Page 6 of Summer Storms

Perhaps it was just that not very much happened, well nothing exciting anyway, and she had longed for bigger and brighter things. She’d felt confined in Starling Hall and needed a bigger stage.

The walk to the village was pleasant enough, and she could see that Barton Lacey hadn’t changed much at all. She found its familiarity soothing. As much as she tried to tell herself this place was boring after the rush and bustle of London, the truth was she enjoyed being back home. She hadn’t admitted how much she had missed it until now. She had been itching to leave for so long; now here she was, back again and enjoying herself! Perhaps she needed both the stage in London and Starling Hall in Barton Lacey in her life.

The Lady’s House wasn’t far from the village, only about half a mile beyond. The day had been so delightful she hadn’t given rain a thought, so it came as a nasty surprise when it began to sprinkle halfway to the Nash’s house. She looked up. Where it had been blue and clear when she set out, there were now clouds rushing in to cover the sun. A summer storm was upon her, and she quickened her pace, but she could see things were not going to get any better. Just as she reached the gate there was a rumble of thunder, and it began to absolutely pour.

Christine hurried along the path and was almost gibbering with distress by the time she climbed up the steps. Her hair dripped about her shoulders from the wreckage of her straw hat, and her clothing hung on her like a wet sack. Her shoes were full of water, and her stockings bagged about her knees.

Had she ever been so wet? In a play she might pretend to be soaked by rain, but real life was so much worse.

Before she could reach for the knocker, the door opened.

“Oh! Miss Starling! Come in, come in! Oh, you poor thing!”

It was Mrs Nash. Still twittering, she hurried Christine through the entrance hall and into another room, where she knelt and lit a fire with her own hands while Christine stood shaking, dripping, and shivering.

“What is she doing here?” a voice hissed from the doorway.

“Izzy, fetch a towel for Miss Starling. Quickly, girl!”

A moment later, a dry towel was grudgingly placed in her hands. Christine tried to pat herself dry as best she could. By now, the warmth from the fire was reaching out to her. Mrs Nash set a chair before the hearth and led her to it, sitting her down while apologising, as if the weather was somehow her fault.

Christine was still shaking, and her shoes sloshed whenever she moved, her toes frozen inside them. Part of her wanted to weep. She had planned this visit in her mind in every detail. Playing the bountiful lady, smiling and being charming to Mrs Nash, while proving to Zek she was nothing like the girl he remembered. Now she was an object of pity, perhaps even amusement. Standing at the door, Izzy’s face betrayed a hint of a smirk on her lips.

Christine wanted to set off for home before things got any worse, but she wasn’t sure she could manage it, wet and cold as she was. The only bright spot to this affair was that Zek seemed to be away from home somewhere, and would never know how she had made a fool of herself.

At that moment, she heard footsteps approaching from outside the room, and knew with dreadful certainty that it was Zek. He stared at her from the doorway, next to his sister, shocked at what he saw. She almost thought he might say something sympathetic before she saw laughter light his dark eyes.

Oh, of course! He would be enjoying this just as much as his horrible sister.

Christine glared at him, or tried to, but her teeth were starting to chatter, and it was all she could do to try to stop them.

“It isn’t funny,” she said, feeling tears fill her eyes.

No, no, no! She mustn’t cry in front of him. She must not show weakness. She must not... If she hadn’t felt so miserable, she would have risen from her chair and marched outside, except that it was still raining. She could hear it drumming on the windowpanes, now with the occasional accompanying flash of lightning and rumble of thunder.

“Miss Starling.” To her amazement, Zek came to kneel at her side.

She looked into his eyes and now saw sympathy as well as the amusement, which only made things worse. A tear rolled down her cheek. “I am very wet,” she told him, at a loss for anything else to say.

“Indeed you are,” he agreed. “Mother, perhaps something warming for Miss Starling to drink?”

“Oh, yes, of course!” And with that, Mrs Nash was hurrying off again.

Izzy still stood at the door, staring at her. She must be sixteen years old by now. “What are you even doing here, in our house?” the girl asked in an unfriendly voice.

Christine looked from her to Zek in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“You might be famous,” the girl said. “Probably the most famous person we have ever had in our house. But you were never our friend.”

Rather than soothe her shattered pride, the girl’s words upset her more. “I don’t feel very famous right now,” she said. “And, as you can see, even famous people get wet when it rains. And as for never being your friend... Wasn’t that a long time ago?”

Izzy’s gaze moved to her brother as if urging him to join in. “Not that long ago,” she said. “I still remember it. And so does Zek.”

Zek gave her a stern look and a nodding gesture to go. His sister turned and abruptly left the room, leaving the two of them alone.

“Ignore my sister,” he said, his voice almost kind. “My mother is thrilled that you are here. She will be telling everyone she knows that the famous Christina Silk came to call upon her. Any mention of your state of wetness will be glossed over, I assure you.”

She tried to read his thoughts. His eyes were still laughing, but it felt different now. As if he were laughing with her instead of at her. Could that be right, or was he deceiving her?