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Over the rustling of paper and scratching of his quill, Alexander can hear Miss Heywood’s voice.
He cannot catch her words, only the softness of her. It is sometimes difficult to make out over the occasional hoots of Leonora’s laughter, or a sharp word from Augusta as they move about. But Alexander can hear lightness and warmth—Miss Heywood—carrying through to his usual silent corner of the house.
Alexander had chosen to put the classroom up in the outer reaches of the house away from his study so he wouldn’t be disturbed by Augusta’s moods, Leonora’s fidgeting or the severe tone of whichever governess happened to be employed that week. The harsh reprimanding of his girls day after day had grated on him. And he always had so much to do. The demands of the estate, its tenants and grounds were always pressing down on him. He could not escape the noise entirely though. Inevitably these stern women would always turn up at his door, ready with damning reports of Augusta’s petulance and how Leonora was simply wild. That his girls were beyond hope.
These women looked at Alexander with such judgment in their eyes. They found him entirely lacking. No matter how much he tried to bend to their orders—to dismiss Augusta’s moods and to try and tame Leonora—he always came up short.
Miss Heywood had looked at him like that too after only a few short days with them. A “mausoleum” she had called this house. And she too had been right. Alexander had lived here his entire life. In this grand house and imposing state where there only ever seemed to be grief and silence.
Miss Heywood had not given up on them though, like so many before her. Even when he gave her the chance to walk away, she chose to stay.
At first, Alexander had found her compassion and her willingness to listen to the girls jarring. She seemed to hold as little interest in the typical lessons for ladies as Leonora. And yet, as the weeks had passed he could not deny the incremental but certain improvements he could see in his daughter and his niece. And they were happy. This past week Leonora had fidgeted in her seat as they broke their fast together, craning her neck to see if she could spot the small figure of Miss Heywood walking down the lane. A smile would even break through on Augusta’s face at the sound of Miss Heywood entering the house.
For so long Alexander had not known what to do with Augusta’s sadness. He was barely older than Augusta when his own father had passed and there had been no time to mourn him. Samuel had thrust the decaying estate upon him and he had been about to marry Lucy. He could barely contain his own grief when she had died. The enormity of the feeling, entangled with all of his anger and spite at her betrayal, had simply overwhelmed him.
So Alexander had enveloped himself in his grief and let it pull him under entirely.
Augusta openly wrestled with her grief. She cried and yelled and lashed out. He saw the fury in her the moment he and Leonora had arrived at the London house to pack up her life and bring her to Sanditon. Away from the home she grew up in, her friends, everything she had ever known. Alexander could not look at her straight on. He still could not.
Months in this silent, empty house had just festered in her. Alexander felt like he was watching her from afar, calling out into the distance.
This summer though Alexander had seen her slowly loosen her grip on her rage and her grief. She still swiped and jabbed at Miss Heywood but there were moments where he saw her relax, and find some comfort in this house and the people in it.
And so Alexander did not scowl or complain when Miss Heywood and the girls had ventured beyond the classroom outpost. He can hear them reading stories on the window seats in the morning sun in the east hallway as he returns from calling on their tenants. He hears the creak of the stairs as they move to eat lunch together in the drawing room across from him. He picks up Miss Heywood’s soothing tones as he walks down the hall out to the stables.
Alexander had always thought he craved silence. A way to hold some semblance of peace. And yet, he could not resist the brightness the house now held.
A sharp tap at the door of this study rouses him and Leonora comes bursting through.
Knocking was a lesson Leonora was still learning. The motion had been taught, patience still was to come.
“Father,” Leonora chirped, “we are going to the seaside on an expedition!”
“Ah, I see. And what vocation are you training for with such an excursion.”
“We will be refined ladies painting watercolors,” Augusta’s disdain interjected from the doorway. She stood slumped against the doorway, holding a basket disinterestedly. Alexander could just see the edges of a smile sneaking into her expression as she watched Lenora bounce with excitement.
“I thought with it being such a nice day, sir, the girls would enjoy the sea air and a bit of sunshine,” Miss Heywood said from behind Augusta. Her voice was shy, small. Alexander was still trying to deduce her reserve. Sometimes she could be so forthright with him, and other times she skittered about like a startled yearling.
“Would you come with us, father?” Leonora came to the side of his desk, her eyes wide and pleading. Oh, Alexander should have never sat with them at their picnic that afternoon in the sun. They had gone soft on him. And he had gone soft too.
“I have to finish these letters, but perhaps I will walk down and see you after that,” he managed, keeping his voice steady and firm.
“You promise?” Lenora’s eyes shone.
“I will do my best,” Alexander tapped his pen on the desk. “Now hurry along, I’m sure Miss Heywood wants to get you set up down at the cove so you can make the most of the sun.”
Leonora beamed and raced off. He had not commented on her shirt and breeches. As Leonora had instructed him previously, a woman should wear what was necessary for the occasion. Alexander had first ordered Leonora a pair of breeches two years earlier. By that age, she was spending less time with the nurse maid and more time wandering around after him on the estate. All of her dresses were sodden and worn. Breeches had only seemed practical.
Of course, this drew the ire of all the governess who he had tried to bring here for the girls.
Well, almost all of them.
Miss Heywood grinned at Leonora as the girl raced past her to bundle up her own basket and clattered down the hallway. Alexander felt a smile spread to his face watching her.
“My apologies for disturbing you sir,” Miss Heywood turned back to him, “we will let you return to your work.”
“Thank you,” he replied shortly, looking back down at his page, completely lost.
Alexander heard their footsteps away, the bustling of ladies and baskets through the hall, and the shutter of the door closing.
Silence.
The papers on the desk swam before him. Piles of invoices, notes from tenants, letters from the banker. Alexander felt the tightness in his chest that never seemed to quite go away. Ever since he was that scared clueless boy who had found himself the head of the family to a hollow, rotting estate, the weight had always been there, pressing around his ribcage.
Light glinted off one of the paperweights and Alexander looked up at the window and blue sky that it framed.
He bowed his head for a moment, and then was in motion. He tucked away the half-written notes and letters and picked up his coat. Lunar bounded after him as he made his way out of the house and down the lane.
The coves at the bottom of the state were rarely visited. Alexander’s view of the ocean for the past decade had been of the crashing waves he rode past on his daily rounds on his horse. Grey, powerful, unforgiving, tossing waves. Cantering at such a pace that made his chest heave and ripped the breath from his lungs.
As he descended down towards the shore, Alexander was struck by how quiet the sheltered cove was. The tide moved in and out serenely. The waves gently lapped up onto the shore.
Leonora, Augusta and Miss Heywood were clustered near a clutch of rocks on the sand. Blankets stretched out underneath them and easels perched in front of them. Well, at least in front of Augusta and Miss Heywood. The shorter easel was left abandoned, as well as a pair of boots and socks, as Leonora ran up and down the shore. Splashes of water chased at her heels. Lunar raced over to join her and Leonora squealed in excitement to see them both.
“Father, you made it!” She called out, girl and hound bounding over to him.
“Leonora I thought you were meant to be learning painting, not paddling,” Alexander tried to dodge getting his jacket completely covered in sand as she reached him.
“I have finished my painting already, look!” Leonora picked up the canvas from her easel and proudly showed him various stripes of grey, teal, and gold. Alexander can just imagine the quick work Leo would have made of this so she could kick her shoes off and jump into the water without delay.
“Our governess continues to teach us little or anything useful, Uncle.”
There was no venom to Augusta’s words though. Alexander chuckled at the amused look Augusta shot to her governess. Miss Heywood only laughed and ducked her head. Her hair was pinned up but loose curls danced around her face in the breeze.
Alexander looked at her and felt something in him pulling. A thread about to become loose and unravel.
He took a steadying breath.
“Are you having any more success with Augusta then?”
Miss Heywood smiled at him, “as I’ve found with most areas, your niece already excels.”
Augusta smirked at continued to dab her brush on the page.
“But Leonora has actually made great progress. It held her attention longer than my younger sisters when I taught them a couple of years ago.”
“How many sisters do you have?” Leonora asks, carelessly propping her artwork back on the easel in favour of playing with Lunar.
“Five. And six brothers.”
“You have five sisters and six brothers?” Leonora exclaimed, stunned. She dropped the piece of driftwood she had been in a tug of war with Lunar over and looked up at Miss Heywood in awe.
“Yes,” Miss Heywood smiled, ruffling Lunar’s head as the dog nosed around the picnic set-up.
“I always wanted a sister or a brother. And then all I got was a grumpy cousin,” Leonora huffed, shooting a stony look at Augusta.
Augusta stuck out her chin and kept mixing the colours on her palette. “I was quite happy without any little brats running around after me until now.”
Alexander heard himself speak before meaning to say the words out loud, “my older brother and I used to play on this beach when we were young.”
Leonora, Augusta and Miss Heywood all turned to him in surprise.
He dropped his head down bashfully, “my brother would always manage to get me to go in far too deep and ruin my clothes. Mrs Wheatley would get so cross at me.”
“I always kept a spare pair of boots hidden by the fence near my family’s house in Willingden. My mother would have never forgiven me if she saw the state of them after we had all been around the countryside exploring.” Miss Heywood’s soft voice drew his gaze up to meet her eyes. The sun sat just above her shoulder, casting light around her bonnet. Alexander had to look away again.
There it was again. An unravelling. Alexander wanted to know her. He wanted to ask her things. He wanted to know about her afternoons spent exploring the hills. About what it was like to grow up in a house with so much family and so much love. He wanted to see her smile, to be the reason for her to smile.
He wanted to know her and be known in return. He wanted to tell her things. So much that sometimes he had to hold himself back. He had to bite his tongue and still his hands against the impulse to reach out, to offer himself to her.
“Will you come out into the sea with me?” Leonora tugged on his sleeve, pulling him away from his thoughts.
“No, Leo. Thank you, I’ll sit here awhile. Take Lunar with you. Don’t go out too far.”
Alexander settled down onto the blankets, leaning back against rocks. Leonora and Lunar started a piece of art of their own. Leonora dragged the piece of driftwood along the sand, leaving trails behind her. Lunar’s paw prints decorated the arrangement of lines and swirls.
Miss Heywood and Augusta had slipped into a conversation in French, murmuring to each other as they passed the tray of colours back and forth. The air was crisp with salt spray, cutting through the heat of the afternoon. Alexander sat back against the rock, letting his shoulders drop and relax.
He sat back against the blanket and felt his eyes drift shut for just a moment.
“Father,” he heard Leonora giggle.
He blearily opened his eyes , blinking against the light.
“You fell asleep.”
Alexander sat forward a bit, rubbing at his cheek. “Just closed my eyes for a moment,” he rasped.
“No,” Augusta retorted in her usual manner. “We’ve been here all afternoon. You’ve been asleep for almost three hours.”
Alexander looked over at Miss Heywood. She had taken her bonnet off and let her hair down. Brown curls tumbled over her shoulders and danced with the breeze. Her cheeks were pink from the sun and her eyes bright with amusement at his apparent extended snooze.
She was so lovely it almost took Alexander’s breath away.
He coughed awkwardly and rose uneasily to stand.
“My apologies. That was very inconsiderate of me.”
“Please do not be sorry. You must have needed the rest,” Miss Heywood said gently, tucking a blanket under her arm. She had packed up the rest of the picnic site. “Besides, it gave our pieces time to dry.” Beside Leo’s sparse stripes of blue, Miss Heywood and Augusta’s paintings sat stacked against the baskets. Without knowing the artist, Alexander could see Augusta’s wry humour in the cunning figures of a child and a dog against the blues and golds of the seascape. Miss Heywood’s was more abstract. Bold lines of dark blues cascading with dashes of grey and green. A horizon of periwinkle blue and silver clouds spiralling.
“Fine work. You must display them back at the house,” he said warmly, folding up the last blanket.
“Most of the wall in the classroom is full of Leo’s scribbles—”
“My drawings of our specimens!” Leonora interjected.
“And all of those maps we hung up last week” Augusta huffed, ignoring her cousin.
Alexander leaned down to help Leonora with her boots, but saw caked in sand and sodden her feet were.
“There’s some room on the cabinet in my study,” he said, surrendering and picking up the boots with one hand, leaning down next to his daughter.
“Come on little lionheart,” he stooped down so Leonora could climb up onto his back. She slung her arms around his neck and he carried her back like he used to do when she was younger.
The four of them walked—well three of them walked—back up the hill to the house. Augusta swung her basket around as she complained about some gallery she had attended with her parents when she was younger and all the atrocious portraits she did not like. Alexander and Miss Heywood traded looks of bemusement and humour as the girl happily rambled all the way up to the lane.
The trees rustled lightly in the lingering breeze as they can down the lane. The evening light coloured pinks and oranges across the sky. The house was cast in a warm blush, its windows shining and shadows marking the line of the rooftops.
Alexander looked over Miss Heywood as he heard her sigh softly as they approached the house.
“Are you well, Miss Heywood?” He said gently, leaning towards her.
She looked over at him, suddenly self-conscious. Oh, how Alexander wanted to draw back her reserve. To find her shyness and dispel it.
When she finally spoke, Alexander had to grasp to keep his own reserve about him.
“It’s beautiful. Your home.” Her words were soft and her expression open.
Stay, he thinks without regard for propriety. Don’t go back to the Parkers tonight. Let me keep you and ask you questions and tell you stories. Stay, and let us keep the sunshine and warmth here a little bit longer.
Of course, he does not say these things. He and the girls, after some cajoling, thank Miss Heywood for their day at the sea and bid her farewell as they reach the door to the house. The footmen take the bundles of blankets, baskets and watercolours. Alexander sets Leonora down to go tidy herself up and Augusta stalks off upstairs.
Alexander listens to Miss Heywood’s footsteps down the lane, as they fade into the distance.