AGAIN in an effort to distract her mind from the pain in her ankle and her bruises Marguerite had turned her attention to the metal box. She had been determined not to leave it behind in the stairwell and she was glad of it as it proved a welcome diversion. Flicking idly through another of the journals, dated a year later, her eyes caught a name she recognised:
"My heart is torn. How can I bear such extremes? I can hardly bring myself to write it - we have just received word that Arthur has been killed. It was such a brief note, enough to tell us he fought valiantly against the French but was seriously wounded during the battle. He died a few hours later. I feel I am to blame for this - if I had been able to bring myself to wed that man last year perhaps my dearest brother would never have been so far away as Quebec. My grief is edged with bitterness toward myself. And yet, in the midst of my despair, I have also been able to be happy, if such a paradox is possible. Sir Algernon has been most kind - from the first I felt he had an air of dependability about him, and the intervening months have not dimmed that view. His company at dances and gatherings have made many of them bearable while I was in disgrace with Mama. And now he wishes to make me the happiest woman in England, but I cannot think of weddings at present. He came to see Mama yesterday and I was so joyous for such a brief time - despite her disapproval of him she has given her consent. I think she despaired of me ever making a suitable match, after what happened last year. But since that awful message came I do not know what will happen."
The knowledge came to Marguerite in a rush - these journals must belong to Percy's mother. She snapped the book shut swiftly. As she did so a shadow was cast across the doorway and she looked up to see her husband casting a quizzical glance at her.
"Percy!" she gasped, feeling in some way that she had been caught out. How could she tell him about this now? After his revelations the previous evening he might think she was deliberately trying to upset his already raw emotions. She did not want to disturb the fragile understanding which was being built up between them, but neither did she want to keep a secret, and such a secret, from him.
As Percy looked at his wife he could almost see her guard going up, she had not seemed particularly pleased to see him either. She had been somewhat surprised, which considering she had sent for him was strange. He noted she was pleating the silky fabric of her skirts and saw the almost imperceptible look of nervousness which she threw in his direction.
He thought it all behind them: the half-truths, secrecy and estrangement. He had felt last night he had found someone he could trust and confide in - and those feelings were still so new, so raw he found it hard to rely on them. Perhaps now in the light of day she had changed her mind, maybe that was why she had disappeared for a few hours, to find a way to tell him it had all been a mistake.
Crossing his ankles and leaning against the door-arch he assumed an outward appearance of nonchalance.
"My lady. It is a little later than I had anticipated us meeting."
She shivered inwardly at his tone, he had slipped into the cold, drawling voice she had come to detest during those first unhappy months of their marriage. Determined to bridge over the gulf which seemed to be opening between them yet again, she began to babble, explaining about her adventures on the rooftops.
"I'm sorry, Percy, if you wondered where I was, but really I couldn't help it. I was trapped by my wretched ankle."
"Trapped? Where?"
"On the staircase."
"On the staircase?" he echoed her words, puzzled, his tone softening, "But I came up here to meet you and you were nowhere to be found. I would have seen you on the stairs had you sprained your ankle."
"Not those stairs, the other stairs, over there," she said, waving a hand vaguely in the direction of the further corner.
He now wondered whether she had sustained more than an injury to her ankle. But her blue eyes were fixed on him steadily and she did not appear as if about to swoon away. He also took in the dust and cobwebs on her skirts.
Moving into the room he sat down near her and his voice took on a warmer tone than the rather glacial one he had used earlier.
"I'm sorry, m'dear, you'll have to explain. What other stairs? There is only the one flight which comes up to the roof."
"I know."
"Well, if you know that, what do you mean by saying the other stairs?"
"Because there is another flight of stairs - but it doesn't start on the first floor. It starts here, but it doesn't go all the way down."
Nonplussed, Percy looked at his wife. She pointed him in the right direction and said:
"Go and look for yourself. I would show you myself, but I cannot walk across there on this ankle again."
"But what about you, how are you feeling now?" His anxiety had resurfaced as he could see darker shadows smudged under her eyes and a look of tension from the pain.
"I will be perfectly all right here for a little longer - you can help me back down when you return."
Her heart warmed by the tender concern he had shown her she gave him a wan smile.