I felt my body lose all weight. I was like an empty chrysalis, a flaky snakeskin, worth less than I ever considered possible. How could this have happened? Thomas was not the surname I had penned the night before. It couldn’t have been. The pen didn’t operate in this way. It wasn’t supposed to generate events that might have a direct effect on my life. What had I done?
“You can’t see him,” Cooper said.
“And who the devil will stop me?” Edward demanded. Cooper took a deep, heavy breath.
“Your father hanged himself this morning.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Fool's Hope
“I’VE TURNED IN your story!” Anna said. “Byron seemed happy to see me, but I kept to my word and didn’t discuss anything but business. The poor old sap doesn’t know what’s coming, does he?”
Anna’s voice was an echo, distant and indistinct. I stared out the small kitchen window at our little picture of the world. We never had much of a view, just of the brick wall across the street. For all the hours I had sat there, I could describe almost nothing about it.
I felt completely numb. I didn’t know how I got home. I couldn’t remember how long ago. All I could remember was the colossal pain and agony I saw take hold of Edward upon hearing his own flesh and blood had met financial scandal and suicide. Had I tried to console him? Had he rushed out? Sergeant Cooper had tried to mention something to me. I felt the memory of Rebecca’s hand on my arm but had no thought or recollection to claim it as partner.
“Good heavens, Luella! You’re white as a ghost, and you’ve been crying.”
I turned to her. She looked wet. Her hat was still in her hand.
“You’re damp.”
“It’s starting to rain, but what does that matter? What happened?”
I smiled. What a ridiculous question. I could not begin even the hint of an explanation. My poor baby sister. She was being cared for by a pathetic, narcissistic wretch. Even if I had the courage, she wouldn’t believe me. And, if she did believe, she wouldn’t forgive me. And, if she did forgive me, I couldn’t allow her to.
The words I had spoken to her that morning and the night before stung like wasps on my scalp. I had filled her with false hopes, deposited counterfeit funds in our dream account. She was filled with a vision of the future, painted with scenes of her and Jacob, happily situated. I had insisted that I was about to hit pay dirt with my writing career, but now. . .
I couldn’t continue with that devil pen! I couldn’t continue writing at all! If anyone had ever abused the privilege, surely, I had. Could I continue to rely on the great Providence that inspires the minds of those who embark across the page after plunging myself into the darkness and filth of an infernal and evil shortcut? With every new article, I would shame Edward’s name and family. I could not put my heart into a practice that cost the man I loved such pain and misfortune.
And I did love Edward! He was the stuff of my dreams. He could have provided me a life of modest means and immeasurable happiness. I would have happily broken my engagement with Byron. He was an open door to paradise, but now I had slammed it shut with such unequivocal force. I was the perfect fool, with love in my grasp, only to chase it off with unbridled ambition.
Now, I would never be the happiest of women because I could never make him the happiest of men. I was the wretched soul that cost him his father.
“Luella, please speak to me!” Anna shook me by the shoulders, dislodging fresh tears. I looked at her, and a thought struck me like a bolt of lightning.
The story.
The very least I could do was ensure that I did not contribute to Edward’s shame by propagating the tale of his father’s dishonor.
“Has Byron published my story?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I doubt it. I only gave it to him a short while ago.”
“Anna, I’m so sorry. I have to go,” I got up, fueled by an intense eagerness to erase at least some minute portion of my blame in this nightmare.
“It’s raining! Where are you going?”
“To Langley’s.” I searched desperately for my coat and hat.
“Whatever for?”
“I’ll explain later!”
“You’re going to retract the story, aren’t you?”
“Anna, I have to. It will besmirch a good man’s name.”
“But you promised me this story was the beginning of our freedom. If you don’t print it, what will we do?”
“That’s not important right now.” Where was that stupid coat?
“You’re going to marry Byron.” She sounded hollow.
“Anna, please—”
“You told me you wouldn’t. You promised me. What about Jacob?”
“Anna!”
“Byron’s almost ruined me once already! You can’t do this. You just can’t!”
“Enough about you and you and you!” I screamed. My fingers twitched. Dark, magical feelings swelled inside of me. Please, not now. Not against Anna. “That’s all you think about! You and Jacob! Have you considered there’s more to God’s green earth than your fickle emotions and childish fantasies?”
Her mouth dropped open. I had never spoken to her like this. I wished I could have just walked away, but the magic spurned me on. I didn’t have time to fight back. I needed to get to Langley’s.
“Me? What about you?” I hadn’t expected Anna to scream back. “You obsess with being a writer and throw away your future. I’d hardly blame you for it if you had the courage to actually follow through!”
“If you love Jacob then go be with him! Run away if you have to. Elope. Live in poverty. Do whatever it takes because that’s what love is.”
“What do you know about love?”
“I know more about it than you ever will!” I grasped the doorframe to steady myself. “Don’t you see, Anna? I had it right in front of me. I had it, and I threw it away. Forever! Love is nothing more than sacrifice, like I’m doing for him now, and like I’m doing for you always.”
“For whom?”
I rushed out the door, without a hat or coat, into the cold, icy rain.
The water battered down on me in terrible sheets. I ran down the road, coursing through puddles. I pushed my way through crowds of umbrellas and ignored the bewildered looks of passersby. Soon, I was soaked through, but I kept running, all of my attention on pushing myself to prevent the article’s publication or to avoid slipping and falling on the cobblestone.
Please, if there was a God in heaven, please let the article still be there. I would trade anything.
I got to Langley’s out of breath. My lungs were burning, and I must have looked a wreck, but I burst through the door.
“Byron, where are you?” I shouted. He emerged from inside his small back office with a cup of tea in his hand. He took one look at me before nearly dropping it to the floor.
“Luella! You’re soaked through! What is the matter with you?” He grabbed a blanket and rushed to wrap me up in it. The heavy wool fabric pressed my wet clothes closer to my skin, giving me a chill. I hadn’t realized how cold I was.
“Where’s the story Anna brought you? Have you already published it?”
“It just went off to the printers twenty minutes ago. And what a bomb it was! If that’s not going to win the Golden Inkwell, I don’t know what will.”
I collapsed into a chair, my last hope snuffed out. That was it then. My evil incantation was complete.
“Can we recall it?” I asked, knowing the answer already. I was too late. Not only did I have the blood of Edward’s father on my hands, but I was complicit in spreading the news of his family’s disgrace.
“Recall it? Didn’t you hear what I just said?”
“Can we?”
“I doubt it,” Byron replied, exasperated. “By the time we reach them, they will have already started setting the print. It would cost us a great deal to abandon the paper now. Why?”
“But it is possible?” A flicker of hope sparked from inside of
me.
“Technically, but it would be madness. We’d miss tomorrow’s edition. We’d lose a fortune.”
I stood and grabbed his hands. “Please, Byron. I beg of you. We have to recall it.”
“Is it inaccurate?”
“No, it’s not that.” I winced. I wished so badly it were inaccurate.
“Then what’s the problem? I thought the story was riveting. One of your best! It will sell wonderfully.”
How could I explain it without revealing my feelings for Edward? I was in no condition to invent excuses.
“Please, Byron, I can’t explain it. I just need you to recall the paper.”
“Don’t talk nonsense! I will do no such thing.”
“I’m begging you.”
“I see what’s happening here,” he cast me a sidelong glance. “You’re nervous about Brutus, but I’m telling you, not even Brutus will have words to discredit you this time. I was just about to mail this letter to Ms. Drake at the award committee.”
“You’re not hearing me,” I said. My voice broke. Tears mingled with the water droplets falling from my hair and streaking down my face. “I need you to recall the story. Please.”
“I can’t do that to our other authors,” he said. He was exasperated. He was looking for a reason to understand, but I could give him nothing. “With no explanation?”
“I can’t tell you,” I pleaded. “Byron, please, I’ve never asked you for something without reserve like this.”
“Can’t tell me?” he dropped my hands. “What game are you playing at? Why are you stringing me along like this? I don’t know what mischief you’re up to, but I can’t support it. You’re asking me to betray all the people who work on this paper and to do so at great personal loss. Why must I do this? You can’t tell me. What kind of answer is that? It’s rubbish. You’ve disrespected me now for weeks, but this is too much, Luella. It’s simply too much.”
My head was swimming. How could I make him understand? He was cold with me, angry even. I thought back to our last fight. Of course, he was angry. I had treated him so poorly the other day. Yesterday. It was only yesterday. He must have been so confused and frustrated. I had trampled on his feelings and our engagement callously.
I had gallivanted around with a mysterious and dangerous man I met less than month before at great risk to my future and any semblance of a future for my sister. Anna! I had played the absent sister to her as well. How she must have been suffering, with no one but Mrs. Crow to look after her, all while I behaved like a little girl, skipping from one fancy to another, excited over going out to lunch as if it was my first dinner party. I had lashed out at her. I had exalted her hopes and dashed them to pieces.
Was this why my father had sacrificed so much to teach me to read and write? What would he have said about my most recent stories? What would he have said about the dark workings of the pen? What good came of it? It produced nothing but silly nonsensical articles or else blood tales for the clink of some coin. I was splitting apart families to satisfy my own ego.
Now, I stood defenseless against the man whose promise and heart I had stamped on. I was mad to think Bram could truly provide the future that Byron had already offered. Bram was a rough, adventurous man, and I had wasted so much of my virtue even associating with him. And, I had betrayed Edward as no one else could have possibly done. I would never be worthy to look in his eyes again or to exchange even pleasantries in passing conversation.
“Oh, Byron. I’ve been such a fool.”
He looked at me from across the room, and I saw the heavy mantle of understanding fall on his countenance.
“You’re in some type of trouble, aren’t you?”
“It’s not what you think,” I said. “One day, I hope I can explain, but now, I need your help. If that story gets published, I will be wounded forever. A recall can’t put us out. Haven’t my stories been selling?” He poured himself a drink from his desk drawer.
“They have, but I’ve spent the money paying off debts and reinvesting in broader circulation. I was relying on this next edition for—well, I was relying on it.”
“Please Byron, I will cover the difference personally. I’ll repay the debt somehow.”
“It’s not about the money, Luella. It’s about loyalty to our colleagues. If we don’t have an income tomorrow, they’ll have to go without.”
“You mean my loyalty to you.”
“That isn’t fair. It’s not about loyalty between us. It’s simply not. But, it’s not a stretch to say that it is about trust.”
“You don’t trust me?”
“The last time we spoke, you railed at me. I’d been trying to apologize to you for weeks, and you wouldn’t have it. You wouldn’t even see me. Then you show up furious with me for something Brutus wrote about you. Now, you’re asking for something very big from me, and you can’t tell me any reason why.”
He had me cornered. I couldn’t blame him for turning me down. Who knew what suspicions he had of my behavior? I had been busy burning this bridge. Who knew I was locking myself on the wrong side of it? I needed Byron now. I needed to make this right for Edward. I would never love Bram. I would never be worthy of Edward. Could I at least mitigate his misfortune? I’d give anything to do it.
“Please Byron,” I said. “Do it for me as a wedding present.”
No physician could have prescribed a more able remedy for his dreariness. His posture brightened, and he lost years off his life right before my eyes. Behind his cautious expression lurked the hope of an ecstatic smile.
“Luella, do you mean—I don’t want to misunderstand.”
I swallowed hard. “I think it’s time we choose a date.”
He let out a triumphant cry, like the horn of an elephant, and swept me up into his arms.
“Byron, I’m soaked!” I protested.
“I don’t care. From now on, your burdens will be my burdens, and I will defend you until they lower me into the earth.”
His arms felt full of life around me, more muscular than I ever remembered them. His eyes were full of youthful energy. He looked so handsome and comfortable. I closed my eyes, and he kissed me passionately on the mouth. I did not resist it. I took it in. I kissed him in return. It was time I committed to a sensible life.
He pulled back and looked me squarely in the eyes.
“You have my heart and my trust forever.”
He grabbed his hat and coat and headed out the door into the rain, leaving me reeling from the days’ events, my decision, and the kiss he gave me so sincerely.
A kiss for which I had closed my eyes and seen only Edward.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The Crimson Inkwell
FROM THE WINDOW at Langley’s, I watched Byron head down the street under his big black umbrella. The last of the day’s light poked through the clouds and glistened off the black canvas that shielded him from the rain. The sight of it reminded me of shining armor, worn by my old, gallant knight, off to rescue me from one of my own mistakes.
He turned the corner, and I sat down, nestling myself deeper into the blanket he had wrapped around me. It was quiet. The last time I had been in the shop without Byron was when I wrote that first ridiculous story. Now I was trying to tie up the consequences of my last one. I was done as a writer. Travis Blakely was dead to me.
I walked over to the skylark and made sure it had enough seed. I wondered how many times the bird looked at the nearby window, through its wire cage, at the open sky.
I breathed in deeply and found myself searching for something to nibble on. I didn’t realize how hungry I was. I hadn’t eaten anything since the iced bun that morning, and it was catching up to me. My mouth felt dry. My heart felt like it was beating uncommonly slow, and my limbs lost their strength and doubled in weight.
I was exhausted, too tired to feel, too tired to think. I could only busy myself with staying awake, fighting off a beckoning, tempting sleep. I had to stay awake and wait for Byron to return with
the news that we had successfully put a stop to printing our next edition. I couldn’t fall asleep on Edward’s chance at discretion.
But, I felt so sleepy. Or at least sluggish, lethargic, and uncomfortable. Deep down, next to the exhaustion and emptiness, I felt a nagging, gnawing feeling of dull anger. With all my other emotions so strongly weighing on me, I’d hoped the anger that had accompanied me since my outburst in this very room days ago had vacated my senses. Instead, it called to me like a familiar friend. It was a dull, red, constant power and burden, urging me forward to do something, anything.
I felt the pen.
This uncomfortable presence was enough to push my limbs off my chair and begin pacing. Waiting was torturous. I had to do something to get my mind off Byron and Edward. At the very least, I could change out of my wet clothes and make myself presentable for my fiancé on his return. I was sure there would be particulars to be sorted out. Who knew how much time was available to me? Yes. It was time to busy myself playing my role as the dutiful spouse. Could I fill a lifetime with to-do list items of this kind?
I left a note on his desk explaining I had gone home and would call on him later, found a spare umbrella, and made my way out the door.
When I arrived, I was chilled through all over again, and Anna was nowhere to be found. All the better, I didn’t have the strength for another argument.
She had left the remains of a fire though, and I warmed myself before changing into a dry wool dress and heavy coat. We were well into a winter evening now, and though the rain had slowed, the air would still be crisp and frosty when I set back to Langley’s.
Now to make myself look presentable for my rescuer and fiancé. I had no doubt my eyes were red and swollen from my day’s tribulations, and although I was not blessed with the beauty of my younger sister, my mother told me as a girl that every case can be improved. I found the looking glass I had gifted to Anna years before and assessed the damage. I was surprised to see not only red, swollen eyes, but new wrinkles around my mouth and through my forehead. This ordeal with the pen had already added the burden of several, unlived years to my appearance. Those years had been stolen from me by stress, worry, fear, anger, and Bram.
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