the window. It was going to be a very long journey indeed if Val meant to catalogue his wrongs. The refrain was one I had heard often enough from all of Father’s younger sons. Although the bulk of the March estate was kept intact for Bellmont and his heirs, Father was extremely generous with his younger children.
Unfortunately, his generosity seldom extended to letting them make their own choices. They were expected to be dilettantes, nothing less than gentlemen. They might write sonatas or publish verse or daub canvases with paints, but it was always understood that they were strictly barred from engaging in trade. Valerius had not only struggled against this cage, he had smashed the bars open. He had at one time established himself, quite illegally, as physician to an expensive brothel. His dabbling in medicine had violated every social more that Father had been brought up to respect, and Father had very nearly disowned him altogether. It was only grudgingly and after a series of violent arguments that he had consented to permit Valerius to study medicine in theory, so long as he did not actually engage in treating patients. This compromise had made Val sulky, yet unsatisfactory as his work had become, leaving it was worse.
He lapsed into a prickly silence, dozing against the window as the train picked up speed and we began our journey in earnest.
Not surprisingly, Portia and I bickered genteelly the entire morning, pausing only to nibble at the contents of the hamper Portia’s cook had packed for us. But even the most delectable ham pie is no cure for peevishness, and Portia was in rare form. By the time the train halted to take on passengers at Bletchley, I had had my fill of her.
“Portia, if you are so determined not to enjoy yourself, why don’t you leave now? It can easily be arranged and you can take the next train back. A few hours at most and you can be in London, smoothing over your quarrel with Jane. Perhaps you could go with her to Portsmouth.”
She raised a brow at me. “I have no interest in seeing Portsmouth. Besides, what quarrel? We have not quarrelled.”
Val perked up considerably at this bit of news, and Portia threw him a vicious glance. “Go back to sleep, dearest. The grown-ups are talking.”
“Do not attempt to put me off,” I put in hurriedly, eager to avoid another squabble between them. “I know matters have not been right between you, and I know why. She is not easy about this trip. Perhaps she will simply miss your company or perhaps she fears you will get up to some mischief while you are away, but I know she does not like it. It does her much credit that she has been so kind to me when I am the cause of it.”
Portia wrapped the rest of her pie in a bit of brown paper and replaced it in the hamper. Val retrieved it instantly and began to wolf it down. Portia ignored him. “You are not the cause, Julia. I would have gone to Brisbane in any event. I am worried for him.”
My heart thudded dully in my chest. “What do you mean? Have you heard from him?”
She hesitated, then fished in her reticule. “I had this letter from him last week. I did not think to visit Grimsgrave so early. When he first invited me, I thought perhaps the middle of April, even May, might be more pleasant. But when I read that …” Her voice trailed off and I reached for the letter.
The handwriting was as familiar to me as my own, bold and black, thickly scrawled by a pen with a broad nib. The heading was Grimsgrave Hall, Yorkshire, and it was dated the previous week. I read it quickly, then again more slowly, aloud this time, as if by hearing the words aloud I could make better sense of them. One passage in particular stood out.
And so I must rescind my invitation to come to Grimsgrave. Matters have deteriorated since I last wrote to you, and I am in no humour for company, even such pleasant company as yours. You would hardly know me, I have grown so uncivilized, and I should hate to shock you.
I could well imagine the sardonic little twist of the lips as he wrote those words. I read on, each word chilling me a little more.
As for your sister, tell her nothing. She must forget me, and she will. Whatever my hopes may once have been, I realise now I was a fool or a madman, or perhaps I am grown mad now. The days are very alike here, the hours of darkness long and bleak, and I am a stranger to myself.
The letter dropped to my lap through nerveless fingers. “Portia,” I murmured. “How could you have kept this from me?”
“Because I was afraid you would not go if you read it.”
“Then you are a greater fool than I thought,” I replied crisply. I returned the letter to its envelope and handed it back to her. “He has need of me, that much is quite clear.”
“He sounds as if he wants to be left alone,” Val offered, blowing crumbs onto his lap. He brushed them off, and I rounded on him.
“He needs me,” I said, biting off each word sharply.
“It was one thing to arrive as my guest when I was invited,” Portia reminded me. “Does it not trouble you for both of us to arrive, unannounced and unwelcome? And Valerius besides?”
“No,” I said boldly. “Friends have a duty to care for one another, even when it is unwelcome. Brisbane needs me, Portia. Whether he wishes to own it or not.”
Portia’s gaze searched my face. At length she nodded, giving me a little smile. “I hope you are correct. And I hope he agrees. You realise he may well shut the door upon us. What will you tell him if he bids us go to the devil?”
I smoothed my hair, neatly pinned under a rather fetching hat I had just purchased the week before. It was violet velvet, with cunning little clusters of silk violets sewn to the crown and spilling over one side of the brim to frame my face.
“I shall tell him to lead the way.”
Portia laughed then, and we finished our picnic lunch more amiably than we had begun it. It was the last truly enjoyable moment of the entire journey. Delays, bad weather, an aimless cow wandering onto the railway tracks—all conspired against us and we were forced to spend an uncomfortable night in a hotel of questionable quality in Birmingham, having secured three rooms by a detestable combination of bribery and high-handed arrogance. Portia and I shared, as did the maids, and as penance for securing the only room to himself, Valerius was forced to spend the night with the pets.
After an unspeakable breakfast the next morning, we resumed our journey with its endless changing of trains to smaller and smaller lines in bleaker and bleaker towns until at last we stumbled off of a train hardly bigger than a child’s toy.
“Where are we?” I demanded. Portia drew a map from her reticule and unfolded it as I peered over her shoulder. Behind us, Morag and Minna were counting bags and preparing to take the dogs for a short walk to attend to nature.
Portia pointed on the map to an infinitesimally small dot. “Howlett Magna. We must find transport to the village of Lesser Howlett and from thence to Grimsgrave.”
Val and I looked about the tiny clutch of grey stone buildings. “There is something smaller than this?” he asked, incredulous.
“There is,” Portia said crisply, “and that is where we are bound.”
Portia was in a brisk, managing mood, and the arrangements for transportation were swiftly made. Valerius and I stood on the kerb surveying the village while Portia settled matters.
“It looks like something out of a guidebook of prospective spots to catch cholera,” Val said, curling his lip.
“Don’t
