A Convenient Fiction

by Mimi Matthews

  “I couldn’t find him,” he’d said as he struggled for breath. “He’s gone.”

  “No.” Alex had shaken his head. “No.”

  And then, amid Justin and Tom’s shouts of protest, he’d gone into the sea himself.

  Fear hadn’t mattered. Reason hadn’t mattered. He’d been too desperate. Too unwilling to accept that Neville had been taken from them.

  Margate wasn’t Devon. And Laura Hayes wasn’t Neville Cross. But as Alex stood on the beach, he felt that same stifling sense of desperation.

  “You’re making a spectacle of yourself,” Henrietta said. “Laura can swim, you know.”

  “Not in the sea, she can’t.” He scanned the water. There was a glint across a low swell of waves in the distance. A shadow of dark blue on the surface. It was probably nothing. But—

  Dear God, it looked remarkably like a person.

  “I don’t see how you would know that. It isn’t as if—” Henrietta broke off with a cry. “What are you doing? Come back here!”

  Alex scarcely heard her as he ran out into the surf. The part of his brain still functioning registered the fact that there were no small boats about—no sailors who could be applied to for assistance. There were only bathers with indeterminate swimming skills, paddling in the shallows.

  There was no one else to help her. No one else who could possibly get to her in time.

  It was the last rational thought he had before he kicked off his shoes, tore off his coat, and dived into the sea.

  The cold water swallowed him whole, seeping straight through his trousers and shirt to chill him to the bone. It surged all around him, a living, breathing thing with a power and a will of its own.

  He’d always been a strong swimmer. A burst of adrenaline made him even more so. He struck out for where he’d seen her. Where he’d thought he had seen her. Far past the women’s bathing machines, and out to where the sea began to churn and pull, a dangerous, primitive force that could easily kill a man.

  Or a woman.

  But Laura wasn’t there. The silhouette Alex had seen on the water was gone.

  Which meant that he’d been mistaken. Or…

  That her lungs had filled with water. That she’d sunk beneath the waves and drowned.

  He dived deep, the water closing over his head. A flash of memory—Neville’s body sinking into icy darkness—nearly caused him to recoil. But he pressed on, down, down into the murky depths.

  It was silent as death under the water, the only sound the rapid pounding of his heart. He swam until his pulse roared in his ears. Until his chest burned for want of air. He needed to breathe. But if he needed air, then so did she. And she must be here somewhere. She must be here.

  He felt about with his hands, moving blindly in the water. This is what it had been like to go into the sea after Neville. This feeling of burgeoning panic. Of lungs struggling for breath, and a sob building in his throat, as again and again he dived into watery darkness.

  Laura had called him a coward. A spectator standing alongside the road of life. Never risking anything. Never feeling anything.

  But he felt something now. It gave him a strength he didn’t have. He prayed it was enough.

  He dived deep one last time.

  As he reached out, a drooping swathe of wool connected with his hand. And miraculously…there she was. Laura. Suspended in the depths of the water.

  For a fraction of a second, he thought he must be hallucinating.

  And then he gathered her in his arms and kicked with all of his might toward the sunlight.

  They broke the surface together, Alex gasping for air. But unlike the day he’d pulled her from Talbot’s Pond, there was no indignant sputtering from Laura. No calling him a lummox and telling him he was trespassing.

  She was lifeless, her face as white as bleached bone.

  Cold fear surged through his veins. He made for the shore, swimming halfway on his back, pulling her along with him.

  A small crowd of onlookers had gathered to watch. As Alex dragged Laura up onto the sand, he vaguely registered the presence of Henrietta and George. Teddy was there as well. Yardley must have helped him down from the jetty.

  “Laura!” Teddy cried.

  “Is she dead?” Henrietta asked.

  “She’s not breathing,” George said.

  A stranger shouted for an attendant to fetch someone from the coast-guard station at the summit of the cliffs.

  “It’s too late,” a woman exclaimed. “She’s been drowned.”

  The sound of Teddy’s voice cut through the roar of chatter: “Do something!”

  Do something.

  The same words Alex had uttered on the beach so many years before.

  But there was no Justin Thornhill to save the day this time. No Tom Finchley to assist him. It was up to Alex alone. And this time, this time, he couldn’t afford to make any mistakes.

  He rose up on his knees. “Get back!”

  Some in the crowd obeyed him. Others remained where they were.

  Alex leaned down over Laura. He put his hands on her wool-clad midsection and pushed upward to force the water out of her lungs. Once, twice, and then again, to little effect.

  Desperation made him reckless—heedless of the crowd. He might even have cursed a time or two, commanding Laura to wake up. All the while, his mind raced over his limited options for reviving her.

  In Marseilles, he’d once seen a sailor resuscitate a man with a pair of bellows. But Alex didn’t have any bellows, nor was there time to have someone fetch a pair. In place of them, he did the only thing he could think of. He bent his head and covered Laura’s half-open mouth with his own.

  The gasps from the crowd reached a fever pitch.

  Laura’s lips were cold as ice. He exhaled into her mouth, giving her as much breath as she might have received from one pump of the bellows.

  “This is outrageous!” a woman said shrilly.

  “Unhand her, sir!” an elderly man joined in.

  “Leave him be!” Teddy shouted. “That’s my sister.”

  Alex breathed into her mouth again. It was surely nothing like he’d seen done in France. And it was probably too late anyway. She’d been too long in the water. He hadn’t been fast enough. Strong enough.

  He drew back from her face, setting his hands on her midriff once more, and pressing with all of his might—so forcefully he feared he might crack her ribs.

  Laura gave a choking cough.

  Relief tore through him. He swiftly turned her over, holding her in his arms above the sand as she expelled the water from her lungs in great heaving retches.

  The crowd closed in.

  He had only moments before they took her away from him. Any second, she’d be wrapped in towels and conveyed back to the hotel.

  He leaned down to her one last time. Her lashes fluttered, black as soot against her pale cheeks, as he whispered in her ear.

  When he drew back, her smoke-blue eyes met his.

  “Do you understand?” he asked.

  She gave a weak nod.

  And then the coast-guardsman was there, along with Mrs. Bainbridge and the squire. Alex sank back onto the sand, exhausted, as they bundled Laura up and carried her away.

  Surrey, England

  August, 1860

  Laura sat in the window embrasure, her stocking feet curled up beneath the skirts of her worn muslin day dress, and stared out at the overgrown cottage garden below. Beside her, Magpie gave a lazy yawn. He’d been her only companion in her misery—a silent companion, at that. Something to be grateful for. She had no stomach for judgmental lectures, nor even for well-meant commiseration.

  Since arriving back in Lower Hawley, her spirits had sunk to heretofore unimaginable depths. She hadn’t wept, and she hadn’t yet flown into a temper at the unfairness of
it all. She was too numb to do anything, really.

  Dr. Taylor had recommended rest and quiet. “Another week and you’ll be back to yourself,” he’d promised.

  Laura didn’t know how she could be. Not in one week. Not ever.

  Alex Archer was gone.

  She’d last seen him on the beach Sunday morning when he’d rescued her. In the ensuing hours, as Aunt Charlotte and one of the maids had stripped her out of her wet bathing costume and put her into a steaming hot bath, there had been no word of him. Only her aunt’s grim expression, and the weighted looks of the hotel staff, signaled that anything significant had happened.

  When Laura and the rest of their party had boarded the train home later that afternoon, Alex wasn’t on it.

  “Mr. Archer has disappeared,” Aunt Charlotte had whispered, her face creased in distress. “Squire Talbot says he called for his luggage, hired a cab, and simply…left.”

  “To where?” Laura had asked.

  “Does it matter?”

  Laura supposed that it didn’t. Nothing seemed to matter at the moment.

  They’d been back home for nearly two whole days, and there had been no callers. No sign of Henrietta or George, and no visits from the villagers, either—though they were certainly buzzing with gossip by now.

  Laura was being properly shunned.

  Which made it even more surprising when, later that morning, Aunt Charlotte came to her bedroom and informed her that Henrietta was downstairs.

  A flicker of surprise prompted Laura to turn her head from the window. “Is she? Why?”

  “She’d like to see you.” Aunt Charlotte wrung her hands. “Oh, I realize it’s long overdue. But you know how she is. And who can blame her in this instance? Mr. Archer was practically her betrothed.”

  “He wasn’t.”

  “Near enough, as far as she’s concerned. It’s only natural that there should be some ill feeling on her part. I mean to say…the man made a spectacle of himself kissing you on a public beach. You! A female too weak to resist. He’s compromised you beyond recovery. How could Miss Talbot ever marry him now?”

  “He wasn’t kissing me, Aunt. I’ve told you a half dozen times. He was sharing his breath. If you don’t believe me, you must at least believe Teddy. He was on the beach when it happened.”

  Aunt Charlotte gave an eloquent snort. “Sharing his breath, indeed. A likely excuse.”

  “You weren’t there. Not until after he’d revived me.”

  “I thank God every day that I wasn’t. But I’ve had the events of that morning described to me by more people than I care to count. I don’t know how I shall ever hold my head up in the village again. And I can’t begin to imagine how you ever will. Not without allies. Being civil to Henrietta Talbot would go a long way toward repairing your reputation. If you’ll only come down to the parlor and greet her.”

  Laura turned back to the window. She drew her silk shawl more firmly about her shoulders. “I’m not well enough to come downstairs today.”

  “Oh, Laura, can you not make the effort—”

  “She may come and see me up here if she likes. We are old friends, after all.” Laura couldn’t keep the edge of bitterness from her voice. Henrietta had been as cold as ice toward her on the train home from Margate. As if it had been Laura’s fault that she’d nearly drowned.

  And perhaps it was.

  Had she been exercising adequate care for her reputation, she’d never have swum off alone. She’d have abided by the rules set out for genteel young ladies. Resisted the temptation of the open sea, and stayed safely near the shore.

  Now, as a result of her actions, it wasn’t only her own life that was affected. Aunt Charlotte, Teddy, and even Alex were all suffering from the upheaval caused by Laura’s reckless decision.

  Aunt Charlotte gave Laura’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “My darling. We haven’t been the luckiest of families, I know, but we shall rally again, just as we’ve always done. You mustn’t take it too much to heart.”

  Laura covered her aunt’s hand with her own. “Do send up Henrietta.”

  A short time later, preceded by the creaking of the stairs and the squeak of the loose floorboard in the hall, Henrietta entered Laura’s bedroom. She might have stepped straight out of the pages of the Englishwomen’s Domestic Magazine. Her striped afternoon dress was the height of summer fashion, her flounced skirts standing wide over a wire crinoline.

  Laura made no move to rise from the window embrasure, nor did Magpie. He watched Henrietta’s approach with a sapient eye.

  “Laura.” Her voice was frosty. “Your aunt says you’ve been ill.”

  “Indeed,” Laura replied in equally cool tones. “I nearly drowned two days ago, in case you’ve forgotten.”

  “As if I could!” Henrietta crossed the room, her skirts brushing against the heavy furniture. “It was your own fault, you know. If you hadn’t insisted on swimming away from the bathing machines, none of this would have happened.”

  Laura didn’t dispute the fact. She knew only too well who was to blame for the situation she found herself in. And it wasn’t Alex Archer.

  “Why couldn’t you have stayed with the rest of us in the shallows?” Henrietta asked. “Why must you always make yourself the center of attention?”

  “Is that what you think I was doing?”

  “It doesn’t matter what I think. I haven’t come to quarrel with you.” Henrietta walked to the mantel. There was an old carriage clock there, and a red-and-white porcelain spaniel with a chip in its ear. “George came to dine at the Park last night. He told me some very interesting things about Mr. Archer after Papa retired.”

  “Mr. Archer?”

  “I won’t be familiar with a man of his reputation,” Henrietta said primly. “I regret that I ever was.”

  Laura sighed. “Go on then, what did George have to say?”

  Henrietta touched the porcelain figurine with one gloved finger. “He told me that he owes Mr. Archer money. Ten thousand pounds in gaming debts, to be precise.”

  “Ten thousand pounds!” Laura sat up straighter. “How on earth…?”

  “Mr. Archer is a notorious gambler, apparently. One of the most dangerous on the continent. George was well in his clutches before he realized the sort of villain he’d become involved with.” Henrietta picked up the figurine. “He has no way to pay his debts. Not even if he were to seek employment. He could never hope to earn such a sum. It’s a dastardly situation Mr. Archer has put him in.”

  Laura doubted very much that George would ever stoop to seeking employment, no matter how much money he owed. “I should think the vastness of the sum speaks more to George’s weakness than Alex’s villainy.”

  “You didn’t see George as I did last night. He wept when he confessed the whole of it. You see, it was me Mr. Archer wanted. In exchange for George introducing us, and helping to assure a match, Mr. Archer promised to forgive all of his debts.”

  Laura had wondered what hold Alex had over George. What it was that had made George seem so afraid of him. The truth behind their relationship was diabolical, though not wholly surprising. “He didn’t want you,” she said. “He wanted Edgington Park.”

  Henrietta gave her a sharp look. “You don’t mean to say that you knew?”

  Laura shrugged one shoulder. “Not of their bargain, or that George owed him money. But I knew he was after your estate.”

  “How did you know? Who told you?”

  “Does it matter?”

  Henrietta’s lips thinned. “I daresay it doesn’t. With Mr. Archer gone for good—”

  “You assume he isn’t coming back.”

  “Of course he isn’t. Why would he?”

  Why indeed.

  Laura twined her fingers tight in the folds of her shawl. “For his ten thousand pounds, if for nothing else.”
r />   “George doesn’t have it. And after Mr. Archer’s public display at Margate—”

  “He saved my life, Hen,” Laura said quietly.

  “Nonsense. There was a coast-guardsman on the cliffs. There were men with rowboats just near the shore. Mr. Archer had no call to play the hero.” She returned the porcelain dog to its place on the mantel. “And to think that he pretended to dislike the sea! As if he were afraid of it.”

  “He was afraid.” Laura knew that much to a certainty. He’d been afraid, and he’d gone into the water anyway. For her.

  “He certainly wasn’t. You should have seen the way he dived beneath the waves, without a moment’s hesitation. And then—when he kissed you—”

  “It wasn’t a kiss.”

  “It looked like one, and that’s all that matters.”

  Henrietta was right. The fact that Alex had pressed his mouth to Laura’s on a public beach, in front of a crowd of onlookers, was damning. No one seemed to care why he’d done it. Not even if the act had saved her life.

  “I begin to suspect that you’d far rather he let me die.”

  Henrietta turned to her with a scowl. “You’re twisting my words. I only—”

  “You only wanted him for yourself, and now he’s entangled with me, and you can’t bear it. Well, you are just going to have to learn to bear it. Just as I did when George chose you again and again.”

  Henrietta’s mouth fell open. “Are you jealous of me?”

  “I’m not jealous of anyone. I merely think it hypocritical—”

  “I’m no hypocrite. I simply speak as I find.”

  “Yes. Hypocritically.”

  “What’s wrong with you?” Henrietta burst out. “You’re being an absolute shrew to me. Heaven knows I don’t deserve it.”

  “Forgive me for being blunt. In case you hadn’t noticed, I have a great deal on my mind at present.”

  “Which is why I’ve come. To tell you that I realize what happened wasn’t wholly your fault. Aside from that, I don’t know what else I can do.”

  “You can be my friend,” Laura said. “If you ever were to begin with.”

  “Of course I’m your friend!”