Page 43 of When She Was a Governess
“Papa, you came.” Amelia ran to him, her small hand reaching for his. “We go to the beach now?”
“Yes, we’re going now.” He took her hand, struck by how tiny it was in his own.
Sophia met his eyes, a question in her expression—was he truly all right with this?
He nodded. “I am good.”
They walked out into the morning sunshine, Amelia between them, holding both their hands. The day was warm for earlyMarch—closer to April or even May. The sky was cloudless, the air soft and almost sweet.
They walked the path that wound through the gardens, past the bare fruit trees just beginning to show green buds, past the kitchen garden where early vegetables pushed through the soil beneath glass cloches. Amelia chattered away, pointing at birds, at flowers, at a butterfly that had been fooled into emerging too soon by the unseasonable warmth.
“Look, Mama, a butterfly.”
“I see it. Isn’t it pretty?”
The path began to slope downward. His steps slowed. He stopped at the top of the path, looking down at the shore below. The path wound down through sea grass and wild thrift just beginning to show pink buds. The breeze carried the salt smell of the Channel, sharp and clean. Above them, gulls wheeled and cried.
“Papa, come on.” Amelia tugged at his hand. “Don’t you want to see the waves?”
“In a moment, sweetheart.” His voice sounded strange to his own ears. Amelia didn’t seem to notice, skipping ahead of him, singing to herself.
Sophia stood near, not touching him but close enough that he could feel her presence. “We don’t have to do this today. We could turn back.”
“No.” He forced himself to take a step forward. “I need to. I want to.”
Sophia’s hand slipped into his free one. “I’m right here. We will do it together.”
He only nodded, letting her lead him down the path until they reached the beach.
Henry stopped, his feet frozen at the edge where grass gave way to pebbles. The shore stretched before him—gray-white stones smoothed by the endless motion of the sea, rockyoutcrops creating tide pools, larger boulders scattered about. The chalk cliffs rose on either side, not dramatically tall but steep enough, their white faces streaked with gray. Beyond it all, the English Channel spread gray-blue to the horizon, whitecaps dancing across its surface.
His eyes tracked along the shoreline to the outcrop on the left—the rocks where he’d found her. Where Eleanor’s body had washed up, pale and cold and gone.
“Henry.” Sophia’s voice was soft, her touch light on his forearm. “Do we need to turn back?”
“I cannot. I’ve come this far.” He gestured toward the outcrop. “That’s where I found her. It is difficult not to remember what she looked like—lifeless and pale, all expression stripped from her face.”
“Oh, Henry, it must have been awful. I’m sorry.”
“The strange thing? Eleanor hated the beach. The pebbles, the seaweed, the waves all frightened her. I cannot help but wonder how desperate she must have been to decide to end her life in the sea.” He shook his head. “I couldn’t come here. All these years I’ve stayed away. Couldn’t bear to look at those rocks.”
“Papa, come see.” Amelia had pulled free and was crouching by a tide pool.
Yes, he must go to her. The child was alive and joyful and completely innocent of the tragedy that had happened on this shore. He forced his feet to move until he reached her.
“What did you find?” Henry asked, crouching next to her.
“A crab.” She pointed into the pool where a small crab scuttled among the rocks and seaweed. “He’s hiding. Is he scared of me?”
“Perhaps a bit. But you’re very gentle, so he’ll see there’s nothing to fear.”
Amelia’s attention wasn’t long on the crab. She darted from discovery to discovery, exclaiming over each find. “This one is so smooth. And this one has stripes. Oh, look at this stick—it’s shaped like a sword.”
Every piece of driftwood was a treasure. Every smooth pebble worth collecting. Every shell a marvel. Just as it had been for him and Charlotte and Thomas when they were children. He’d loved this beach as a boy. They’d spent hours building forts, searching for treasures, racing across the sand until they collapsed breathless and laughing. Rebecca had loved it too, collecting shells and arranging them in elaborate patterns that the tide would wash away by evening.
But then the ocean had become his enemy. Yet that wasn’t entirely true. Eleanor had walked into the water of her own accord. Because of his mother. Because he hadn’t properly protected her.
“Is she wearing you out?” Sophia asked, coming to stand beside him.
