Mistress Agnes Ch. 06

Nothing had ever tasted as good as dinner in the kitchen. Cook was nice to him, the stable-boy recognized him from the day of his arrival.

'I wondered where you had disappeared to.'

But after dinner, when dusk came, and they still hadn't heard or seen a glimpse of Guy, he started to worry again, afraid to be kicked out after all.

He felt himself starting to wheeze again, and realized it was a nervous condition, not a physical one, brought on by the anxiety of his situation. But compared to this morning he felt infinitely better, he had eaten well, and seen the kitchen, and most importantly, been out in the daylight and the fresh air.

The wheezing didn't stop, though, not until Guy came in to fetch his mistress her dinner, and to tell Dennis he could have an empty room in the servant's quarters, next to their own.

'Mrs Beauchamp would have given you a guest-room, but I supposed you'd prefer to stay close to us, and away from her. Let Patrick take you to it, you need rest, Dennis, you look fagged and you wheeze. Better take long walks each day, and stay outside as much as you can. Fresh air will do you good.'

Though something inside him still hurt, the anxiety left him for now, and the wheezing lessened significantly. He did take Guy's advice, not waiting to hear his friend's report on how the mistress was doing. It was of little use anyway, she had made her intentions clear, and he had to obey them. And probably for the best, he was rabble, and she a lady, and they should never have come together, nothing good came out of it.

He fell asleep almost instantly, dead tired with the emotions of the last few weeks, and apprehension for the time to come.

As usual when he felt so much strain, his sleep was plagued with frightening dreams of suffocating, being caught and hanged for desertion, being shot and killed and stabbed to death by enemy soldiers or rival gang members. He never cried out, he never even wakened this time, but the next morning he joined the breakfast table with dark rings under his eyes.

That night, Agnes hadn't slept either. Guy had talked with her seriously, not like a servant to his mistress, but as one friend to another. It was obvious Guy had never approved of what she did to Dennis, though he had never shown his censure as clearly as Patrick had.

His insights had enlightened Agnes more than she liked, and whereas she had at first felt sorry for herself, for her beautiful plan come to nothing, for a love lost, when Guy left she felt incredibly guilty towards Dennis. She had robbed him of his freedom, of his peace of mind, Guy was even afraid she had broken him, left him without free will or hope, and just as bad, had damaged his health permanently.

He wheezed all the time, it had been very bad at dinner, and Guy feared she would have to set Dennis up for retirement, to spend a few more years in comfort before his condition killed him.

She could afford it, Bath would be a good place for someone suffering from the wheezes, or maybe a smaller village at the coast where no soldiers came, to spare him the fear of getting hanged. He wasn't used to much, so he wouldn't require much, but the thought of having cut someone's life short for her own amusement just didn't cease to plague her.

And by the time the birds started singing outside, the thought of losing him from her life was still keeping her awake.

She took her breakfast alone, knowing that Dennis would be making fun of Dick in the kitchen, or exchanging fond looks with Patrick. She was dead tired, and couldn't concentrate on her book, so she decided to ride out and get some fresh meat for the pot.

The thought of exercise and fresh air cheered her up immediately, until she realized she had kept the man she had learned to love from experiencing that same comfort. Even when he begged her for it.

Still she changed into breeches and had her horse saddled, and within half an hour she managed to forget her misdeeds and her selfishness for a few moments, galloping across the heath in a fresh spring rain.

Dennis in fact was not making fun of Dick, but he did like to see his friendly face at the table. The big man seemed really glad to have him there, and finally Dennis asked why he was so happy.

'I'm just glad to see you here. No-one should be all alone,' he replied, 'friends are important. You will be happier with us. Does your neck still hurt?'

'Hardly at all, Dick. I feel much better.'

But his appearance belied this statement, he looked like death warmed over with his darkened eyes, his gaunt pale face and the huge bruise on his throat, and Guy suggested he walk out, to restore his spirits, and clear his lungs.

'You look worse today, Dennis, but you sound better. I wish I could make things right, but only time can do that. You know the mistress said you could stay as long as you liked.'

He didn't tell Dennis she had admitted to loving him desperately, dreading the day he would leave her for good. Just having him in her house made their separation easier to bear, for then she at least knew he would be all right, with good food and good friends.

But Guy couldn't betray her confidence. And he wondered whether Dennis would ever be free and happy with the mistress trying to control him. When Dennis asked how she was doing, Guy didn't get any further than, 'She felt really awful, Dennis. About what she did to you. She hardly slept at all. And she misses you, badly.'

See, that didn't help at all, Dennis seemed to fall apart totally, his breathing audible at once, his face in agony. Guy now also realized the wheezes were not physical, but a nervous condition. To him the knowledge was heartening, anxiety never killed a man before his time, there was still hope for his friend's total recovery.

Not realizing the mistress was on the moor, Guy practically shoved Dennis outside, urging him to not underestimate the danger of getting lost.

'Stay close to the house, or stick to the paths. You know how treacherous the moors are.'