Frail
Page 26
The newspaper was five days old. The top story reported that much of Gillingham’s money still hadn’t been traced and officials feared it would never be retrieved. London was asking for the cooperation of the continent. Theo scanned the inane quotes from officials as they tried to cover their incompetence but found no mention of his name. On the second page was an editorial lambasting Scotland Yard’s handling of the case.
So this was the reason for yesterday’s visit.
He took a draw from his cigarette and skimmed the rest of the column. In the last paragraph, he read: Scotland Yard, the Bank of England and Whitehall have been in meetings since an unnamed Crimean War veteran initially tipped off Scotland Yard about Mr. Gillingham’s fraudulent investments. The Bank of England calculated Mr. Gillingham’s holdings at three quarters of a million pounds, of which only two hundred thousand has been traced and confiscated by the Crown.
The serving girl entered with his ale.
“I’m—I’m sorry, I must leave,” Theo said, as she set the glass on the table.
“But your food—”
“I must leave!” he barked. His thigh hit the table as he came to his feet, sloshing the ale.
“Do you have a problem, mate?” the croaker yelled.
Theo lifted his head. Seated around the croaker and the lanky man, he saw Massey, Worthington, and Reynolds—men who should be resting in their graves in the blistering heat of Crimea.
“Oh damn.” He grabbed his box with her veil and ring and staggered toward the door.
The truth was closing in. How many people knew? Who else had Wilson blabbered to? One slip of the tongue and his deception would be exposed. But Theo had gone too far—he had sworn his love and had taken her maidenhead—and now he had no option but to continue on this dangerous course. He was terrified of seeing her again, afraid of the desperate lies he would tell her.
He found his horse, swung himself into the saddle, and galloped towards home as if the devil was chasing him. The dense, gray clouds blew in from the ocean, covering the mountaintops. The pressure of the air was dropping and flecks of rain splattered his hat. He slowed his horse as the earth began to slope up to the mountains where generations of Welsh had hidden from their English oppressors.
∞∞∞
Helena and Megan, under Emily’s guidance, folded delicate muslin on the dining room table. As Megan measured with a string, Helena cut the fabric into long strips to make flounces for her wedding dress. Village ladies were to call that afternoon to help Emily with the gown, and she wanted to have all the sections ready to be sewn.
Helena handled the edge of the fabric.
I’m getting married.
She mentally repeated these words, yet she couldn’t make them feel real inside her heart. She knew other brides basked in these days, making each detail as special as possible so it would remain a keepsake memory. She couldn’t relax and enjoy them. When Theo wasn’t holding her, panic simmered beneath the surface of her thoughts. An irrational fear whispered that her hopes would be dashed. She didn’t deserve Theo. She had entrapped a man far too honorable for her.
“It will be a lovely gown.” Emily kissed Helena’s cheek and whispered, “And Theo will be a patient and gentle husband. No need to fret.”
Emily realized Helena was worried, but misunderstood the reason. Her poor cousin—she didn’t realize Helena had already known intimacy with her betrothed.
Helena spun toward the window at the sound of the clip-clop of horses and the rattle of a carriage. Her first thought was of Theo, and her emotions surged. But he couldn’t have returned from Bangor so quickly.
A dusty hackney halted by the gate.
“What is this?” Emily asked.
A slender gentleman in gray plaid pantaloons and a deep blue coat stepped onto the lane. Jonathan adjusted his hat as he took in Emily’s home and then shook his head, chuckling to himself.
Helena panicked. He wasn’t supposed to come, but send word. Why could she not have mustered the courage to reply to his letter?
“He is an acquaintance from London,” Helena explained.
“Why do I think he is more than a mere acquaintance or, at least, he presumes as much?” Emily said. “Oh, I’m very sorry, Helena. The poor man. Be gentle to him.”
He hastened past the gate. His face lifted with anticipation.
Helena tore into the hall. He couldn’t come inside. His dishonorable intentions couldn’t pollute this honest home. Emily mustn’t learn what Helena had shamefully agreed to in desperation.
She cracked the front door, slipped through, and quickly shut it behind her.
“Helena!” Jonathan halted.
His face triggered a flood of emotions in Helena. Memories of places, textures, conversations, and old emotions surrounded him like invisible spectra. She felt no nostalgia for them. He and all the bitter remembrances he carried must be turned away.
“My darling,” he said. “Look at you! I leave you in the country for a few weeks and you turn into a native.” He laughed and fingered Helena’s shawl, the one Emily had given her. “But you are still ravishing, and I shall have the shine back in no time.”
Was he talking to her? Was she supposed to be amused? Was this condescending banter how she conversed in London?
“I thought I was to write you,” she said.
“I’m too impatient,” he said. “All my golden cage lacks is my lovely lady bird. The furniture arrived yesterday afternoon, and I caught the 8:35 last evening.” He glanced up at Emily’s mishmash home. “And with no time to spare, I see. You might positively run to seed like this place. I apologize for my unwitting harsh treatment in leaving you here for so long, my love. I shall get you away directly.”
Helen knew Emily might hear his words through the window. She seized his arm. “Jonathan, let us walk. There is a pleasing view behind the house.”
She led him along the side of the house. The geese’s bead-like eyes watched them through wooden slats in their pen. She stopped by the thick trunk of a yew tree. The pale silver sky shone through the conifer leaves and the timbers of the nearby barn. Dense clouds with gray bottoms rested on the mountain peaks. The air was wet on her cheeks and in her mouth.
“Wales is lovely.” Jonathan gazed at the vaulting landscape. “I wish I could say as much for the Welsh. I had a devil of a time hiring a coach.”
“I find the Welsh to be generous and loving people.”
“Then you must show me their better side. The coach can take us to Betws-y-coed for the night. A honeymoon of sorts, if you desire.” He tried to draw her close, but she stiffened.
His touch repulsed her. His gloved hands grasped too greedily. His hold lacked the warm, assuring strength of Theo’s. It felt hollow and brash.
“What is this, Helena?” Jonathan asked. “Don’t turn missish on me. We had an agreement.”
“You must forgive me. I should have written sooner.” She lifted her gaze. “I am engaged.”
“Engaged?” he echoed. She watched her words penetrate his mind. “But you… you are mine. You promised me.”
Sickening guilt squeezed her belly. Even though his proposal was dishonorable, she had given him her word. She felt like some version of her deceitful father. “I can no longer fulfill my obligation to you.”
“But…” His eyes darted about. “I-I put money out for you. I lied to my father to increase my allowance.” He grabbed her wrist and yanked her closer. the leather of his gloves chaffed her skin. “Do you know how much work I’ve done? No, you are coming with me. I’m taking you back to London.”
She yanked her arm down, ripping free of him. “I cannot. I’m in love with someone else!”
“In love?” His words fell out hurt and plaintive. He recoiled at his own pain. He began pacing, wiping his mouth. When he approached her again, his hands were clenched. She sucked in a breath, thinking he would hit her. He growled and smashed his fist into the tree. “Who is he?”
“I can’t tell you.”
&n
bsp; “Yes, you will!” he barked. “I deserve to know after how you’ve treated me.”
She knew it was dangerous to admit the truth to an angry man. But it wasn’t fair to keep it from him.
“I must ask that you keep his name in confidence.”
“How dare you ask such a thing when clearly you are the one who can’t be trusted.”
She gazed down, her heart feeling the blow of his words.
“Very well,” he said quietly. “You have my word, which, as you know, I honor.”
“I am to marry Mr. Theodotus Mallory.”
Jonathan’s face screwed in disbelief. “The madman?” he said slowly. “You are choosing a lunatic over me?”
“Don’t you speak that way of him. He is an honorable man. You know nothing of what he suffered.”
“No, Helena. I can’t allow this to happen. I beg you to come back to London. Your nerves have suffered from these last months. You are not making proper decisions.”
Her anger surged higher at the very suggestion that she shouldn’t give consequence to her own thoughts. That Jonathan would know better how to live her life than she did. “I will never go back to London. I am happy here. I am loved. For the first time in my life, I am loved. This is my home now.”
“You don’t belong here,” Jonathan roared. “It’s Wales, for God’s sake! Bloody Wales. You have consented to this alliance only because he could you offer a wedding ring and I cannot.”
“I love him!”
“You have been here a little over a month!” He clasped her shoulders. “What you’re doing is irrational, born of desperation!”
He started to say more but then refrained. His lips compressed together, his nostrils pinched. “You waste my time,” he said, pushing her away. “You have always wasted my time.”
He stalked toward the carriage, then stopped and returned to her. “Why?” he implored. “How could you treat me so poorly? I’ve been looking forward to… loving you. I dreamed that…” Tears reddened his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, hating herself for the pain she had caused.
He glanced up. When his gaze met hers again, anger had replaced the hurt vulnerability. “You will come back to me,” he growled. “You will see your stupidity and come back pleading. He’s a madman, and you’re a fool with more beauty than wits.”
He strode to the waiting coach. “Take me to Bangor,” he barked at the coachman.
She rushed to the gate. “I’m sorry,” she cried again.
He didn’t acknowledge her, but stepped into the carriage. He fell back in the seat, his elbow on the window ledge, his fingers pressed to his temples. As the carriage lurched forward, he turned his head, catching her eye. Their gazes locked. She trotted along the hedge until she reached the corner and could go no further. The coach lumbered on, down the rocks and ruts into the village.
The last ties to her old life were leaving with that carriage. Terror swelled in her chest. Was he correct? Would she regret her decision? At that moment, she desired to chase after him and have him take her back.
She closed her eyes and forced her breath to slow.
The fateful words that had to be said were spoken. Now all that was left was to carry the image of Jonathan’s hurt eyes in her heart for the rest of her days. Another horrible mistake in her enormous catalog of mistakes.
She waited a minute more, staring at the now empty lane. Then she turned and headed inside.
Emily and Megan met her in the hall.
Emily brought her into her embrace. “My poor dear, hurting someone who only desires to love you is always difficult.”
Helena remained silent, letting Emily assume Jonathan was an urgent, honorable suitor. Emily rubbed her hand up and down Helena’s back. “Let us hope this young man falls in love quickly again. And he will be grateful that you turned him away.”
“Please do not tell Theo,” Helena cried.
“Of course not,” said Emily.
“Why?” Megan shook her head. “If they trust one another, there should be no secrets between them.”
Emily chuckled. “My little darling, a lady never speaks of old suitors to her husband. Nor should he. In your worlds, there has never been anyone else.”
“Did you have any other suitors, Mama?”
“None, of course.” The sparkle in Emily’s eyes hinted otherwise. “Now, we shall let go of old memories and cut out this wedding dress. This poor gentleman shall find another to love. You will see.”
∞∞∞
The rain fell for an hour after leaving Bangor, but cleared as Theo climbed higher into Snowdonia. When he halted beside Emily’s gate, the trees were black as soot against the purple sky at gloaming. He dismounted and tied his horse to the fence slats through the hedge.
Light burned from the parlor windows. Beyond the glass, Emily, Helena, Efa, and other local women were gathered. Emily, who always enjoyed being the center of attention, was standing, relating a story with animated gestures that had the ladies giggling as they pulled needles through swaths of white cloth. Helena sat near the window, sewing like the others. Theo studied the curves of her profile and the light on her cheeks. Peace, like a warm calming hand, rested on his heart.
As if sensing she were being watched, Helena turned. A smile brightened her face. Soon, the other ladies realized Theo was outside and there was a commotion of fluttering fabric as they tried to hide the wedding dress from his eyes.
He shook his head, adopting his façade of wry-humored Theo, and let himself inside. The air smelled of butter cakes and tea.
“Ladies, I have a special sewing request so keep your needles sharp and ready,” he called out as he rounded the corner into the parlor. Helena waited for him, her face radiant with tenderness.
“Don’t tell me we have to sew you wedding clothes.” Emily picked up a measuring tape. “Well, off with everything. Let us measure you too.”
The ladies broke into racy chuckles.
“No, I do not need wedding clothes,” he told her, refusing to be embarrassed.
He approached his lover. In a fast motion, he pulled the lace from the box and tossed it in the air, letting it rain down on Helena’s head. “But I do need a veil for my lovely bride.”
As the lace fell upon her lovely face, he knew she was worth the crime he was committing in order to keep her, worth his lies and self-abhorrence. She had been spurned, her name attacked across her country, and her fortune lost, but he loved her. And who would love her better?
Emily quickly shooed him out. Helena followed him into the hall. He drew her away from the parlor door and the eyes of the curious ladies.
Without saying a word, he withdrew the license from his pocket and held it before her. The light was dim, all that was visible were deep blue and gray contours. She ran her finger along the wax seal.
“We are truly getting married,” she whispered.
“I should hope so, considering how we’ve been carrying on,” he replied in equal quiet.
“I love you! You are truly the most honorable and intelligent gentleman I know. What merciful God allowed me to have you after all I’ve done?”
Before he could politely contradict her, she raised to her toes and kissed him.
∞∞∞
For the next few days, Theo lived like a fugitive. His nerves were raw and oversensitive. He moved about his world, keeping his senses alert to any sign he had been discovered. He asked Helena to steal away from the wedding preparations. He was reckless in his requests, but he knew she couldn’t stay away from him any more than he could from her. Their meetings were brief and fevered, and he promised soon they would have the entire night to enjoy one another. Though Helena would be mortified if their trysts were discovered, he secretly wanted everyone to know he had already consummated their love. He felt as if he were racing against an invisible enemy who threatened to rip her away from him. Each time he moved in her, it bound her heart tighter to him and pushed that enemy further away.
If Helena wasn’t around to calm him, he would grab his hoe and clear the nettles and brambles to make her garden. When the servants or Gordon tried to help, Theo sent them off. He couldn’t explain why he had to be alone and fight the earth.
Nineteen
Emily’s house was abuzz the day before the wedding. All around Helena were the echoes of doors opening and closing, as people bustled in and out of rooms. Sara had helped Mrs. Gordon and another serving girl carry trays of dough for rising, pitchers of punch, and rounds of cheeses from Castell Bach yr Anwylyd in the late morning.
Despite Mrs. Gordon’s pleas for Emily to rest, Helena’s cousin darted about like a twittering bird, instructing where she wanted food laid out and what platters to use. In the kitchen, she and Betry were arranging violets on the top of the bride’s cake when Emily stopped chattering mid-sentence, wavered, and grabbed onto the table’s edge.
“You shall rest now, ma’am!” Mrs. Gordon ordered in such a firm voice everyone in the kitchen stopped their tasks.
“I am w-well. I—”
“No, you are not!” Mrs. Gordon thundered. Helena flinched.
“Mama, please listen to Mrs. Gordon,” Megan pleaded. “It’s just a cake.”
Emily’s lips trembled. A shadow crossed over her eyes as she gazed at her daughter. “W... we must finish hemming the wedding gown anyway,” she conceded.
Sara and Helena supported Emily to the parlor. Despite Emily’s brave show, her slight body heaved with her rough breath. She slumped onto the sofa cushions.
Megan draped a blanket on her mother’s thin shoulders. “Mama, please rest.” Her voice was brittle with worry. “Mrs. Gordon will see to everything.”