Page 14 of A Brush With Love at Brookview Hall (Noble Hearts)

Twelve

JULIA

J ulia expected Cornelius to return as suddenly as he had vanished, but she was unprepared for the manner of his return.

It was two days after the discovery of the questionable objects in his studio. Try as she might, she had been unable to shake the dreadful suspicions that the discovery had provoked, and she was generally ill at ease.

Walking helped to clear her head, and the fine weather encouraged her to continue with her customary stroll around the gardens before returning to the house for breakfast and beginning her day’s lessons.

It was a long-established habit, one that everybody knew.

There would be hot tea waiting for her upon her return.

She walked first towards the pool with its grand statues, and then, enjoying the sunshine and clear skies, in the opposite direction towards the woods. She had just rounded a corner of heavy shrubbery when she heard her name hissed in a loud whisper.

Cornelius. She stopped in her steps and let out a puff of annoyance. Whatever could he want like this?

And more to the point, how was she to react to him now, in light of what she had discovered in his studio?

It seemed almost a sure thing that he was involved somehow in something illicit; she could think of no other explanation.

There must be some wicked reason behind his strange behaviour and the items she had discovered behind his box of tools.

She had spent countless hours turning the possibilities over and over in her mind, to no resolution.

His disappearances might simply be what he said they were—extended rambles in search of the next perfect landscape to capture on canvas.

The brandy might not have been hidden at all, but have simply been dropped and forgotten.

He was not, after all, a paragon of order and tidiness.

But it might equally have all been something nefarious.

There might have been some clandestine mission that took him out for days at a time.

The brandy might be a payment for some infamous activity, ill-gotten gains for underhanded deeds, and likewise the tobacco and the tea.

The word dangled before her, obscuring all her thoughts: Smuggling.

There was a rich history of smuggling in this part of the country.

The coast, with its bays and inlets and deep caves set into steep cliffs, all but encouraged the activity.

There were rumours that swirled about the towns like leaves in an autumn gust of wind, and excise men were as frequently seen as fishermen in the villages.

Could Cornelius be involved?

This was a suspicion that proved impossible to shake off, and Julia was quite unsure how to comport herself while in his presence. She could hardly admit what she knew about these strange items she had found, but it was likewise impossible for her to return to their previous friendship.

No matter, she reminded herself. After the incident at the cliffs under the full moon, he could not expect her to be comfortable with him again, even if that had been her own intention before finding the brandy.

She determined to be polite but cool, and no matter how much it would hurt, she must let their budding friendship die.

This resolution lasted only until Cornelius called her again and stepped out from behind a manicured bush. Julia took one look at him and her heart shattered.

“Good gracious! What has happened?”

That handsome face was a mess of scrapes and bruises, and his right eye was swollen almost completely shut, surrounded by a blotch of purple and green that made Julia cringe with imagined pain.

His gait suggested an injured leg, and his left arm was in a makeshift sling that was tied around his neck.

He wore a cap, the sort sailors use, and Julia did not want to know what lurked beneath it, or what chaos had been made of his sandy hair.

“You look terrible!” she blurted without thinking.

“Thank you.” The reply was curt, his tone sarcastic. “I need some help. I may not be able to teach Miss Selina and Miss Harriet today. I am… not entirely well. I ran into a bit of trouble on my rambles.”

“A bit of trouble? By the looks of things, you have been terribly injured. Of course you cannot teach. Your hand…”

She looked down at the right hand, the one not suspended by the makeshift sling. It was red and swollen as well, his knuckles raw. He could not possibly hold a pencil in those damaged fingers.

“You need care. Shall I ask Mr Derriscott to summon the doctor?”

“No!” he burst out, eyes wide in alarm at the suggestion.

What in the world could that be about? Why did he reject this suggestion with such vehemence?

Was he afraid of being discovered, having done something he ought not?

Or was he simply afraid of doctors? Some people were, Julia knew, suspecting them of causing more harm than good.

Her own father had been like that, not trusting their own medical man until far too late in his illness, when there was nothing more to be done for him.

Perhaps, had he called on the doctor earlier, he would still be alive.

She sighed. There was no point rethinking this; what was done was done.

Cornelius must have seen something in her face, for he continued more calmly.

“That is unnecessary. There is no reason for the expense, and by the time anybody arrives, I shall be quite healed.

It is merely a few scratches. But—" Whatever he was about to say was cut off as he suddenly winced.

He squeezed his eyes closed and let out a groan, his face almost grey under his dirty hat.

“What is it?” Julia was growing quite concerned.

“Merely a twinge in my knee. I…” He sagged against the thick branches, which bowed under him. It seemed he could barely support his own weight.

This was enough. Foolish man.

“I will have none of this. You need help. Why will you not let me ask for a doctor, or perhaps the apothecary? You are injured, and these are not frivolous expenses. No, I see you are determined. Very well. Will you accept my help?”

The injured man nodded, his face rather more pale than she liked. Julia’s heart gave another lurch.

“Yes, I can trust you. I know I can. But one request, Julia. Please, this is important.”

The frisson of alarm running up her spine intensified.

“What is it? What on earth is the matter?”

“I beg you, do not tell anybody. It is imperative that nobody know. I cannot explain why; I can only pray that you believe me. You are the only one I can trust.” The desperate look in his eyes spoke more loudly than his anxious words.

Julia stared at him, her mouth agape. This was no mere accident that befell him during a ramble.

He was most certainly up to something, and something no good.

She ought to run back to the house and knock at Mr Derriscott’s door at once, lay it all before him, and request his involvement.

But Cornelius was pleading, his eyes imploring her assistance.

What did he mean that she was the only one he could trust? What was going on?

This was Cornelius. He had made his mistakes, to be sure, but he was a friend.

They had spent enough time together whilst he had been working on her portrait that she felt she knew him.

Whatever his strange activities that took him out on these rambles, his character was open to her.

He was not a cruel man, or a duplicitous one.

He said he could trust her, and she knew that she could trust him.

There was no reason to that; it was something she felt deep in her soul.

“Very well,” she replied with a sigh. “You can depend on my silence.”

Now it was time for action. Julia took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders.

“Where have you been? The studio? Yes, I thought so. You cannot have eaten. Return there now. Can you manage the distance? I shall… I shall come up with some excuse not to teach today. Perhaps I can explain I have a bad headache and need to lie down. Or better, that I need to take some fresh air and lie down in the woods somewhere, away from all noise. That is better. I will ask for a basket with food, and I can gather some supplies to tend to your injuries.” She stood up straight and used her most commanding governess voice, the one that had the naughtiest student sitting up and staring straight ahead.

Cornelius snapped his head up, then winced again. He looked quite defeated.

“But what of the children?” His words were concerned, but his voice was tight with pain.

“Selina can instruct all the children in some basic drawing, and perhaps lead them through their arithmetic and spelling. She has done this before; these sessions, if sufficiently infrequent to be novelties, are almost always successful. I shall ask Miss Kingstone to take them on an outing, with one of the maids or footmen to assist. They will manage well without me for a day. Now, no more of your arguments. Off you go. I shall attend you as soon as I can.”

She let her voice soften as she peered at him again, broken and covered in dried blood and bruises. “Truly, Cornelius, will you be all right until I arrive?”

He squeezed his eyes closed for a moment. “I shall be. I must be.”

Without another word, he turned and limped back in the direction of the cottage.

“Thoughtless, reckless, stupid creature,” Julia muttered, watching his slow and painful progress. Her heart gave another lurch, and she realised she had quite forgotten to be angry and cool with him.

Now having a purpose, she strode back towards the house, remembering only as she approached the doors that she was supposed to be ill.

She slowed her steps and tightened her eyes a bit, as if protecting herself against too-bright light.

Her fingers kneaded at her temples, and she scrubbed her face to give herself a bit of an unhealthy flush.

Letting her shoulders droop, she shuffled into the kitchens, hoping to find the housekeeper present. Thankfully, she was.

In moments, Julia had given her excuses, asked for Miss Kingstone to please come to speak with her for a moment, and requested a basket of food, saying she needed to be out in the woods. This was met with curious expressions, but no arguments.

“I shall find a blanket as well, Miss Lyddon,” said one of the maids, as she scurried off.

With the kitchens and storerooms nearly empty of servants now, Julia took a minute to find the other supplies she needed, which she put in a small basket. She could explain this easily enough as headache medicine—for indeed, there was a flask of willow bark tea included. It would pass unremarked.

At last, having spoken to the children’s nanny and suitably encumbered with the supplies she had requested—and remembering to feign some great headache—Julia emerged back outside and made her way to the cottage in the woods, where Cornelius sat waiting for her.

Dear, foolish, ridiculous, darling man.