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Authors: Cynthia Ingram Hensley
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a few seconds longer. But he was gone. Sniffing, she rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. “ Rosings Park . . . Lady Catherine de Bourgh of Rosings Park. Now I remember.” She pushed back the covers to go wash her face.
The sun came in brightly through the break in the curtains and cast a warm streak of light across her floor which she stepped over on her way to the bathroom. Catie turned on the hot water, checking its temperature every few seconds with the tips of her fingers. “Good Lord, a person could grow old waiting for hot water in this house,” she grumbled. When the water began to grow warmer, she wet a washcloth under the tap and brought it to her face. Looking at her image in the mirror, she began to wash, slowly at first, but then she started to scrub. She scrubbed harder and harder until her skin began to burn.
“Catherine, stop that!” Rose said as she took the cloth from Catie’s hands. “For heaven’s sake, child, what are you doing?”
“I don’t know.” Catie looked down and shook her head.
“Come and sit.” Rose put an arm around her and led her from the bathroom. Catie sat down on the edge of the bed as directed while Rose pressed her cheek to her forehead.
“I’m not sick, Nan,” Catie protested, her skin still a bit rosy from the assault.
“Then why, dear, were you trying to scrub your face off?” Rose asked.
Catie shrugged. “No reason.”
Frowning suspiciously, Rose straightened and announced, “I’ll go and fetch the castor oil then. There’s no better cure for constipation.”
“Rose!” Catie jolted up, looking appalled. “I’m not constipated!”
“Then tell me what is ailing you.” She took Catie’s face in her hands.
Catie stared into Rose’s narrow grey eyes. Still youthful, they sat above glowing high cheekbones. Rose Todd had a face that could look kind or ferocious, depending upon her mood. At the moment she was somewhere in between. “I dreamed about Daddy.” A tear slipped down Catie’s cheek.
“The one you’ve had before about the plane crash?” Rose sat next to her now and pulled Catie tightly against her chest.
“No,” she replied softly. “I dreamed about the day he died, when we were in the library just before he left. He was there and then he was gone, and I couldn’t find him.”
“Oh, Catie, why didn’t you ring for me?” Rose tightened her hold in a motherly fashion, trying to squeeze the pain away and absorb it herself.
“I had it just before I woke up. I guess he’s been on my mind more than usual.” Catie sniffed, and Rose took a handkerchief out of her pocket.
“Here, love, calm yourself whilst I have a tray brought up. Sweet tea will settle your nerves.”
As Rose stepped out of the room, Catie walked over to her window and saw Ben’s black sports car pulling away from the house. She pushed opened the heavy mullioned sash and leaned out, forcing herself not to call out to him.
“Catherine Elizabeth Darcy! Are you trying to kill yourself?!” Rose screeched, and Catie scrambled back inside, bumping her head in the process.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Nan!” She pulled the window closed and rubbed her head gingerly. “And if I did die, it would be because you frightened me so that I tumbled out!”
“Well come away from that window or it will be my nerves that need settling.”
As they waited, Rose began straightening the bedcovers. Never one to sit idle, she was a woman who needed to be doing something, although never without a fuss. At the moment it was Catie’s cleanliness or lack thereof that had Rose carping under her breath.
“I can go downstairs and have tea in the kitchen, Nan. I’m feeling fine now.” Catie rescued a pile of magazines before Rose swept them into the waste bin.
“You’ll do no such thing . . . ” Rose started but a light knock on the door interrupted her. “Ah, there’s the tray now.”
Catie obediently sipped the tea and ate toast. “Where did Ben go?” she
The sun came in brightly through the break in the curtains and cast a warm streak of light across her floor which she stepped over on her way to the bathroom. Catie turned on the hot water, checking its temperature every few seconds with the tips of her fingers. “Good Lord, a person could grow old waiting for hot water in this house,” she grumbled. When the water began to grow warmer, she wet a washcloth under the tap and brought it to her face. Looking at her image in the mirror, she began to wash, slowly at first, but then she started to scrub. She scrubbed harder and harder until her skin began to burn.
“Catherine, stop that!” Rose said as she took the cloth from Catie’s hands. “For heaven’s sake, child, what are you doing?”
“I don’t know.” Catie looked down and shook her head.
“Come and sit.” Rose put an arm around her and led her from the bathroom. Catie sat down on the edge of the bed as directed while Rose pressed her cheek to her forehead.
“I’m not sick, Nan,” Catie protested, her skin still a bit rosy from the assault.
“Then why, dear, were you trying to scrub your face off?” Rose asked.
Catie shrugged. “No reason.”
Frowning suspiciously, Rose straightened and announced, “I’ll go and fetch the castor oil then. There’s no better cure for constipation.”
“Rose!” Catie jolted up, looking appalled. “I’m not constipated!”
“Then tell me what is ailing you.” She took Catie’s face in her hands.
Catie stared into Rose’s narrow grey eyes. Still youthful, they sat above glowing high cheekbones. Rose Todd had a face that could look kind or ferocious, depending upon her mood. At the moment she was somewhere in between. “I dreamed about Daddy.” A tear slipped down Catie’s cheek.
“The one you’ve had before about the plane crash?” Rose sat next to her now and pulled Catie tightly against her chest.
“No,” she replied softly. “I dreamed about the day he died, when we were in the library just before he left. He was there and then he was gone, and I couldn’t find him.”
“Oh, Catie, why didn’t you ring for me?” Rose tightened her hold in a motherly fashion, trying to squeeze the pain away and absorb it herself.
“I had it just before I woke up. I guess he’s been on my mind more than usual.” Catie sniffed, and Rose took a handkerchief out of her pocket.
“Here, love, calm yourself whilst I have a tray brought up. Sweet tea will settle your nerves.”
As Rose stepped out of the room, Catie walked over to her window and saw Ben’s black sports car pulling away from the house. She pushed opened the heavy mullioned sash and leaned out, forcing herself not to call out to him.
“Catherine Elizabeth Darcy! Are you trying to kill yourself?!” Rose screeched, and Catie scrambled back inside, bumping her head in the process.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Nan!” She pulled the window closed and rubbed her head gingerly. “And if I did die, it would be because you frightened me so that I tumbled out!”
“Well come away from that window or it will be my nerves that need settling.”
As they waited, Rose began straightening the bedcovers. Never one to sit idle, she was a woman who needed to be doing something, although never without a fuss. At the moment it was Catie’s cleanliness or lack thereof that had Rose carping under her breath.
“I can go downstairs and have tea in the kitchen, Nan. I’m feeling fine now.” Catie rescued a pile of magazines before Rose swept them into the waste bin.
“You’ll do no such thing . . . ” Rose started but a light knock on the door interrupted her. “Ah, there’s the tray now.”
Catie obediently sipped the tea and ate toast. “Where did Ben go?” she
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