Repercussions Pt. 02

He cut across several fields to shorten the journey, urging his mount into a gallop and jumping fences and hedge rows, the vigorous exercise bolstering his spirit momentarily. At the train station, he considered purchasing a ticket for himself as well --- he could slip onto the train...Chloe and he could sneak off at some intervening station and elope! Oh yes certainly, you sap, for that's clearly what she wants!

Upon his return to the estate, the family was at dinner. He took himself to the kitchen, there finding the usual convivial bustle of the staff working and eating. 'Twas the same as last night --- as it ever was --- but oh how contrasting was his mood tonight! He sat silently with his plate, eating without enthusiasm.

Several of the maids were seated to his left, chattering amongst themselves about the noteworthy developments of the day: the Duke of Leeds' marriage offer to Lady Chloe (how had that intelligence spread so fast?), and the Ladies' impending departure for London. One of the maids had a sister in service in the Duke's household and was eager to report it that was a magnificent estate, and that the Duke was a very handsome young man. Another claimed to have heard a rumor that a royal would soon be courting Lady Chloe after her coming out. A third lamented the inevitable broken heart of Lord Edwin's handsome and agreeable friend Lord Dalton.

Grady's gaze remained fixed upon his plate as he tried to blot out the conversation. He stabbed a piece of mutton with his fork.

"How are ye keeping, Grady?" a low voice asked.

Raising his head, he found Mr. O'Malley sitting opposite him, sympathy upon his lined face. Grady straightened and strove for a tolerably cheery tone as he responded, "Just a bit weary...a full day."

Mr. O'Malley nodded, saying nothing further, and pushed a mug of ale across to him.

Some time later, fortified with several cups of ale, Grady wandered out onto the veranda and stared up at the dark sky. The sounds of the pianoforte drifted from the drawing room behind him. He knew 'twas Chloe playing...he recognized the certain saucy quality in her interpretation of the air. Not wishing to be seen lingering nearby, he descended the steps into the garden and walked towards the rear until the tinkling notes faded behind him.

The soft splashing of the fountain now drew him on.

He halted beside the fountain, standing motionless and letting the sound of water envelop him. Deep breaths...deep breaths...In the cool night air he detected the haunting scent of cherry blossoms...and his heart overflowed with her. All at once he reached into his inner coat pocket and withdrew his pencil and little book. He sat upon the edge of the fountain basin and leant forward, bracing his forearms upon his thighs. In the dim lantern light, he began to write.

Dear Chloe ---

He crossed this out.

Dear Lady Chloe ---

No.

He tapped his pencil a few times upon the paper. Across the dark expanse of the garden and veranda his gaze fixed upon the two golden rectangles of the drawing room windows, picturing her sitting at the pianoforte...her beautiful eyes lifting to meet his...His thoughts were interrupted by a meow. He glanced up to see Max trotting towards him. The cat leapt up onto the fountain basin edge and sat next to him, regarding him, his green eyes reflecting the light. "Hullo, Max. Pray tell me you brought me a message from my lady."

"Meeeoww." Max touched his arm with a paw. Grady obligingly stroked and scratched his head for a while as he pondered his letter. Presently he started anew: writing...crossing out...rewriting. Eventually, he paused. "Max, I require your unvarnished opinion." Max, now lying upon the wall with the tip of his tail slowly tapping, seemed willing to undertake the charge. Grady cleared his throat and read aloud in a low voice:

My Lady ---

The circumstances subsisting between us that have long prevented the outward expression of my sentiments are presently approaching a critical pass that compels me now to speak or forever hold my peace. I will thus speak plainly: I love you. I believe that I have always loved you. Although my feelings have evolved over the years, they have ever been characterized by the utmost affection and respect. Indeed, it is my fondest wish to have the honor of pledging to you my troth and devotion.

I suspect that you will doubt the sincerity of my declaration, given the licentious propensities of my recent conduct. I can only defend myself with the avowal that my love for you is that of a man full grown --- I acknowledge without shame that my amorous passion for you is equal in force to my gentle regard for you. When most unexpectedly (and most gratefully) presented with the irresistible temptation of your extraordinary beauty --- a vision concordant with my deepest yearnings --- I fear that this aspect of my love charged unchecked to the forefront. It would grieve me deeply if my un-gentlemanlike behavior caused you offense. However, I would hasten to assure you that it stands as testimony to the profundity of my love for you.

He fell silent for a minute, staring at the page. "'Tis all I have so far. How should I proceed? I have nothing to recommend me, but pray marry me and we'll elope to America?" Max made no response, apparently as flummoxed as he was. "Aye Max, 'tis a quandary." But at that instant he knew that he could never give her the letter...could not risk it falling into the wrong hands and causing her shame. He sighed and stood. "Goodnight, old chum. If you see her, give her a kiss from me."

Upon returning to his rooms, he tore the pages of the letter from his book and threw them into the fire. At his desk, he resumed work upon Chloe's gift. The last coat of varnish had dried, and now he undertook the final assembly, his large fingers moving carefully with the small instruments. Nigh an hour later, he held it up and examined it in the candlelight --- aye, 'twas perfect. God grant him the opportunity to put it into her hands!

*****

The morning arrived. 'Twas here --- the last day before she departed. The day marched forward --- each hour the grim tolling of the hall clock increased the disproportion of Grady's despair to his hope. Through the open door to his office, the sounds of footsteps and servants informed him of her likely whereabouts: breakfast, morning room, upstairs. But never did he catch sight of her. Either Lady Trimingham and the Countess had succeeding in confining her to their watchful presence, or Chloe was intentionally avoiding him.

The alteration effected by the return of Lady Trimingham upon the daily flow of activity in Greystoke Hall was quite apparent. Although the concurrence of Chloe's presence with Lady Trimingham's absence had lasted just over a week, Grady found himself already habituated to glimpses of the lovely, free-spirited maiden. Today alas, the view through his window was only of the empty garden --- the melancholy trees and flowers waving slightly --- devoid of the dark-haired sprite nimbly passing among the beds.

He kept himself occupied in his office and about the house and grounds, performing his duties by rote as he strove to make himself visible and glean a sense of Chloe's activities. As had become his monthly custom, he conferenced with the higher-level servants to keep abreast of issues upon the estate. Thus, in the morning he spoke to the Scofields as they walked about the manor, and Calhoun in the carriage house. Calhoun showed him a broken step upon one of the carriages, and they sent a stable boy into Ashborough with the bracket for the blacksmith to repair.

Grady was in the kitchen checking in with Jenny after the family's luncheon had finished. He had crossed the great hall and passed the dining room but had failed to encounter Chloe leaving. Now he sat upon the kitchen counter, tightening the screws upon some loose cabinet hinges. Presently Harriet entered and plopped down upon a chair. "At last," she sighed, "To sit down!"

Jenny turned to look at her. "What have you been doing? You look all in."

Harriet reached for the teapot. "Their ladyships desire to review all of Miss Chloe's garments in preparation for packing. All morning long I've been dressing her in items of clothing so that they can see her walk, and sit, and curtsey in them...then I undress her and put on the next item. Everything: gowns, cloaks, petticoats, shoes."

Grady hid his wistful expression behind the open cabinet door, envying Harriet her task. He pictured Chloe standing in her chemise and corset...he wondered how transparent the fabric of the chemise was above and below the corset...then he smothered the image as the details quickly proved too stimulating.

Harriet was saying, "They are having a stroll upon the grounds before we start again --- summer gowns next."

Grady tightened the upper hinge. It occurred to him that Harriet's proximity to Chloe might be used to his advantage to slip her a message. This idea was soon discarded: although he trusted Harriet, he did not want to cause her unease by involving her in anything she might consider improper, or risk her losing her position if the plan went astray.

The wheels continued to turn in his mind.

Later that afternoon there arrived the first delivery of wood planks from the mill. Grady directed the wagon to the courtyard between the stable and the carriage house. He stripped off his coat and waistcoat and rolled up his sleeves. With assistance of two stable boys, he and the delivery man unloaded the boards, arranging them into piles according to the farm for which they were destined. As he worked, he intermittently glanced up at the windows of Chloe's bedchamber, certain that at least at one point he had seen a figure standing there looking out. From the distance he could not tell if it was she.

Inexorably, time slipped away. Dinner had come and gone, the family was in the drawing room, and Grady was pacing up and down in his office. He must speak to her! He must! But every ploy he devised to communicate with her was dismissed for potentially creating too much suspicion or compromising her.

He halted next to the desk, hearing the mantel clock ticking.

Inspiration seized him. He opened the drawer and took out Chloe's book The Voyage of the Beagle. Yes! He would write a note asking to speak to her and place it between the pages. He could insert a second, different colored bookmark at the page with the note to draw her attention. Then he would present himself at the drawing room and say that a groundskeeper had found the book...in the garden...was it Lady Chloe's? He would then be able to put it into her hand.

The scheme would involve him --- he hoped without rousing suspicion. 'Twould have to be himself; he could not allow risk to an innocent messenger. True, there existed the risk that someone other than Chloe would take the book, or that she would not notice the new bookmark. Moreover, the gambit did place the burden upon Chloe of arranging a meeting --- this he lamented. But given the greater restrictions upon her movements, there was no help for it.

As he turned to the bookcase to look for another bookmark, a motion in the library caught his eye. The double doors between his office and Lord Trimingham's private library, and between that room and the main library all stood open allowing him to see Chloe entering the library. Alone! His heart thumped. Their eyes met across the length of the adjoining chambers. He bowed; she nodded and crossed to the far bookcase where she drew out a book. But then she quickly glanced towards the hall and turned to him! Grady was about to start towards her when he heard the click of footsteps in the hall. "Chloe!" Lady Trimingham's voice could be heard.

Swiftly Grady sat at his desk and snatched up his quill pen. Lady Trimingham entered the library. He stood and bowed. "Lady Trimingham," he murmured. She acknowledged him briefly then addressed Chloe. "I must see it for myself. On such a point of contention, we both must witness it. Who takes the trick?"

Chloe passed the book to her with a chagrined expression. "As Mr. Hoyle stands as England's authority on whist, I shall not be so stubborn as to refuse to concede. The trick is yours, Eveline."

Lady Trimingham smiled. "I am rarely mistaken on such matters. Come, let us continue." She headed out of the library, Chloe behind her. Grady's eyes followed her retreating figure --- in a flash, he saw her hand appear behind her back and drop a scrap of paper. The paper fluttered down her swishing skirt and landed upon the rug. Then she was gone.

Minutes passed. Silence...they were not returning. A moment later, assured that no one could see him from the hall, he picked up the paper. His heart was beating fast as he flipped it over. He stared at the writing; having dared to hope for a message, he was confounded by what he saw: merely a series of numbers. 14 11 7 18 14 13 15 29 - 14 27 -- 4 9 17 7 11 25. He must have been incorrect in his impression that she had deliberately dropped it...he supposed it must be a score record from their card game. As he started slowly back to his office, a distant memory sparked...wait, wait...could it be...? He walked faster and faster, indeed nigh knocked over a chair to reach his desk.

In his book he scribbled out the alphabet. The rules of the code that Chloe and he had invented years ago came rushing back. On the slip of paper, he wrote "M" over the first number 14...then an "I" over the 11. In a minute he had decoded the message: MIDNIGHT MY CHAMBER.