“Yes,” Harriet replied.
“How did she die?” Charlotte asked, her gaze feeling to Harriet like she could see right into her soul. “I imagine you had Thomas kill her.”
Harriet could feel that she was sweating. She wanted another drink – and not some cup of chamomile tea but a real drink, a double scotch at the least. She replied, “I did it myself. I looked her in the eye and I did it myself.”
Charlotte averted her eyes momentarily, plainly uncomfortable. She asked, “Was it necessary?”
Harriet hesitated before responding, “I thought so. I still think so. I wouldn’t have done it otherwise.”
“Not even because you needed revenge?” she asked, although her voice wasn’t unkind.
Harriet replied, “That wasn’t why.”
Charlotte sat back in her chair. A long moment passed. She asked, “What else?”
“What else what?” Harriet asked in return.
“What else should I know about you?”
“Isn’t that enough?” Harriet asked, bewildered.
“Is there more to know?” Charlotte asked, tucking a few strands of hair behind her ear.
Harriet shook her head and finally said, “No. That’s it.” She spread her fingers out on the table in front of her. She said, “That’s all there is to know. I’m an open book.”
The corner of Charlotte’s mouth tugged upward into a crooked smile. She said softly, “I doubt you could ever be an open book.”
Harriet looked at her, wondering how she could be so calm in the face of everything she had revealed to her. Charlotte reached out and took Harriet’s hands in hers. Her thumb softly brushed over Harriet’s fingers, and Harriet wondered if her palm felt sweaty to Charlotte.
“Come with me, Harriet. I’m leaving tomorrow. You can sort out everything from Edinburgh. I think as much as I need a fresh start, you need one even more.”
“I can’t,” Harriet said, her heart feeling like it was breaking. “I’m sorry, Charlie.”
The hint of a smile was gone from Charlotte’s face as she replied, “I understand.”
Charlotte’s thumb stilled and she withdrew her hand. Harriet stood from the table and walked the one and a half steps over to her. She gently lifted Charlotte’s chin up towards her as she leaned down and kissed her. She felt Charlotte reach up to pull her closer, and so Harriet moved away, turning and walking quickly across the kitchen and out Erin’s front door.
#
As Harriet entered her temporary office, Anna looked up from her desk at her. “I’d have thought you’d be changed by now,” she said.
“Sorry?” Harriet asked, confused.
“The memorial service is in an hour. Or aren’t you going?” Anna asked cautiously. She had picked up on how Harriet had been moody and distracted lately.
Harriet squeezed her eyes closed, and replied, “I forgot that was tonight.” In the three days since Charlotte had left, everything had mostly been a scotch-induced blur. Maybe she was lost in self-pity, but all she could think about was how she had had such a short time with Charlotte since she was released from prison. Too short, and now she was gone again.
“I thought you might have.” Anna jerked her chin toward behind the door. “I’ve been to the cleaners for you and picked up your black suit.”
“You’re the best, Anna,” Harriet said, and saw how she blushed in response.
Harriet took her suit into her office and closed the door. Her cream-colored, sleeveless blouse and strand of pearls would work well with the black jacket and black skirt. She was glad she had settled on a pair of black heels that morning instead of the turquoise ones she had considered.
Less than an hour later, she was seated in Westminster Abbey amidst many other people, most of whom she didn’t know. Given the Abbey’s capacity of a mere 2,000 people, attendance was selective. Leadership from both Houses were invited to attend, as well as those individuals who had lost someone from their personal staff, but the majority of the crowd was composed of family members of those who had been slain.
Harriet looked up at the 18th Century stained glass window, around at the crystal chandeliers and striking gothic arches, and felt it was a suitable resting place for those they had lost. The next morning, their ashes would be buried in the Abbey.
The service was filled with music, ceremony, and speeches. Harriet listened to the words about duty and sacrifice, feeling the sentiments weigh heavily on her heart. When the service ended and the organ sounded again, she began filing out of the Abbey with everyone else, wanting to be lost in the crowd.
Her eyes caught when she saw a face that looked so much like Dillon yet perhaps thirty years older than he had been. Harriet presumed this was Dillon’s father, but she hesitated, feeling like she shouldn’t approach him. She watched as he and a woman – Dillon’s mother, perhaps – walked somberly out of the Abbey.
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Erin sipped her beer.
Harriet sat across the table at the Crown & Cushion. Harriet thought about how Erin was attractive, bright, loyal to her friends, and single. They had never talked about whether Erin went on dates or was wholly focused on making her career a success, but Harriet thought it was a pity that she seemed to be alone in life. Harriet hoped that Erin would, someday, find someone.
“We never really seem to have a good time here, you and me. I don’t know why I keep agreeing to meet you here,” Harriet said lightly.
“Because you miss her, and I’m your connection to her,” Erin said. She glanced at her glass of water and asked, “You’re not going to get a real drink?”
“Not tonight,” Harriet replied simply. She tried to resist sighing, and she asked, “How is she?”
“Fine,” Erin said. “She’s settling in. I think her new position is turning out to be really good for her.”
“Is she… making friends?” Harriet asked.
“You mean, is she seeing anyone? Harriet, it’s only been six weeks. I know if you’re anything like me, it probably seems like longer, but still. Just six weeks. I don’t think she’s quite gotten over you yet, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“The sooner she does, the better,” Harriet said, feeling vulnerable at how easily Erin saw through her question.
“Don’t be so down on yourself. It doesn’t become you,” Erin replied, taking another drink. “I can’t believe you let her leave.”
This time, Harriet did sigh. She took a long, hard look at Erin before replying. “Why would I have stopped her? What on earth is left for her here?” She asked, growing frustrated with Erin, or perhaps with herself.
“Besides you?” Erin asked, eyebrows raised.
“Yes,” Harriet said flatly. She wiped the condensation off the side of her glass with her thumb. She idly wondered why they always sat outside when it was so blasted hot all the time.
“I don’t know. What’s left for you?” she asked.
“There’s my job, for one,” Harriet replied.
“So is your job more important to you than Charlie?” she asked.
Harriet could feel how her face betrayed her, how she had failed to maintain her confident mask, the one that told the world that she had thought everything through and had no self-doubt. “No,” Harriet admitted. “But I’ve made a commitment.”
“So un-make it,” Erin said.
“It’s not that easy. And besides, Members of Parliament aren’t allowed to resign,” Harriet said. She wished she could explain it to Erin, to make her understand where she was coming from.
“Bullocks. I know there’s a workaround for that. Don’t they appoint you to some paid position – Crown Steward of something-and-such – and then use that as a means to give up your seat?”
“Did you learn that in your legal training?” Harriet asked.
“I picked it up somewhere, I suppose,” she replied with a small smile.
“Well, I have to get back to the office,” Harriet said, standing up. She always found
an excuse to leave when the conversation got a little too close to home.
Erin, too, stood up, and hugged her. “Don’t be a stranger,” she said.
#
Harriet was spending more time out of the office than ever before. She took a long stroll one morning when she should have been preparing for a committee meeting, stopping for a coffee and continuing her walk through St. James’s Park. Eventually, she decided to sit for a while on a bench to watch others as they walked by, generally visibly perspiring from the heat but also seeming to enjoy the fresh air. Well, as fresh as the air could be in a city so large and dense. Harriet wondered if Charlotte ever sat and people-watched. She thought it was probably something that would appeal to her.
Before too long, Harriet caught sight of two people who she recognized immediately even though she had only seen them once before. The man and woman walked slowly arm-in-arm, looking as though they had aged significantly in the weeks since the memorial service. Harriet knew that the experience of loss could do that to a person.
Harriet took a deep breath, knowing that she needed to approach them. She stood up from the bench, coffee in hand, and walked over to catch up with the pair.
“Mr. and Mrs. Macpherson?” She said questioningly, not wanting to startle them.
They stopped walking and turned to her, looking apprehensive. “Yes, may we help you?” the woman asked.
“My name is Harriet Spencer. Dillon was completing an internship with me. I didn’t mean to worry you, but I had seen you at the memorial service and then when I saw you again today…” Harriet trailed off, realizing she didn’t actually know what to say to them, but rather she merely felt compelled to talk to them. “I wanted to tell you how very sorry I am for your loss. Please accept my sincerest condolences.”
Mr. Macpherson blinked rapidly a few times and then reached to shake her hand. “Ms. Spencer, I’d just like to say…” his sentence trailed off as he began to choke up.
Mrs. Macpherson put her arm around him and finished his thought for him. “Dillon had so many nice things to say about you. The internship experience meant so much to him – the short time that he spent working with you.”
Mr. Macpherson noisily inhaled a gulp of air, his face reddening. “What they said at the memorial service – about duty? – it means nothing.”
“Donald,” the woman said in rebuking voice.
“No, I mean it. It’s not about duty. It’s about love. Dillon loved his work in Westminster. He got up every morning excited to go into the office, even if it was just to fetch you a coffee,” he said.
Harriet felt immediately embarrassed and didn’t know what to say. She wished she wasn’t holding a cup of coffee at that very moment.
Mr. Macpherson continued, “Anyway, my son found something he loved. And if he had to go… at least it was while doing what he loved.”
He shook her hand again while Mrs. Macpherson gave her an apologetic look. She said, “Thank you for stopping us and introducing yourself. It was very kind of you.” She led Mr. Macpherson away, and Harriet took that as a signal to walk in the opposite direction.
#
That night, Harriet sat at the end of her dining room table, the door to the kitchen propped open, and looked across the marble floor. She saw where Daniel’s body had been and, not so far away, where she had killed – murdered – Joanna. Her breath caught as she thought about it in those terms for the first time. She had murdered. And for what?
“Daniel,” Harriet said aloud, looking vaguely up, “I wish you were here now.”
She thought about what Dillon’s father had said about love. She thought about what she had left for her in her life, how those at Bermondsey Street walked on eggshells around her, afraid of incurring her wrath. She didn’t think they worried about her physically harming them but rather they seemed to relate to each other less and less. Even Thomas had distanced himself of late, perhaps resentful of what she had asked him to do. What did she love anymore?
“I love Charlie,” Harriet said to the empty kitchen.
Still in her suit from work that day, she took the Tube across town to Erin’s flat. As soon as Erin opened her door, wearing a faded blue robe, Harriet blurted, “You were right.”
Erin grinned and said sleepily, “If only it were every day that a woman would show up at my door and say those words to me.”
Harriet shot her a look that said she was being serious, and that she wasn’t in the mood for light-hearted flirtations. Unable to contain herself, she said, “I meant, it’s not my job holding me back and keeping me here in London, away from Charlie.”
Erin pushed the door open wider and said, “Come on in.”
Harriet walked just inside the threshold, far enough in that Erin could close the door behind her. She observed Erin’s dimly lit flat, looking into the kitchen where a light was turned on above the stove, the kettle resting on a burner as if waiting at attention for uninvited guests to show up and need a cup of tea. This was Erin’s home, a place of warmth.
Harriet turned to her and, struggling with her words, said, “At first, my job really was the reason why I stayed – I thought I was needed here with my position in Westminster. And Charlie’s departure was so sudden that I didn’t have time to think about what I wanted or what was right for me. She couldn’t have expected me to just pick up and move with her the very next day.”
“And now? Have you figured out what you want?” Erin asked, her voice steady and gentle.
Harriet felt the naked emotion in her eyes as she looked at Erin. “I love her. I want to be with her – if she’ll still have me, that is. I want to go to Edinburgh and try to make it work.”
“What about your job?” Erin asked.
“Like you said before, there’s a workaround. I’m sure there will be someone eager to take my place. And perhaps I could do something just as meaningful, perhaps start a Scottish branch of the SDO.” She saw the look of disapproval on Erin’s face, and she added, “A fresh start for the organization, too.”
“And your house?” she asked.
Harriet shook her head and said, “There are too many bad memories. Charlie was right about that.” She was lost in thought for a moment, thinking about the kitchen. She regained focus and said, “If you’d be willing, I’d sign over the papers for you to manage the estate. As far as the house is concerned, live in it, sell it… burn it, for all I care.”
Erin was quiet for a moment before she replied, “It’s worth substantially more if it’s not burned down, not that it seems you have to worry all that much about money.”
Harriet smiled, and realized it had been a long time since she last had a reason to smile. She told her, “Then live in it or sell it. Rent it out. Whatever.”
Erin returned her smile and said, “So you’re really going to go?”
Harriet nodded and said, “I have to try.”
Erin pulled her into a hug. “Good luck,” she said warmly.
As they broke contact, Harriet thought about how she would miss her.
#
Harriet departed on the morning train north to Edinburgh with two small pieces of luggage – the bare essentials. She had decided only to take what she could easily carry without any need for a porter or help from any stranger. At just over two hours on the fast train, she would arrive shortly after eight o’clock.
As the train sped through the countryside, past fields that blurred together in broad brushstrokes of yellow, tan, and green, Harriet felt her shoulders relax, dropping away from her ears. She had worn plain slacks, a blouse, a light jacket, and sensible shoes, feeling as though she could dispense with her more formal attire for the time being. She had nothing to prove to the world, no image to uphold, no power to wield over anyone else. In short, she could finally just dress for herself.
A middle-aged man, perhaps a decade older than herself, with bright red hair and a reddish-gray beard sat down in the seat opposite Harriet and looked out the window. “It’s beautiful, innit
? There’s nothing like going home,” he said in a thick Doric accent.
Harriet smiled at him and said, “Yes, it certainly is beautiful.”
“You’re English, aren’t you?” he asked, his brow furrowed.
Harriet nodded, thinking how Charlotte and she both would have outsiders’ accents. Somehow that seemed fitting, as though they could make a clean start together in a place where neither of them had had a beginning.
“Do you work up north? In Edinburgh?” the stranger asked, apparently having decided that her being English wasn’t so severe of a crime that he couldn’t continue a conversation with her.
Harriet paused and then said, “Actually, I’m unemployed at the moment.” It felt strange to say it aloud, but it was the truth. She had been working for her entire adult life up until so recently.
“Aww, don’t you worry. You’ll find something that fits you,” he said with confidence. Harriet was touched by his kindness.
Harriet listened as he proceeded to tell her about his life – his family, the shop that he ran with his daughters, and how he was always eager to return to the north where everything seemed more peaceful. At the end of the train ride, as they pulled into Edinburgh’s Waverley Station, he shook her hand and said he hoped she would find what she was looking for.
Less than an hour later, Harriet sat on a simple wooden bench outside of Charlotte’s building, hoping Charlotte hadn’t already arrived but willing to sit there until she came back out again. Her luggage rested on the ground to the side of the bench. She appreciated that although, relatively speaking, she hadn’t traveled terribly far north, it was noticeably cooler outside than it was in London. She could actually enjoy the breeze rustling the leaves on the trees and blowing strands of her hair across her face.
Harriet didn’t know whether Charlotte would smile and rush into her arms, as overjoyed to see her as Harriet knew she herself would be to see Charlotte again, or whether Charlotte’s eyes would narrow with resentment and she would walk in the other direction away from her. Perhaps Charlotte would walk right past her without acknowledging her presence.
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