Chapter Text
It had been but a few days since Tom had fled the Lakes.
He hadn’t intended to return home, his mind a whir of emotion he could barely hold himself together atop of his steed. Before the knew it the countryside begun to clear, the road carrying him further north than he had planned.
The journey to Yorkshire had been unpleasant, to say the least. His thoughts turned, again and again, to Miss Bennet. What if the doctor had been mistaken, what if is she had not recovered?
No – he could not allow himself to dwell on it.
Another thought followed close behind. What if she were engaged to William Ryder?
The notion brought with it an equally sickening feeling, one he rebuked himself for at once. Of course, he would wish her safe and well, even if it were as Mrs Ryder. Nothing else ought to matter.
And yet, it did.
The thought spurred him onward until at last the familiar shape of his family home in the dales came into view, set against the fading light of the afternoon sun. A mixture of sorrow and relief flooded his being.
Dismounting, Tom paused, soaking in the sight before him. The brick walls of the house stood unchanged, though the ivy creeping across them had thickened in his absence. For a moment he might have believed himself returned to boyhood.
A burst of laughter drew his attention, moving quietly around to the yard he caught sight of his sister and husband, gathered around a litter of kittens, cooing as the small creatures tumbled over one another.
Georgina rested her hand upon her rounded stomach, smiling softly at Henry, who was slick with sweat from a hard day’s labour.
A faint smile tugged at Tom’s lips as he watched her take her husband’s hand and place it gently over her own.
Georgina turned suddenly, as though sensing him, confusion flickering across her faced before recognition dawned.
“Tom! Is that you? What are you doing here?”
The couple greeted him warmly, he sister pressing hurried kisses to his cheek, Henry clasping his hand firmly before clapping him on the shoulder.
“We did not expect you from London,” Henry said. “You should have written, we would have prepared a room.”
The familiar twang of his accent, so like his father’s, settled something Tom at once.
“It was not planned,” he replied, running a hand through his dishevelled curls. “I was nearby with friends and thought to stop on my way back.”
He smiled, though it did not quite reach is eyes.
“How are you, Georgie? You cannot be far now.” His hand hovered uncertainly before her, waiting for permission before resting it lightly upon her stomach.
“The doctor says it may be any day,” she said, her eyes lingered on him a moment too long. “We have been preparing. Though… I am afraid your old room is now the nursery.”
Tom let out a quite breath of amusement. “I told you, G. This house is yours. You may do as you please with it.”
And he meant it.
The path laid out for Tom, one that had been in his family for generations, was never truly his own. He had spent his childhood wracked with guilt, the weight of letting his father down as the only son in the family had almost crushed him.
“I would never have you be something you’re not, Tommy,” his father had once told him. “That is not our way.”
He had left that year for London to begin his studies in law. His father died the next.
The memory came unbidden, as it often did.
Shaking it off, Tom followed the pair inside. The kitchen was in a state of disorder, a cheerful one at that. Flour dusted nearly every surface, bowls and spoons littered the table. In the centre stood his youngest sister, not yet thirteen, absorbed in her task.
The sight pulled at his heart. He had missed them terribly.
His sister coughed slightly, a bemused smirk played at her lips. “Eliza,” she prompted. The sudden call snapped the young girls head up, mixing bowl cradled in her arms.
Her deep brown eyes lit at the sight of him. “Tommy!” The task was abandoned with haste as she bounded over to the tall gentleman, colliding into his arms. “You’re home, you’re home!” She pulled back slightly, beaming up at him, leaving an outline of flour imprinted on his clothes.
“By God, ‘Liza, what mess have you made this time.” He ruffled the young girls hair good naturedly as she pouted.
“I am making a cake for the baby! Mama said Georgie will need her strength, so I am helping.” She looked rather pleased with herself, whilst her elder siblings watched on fondly.
“You are right, Eliza, your sister will need all the love and care we can give her.” Henry grabbed Georgina's hand, placing a kiss upon her knuckles. The young girl made a great show of gagging, though Tom could see the quiet awe in her eyes.
Georgina swatted her youngest sister's head gently, with no real malice. “It will be you, one day, 'Liza. I cannot wait to say, I told you so, when you come to me infatuated.”
The younger sister stuck her tongue out cheekily before returning to her bowl.
Folding the mixture with great care, she glanced up at her brother. “Mama has gone into town with Lucy, she will be back soon. Oh, she will be ever so pleased to see you Tommy!”
“Oh yes,” Georgina moved to sit rather awkwardly upon the wooden seat, one hand braced at her side. “She has been quite interested in this Miss Bennet you write of.”
Though her smile was innocent enough, Tom did not miss the knowing glint in her eyes.
“We were rather sorry to hear your understanding with Miss Baxter had come to an end… but I cannot help but wonder if the matter was quite so sorrowful as it seemed?”
Eliza’s hand stilled, the spoon suspended mid-turn.
The eyes of all three before him felt heavy and Tom could feel the heat rise to his neck.
Fortunately, the front door swung open letting the fresh breeze sweep through. “I swear, that Beatrice Hellifield becomes more insufferable by the day! Sometimes I think she mistakes herself for the elites-“ Mrs Hayward stumbled into the kitchen, bags in hand, words faltering as her gaze fell upon her son.
“Thomas!”
The bags were left forgotten on the stone floor as she whisked her much taller son into her arms. Tom buried his face in his mothers neck, seeking the warmth and comfort he had sorely craved these last few days. “Mama.”
She pulled back, cradling Tom’s face in her hands, searching it as though she expected to find something amiss.
“What are you doing here? Are you quite well? You have not fallen ill, have you?”
Tom shook his head less convincingly than he hoped. “No, no. I was just in the area and missed you all.”
Mrs Hayward nodded, but Tom could see the doubt flickering across her face. Choosing not to press him, she placed a kiss to his forehead, accepting his explanation for now. “Well, I am so pleased to see you. You have just missed Lucy, she has gone to her friends for the evening.”
She then turned, rummaging through her bags and setting away the provisions she had purchased at the market.
Georgina excused herself from the kitchen to lie down, not without casting her brother a fond smile. Henry returned to the yard, needing to see to the livestock before the sun set completely.
The kitchen settled as Eliza finished her cake, setting it into the oven before turning to the washing, while he mother began preparations for the evening meal.
Tom found himself at peace, the first in a few days.
He moved to his mother’s side, hand outstretched to help with the peeling of carrots and potatoes. She accepted without pause, and together they fell into a pattern they had not shared for many years.
Tom had always striven to help his mother. Along with his twin sister, Martha, he was among the elder children of the family, Georgina being the eldest by two years. In a household of seven, it was never quiet, and each was expected to do their part.
Martha had left some years ago to live with her husband, Francis, a clergyman from the neighbouring town.
Eliza excused herself next, wishing to wash up before tea was served. For a moment, only the steady sound of chopping filled the kitchen as Mrs Hayward placed potatoes in a pot of water. Tom could sense her curiosity building and knew he could not avoid the conversation forever.
She broke the silence first, lingering on the opposite side of the table. “I was sorry to read of Miss Baxter. Are you okay, Tom?”
Her voice was gentle, and he knew, in truth, the mention of Miss Baxter ought to trouble him more than it did. Yet he smiled reassuringly.
“Yes, I’m quite well, Mama. It was for the best, Miss Baxter has met another gentleman, far better suited for her, and who shares her feelings.”
His mother studied the young man before her. She knew he spoke the truth, just as she always had. Even as a young boy, whenever he found himself in trouble she could tell by the look upon his face, by the way his eyebrows drew together, whether he was being deceitful.
Yet there remained an air of sadness about him that she could not ignore.
“And yourself,” She started, sifting flour from a paper bag. “Is there someone else who holds your affections?”
The pause that followed told her everything. His brows drew together before he forced them to soften. “No, mama. I have been busy with work of late, but I do not mind.”
She hummed softly, working the butter into the flour with a splash of water. Once the dough had barely come together, she silently passed it to her son, who rolled up his sleeves and began to knead it gently until it became a smooth ball, ready to be rolled out.
“This Miss Bennet you write of, she sounds an interesting friend. You mentioned she is to become a governess?” Her tone was nonchalant, but the implication was clear. She turned to the vegetables on the stove, stirring them absently.
“Um, yes. She is the niece of the Gardiners, the family I lodged with a some years ago. It was her intention to become a governess- but I imagine that might change, soon.”
The hint of melancholy made his mother’s heart ache. She busied herself at the the oven, checking her daughter’s cake as she stole a glance at Tom. His expression was uncertain, not unlike when the blacksmith’s daughter had once turned him down for a dance.
“I see, well, that is a shame. From how you wrote of her, she would have made a fine governess. Though I suppose… a change in circumstances may bring about a greater one, yes?”
Once the preparations were complete and the pie had been crimped and placed in the oven in place of the cake, Mrs Hayward ordered her son to wash and change. He was exhausted and dusty from the journey and accepted readily, making his way upstairs.
As his sister had mentioned, his bedroom had been repainted a soft yellow. A crib stood in the corner of the room, and a wooden mobile hung from the ceiling above, his mother’s handywork recognisable instantly.
He sighed, rubbing his eyes beneath his spectacles. In the corner, he noticed a box of his old belongings, carefully arranged and kept safe. He sifted through a bundle of written prose he once thought most engaging, chuckling at his naïve younger self.
“I’ve set up Martha’s old room for you, I hope you do not mind the flowered wallpaper.” Georgina leant against the frame, her tone teasing. Tom looked up, seeing her for the woman she was and not the irksome older sister he had once known.
“I think I can bear it. It is certainly better than that garish pattern Grandmama kept in her sitting room.”
Georgina barked a laugh, straightening herself. “It was dreadful, I had a headache every time we visited.”
They crossed the hall to Martha’s room, now sparsely furnished with a modest bed, a wardrobe and a small writing desk.
The Haywards, though farmers in their own rights, had always been lovers of poetry and prose.
They had often spent evenings, fashioning plays and performing for their parents much to their delight. Their father, weary from a day’s labour, would watch on in quiet amusement, warmed by their antics.
“Do you think you ought to stay long?” Georgina asked, as he stepped into the room. “I mean, we would have you as long as you please, but I imagine your work does not allow for much time away.”
The question was reasonable, yet not one he had properly considered on his journey, too occupied by other matters. The thought of returning to London, of seeing Miss Bennet and Mr Ryder, even in passing before their travels, felt overwhelming.
“I- I think I may stay a while. I thought I could work from here; many of my cases do not require my presence in London. I will write to my colleagues.”
At least for now. He thought. Until they have set off.
His sisters eyes narrowed as she watched him. Her brother had always loved London. Yes, he loved his home and his family and enjoyed his time here, but he made no secret of where his heart truly lay, in the south, amidst the bustle of the city.
Yet now, he seemed reluctant to return.
“Well, Lucy will certainly be pleased to see you. I suppose Mama hasn’t mentioned she has caught the eye of that Johnson boy?”
His head snapped round as he pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “What? She has only just turned sixteen!”
“Oh, Tom, it is only infatuation. They are far from marriage, trust me.” She chuckled as she took a turn around the room. “Apparently he was quite smitten with her at the May Day festivities, since then he has found ample reason to visit.”
Tom’s eyes squinted, jaw tightening. “Well, as long as he is proper. I remember his brother being quite the hooligan.” Jonathan Johnson was of similar age to Tom, and reminded him of a certain Mr Ryder. Uncaring for propriety, acting without thought, or care for whatever young girl he chose to drag about.
Georgina offered him a pointed look as she perched on the edge of the bed. “Yes, well, this Edward does not seem to follow in his brother’s footsteps. He has been quite courteous when he has called, and never overstepped any boundaries, as far as I have seen.”
Her hand smoothed out the wrinkles from her dress. “And with you around, I’m sure you can keep a watchful eye, yes?”
Tom nodded vaguely, taking his responsibility seriously. He had always been protective of all of his sisters, but particularly the youngest two. After his time in London, he knew too well the sort of men who held little respect for women.
“Supper will be served in ten minutes- do hurry and wash!” their mother called from below.
Realising he was still in his crumpled clothes, he excused himself. Georgina had set out a set of her husband’s clothes, slightly too large for Tom, but sufficient until he could unpack his case. Standing over the basin left out for him, he washed his face.
In the mirror, he could see the fatigue from the past few days settle in. He had not slept properly in some time, haunted by the image of Miss Bennet, collapsed in his arms pale with cold and fever. He closed his eyes at the thought.
She is well, he told himself.
Raking his fingers through his hair, he managed to tame his curls, for now. He looked presentable, perhaps not for an evening in London, but certainly for a meal with his family.
Descending the stairs, he found the rest of his family seated at the large table, the pie settled in the middle accompanied by various vegetables. His stomach rumbled loudly- it smelt delicious.
“Come Tom, sit next to me!” Eliza grinned at her older brother, proudly presenting his place at the table. Henry sat at the head of the table- there had been a time when it might have unsettled Tom to see the place his father once sat, filled by another. But knowing Henry to be kind man he was, he could only feel fondness.
They joined hands and bowed their heads.
“Dear Lord,” Henry began. “We give thanks for the meal set before us, and the hands that prepared it. We are also grateful for Tom’s safe return to us.”
The family delved into their evening meal with great gusto. As soon as the pie touched his lips, Tom’s eyes closed in delight. He had missed his mother’s cooking like no other.
“Tom,” Eliza broke him out of his quiet. “Do tell us about your travels then, where have you been to bring you so close to home?”
Tom wiped his mouth, swallowing quickly. “Well, I uh was visiting the Lake District, with some friends of mine.”
“Oh, I do love the lakes!” Georgina exclaimed. “We went for our honeymoon, didn’t we Henry. It was so lovely, so picturesque.”
Henry nodded, although he was much too occupied with his dinner to answer properly.
“And what friends were you with, dear?” His mother asked.
The young man paused. “The Gardiners- their friends, the Hursts, Miss Bingley- Mrs Hurst's sister that is, Mr Ryder and- Miss Bennet.” He trawled off by the time he reached Miss Bennet’s name, not under any slight, but as he expected the following look from his mother and sisters.
“A large party then, that must have been pleasant.”
“I hope you avoided that dreadful storm though.” Eliza mumbled through a full mouthful of potatoes, despite her mother’s clear displeasure. “The rain flooded Mr Bryer’s shop.”
Tom grimaced, flashes of the storm upon Scafell rising. Ryder’s words, the driving rain; the confusion, distress and almost betrayal in Miss Bennet’s eyes. He shook his head.
“Yes, it was quite bad. Unfortunately, we were caught up in it, Miss Bennet became rather unwell. Though, she was on the mend when I left.”
He reached for his glass of water, taking a quick sip as though the words had caught in his throat.
Georgina reached across, placing her hand upon to Tom’s forearm, her smile soft with sympathy. “That sounds horrid, poor Miss Bennet. I am glad to hear she is improving.”
Thankfully, the conversation turned to other topics. Eliza recounted with great enthusiasm what she had been learning at the church, where the local children were taught most days.
Once the room was lit only by candle light and the family were satisfied and full, they set about preparing for the night
Eliza groaned, tugging at her brother’s shirt. “Mama, please let me stay up a little longer, I wanted to show Tommy my drawings!” She pouted dreadfully, Tom could see her as a toddler again, begging him for an extra piece of fudge when their mother was not looking.
Mrs Hayward kissed the crown of her head. “My dear, Tom is tired, he has had a long journey. And you are in need of a bath! Did you forget you are to travel to Martha’s in the morning? Would you arrive so unkempt?”
The young girl bolted upright and took her leave, not before giving her brother a tight squeeze. “I am so glad you are home, Tom.”
The pair chuckled at her swift departure, hearing her clamber the stairs in a hurry. The comfortable silence sat between the four adults as they tidied away. “You should get some rest, Tom. You look exhausted.” His mother laid the palm of her hand against his cheek, sensing the weight he carried.
“I am quite tired, I agree.” He yawned, bidding his sister and her husband goodnight before placing a kiss on his mother’s cheek.
As he changed into his nightwear, he paused by the window. The fields bathed in moonlight, a quiet calm stretched across them. He wondered if Miss Bennet would be looking at the moon, too. The thought brought him both comfort and sorrow, for he missed her dreadfully.
Curling beneath sheets, he prayed for a restful night.