Shadows in Time

by Julie McElwain

  Mrs. Gavenston glanced at Sam, then looked back to Kendra, panic darkening the hazel eyes. “You cannot tell Hester about our conversation yesterday. Because it’s not true. I told you that your suspicions are not true. I will not have you telling my family these unfounded lies.”

  “I’m sorry,” Kendra said again, and had never meant those words more. She shot a look at Sam, and they both turned to retrace their footsteps back down the hall.

  “Where are you going? I will not have you disturbing her!” Mrs. Gavenston called after them. “Have my carriage readied immediately,” she ordered her clerk, who’d been watching the exchange with wide-eyed astonishment.

  Kendra’s stomach churned, but she and Sam kept walking. One quick glance at the Bow Street Runner’s set face told her he wasn’t looking forward to what happened next either. But it had to be done.

  * * *

  Leaves still dripped with rainwater as they drove through the green tunnel of trees. Emerging on the other side, Kendra thought that White Pond Manor looked as beautiful as it did the first time that she’d seen it. Except today, under the sullen skies and patches of ghostly white mist creeping across the ground, there was a sense of melancholy that hadn’t been there before. The windows were dark and unwelcoming.

  The carriage stopped in front of the steps. Coachman Benjamin clambered down from his seat, unfolded the steps, and opened the door. Kendra and Sam climbed out. There would be no calling card today.

  By the time they strode up the steps, Brentworth, Mrs. Gavenston’s butler, was already opening the door.

  “We’ve come to speak to Hester—Miss Gavenston,” Kendra said, sweeping past the butler. Her manners were high-handed to the point of rudeness, but she didn’t want to give him the chance of slamming the door in her face.

  “Miss Hester is ill,” Brentworth said. His gaze moved past Kendra and Sam to the other carriage rumbling down the drive. “Ah, that is Mrs. Gavenston now. You may speak to her.”

  “We’ve already spoken to her. We need to speak to Miss Gavenston,” said Kendra, glancing at Sam.

  He yanked out his gold-tipped baton and thrust it forward. “This is Crown business. Tell Miss Gavenston that we must speak with her. Immediately.”

  “I… I…”

  “Immediately,” Sam repeated, his flat cop-eyes burrowing into the other man.

  Brentwood looked quickly at the carriage still moving down the drive, clearly torn between yielding to a man representing the Crown and waiting for the mistress that he served. It took a few seconds before he bowed briefly, obviously coming to the conclusion that the worst that could happen to him with Mrs. Gavenston was being sacked without references, while resisting a man of the Crown could mean prison.

  “I shall inform Miss Hester that you wish a word,” he intoned stiffly. He left them standing in the foyer, with the door open. An insult, Kendra knew.

  Outside, the carriage drew up behind the Duke’s. Kendra watched Mrs. Gavenston’s coachman leap down and throw open the doors, assisting Mrs. Gavenston to the ground. The brewster raised her eyes to lock on Kendra. She picked up her skirts and hurried up the steps, into the foyer.

  “I don’t want you to upset Hester,” she said tightly. “I-I don’t know what you need to speak with her about.”

  Don’t you? thought Kendra. She studied the other woman’s face, flushed with anger and anxiety.

  “Your suspicions… she didn’t know,” Mrs. Gavenston hissed, her gaze intense, as though she could force Kendra into agreeing with her. “My family didn’t know about Jeremy. They would have no cause to wish him ill.”

  Brentwood walked back into the foyer with a maid in tow. He looked at Mrs. Gavenston. “Ma’am, Miss Donovan and this… this person have asked to speak to Miss Hester. He said it was business of the King.”

  “I am aware.” She let out a breath, suddenly resigned. “Let’s go into my study for privacy. Have Hester meet us there.”

  “Ah, that’s just it, ma’am,” the maid blurted out. “Miss Hester ain’t here.”

  The butler frowned at the maid. “What she is saying is Miss Hester went out for a walk.”

  Mrs. Gavenston stared at the girl. “In this weather?”

  The maid nodded unhappily. “I told her she oughtn’t go outside, not when she’s been feeling so poorly and it’s so cold and bleak. I told her she could catch her death of cold. But she said it didn’t make no difference.”

  The back of Kendra’s neck prickled. “She said that?”

  The maid nodded. “Aye. I told ye; Miss Hester’s been feeling ever so poorly.”

  “Where did she go?” Kendra asked sharply.

  “I told ye. Out for a walk.”

  “Where? What direction?”

  The maid pulled back, intimidated by Kendra’s aggressive manner. She made a vague gesture to indicate the back of the mansion. “Toward the woods.”

  “What is it, Miss Donovan?” Mrs. Gavenston asked.

  Kendra pivoted, ready to bolt out the door, but then she realized it would be quicker to go through the house and out the French doors. She swung around and started down the hallway.

  “Miss Donovan!”

  “I don’t think Hester just went for a walk in the woods,” she said without stopping. “I think she has a destination in mind.”

  “The cottage,” Sam guessed, falling into step beside her.

  She glanced at the Bow Street Runner and nodded grimly. “The cottage.”

  The cottage was closer to White Pond Manor than anyone realized, about a mile if you cut through the woods. She wondered how many times Hester had walked that route. Maybe bringing a picnic basket with her. Maybe just popping by to talk. Poetry happens to be an interest of mine, as well, Kendra recalled Hester saying.

  It should have taken around fifteen minutes at a brisk pace to walk to the cottage. But the ground was sodden from the rain, making it more difficult. Kendra’s sore knee ached with the strain of walking fast. The forest was a dripping mess, and they had to travail over fallen branches, dead leaves, and weedy clumps of vegetation. The loamy scent of the earth and trees was almost too cloying as she, Sam, and Mrs. Gavenston made a silent journey through the trees, each burdened with their own thoughts. The clearing came upon them suddenly, the tiny cottage in its center.

  Free of the tangles of vegetation in the woods, Kendra hiked up her skirts and ran the rest of the way. Heart pounding, she thrust open the door, her eyes immediately zeroing in on the woman sitting on the narrow cot across the room.

  Hester’s expression was almost dreamy, and it didn’t change when she glanced at Kendra.

  Kendra’s breath caught painfully in her throat. She slowly lowered her gaze to where Hester’s hands were resting almost primly on her lap. One hand held a large knife. The other was resting, palm up, dark red blood oozing out of the gash across her wrist, soaking her skirt and dripping onto the floor.

  “Oh, my God!” Mrs. Gavenston cried as she came through the door. “Hester! What are you doing? Stop!”

  Some of the dreaminess vanished from Hester’s eyes when she saw her mother. She lifted the knife, bringing the blade back to her wrist. “Stay back, Mama.”

  “Stop right now!” Mrs. Gavenston’s voice rose in a wave of panic.

  Kendra grabbed the other woman’s arm and squeezed in warning. “Mrs. Gavenston, please let me talk to Hester.”

  “I don’t want to talk,” Hester whispered, her gaze dropping to the blade pressed against her delicate skin, slightly above her seeping wound. A new bubble of blood appeared.

  Kendra studied the laceration on Hester’s wrist. The blood was dark, like a good burgundy wine, indicating the self-inflicted wound was shallow as opposed to a deeper, more deadly arterial injury. The blood would then have been bright red, spraying out with each beat of Hester’s heart. She’d managed to cut a superficial vein—messy, but not necessarily fatal. But the knife that she was currently pressing against her flesh could change everything.


  “Hester… Hester, look at me.” Kendra kept her voice calm, steady.

  Hester said softly, “It’s too late.”

  “It’s not too late,” Kendra insisted.

  Hester shook her head. Tears filled her eyes. “You don’t understand. I-I didn’t mean to do it. I don’t even know how it happened.”

  “Tell me what happened,” Kendra encouraged, taking a step inside the room. “How long have you been meeting Jeremy here?” Her gaze strayed to the plush turquoise pillows next to Hester on the cot. They matched Hester’s eyes.

  “I am the one who told him about the cottage.” She looked around the tiny interior as though seeing it for the first time. “We came here together. I helped clean it for him.”

  And for yourself, thought Kendra. A place that Hester could walk to, to meet Pascoe without the curious eyes of the brewery and town on them.

  “You brought blankets and pillows,” Kendra said.

  “We would sit here and talk.” Even though the tears were now spilling down her cheeks, her expression became dreamy again. “We talked about everything. I’ve never met anybody like him, you know. He was so kind and caring. He read me his poetry. He said… he said that I was his muse.”

  Kendra thought of the stanza that Pascoe had written that she’d read.

  I spend my days dreaming of the night

  For the Star that has bewitched me…

  Hester whispered, “I-I loved him. I thought he loved me.”

  Mrs. Gavenston gave a horrified moan, finally understanding. “What did you do? What did you and Jeremy do?”

  Hester looked at her mother, misinterpreting the appalled look on her face. “We talked about marriage, Mama. He feared that people would think that he was a fortune hunter.”

  Mrs. Gavenston pressed a hand against her trembling mouth, her own eyes brightening with tears. “Did you… did you…?”

  Hester’s lips twisted in a sad smile. “He didn’t seduce me, Mama, if that’s what you are asking. Although I would have allowed myself to be seduced. I know that shocks you, but we would have eventually married.”

  “Oh, my God.”

  Hester’s brow puckered at the dismay in her mother’s eyes. “I thought that you would be pleased, Mama. You cared for Jeremy. I know you did.”

  The enormity of her thirty-year-old secret was reflected in Mrs. Gavenston’s eyes. A sob escaped the hand over her mouth.

  “I don’t know what happened, what changed,” Hester continued, her eyes glazing over again. “I knew he would be coming here. He always came here on Saturday afternoon, after work. I came to wait for him, but he was already here.”

  Kendra thought of the argument Mrs. Gavenston and Pascoe had at the brewery. Mrs. Gavenston had finally told him that she was his mother. He’d reacted with repulsion not because he’d been angry that Mrs. Gavenston had abandoned him, but because of the feelings he had for Hester, his half-sister. Kendra could only imagine the shock and disgust that he’d felt as he’d tried to erase all references to the manifestation of that love, even tearing holes in the foolscap.

  Hester whispered, “He was so cold to me, so cruel. He said… he said things… I don’t remember what happened. I only wanted him to stop. I begged for him to stop.”

  Kendra imagined Pascoe turning his anger and disgust on Hester. Maybe as an outlet for his own pain. Maybe to drive her away.

  Mrs. Gavenston moaned.

  “I’m sorry, Mama. I don’t remember picking up the knife. I truly don’t.” Hester’s gaze dropped to the knife that she held now. “The next thing I knew, Jeremy was on the floor. I-I ran. I ran back home and went to bed. I took some laudanum and went to bed. It didn’t seem real. It was a horrible nightmare. I-I didn’t want to remember, but I couldn’t stop crying.”

  Kendra thought of Hester’s red eyes and nose. She hadn’t been battling the common cold all this time; she’d been weeping.

  “I tried to pretend that it didn’t happen, but then you asked Miss Donovan to find Jeremy… and she did.” Hester raised her tearstained face to look at her mother. “I tried to focus only on work, but it was no use. Jeremy haunted me. Every time I walked past his office… I couldn’t take it. I can’t live with what I’ve done, Mama. I want it to be over.”

  Mrs. Gavenston dropped her hand. Her fingers had left red welts on her face. “No, my darling. Please, put down the knife. This is my fault… this is all my fault. I should have seen…” A sob caught in her throat. “Oh, my God, what have I done?”

  “You did nothing, Mama. I bear the weight of this sin. I killed Jeremy.” Hester pressed the blade against her wrist.

  “You kill yourself now and you’ll be condemning your own mother to the fate that you’re trying to escape,” Kendra said, her gaze locked on Hester. “Do you want that? Do you really want your death to haunt her, just as Jeremy’s death haunts you? Would you really be so cruel?”

  Hester hesitated.

  “Please, put down the knife, darling,” Mrs. Gavenston entreated again. “Please, I beg of you.”

  Hester’s face twisted in anguish as she stared at her mother. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “Then put down the knife. Please, Hester, don’t break my heart.”

  Kendra held her breath as she watched the emotions flit across Hester’s face. Then with a harsh cry, she dropped the knife.

  Mrs. Gavenston flew across the room to gather her daughter in a tight hug, rocking her as though she were a child. Both women were sobbing.

  “Bloody hell,” Sam muttered, and sagged against the doorframe. He glanced at her, his gold eyes dark with shock, his face a pasty white. “I don’t know about you, lass, but I could use a whiskey.”

  “I’ll take you up on that. But first things first… do you have a handkerchief?”

  “Aye. It ain’t even used.” He handed her a clean linen square. “What do you need it for?”

  “Hester. After the time we spent saving her, it would be a damn shame if she bled out.”

  35

  But what had they saved her from? That was the question that circled Kendra’s brain like a ball on a roulette wheel.

  Constable Leech was sent for and when he arrived, he admitted that Hester could end up dangling from the hangman’s noose after she was convicted, which, given her confession, was inevitable. She couldn’t even claim self-defense. Maybe, if she was lucky, she would be transported to Australia. If she survived the harsh conditions on the voyage, where convicts often died of typhoid and cholera, and female convicts raped, she’d end up doing hard labor in that Godforsaken land.

  And they call that lucky, Kendra thought, shaking her head.

  The third option was the madhouse. While the very idea made Kendra shudder, she knew that would probably be the kindest scenario. Diminished capacity could definitely be argued at the trial; Hester slashing her own wrist was proof enough. But more importantly, Mrs. Gavenston was wealthy. She could afford to have her daughter incarcerated in a well-appointed private room in a mental institution for the rest of her life, or until the mad-doctors agreed that she was mentally stable and could be released.

  There was no happy ending. Not that there ever was in a murder investigation. Jeremy Pascoe was still dead and nothing could change that. But the usual satisfaction of bringing the perpetrator to justice was absent.

  Kendra and Sam waited at White Pond Manor while Mr. Hobbs was called in to take care of Hester’s injuries. They had attempted to leave—what else could they do?—but Mrs. Gavenston had asked them to wait. Taking one look at her shattered countenance, neither Kendra nor Sam had the heart to say no.

  So, they waited in the drawing room with the French doors. The sky darkened again with pewter clouds that let loose another downpour. A servant lit candles around the room and put more kindling in the fireplace. A maid brought in tea. Kendra and Sam both politely sipped from dainty cups, silently wishing for something a lot stronger.

  “Thank you for waiting,” Mrs. Gavenston said, comin
g into the room. Her face had aged in a matter of hours from grief and guilt. “I wanted to… I don’t know. I suppose apologize for my behavior. For not admitting the truth about Jeremy.”

  “You have nothing to apologize for,” Kendra said.

  Tears filled her eyes. “When you carry a secret like I have, it’s not a simple matter to confess it.” She sighed heavily. “You know everything, but I wanted to say… I need to say that I loved Jeremy’s father, Robby. If things had been different, we would have married.”

  “Did Albion know about Jeremy?” Kendra asked. “Did he know that Jeremy was his nephew?”

  “He knew that Robby and I… But he didn’t know that I was increasing when Robby went to London. Only my mother and I knew about the baby.”

  “But you’ve been paying him off all these years.”

  “I’ve given him money sometimes. Not always. It seemed easier that way. Just as it was easier to bring Jeremy to the brewery as my business manager rather than tell him that he was my son.” Her mouth trembled until she firmed it. “I never thought that he and Hester… I didn’t see it.” She paused. “I have a favor. I know I have no right to ask this of you, but I would prefer Jeremy’s circumstance to remain a secret.”

  Kendra stared at the other woman.

  Whatever Mrs. Gavenston saw on her face prodded her to continue. “Not for me, you understand. But for Hester. It wouldn’t change anything. And it could cause her more harm. For her to realize…” She had to take a breath. “The scandal would hurt my family.”

  “And Barrett Brewery,” Kendra couldn’t stop herself from adding, her cynical side reasserting itself. How much was Mrs. Gavenston’s request for their silence about protecting Hester and Sabrina, and how much was about protecting the family business? She saw the quick flare of anger in the older woman’s eyes.

  “You may think me a monster, Miss Donovan, but this is about my family,” she said with quiet dignity.

  Kendra let it go. If Mrs. Gavenston’s motivation was something besides shielding her daughter from the truth, she wouldn’t be able to prove it. “What about Barrett Brewery? Will Sabrina inherit?” Kendra couldn’t imagine the younger woman toiling away behind a desk.