The Fever Tree by Jennifer McVeigh Read Free Book Online Page B

with heat, turning itself in circles against the pane. I have done the right thing, she told herself, as she felt his fingers press into the waist of her dress. I will forget England, and I will try to be happy.

Six
    F rances closed the front door and stood for a few seconds in the hallway of the house. It was early October, a month after she had accepted Edwin’s proposal. Outside she could hear the driver’s grunts as he loaded her trunk onto the cab. The servants had all left for their new positions, and the rooms had settled into a quiet, dusty emptiness, their walls a pattern of dark squares from the pictures which had been taken down and sold. Lotta, who left this morning, had been the last to go, and for the first time since she could remember, Frances was utterly alone. She stood rooted to the spot, unable—now that the moment had come—to bring herself to leave. As long as she was here she could hold on to her father, but when she stepped through the front door she would be leaving behind everything she had ever known.
    The last month had been spent on her own in the house. The cook had left not long after the funeral, and her meals had been taken at the desk in the morning room, prepared by Lotta. Frances had hoped Lucille would visit, but her cousin never came. She wanted to tell someone about the dread which was bearing down on her. She was frightened of leaving England, and needed reassurance that she wouldn’t be forgotten. She called on the Hamiltons, but the maid told her they had gone to Bath for the month. Frances had taken to waking up in the dead of night, her heart pounding. It was always the same dream. She was floating on the surface of a black sea, and when she screamed no one could hear her.
    After a few minutes, she walked down the hall, her boots clacking on the stone floor. She pushed open the door to her father’s study. The hinges creaked, and the familiar sound conjured an image of him sitting at his desk, but when she stepped into the room it was empty. The curtains had been stripped from the windows, and the rug had been pulled off the floor, exposing raw, unpolished boards. The room smelt of him. Of cigar smoke and something else that lingered.
    The only piece of furniture left over from the auction was his chair, which stood alone in the center of the room, almost as if his ghost sat upon it. The green leather on the seat had wrinkled, and there was a dip from the many years of bearing his weight. She placed a hand on the hollow, half expecting it to be warm, but it was cool and slightly tacky against her palm. She sank into the chair and pulled her knees up to her chest. When she thought she might cry, she clenched her jaw and pushed the heels of her hands into her eyes until the blackness was punctured by shards of light. Perhaps if she stayed exactly where she was, the world would come to a halt and she would never have to leave. But a moment later she heard a hammering on the door. It was the cabdriver, impatient to be off, and she uncurled herself and—for the last time—walked down the hall and out of the house.
    •   •   •
    P ADDINGTON S TATION was a heaving roar of noise and smoke. Crowds surged in all directions. Frances, unused to such a rush of people, was momentarily overwhelmed. She had only a few minutes to get herself and her luggage on the train, but she couldn’t find a porter. Cursing the cab which had flung her down on the side of the street, she lugged her trunk toward the station concourse. Men pressed against her on all sides. A boy selling the
Penny Paper
walked up and down the line shouting the day’s news. Usually she would have had Kerrick or her father here to help, but
usual
didn’t count. She would have to make do by herself.
    “Watch where you’re at!” Two young porters in caps ran past, wheeling trolleys piled high with cases.
    “You’ll get run over if you stand there!” one of them shouted, knocking her sprawling onto the wet