I shudder to think how long it's been since I updated this... but here's a really short chapter to hopefully get things back on track. Enjoy!
Ruth stared out of the drawing room window at the dismal grey sky outside. It had been three weeks since her departure from town, three weeks of low spirits and false smiles in the daytime and tears in the dead of night when no one could hear her. The weather seemed to have aligned itself with her thoughts - they had had two days of solid, heavy rain - so Ruth had even been denied the relief of her daily, solitary walks into the village and back. Lady Radford had been abed ill for the past week, and never had her goddaughter felt so alone. Even her studies could not amuse her for long.
A letter had arrived from Elizabeth (in Spain with her husband's regiment) just yesterday, sending her aunt good wishes and begging that she would come to visit them very soon. Ruth had shaken her head over that last; clearly, despite a month of marriage, Elizabeth was no better versed in politics or military matters than she had been at birth. A visit to the Peninsular would be utterly impossible - but still Miss Evershed could not help dreaming of what it would be like. She smiled faintly at her folly - with Lady Radford ill, and a war abroad, travel would be ill-advised at best. The slow pace of life, however, was somehow suffocating, and what had promised to be a peaceful winter in the country had turned into a nightmare to be endured with only the barest semblance of pleasure.
And still there had been no sight or sound of Sir Henry. Ruth sank into a chair by the fire, allowing its warmth to soak into her somewhat chilled bones. Perhaps this, in truth, was the real cause of her melancholy. After all, he had been such a good friend to her, that his sudden absence was unsettling. She longed to talk to him about the latest political developments, debate the merits of a new book, or merely talk to him about her growing anxiety on Lady Radford's part. The old lady seemed to have grown thinner, and although she veiled it well with her usual display of upright sprightliness, Ruth could tell that her illness was more serious than she would admit. Already this week she had missed two visits from Dr Templeton, come to see her godmother, and she could not help but wonder whether Lady Radford had timed them so that they would occur when Ruth herself was safely absent from the house. This most of all struck fear into her heart. What if…?
Shaking herself sternly, Ruth brushed away an unwonted tear. Nonsense. People of Lady Radford's age could very well suffer an illness for a time, and require multiple visits from their physician; such an occurrence did not warrant such anxiety. That was what Sir Henry himself would have told her, had he been here, she felt sure. But what if he were here? That last day in London, she had felt that they were on the brink of something, teetering on the precipice of a new phase of their acquaintance. Now, all she could do was wait. Wait for his return, and what it might bring.
The clock in the hall struck the hour and Ruth rose to change. A visit from Mr Wynn-Jones, bringing books for Lady Radford, and perhaps a piece of music or a periodical from London, was sure to occur within the next half an hour or so, as it had every day since her arrival in the country. The local clergyman, Mr Wynn-Jones had been the only bright point in Ruth's fit of the blue devils. Pleasant, gentleman-like and, best of all, a close friend of Sir Henry's, he had an ageing mother whom Ruth had called upon once or twice. He would converse with the ladies in Lady Radford's sitting-room for an hour or more, and Ruth found that she could manage her life just a little better now that this sweet-tempered, gentle, rather shy man had entered it.
Next time, more Harry in France, the entrance of Tom Quinn and an unfortunate encounter with a Frenchman or two...