Emily's Secret

by Jill Jones

  “What in bloody hell do you think you’re doing?” Selena shrieked, swooping to scoop the fragments into her hands. “Where did you get these?”

  Tom surveyed her mildly, as if measuring the importance of her reaction to his invasion. “They were in the next room. We found them to be…a pastime…while we waited for you.”

  Red-hair spoke again. “Where did you get this?” It was a demand, as if Selena had stolen something from her, not the other way around.

  “You are trespassing, Dr. Flynn,” Selena said, ice in her voice. “And you as well, Tom. I did not invite you here, nor did I leave the door open for you. Please leave, or I’ll call the police.”

  Tom came toward her and attempted to put his arm around her. “Now, Selena, aren’t you overreacting? We meant no harm. It was an honest assumption that you wanted us to wait up here rather than in our hot cars.”

  Selena pulled away from him in disgust. “And you assumed it would be all right with me for you to rummage about my studio as well?”

  “I am your agent,” Tom said sharply. “Part of the reason I came here was to see what’s holding you up on those commissions. I do assume it would be natural for me to take a look at your work.”

  Selena wadded the bits of paper between her sweaty palms. “And what is your interest in coming here, Dr. Flynn?”

  Maggie Flynn attempted another smile, but it, too, never reached her eyes. “Let’s get to the point, Tom,” she said, avoiding making a direct statement to Selena.

  Selena looked at Tom, demanding an answer. She could see beads of perspiration encircling his fat forehead. He glanced at what she held in her hand.

  “Dr. Flynn has discovered something about your paintings that I’m afraid has eluded me all along,” he said at last. “She is a professor. At Oxford.”

  Selena waited, her nerves taut, for him to continue, but she already knew what he was going to say.

  “She saw your work in London, and she noted the written images in the paintings. She approached me with the idea that perhaps those messages meant something, if they were pieced together.” His eyes narrowed. “You had told me they did, and I knew I would be meeting with you this afternoon, so I invited her to drive up and join us. I thought…perhaps you could shed some light on the subject. It could give us,” here he cleared his throat, “another sales angle.”

  “Is Dr. Flynn interested in purchasing my work?” Selena asked Tom, ignoring the other woman in kind.

  “Let’s cut through this, Tom,” Dr. Flynn said, annoyed. She turned and spoke to Selena. “Unlike other…colleagues of mine, I have no penchant for lying. I am interested only in the message which you have been painting. I am a scholar of English literature, and I have reason to believe that either you have read the poems of Emily Brontë and have used some of her work here in your paintings, or,” she paused, “this letter you are painting was written by Brontë herself. Tell me, which is it?”

  “It is none of your business, Dr. Flynn, how I arrived at the images in my work. And you are not free to examine my paintings further, unless you wish to buy the entire series.”

  “Perhaps I will, if that’s what it takes. But I must advise you, Miss…uh, Selena, that if you are indeed in possession of an original document penned by one of the Brontë sisters, its value will far outweigh anything you will ever receive for your art. I came along with Tom today to see if I could validate my conjecture that the message is Brontë-related, which it clearly is.” She attempted to add warmth to her smile.

  “Now I hope to be able to convince you that if this document exists as an original and is not a photocopy of a forgery,” she nodded toward Selena’s clutched fists, “it would be in your best interest, as well as in the interest of history, to turn it over to the safekeeping of my university, where we can examine it for its authenticity. We would, of course,” she said this to Tom, “be willing to pay handsomely for such a prize, once it was proven to be a Brontë artifact.”

  She turned back to Selena, who stood stunned at the woman’s temerity. “It is of utmost importance that it not fall into the wrong hands. I understand you have been approached by Dr. Alexander Hightower, who claims to be the representative of an American art collector?” Her inflection indicated she expected an answer, but when Selena remained silent, she continued.

  “I must warn you that Dr. Hightower would stoop to anything to obtain this letter. His…scruples, shall we say, are questionable. It has come to my attention that he is using the name Bonnell in his deception.”

  Selena straightened and inhaled deeply. It was difficult to remain calm when she wanted to fling this odious woman out the door. Instead she smiled as sweetly as she could force herself to do.

  “Dr. Hightower and I share a little joke concerning Henry H. Bonnell. An innocent little joke.” Selena’s eyes penetrated Maggie’s gaze of ice, daring her to push the issue further. “Bonnell wouldn’t be interested in my art or anyone else’s, now would he? It would be difficult, don’t you agree Dr. Flynn, for a man who has been dead for almost ninety years to be interested in much of anything?”

  Chapter 27

  “Here, boy,” Alex called to the bedraggled dog, snapping his fingers and pointing to the front seat of Eleanor’s Jaguar. He’d tried to protect the red leather by covering it with his bedspread, but the dog’s enthusiasm over having been rescued from the animal shelter quickly turned the spread into a tumbled mess. At least, Alex hoped as he climbed in beside the animal, the fabric might have wiped off some of the grime.

  “Settle down,” he said, patting the frightened dog’s head. “That’ll teach you to run off.” Alex slipped the car into gear and headed toward Bridgeton Lane, pleased that he would see a smile back on Selena’s face, if not for him, at least for the return of her lost pet. She had looked so distraught when they parted, he could barely stand it, so when he returned to his flat, he rang the RSPCA kennels just in case the dog had been found, and there was a dog matching Domino’s description.

  He wasted no time in getting to the facility, where he was greeted by a confused and frightened Domino. Alex was not sure the animal would come to him, but he’d paid the fine anyway and suffered through the stern admonitions of the keeper against letting dogs roam free. Domino apparently preferred human company to caged canines, however, and came at a run when Alex called him.

  Alex was looking forward to this visit to Selena’s, thinking that by bringing her dog home, he would make a giant stride in restoring her confidence in him. But he frowned as he drove up to the old farmhouse. It looked like a car lot. The Land Rover was there, along with a small white Honda and a red BMW.

  Perplexed, he parked the Jag behind Selena’s car and got out, motioning for the dog to follow. It had been only a little over an hour since he’d kissed Selena, and she hadn’t mentioned that she was having a party. She’d said she had to get ready to meet Perkins for dinner.

  Perkins.

  His would be the red car.

  But who did the other one belong to?

  Alex decided he might as well have his standoff with Perkins here. It would save the aggravation of forcing politeness over dinner. He knocked at the studio door, then opened it and let the dog scoot past him, fur flying up the stairs.

  “Selena!” Alex called. He heard a squeal of delight as the dog rushed into the studio, then Selena appeared at the top of the stairs.

  “Alex!” she cried, dashing down and into his arms. “Where did you find him?”

  “He was at the wrong place at the wrong time this afternoon, and the animal control people picked him up.” His words were casual, and then he realized her whole body was quaking. “Selena. What’s the matter?”

  She released her viselike hold on him and looked up the stairs just as Tom Perkins stepped onto the landing. “Well, well, look what the dog dragged in,” Tom scoffed.

  Alex glanced at Selena, who said, “I have unexpected visitors, Alex. They were just leaving.”

  But Perkins only lau
ghed. “Not now. Things are beginning to get interesting.”

  Alex squeezed Selena’s hand. “It’s all right,” he said in a low voice.

  “No, it isn’t—” she started to reply, but he had already started up the stairs.

  He was face-to-face with Maggie Flynn before he realized what Selena had been trying to tell him.

  He read smug amusement in Maggie’s green eyes and sheer enjoyment that she had obviously shocked him with her unexpected presence.

  “Dr. Hightower,” she said in a voice of silken steel. “How nice to see you. However, I was looking forward to surprising you this evening. Tom had graciously invited me to join you for dinner.”

  Alex glared at her. “At least I’ll be spared that case of indigestion,” he growled, then looked at Tom. “You’re just full of surprises, Perkins. What’s this all about?”

  “Perhaps you could tell us that, Dr. Hightower. By the way, have you spoken to Henry Bonnell lately?”

  Before Alex could reply, Selena came to his side. “They know about the letter, Alex. Your…colleague, Dr. Flynn, has graciously offered to keep it safe from predators like you.” Alex felt her slim hand slip into the crook of his arm. “Of course, she doesn’t know if such a document really exists. She can only surmise from the torn pieces of the photocopy she and Mr. Perkins helped themselves to before I returned home.”

  Alex heard a strength in Selena’s voice that hadn’t been there before, and he felt her unspoken support in the touch of her hand.

  Maggie groaned impatiently. “Quit playing games. Alex, what in bloody hell possessed you to pretend to be an art agent on behalf of Henry Bonnell, for God’s sake?”

  Alex felt a slight squeeze on his arm, and he glanced down at Selena. Her reassuring smile told him all he needed to know.

  “It’s none of your business, Dr. Flynn,” Alex said, returning his attention to the redhead, whose face seemed to be even more pale than usual.

  “It becomes my business when you manipulate Brontë history for your own advancement.”

  Alex stared at her. “I don’t get your drift.”

  “If you think you can resurrect Henry Bonnell, Alexander, you might also create phony evidence to prove your point in the debate. Evidence such as a letter, forged in Emily’s handwriting, copied in pieces on your lover’s canvases, and later ‘revealed’ as proof that Emily killed herself.”

  The room echoed the silence that followed her tirade.

  “You’re insane, Maggie,” Alex said at last, shocked at her accusation.

  “Am I? Then prove me wrong. So far I don’t know that any such letter exists. All I have seen is a crumpled and torn photocopy of what might or might not be such an artifact.”

  “I don’t have to prove anything to you,” Alex snarled. “You’re way out of line.”

  “Perhaps Dr. Flynn’s imagination has run away with her a bit,” Tom Perkins interjected, himself visibly shaken by Maggie’s vehemence. “I can understand if you have run across such a valuable artifact, you would indeed want to hold onto it until the right buyer—”

  “Wait a minute. Wait a minute.” Alex held up his hands. “Let me make one thing perfectly clear. I don’t have any such artifact. I suspect that it exists, and I would give my arm to know what it says and if it might possibly be authentic. But I have nothing more to go on at the moment than you, Dr. Flynn.” Then he added dryly, “Perhaps even less, since I have not had access to the photocopied pieces you mentioned.”

  Selena spoke up, her voice quiet against the shrill accusations the others were slinging at one another. “There was a time, not long ago, when I wanted nothing more than for the images in my paintings to release me from their spell. I couldn’t seem to paint anything else. You called it a series, Tom. I call it an obsession. The only image that has any basis in fact is the letter, those pieces you were putting together when I came in.”

  She looked at Maggie. “The letter does exist, Dr. Flynn. It is an ancient letter, written to one of my ancestors. It is a terrible letter, and its words have cursed my family for generations.”

  Then she turned to Alex. “My grandmother seems to think you hold the key to breaking the curse. Perhaps the time has come to trust in her Gypsy nonsense.”

  With that, Selena went to her purse, which she’d tossed in the corner, and brought out a slightly bent envelope and handed it to Alex.

  His eyes widened, knowing the treasure she was entrusting to his care. “Are you sure…?”

  Selena nodded. “Maybe you should read it aloud. Tom and Dr. Flynn seem to have gone to a great deal of effort to learn of its existence. They deserve to know what it contains.”

  With his heart beating heavily in his chest, Alex took the fragile paper out of the envelope and unfolded it. He read:

  “November 2, 1848

  To my dear love:

  I write this to leave under the message rock,

  to bid you farewell for the last time. I will

  never see you again on this earth, for

  my days are thankfully short. My health

  is failing, and I wish only that it would

  fail faster, to put an end to the misery

  which I have brought upon myself. It is

  the price I must pay for my indiscretion

  with you, for my foolish and uncontrolled

  behavior. I fear not death, in fact I

  welcome it, for in death I shall at last be free.

  In death my shame will go undiscovered,

  never to hurt my beloved family. I beg

  forgiveness only from you, for this child

  is of you as well, but I fear not

  retribution for what I do. There is

  no hell hereafter to torment me as

  the hell here on earth does today.

  I will miss you and the moors and

  Keeper and the rest, but only for a

  time. I know there is a blessed shore

  opening its ports for me and mine, and

  gazing Time’s wide waters o’er, I weary

  for that land divine. Where we were

  born, where you and I shall meet our

  Dearest when we die; from suffering

  and corruption free, restored unto

  the Deity. So do not mourn, my

  only love, just remember me when

  the moon rises above the moors and

  the wind blows the heather in the

  sunshine, for my spirit will be there.”

  They stood in stunned silence, and finally Maggie collapsed into the sofa cushions.

  “Could it be?” she whispered, and Alex looked up in time to see her brush an uncharacteristic tear from a mascara-encrusted eye.

  Tom peered over his shoulder, looking at the piece with covetous eyes. “Do you suppose it’s authentic?” he said with unveiled awe.

  “I suppose it could be,” Alex replied. “We have a lot of work to do in order to prove it, though. Eleanor Bates has already contacted the top forensic experts we’ll need…”

  Maggie looked up at him sharply. “Eleanor Bates? Don’t you think the authorities at Oxford would be more appropriate?”

  Alex studied her. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  “You’re damned right I’d like that. I’d like to see this thing handled for once in a professional manner.”

  “What makes you think Eleanor isn’t a professional? You told me yourself what high esteem you had for her.”

  “I didn’t mean it that way. Of course, I hold her in high esteem. But she’s not…”

  “An academic? You’re right about that. And as far as I’m concerned, so much the better. Perhaps the Brontë Society is a better home for that artifact than anyone’s university.”

  “I can’t believe that is coming from you, of all people. Unless…”

  “Unless what?”

  Abruptly, Maggie Flynn stood and picked up the large leather purse she always carried. “Unless, Dr. Hightower, you still hav
e something to hide.” She made her way to the door, then turned. “Tom, please forgive me, but I think I just remembered an urgent appointment back at Oxford. I won’t be able to join you for dinner.” She glanced once at the letter, which lay exposed to the world on the table, then marched out of the room.

  “I think the reservations have just been canceled anyway,” Tom said gloomily, following her out. “Selena, when you get past all this nonsense, give me a call.”

  Selena and Alex held their breaths until the outer door slammed. Then Selena ran into his arms.

  “Who is that awful woman?” she whispered, as if Maggie might overhear.

  Alex held her close, his heart hammering, scarcely daring to believe what he’d just read, or that Selena had trusted him enough to give the letter to him. Even more, not believing that she was here now, in his arms. He wished she hadn’t asked about Maggie, but he had no choice, nor desire, to hide anything from her ever again. “I won’t lie to you, Selena. She and I once—”

  “I don’t want to hear it.” Selena suddenly pulled away with an uncertain laugh. “Just tell me that whatever was between you is over.”

  Alex kissed her nose. “Long, long over. If it ever was.” He kissed her cheeks. “But what’s not over, I hope, is what’s between us.”

  Lowering his arms, he let her slip from his embrace. He walked to where the letter lay like a ragged tissue on the tabletop. This bit of paper and ink could make his career, if it was authentic. But it was time for history to stop repeating itself.

  He reached for the paper, not looking at it. His eyes held Selena’s. He folded the letter as he walked back to where she stood in silence. He took her hand and held it palm up.

  “There was a time in my life when I would damn near have killed to lay my hands on something like this,” he said, curling her fingers around it. “But I’ve found something far more important, Selena, and I don’t want to lose it. I don’t want to lose you. I love you.”

  His eyes searched hers and saw the earlier doubt begin to dissolve. She put her arms around him and laid her head against his chest.