A Tip of the Cap (London League, Book 3) Page 19

  It wasn’t until he had spoken with Lily, who had been equally unsuccessful with drawing Beth out, that a possible solution had come to him.

  “How is she with the children?” Lily had asked him as they walked toward her home, her brow knit with worry.

  Malcolm had drawn up short, realization dawning. “I haven’t brought them to see her. I was waiting until she was feeling better, but…”

  Lily had patted his arm, nodding firmly. “Bring them. Do it now. I will see myself home.”

  Normally, Malcolm would never allow such a thing, but as they could see the house from here, and he had a desperate need to see if this plan might be what they needed to bring up Beth’s spirits, as well as their own, he agreed to it. He kissed her cheek and sent her on her way before dashing back to the house, rounding up the children, and leading them all up to Beth’s bedchamber.

  They knew how she fared, though perhaps not what to expect, but all he could tell them was that she needed some cheering up, and that seemed enough for them.

  Holding his breath, he opened the door to her bedchamber. “Beth?” he called softly, grateful the maids still drew back the curtains, though Beth could not see the light and likely did not care.

  He could barely see her form on the bed, and she did not stir besides tilting her head very slightly in the direction of the door.

  “I have a few visitors who are quite desperate to see you.” Before she could protest, he nodded at the children, who moved without hesitation to the bed.

  Beth sat up, her eyes wide, but still unseeing. At first, Malcolm worried that he had gone too far, but then when Samuel leaped onto the bed near her, she laughed, the sound harsh and rough with lack of use. She fumbled for his hand and kissed it repeatedly as the boy moved into her hold. Archer and Jane helped Greer to climb on the mattress before they settled themselves there, as well.

  The change in Beth was startling, if not downright breathtaking. Though still pale, weak, and gaunt, she was smiling and engaging, listening to every word they uttered with intensity. Her hands fluttered over their hair or their cheeks, squeezing their hands and kissing their faces. They loved every moment, and Jane was especially adept at describing recent events and scenes in great detail. Malcolm felt more than a little emotion as he observed it. His sweet girl was doing her utmost to help her stepmother in the only way she could at this moment, and he had a tiny sense of what it might mean to Beth to hear it.

  Malcolm watched in silence until Beth began to look pale and weary once more, and then he stepped forward. “All right, children, Bitsy needs her rest now. You can come and visit her again tomorrow.”

  He saw the brief flash of relief on her face and felt it echo in his heart. Seeing any change in her expression was cause for celebration in his mind, and he wanted to ensure that she was never so vacant again.

  Beth kissed each of the children repeatedly, running her fingers over their cheeks and hair repeatedly, her face tightening in a way that Malcolm did not like.

  “May we come in before bed to kiss Bitsy good night?” Jane asked him, still holding onto Beth’s hand.

  Malcolm looked at Beth and saw her nodding.

  “Yes,” they said together, which made him smile and only seemed to heighten whatever distress was lying so near the surface with Beth.

  He quickly shooed the children out, signaling to a servant in the hall to return them to the nursery. Once they were far enough away, he stepped back into Beth’s room and closed the door.

  Beth had curled into a ball beneath the comforter and was now trembling visibly. He couldn’t hear any sound from her, but her fist was pressed to her mouth tightly, and he took a step in her direction, the floorboards creaking sharply beneath his feet.

  She stopped her shaking, stilling herself with a muted squeak.

  Malcolm couldn’t bear this. “Beth…” he murmured as gently as he could.

  She turned more fully away from him, trembling once more.

  He shook his head and took another step. “What can I do?” he pleaded, willing to give anything, do anything, to make her smile the way his children had. He could not bear to be helpless to her, not when she clearly needed so much.

  Beth didn’t answer him, but her muffled cries were answer enough.

  “I cannot bear to see you cry,” Malcolm rasped, his fingers rubbing together anxiously by his sides.

  “Then you sh-should probably l-leave,” his wife stammered weakly, her voice hoarse from disuse and clogged with tears. “I’m afraid I will be crying for some time.”

  Somehow her words invigorated him, even as his eyes burned with unshed tears of his own. She was speaking to him, at long last, and showing some spirit, even if it was irritable and sharp. He could wait for the sunshine to return as long as there was life in her.

  “Beth,” he said again, approaching the bed very slowly, “I don’t know what to do. I am… not usually a demonstrative man.” He shook his head, though she wouldn’t see it. “But… may I hold you? While you cry?”

  Beth stiffened again, and Malcolm held his breath, watching her steadily, waiting…

  Then his wife released a particularly loud cry, the sound choked and pained. She nodded and held a hand out to him. It was almost in his direction, but not quite.

  The gesture struck him poignantly, and he was moving to her even as he swallowed back his own emotions. He rounded the bed and seized her hand, pulling her up to a seated position and drawing her up into his arms. She clung to him as fiercely as she had the day of her accident, burying her face in his shoulder, her fingers curling into his shirt tightly.

  Malcolm sat on the bed, swinging his legs up and resting back against the headboard. He tugged the covers from under himself and draped them over Beth’s legs as she sat across his lap, and then he held her, cradling her against his chest. He didn’t say a word as she sobbed. He silently slipped one of her hands from his shirt and intertwined their fingers, drawing her hand to his lips and kissing it tenderly before pressing it against his heart. Dusting his lips across her brow, he held her close even as his shirt dampened with her tears.

  “I want to see the children,” Beth whimpered into his chest. “I want to see them!”

  “I know, sweetheart,” he murmured against her brow, kissing softly. “Is it too hard to have them visit you? I’ll do whatever you want.”

  He felt her shake her head. Her fingers curled in his hold, gripping him tightly. “I do want to have them here. I want to hear about their days and touch their faces, and I want…” She broke off with another pained sound, and Malcolm tightened his hold on her, tucking her head beneath his chin.

  “All right,” he soothed, kissing her hair. “All right. Go ahead and cry, Beth. I’ll hold you as long as you need.”

  He would hold her longer than that if she would allow it. But for now, this would suffice.

  “Monty, what’s happened? Monty!”

  Malcolm looked up blearily, surprised at the tall and rather crisp-looking figure standing in the doorway of his study. He peered closely, feeling as though his brain was working in reverse. He had tried to sleep once Beth had settled herself, but it hadn’t been possible. Sleep had been difficult since Beth’s accident, as the horrors of it had continued to plague him, and so he had thrown himself into his work, both the duties of the estate and the reports from the London League.

  He was doing a miserable job of both.

  The man in the doorway entered, looking him over with wide eyes, concern etched in every line. “Good heavens, man. What’s happened?”

  The confusion swirling in his mind cleared, and recognition dawned. “Fritz.”

  His friend nodded slowly, a line of worry on his brow. “Did you forget my name?”

  “I’ve forgotten far more important things of late,” Malcolm admitted with chagrin. He sat back in his chair and waved him into another. “As you can probably tell.”

  Fritz gave a short laugh as he settled himself into the chair, still wea
ring his greatcoat. He set his hat on the table beside him and began stripping off his gloves. “Yes, I wondered about that. Your last missive about the reports was more cryptic than the reports themselves. I had to go to the League to figure out what you were saying.”

  Malcolm winced and shook his head, drumming his fingers absently on the armrests of his chair. “I apologize. I am… not myself.”

  “So I see.” Fritz leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “Monty, your letter had Emily and me in such a state that I left in the middle of a dinner party with three ambassadors while she made my excuses. But you didn’t say what had happened or anything to indicate if things were well.”

  “I didn’t mean to send for you.” Malcolm looked up sharply, his fingers stilling. “Did I send for you in the letter?”

  Fritz shook his head quickly. “No, but here I am all the same. Tell me what happened. Is Beth all right?”

  Malcolm chewed on his lip for a moment, not particularly wanting to share the painful details of the past ten days, but also knowing that he was going to need his friend’s support to manage everything he now faced. Malcolm shook his head, swallowing hard. “Things are not well. Not well at all.”

  He related the events of that awful day as best he could, sparing his friend the complicated details of his own personal torment, and sticking to the facts. He was a spy, after all, and extraneous details that did not help matters would be useless, not to mention unwarranted. He spoke of Beth’s injuries, her emotional state, and the fear that she might never regain her former vibrancy.

  Fritz had remained silent throughout the retelling, and now rose, pacing the room, his fingers playing near his mouth and chin. “And the doctor isn’t concerned about this?”

  “Of course, he’s concerned,” Malcolm snapped. “How often does a young woman of perfect health lose her vision?”

  His friend paused mid-stride to give him a stern look.

  Most people did not give Malcolm looks. Most of the time, he was the one doing that to others.

  But now he was the one shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “Apologies, Fritz.”

  Fritz nodded in acknowledgement and then continued his pacing.

  “Dr. Durham says it’s too soon to lose hope,” Malcolm told him, watching his friend pace, “but he says everything is perfectly normal, considering her injuries. He has been by every day to examine her, and each day he says that only time will tell if her sight will return.” Malcolm rubbed a hand over his face and groaned. “I cannot bear to hear that phrase uttered one more time.”

  “And what does Beth think?” Fritz asked, folding his arms and stopping in front of him.

  Malcolm sighed heavily, thinking back to the slight form of his wife that he had held in his arms only hours ago while she wept. That had been the most interaction he’d had with her in days, and the liveliest she had been since the accident.

  “Beth seems to be mutely accepting everything she hears,” he confessed, now rising himself and moving to the window, setting his arm against the frame. “She doesn’t ask any questions, though I ask plenty for both of us. She says nothing at all. Not a word.”

  “And with you?”

  He shook his head slightly. “Nothing, usually. She finally spoke today after I brought the children to see her, and she spoke with them here and there, but…”

  His voice trailed off with a choked sound, and he pounded a fist against the wall.

  Fritz suddenly gripped his shoulder. “What can I do?”

  Malcolm took a moment to collect himself, then turned to look at his friend. “I need you to take over the League.”

  He could tell that Fritz wasn’t expecting that answer, and the hand fell from his shoulder. “The League?” Fritz repeated with raised brows.

  Malcolm nodded, exhaling slowly. “I need to be here,” he explained. “I cannot be going back and forth to London when she is in this state, and until we figure out how to manage her condition, I cannot devote as much of my energies to my work there.”

  Fritz snorted loudly and shook his head, grinning. “Of course, that all goes without saying. Your place is here with your wife. She needs you with her, and I think you personally need to be with her. That was never in question.”

  It had never occurred to Malcolm that he might need to remain at Knightsgate with Beth for his own sake, he only thought of how to help her and ensure that her transition into a sightless life was as painless as possible. He wanted to be here for her, with her, every single step of the way.

  The traitors to the crown, the French faction working to shift the balance of power, and even Rogue’s potential compromise were all going to have to wait. His place was here.

  “Thank you,” Malcolm murmured gruffly, looking away in the face of his sudden discovery.

  “Did you really think I wouldn’t agree?” Fritz asked with a light laugh. “I expected to assist you there, and knowing what I know now, I am ordering you to remain here.”

  The order drew a wry chuckle from Malcolm, and he leaned back against the wall. “You are ordering me?”

  Fritz nodded, no longer smiling though his tone remained the same. “Absolutely and unequivocally. You were a good soldier, Monty, and you are an impeccable spy, all because you understand orders and obey them. Don’t fail me now.”

  Malcolm laughed again, moving to the sideboard. “I have no intention of disobeying orders, Fritz,” he assured him, pulling out the brandy decanter and two tumblers. “Believe it or not, I don’t wish to be in London.”

  “I believe you,” Fritz replied, all signs of teasing gone. “If I were in your situation, I would not hesitate.”

  “I’m not hesitating,” Malcolm protested as he poured the drinks.

  “Then why do I feel as though you are asking my permission?”

  Malcolm paused, setting the decanter down. Was he asking permission? It seemed a ridiculous notion, as he knew that any of his superiors or associates would have said precisely the same thing that Fritz had said. They would have insisted that he take the time with his wife and family, taken up his duties and responsibilities, and managed everything perfectly until he had felt able to return. It did not make the asking any easier, as he currently felt a great deal of guilt knowing all that he was handing off.

  He glanced towards Fritz, who was staring at him with a steady, knowing expression. “What if I can’t help her?” he heard himself ask his oldest friend.

  Fritz tilted his head and shifted his stance slightly. “How could you not?”

  He turned, holding out a drink to his friend, and considered his words carefully. “Beth has drawn into herself, and I cannot blame her. I cannot imagine what this situation has been like for her, I can only know my own thoughts and feelings, and those are torment enough.” He shook his head, slowly moving towards his chair once more, drink in hand. “What if my interference only draws out the worst in her? What if I am making her more miserable? She came alive for the children, Fritz, and I cannot seem to do that for her. I have held her while she cries, and seen to the best of her care, and that is all.” He sank back into the chair and pinched the bridge of his nose. “If I cannot help her, I would be better served in London, despite this growing need to be with her.”

  Fritz crossed back to his own chair and sat, leaning forward earnestly. “Listen to me, Monty. As your friend. If it is a reaction that you are looking for, you would indeed be better served elsewhere. Your wife comes alive for the children because they bring her joy and remind her what she has in her life. But she also knows that the children must see the best. With you, she does not have to pretend that all is well. She can be as miserable as she feels, and as vulnerable. If you do not see the significance in that, then perhaps you should stay away in London and leave Beth to find her own way.”

  All the air rushed out of Malcolm’s lungs at once, and he stared at the drink in his hand without seeing it. Fritz had always been honest with him, sometimes painfully so. This was no exception. />
  “Beth may not even know what she needs yet, Monty, but I can promise you that she needs you here,” Fritz went on, sounding like the mentor he had been to so many. “She needs you to be ready for when she does know what she needs. And she certainly does not need you creating problems where none exist. You will worry yourself into a frenzy, and that will not help anyone. Set your own concerns and guilt aside and focus on her. Let her cry, let her rage, let her stew in silence if she needs to. When she is ready, she will know. And so will you.”

  Malcolm stared at Fritz for a long moment, processing the revelations heaped upon him. He was the sort to fix all the problems that arose in life, not to sit idly by and patiently wait for a solution to present itself. Patience had never really been his strong suit, but it appeared that patience was exactly what he needed.

  He glowered in Fritz’s direction, which earned him a cheeky grin. “When did you become so wise in the ways of women?” he grumbled.

  Fritz saluted him with his tumbler, looking like the raffish man he once had been. “I’ve been married to Emily for twenty years. You start to learn a thing or two when you pay attention.”

  Malcolm frowned a little in amusement. “So, your wife had her penny’s worth about what you should say before you came, did she?”

  There was a brief moment of outrage on Fritz’s face, and then he scowled playfully. “Yes, she did, and as she knows you almost as well as I, it happens that most of what she said was perfectly applicable.” He sniffed dismissively. “Now, drink that beverage in your hand and tell me what else I can do to help.”

  Chapter Sixteen