Hidden Between The Lines

Chapter 1-2

“This has been the longest night of my life.” Rachel said thinking of Phillip. “Did you sleep fitfully, my dearest? Are you just as excited and nervous, my love? Once we're married and on the ship, we will be free to love each other forever.”

Today, she would cheat the foul Lord Symington of the pleasure of her company. “Today,” she sighed aloud. “My love - my life - forever.” She grinned and brought her chin down upon her knees. “Phillip,” she whispered softly, lovingly, and hugged her knees even tighter to her chest.

A mourning dove flew past her window. She reached up and opened the window letting the cool morning air stream in.

A small breeze tugged at her hair as it fell in complete disarray around her face. Her eyes followed the flight of the dove until it disappeared around the side of the manor. She got to her knees and pushed the window open further. Rachel breathed in deeply. This would be the last morning of English air that she would breathe for a long time.

Suddenly, Rachel realized that she had better stop thinking about such things and start getting ready. She reached over and shut the window, snapping the closure tightly. She went to her wardrobe and carefully dressed.

She had to leave some dresses behind so that no one would know she had left for good. Although she knew her father did not know what was in her wardrobe, because if it were not for Edith, she would probably only have one or two dresses. Her father felt a dress should be able to last for years if properly cared for.

Rachel crept quietly down to the breakfast table, and was startled to see her father at breakfast so early in the morning - again. Her stomach began to churn, because the last time that happened, he had unpleasant news for her.

“I have good news for you about picking your trousseau,” he reached into his waistcoat and pulled out a wad of money. He peeled off a few bills placing them firmly on the table and quickly pocketed the rest. “Lord Symington sent over some money for you to choose your bridal clothes. That is all you need for now. He wants it bought before the wedding, of course.”

“Thank you, Father.” Rachel picked up the money and carefully put it in the pocket of her dress. She knew they would need all the money they could get, because she was sure, a Lieutenant's pay was not very much. Even though his father was very rich, Phillip's older brother would inherit everything. But she didn't care about that: They had their love to get them through everything.

“Good morning everyone,” Harold's voice was cheerful and hearty. He inherited her father's good looks, with his blonde hair and blue eyes. Both were very thin and tall. They could have passed for brothers if it were not for her father's thinning, gray hair. “This is a glorious morning. Aren't you excited about becoming a bride?” His face beamed at her, “a very rich bride, I might add.”

“It appears you and Father will also benefit from my marriage,” she said trying to hide the disgust creeping into her voice.

“That's enough insolence from you,” her father growled. “You can thank your lucky stars; I am marrying you to someone who can give you everything you will ever want.”

“You are an ungrateful chit. Most women would be happy to be married to someone who is so well off,” snapped her brother.

“Do not ruin this opportunity of marriage,” her father leaned toward her menacingly, “or you will regret the day you were born.” He returned to his boiled egg and reached for a toasted piece of bread. “On a more pleasant note,” his voice returned to a non-threatening tone. “Lord Symington has announced that he will be coming to the manor for lunch.”

“Oh, when?” She wanted to laugh out loud, because she knew she would be gone.

“Today,” he said. “I want you dressed in your finest afternoon gown. I do not want him to think I have not been giving you fine things, or that we are paupers.” He shoved a piece of toast in his mouth and began working on the hard-boiled egg.

Rachel let out a gasp. “Lunch today?”

“What is the matter with you now?” He asked, annoyed with her outburst.

“It is just that Edith, and I have plans to go into town at noon.” Her mind was racing. What could she do? All of her good clothes were at Brekmore Manor. What about Phillip? But more importantly, how could she get away without causing suspicion?

“Is that all?” Harold picked at his food with his fork. “You can go another day.”

“I will have to go and tell her that I cannot make it,” she said trying not to sound too nervous.

“That is what we have servants for.” Harold threw his fork on his plate and pushed himself away from the table. “I really am not that hungry. I must get myself ready to ride over to see Lady McLean this morning, but I will be back by noon to visit with Lord Symington, my future brother-in-law.” He smiled broadly as he stood up causing his chair to scrape against the wooden floor.

“Go and write a letter to your cousin and inform her you have to postpone your shopping trip until tomorrow and have one of the servants deliver it.” Her father got up, threw his napkin on the top of his plate, and left the table without any pleasantries.

All she could do was sit there and stare at the plate in front of her. Of all days, that foul man was coming today. Had he somehow learned of what their plans were? Maybe one of his servants spotted her in town with Phillip. They tried to be discreet and act as just friends in public; although a couple of times when they were alone they would steal a quick kiss.

Now, she had to figure out what to do. She had not seen Lord Symington for over a week and today of all days he was coming to visit. She feared it was just too coincidental to be happening.

Trembling she got up from the table and walked into the foyer. The large grandfather clock stood like a soldier guarding its post. The tick-tock of the pendulum beat a steady rhythm that seemed to say, “too-late, too-late.”

It was just a little after seven in the morning. It was only five hours to freedom, and now to have it snatched away so cruelly. She raced up to her room and threw herself onto the bed. Tears ran down her face falling softly onto her quilt. She rolled over on her back and lay quiet trying to figure out what to do.

Rachel was unsure of how long she rested there. Her mind was numb and her heart full of pain. “I will not give up,” she kept saying to herself. “I will not give up.” Then slowly, a plan began to form in her mind. She jumped up and ran to her wardrobe flinging the doors wide open.

After carefully studying the remaining clothes, she selected a frock that was halfway decent and pulled it out. Rachel found a thread and pulled it hard; it came out leaving a gaping hole. Not wanting to take any chances, she pulled and tugged until a large rip appeared on the front of the frock. She took a deep breath and prayed that her father would not have stopped his morning ritual of drinking too much sherry.

As she had thought, he was in the library sipping a large glass of sherry by the unlit fireplace.

“Father,” she said in her most apologetic voice. “I do want to please Lord Symington. You are right.” Rachel hoped her tone sounded sincere. “I have been very thoughtless and selfish. I want him to see that I am worthy of his attention”

“Yes, yes,” he said with an irritable wave of his hand.

She walked in front of him and the cold, barren fireplace. She waved the ripped dress in front of him. “My frock is badly torn. I will need a seamstress to fix it. It should not take long, and I will be back in plenty of time before Lord Symington gets here.”

“I do not feel that is necessary,” he said gruffly. “Just pick another dress.”

“But you know I do not have many dresses.” She held up the dress waving it in front of him again, “And this is the one that Lord Symington liked the best.” She lied effortlessly.

“I see,” he glanced over at the torn garment and nodded. “See to it that you are back before Lord Symington gets here. Have the coachman take you to town.”

Harold appeared in the library door. “I'm afraid he has gone into town to pick up supplies for this afternoon's luncheon. Well, I'm off to Lady McLean's.”

“Wait,” Lord Ramsford called out to Harold. “You will escort your sister to town. She cannot go unescorted.”

“I have an appointment, father. I am late as it is. I don't have the time to take her into town.” Harold whined and pouted, which usually worked on his father.

“You won't have to take me into town, just to Edith's. She will go with me into town.” Rachel's heart was beating so fast she was afraid she was going to faint.

“Cousin Edith's manor is in the opposite direction I am headed.” He looked at his father's face and knew he could not win on this. His shoulders heaved as he said, “Well, it is a lot closer than taking you to town.” He motioned for Rachel to follow him. “You see how I am sacrificing for you.” He chided her.

“Rachel!” Her father's voice darkened with warning. “I want you back here before Lord Symington arrives.” Lord Ramsford turned his back and stared into the unlit fireplace.

“Oh, yes!” She exclaimed with excitement in her voice. Rachel realized the enthusiasm was a little too much. Her father raised his head and turned looking at her.

“And I will use the money you gave me for my trousseau to pay for the seamstress.”

The mention of money seemed to take his mind off her over-exuberance, and he nodded toward her. His hand came up, and he motioned for her to leave. “Do not be late, or you will meet with my wrath, as well as Lord Symington's.”

“I must get my bonnet and shawl from my room. I will be right down.” It was now or never. Quickly, she climbed the steps to her room. She threw open the door and looked for the last time at her sparsely furnished room.

The large, cold room, held a few pieces of furniture. An old bed, a chair, a small table, and a wardrobe to house her dresses sat clustered close together making the rest of the room look barren. A large, worn quilt and an old, crocheted Afghan were the only other things in her room.

Rachel picked out a shawl and bonnet when she heard a horse neighing outside her bedroom window. She looked to see the groomsmen bringing a saddled horse for her, and Harold fidgeting impatiently, as he waited for her to come down.

A deep, nervous sigh escaped her lips. She picked up the ripped frock, opened her bedroom door, and raced down the stairs to freedom. Her heart and mind were reeling; she was free at last.

But just as she grabbed the front door handle and opened the front door, she heard her father call out her name. Her heart was beating so loudly she could barely hear him as he called again from the library.

“Rachel!” He yelled.

Holding her breath, she walked toward him and stood at the library door. “Yes, Father?” Her voice trembled slightly.