezed the book—then flung it across the room. It landed at the base of a window, pages falling open, as exposed to the world as her heart was to this room. Sadness choked her.I will never leave thee nor forsake thee.
The words came back again. The ones she’d heard the clergyman read from behind his three-decker pulpit at church.Never leave thee.
Perhaps the promise was true of God.
But it was certainly not true of anyone else.
“I’m sorry to hear the ill tidings, Mr. Fancourt.”
Simon climbed the last step to the splintered porch of the Marwicktow trading post, Mercy’s arms squeezing his neck. He nodded. “Blayney.”
Grabbing his cane, the sun-weathered man rose from his bench, clad in fur-lined buckskins. He motioned toward the door. “Come in and I’ll get you something warm to drink.”
“We do not have long.”
