I sat at the table, studying this woman who had seen more of me than any other person in recent weeks, the woman who was my captor and also, oddly enough, my rescuer.
“What is Victor to you?”
She set her jaw and ignored the question.
Then suddenly I caught sight of a plain gold band flashing on the hand that was slicing bread. Another thing I’d missed all this time.
“Oh Simone, you are his wife.”
She did not look up. “Unfortunately.”
My heart ached at that single word. “And all the times he stared at me, with you nearby . . .”
She shifted on the chair, her hand stilling over the cheese.
“Do you still care for him?”
“No.” Her reply was quick and sure, as if she’d spent a great deal of time working out the state of her heart on the matter. “The man charmed the heart right out of my chest, then proceeded to shatter it over and over. Any love we had is long past.”
“You seemed so upset by his attention toward me.” It was a quiet statement, and it stilled her hands again.
“You cannot understand what it is to have that gaze meant only for you turned on another woman.” Her lashes fluttered. She straightened a little.
“You needn’t defend yourself to me, Simone. You rescued me from your husband.”
“Only to keep my own hands clean. I spotted a blue vial among his things before he brought you here, and I knew what it meant, knew what his ultimate plan for you would be. And this time, since he’d placed me in the position of your lady’s maid, it would be me administering it. He does such things with alarming ease, but I . . . I could not.”
“Thank you.” The two words seemed inadequate.
“I tried to convince you to leave long ago. I wanted it for me, and for you.” She lifted her gaze to mine. “You are who I used to be. Loyal and good. Beautiful. Free.”
Her pale face reflected the deep angst, the painful longing, I had worn so often while gazing up at the portrait in the abandoned rooms, wishing to be someone else. With a weak smile, I spoke the first thought that came to mind. “It’s a terrible shame you are trapped in this position, but I’m grateful there is someone so very noble working beside Victor to defuse his evil with good.”
Shock lit her features for a brief moment, then receded into the shadowed planes of her face. “I was at one time, but I have become nothing more than a partner to his crimes.”
“If that was true, I’d be dead.”
She humphed, eyes downcast as she worked.
“Were there others? Other people you saved from Victor?”
“Yes.” The single word carried great weight.
“You see? You are no more evil for being married to Victor than I am a countess simply because of my gowns.”
Pale and silent, she rose and left, slamming and locking the door behind her. I watched the doorway in silence for a long time. Fighting against fear, I remained at the table sipping the lukewarm tea and munching bread, but she did not return.
It was not until much later that I heard the metal key scraping, and the door creaked open. Simone stood in its shadows, cradling another basket of food. She considered me for a moment without a word, then strode in, securing the door behind her, and brought me the food. Her fingers worked rapidly over the bits of meat pie and the cooked potatoes. Bread came out too.
“I hope you are well, Simone.”
“I will be soon.” Bright lights in her eyes told me she’d wrestled with my words—maybe she still was. They had unsettled something. She hustled more than necessary to prepare the food, and I stood to help. Finally her hands slowed, and she stared down at what she’d laid out on the tin plate for me. “I’ve set a plan in motion with a single letter that may just bring Victor the final blow. He’ll be in prison before the week’s out if the constable has any sense.”
“This means I can go back.”
“Absolutely not. Everything will be ruined if you are ever seen again.” She rose and shoved the dishes back into the basket, lips pinched. “You walked into this mess, you know. I’m merely helping you out of it the only way I can. Don’t forget I’m saving your life.”
“What life will it be if I cannot make things right? I need to go back.”
“This is best. Everyone will believe the countess dead, you’ll be out of Victor’s grasp, and life will move on.”
Everyone. Everyone would believe me dead, including the poor earl, dear Bradford, and Sully. Sully. They would all be made miserable by the conclusion of this awful scheme that I had helped carry out, and nothing would be right.
“Why not be done with all of this deception? What hold does he have over you, Simone?”
She lifted a tarnished locket from inside her dress and opened it up to reveal a miniature of a young girl. “Our daughter. Her name is Priscilla and she’s only ten. Victor has the legal right to take her away from me forever. He cannot know I’ve done anything against him.”
“Where is she now?”
“Miss Hutchins’s School for Girls in Northampton. She’s not with me, but at least I can still visit her.”
I watched her rapid movements, her pale face. “Doesn’t your daughter deserve some good in her life? Someone to set an honorable example? She won’t find it in Victor.”
She reared up, flinging the tin plate against the far wall with a clatter and a growl. “Don’t you dare speak to me of her. She’s none of your concern. You’ve no idea about anything.” Abandoning the basket and dishes, she bolted out the door, banging it behind her.
After a deep breath, I rested my folded hands on the table and stared into the flame encased in cloudy glass. My heartbeat thudded in my ears as I waited.
When nothing but the lamp’s oil level had changed in the house, I put out the flame and climbed into bed.
33
Dreams are lovely little diversions for tired minds, but we must at some point wake up and live in the splendid real world, pursuing things that are eternal and lasting, significant and very uniquely us.
~Diary of a Substitute Countess
Nobody ever asks the footman what he knows, but they should. Sullivan McKenna ushered the somber-looking men through the front doors with a bow and accepted their hats and calling cards. They’d introduced themselves as investigators and asked to speak with the earl, but they’d learn far more by standing right there and talking to Sully. He was the one who had plunged into the flames after his beloved and seen that there was no one there. A murder meant a death, and although there was indeed wrong done here, there had been no death.
He’d let them investigate the murder. That’s what Victor intended when he had arranged the fire, Sully was certain. And as long as Victor had his way, Raina might be safe. His heart thudded as he forced himself to remain calm, fighting the urge to run out the front door and find her. He had to bide his time and watch the man.
He escorted them past the crumbling ruins of the old chapel, which left the main wing of the abbey wide open to the chilly outside, and into the unscathed abbot’s wing. Here the earl and Victor had arranged a makeshift study in the abbot’s great hall and taken up residence in his sparse but functional bedchambers and sitting room. Much of the rest of the main house was useless and exposed.
“My lord, these men are here from London concerning the inquisition.”
The earl and his solicitor rose together and welcomed the men in with somber voices. Sully cast a sideways glance at Prendergast, the refined gent, aware of every movement the man made. He’d be watching him, and the second he left the abbey, Sully would be on his heels. Wherever he’d hidden Raina, Sully would find her.
“Bring us some tea, would you, McKenna?” Victor tossed the order out with barely a glance at Sully, but then something caught his attention and he turned back to study Sully’s face, his gaze lingering there with a frown.
Sully held Prendergast’s stare without blinking, letting him read what he would from his expression. Yes, he was watching an
d he would continue to do so. The man couldn’t keep Raina hidden forever. Sully turned and left but hovered outside the door, pulse thrumming. He had to know what Prendergast told them.
One of the visitors began. “We’ve heard from a witness who was present the night of the fire, and we’d like to ask you both a few questions.”
Sully held his breath as he waited.
“Of course, by all means, ask anything you’d like.” Hatred for Prendergast curled through Sully’s gut.
“Where were both of you when the fire broke out?”
“I was with my guests, in the ballroom.” The earl’s low voice came first. “I was speaking with the Marquis De LaFond and his brother, and both will attest to this fact.”
“And you, Mr. Prendergast? Were you present?”
A brief hesitation. “I was somewhere about, I’m sure. Ask any of the guests.”
“Did either of you have cause to be angry with Lady Enderly? It’s been said that some were on strained terms with her.”
Prendergast growled his response. “See here, what is this about? You cannot possibly believe that either of us started that fire on purpose. The whole thing was a terrible accident.”
The man turned to Prendergast. “Sir, someone has informed against you, claiming the fire was no accident and that you in particular held malice against Lady Enderly. If you don’t mind, we’d like to speak with you about your association with her.”
“You cannot truly believe I did this. The countess and I were very close.”
“We’ve already spoken to a few other guests, and several have vouched for the earl’s presence at the end of the night. No one, however, has been able to attest to your whereabouts when the fire broke out.”
“Very well then, if you must know, I was in my room.”
“By yourself?”
“I was attending to a rather nasty gash on my lip.”
“How did you get the gash, Mr. Prendergast?”
A moment of silence ensued, leaving Sully immensely curious for his answer.
“I doubt he was responsible for the fire.” The earl’s deep voice slid through the tension.
After this, Sully doubted it too. The man couldn’t have set the fire after all, could he? Sully had been on the upper landing as the slightly besotted man charged up the stairs with a handkerchief to his bloody lip, his face red with anger. He truly hadn’t been there. And most convincing of all, someone was pointing the finger at him, which meant this whole fire was not Victor’s scheme.
Which meant he did not have Raina.
Discarding the empty tray on a side table, Sully bolted for the service door. He had to find her, rescue her. But who had her now? Where could she be?
As he raced toward his little room, he shoved aside the notion that she had planned this and escaped without him, without even a word. Surely she couldn’t have—no, she had gone through with this whole scheme to help him in the first place. She wouldn’t have left him behind. He gulped down the constant lump of guilt at the mess she’d tangled herself in for his sake and threw his few belongings into a bag. When he reached for his fiddle on the crooked shelf above his cot, a shadow darkened the doorway behind him. He spun to face the prevailing form of Victor Prendergast.
“Well, hello there, Mr. Prendergast, sir. A little out of your normal route in the servants’ quarters, aren’t you?”
“I’m nothing more than a servant myself, when it comes down to it. Paid to do someone else’s bidding, always the master of another. But that is changing. Thanks to a fortune that is nearly within my grasp.” He stepped into the tiny room, his face hard. “Where is she, Sullivan? Where’s your girl?”
Sully’s fingers clasped the neck of his fiddle and pulled it close. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
“I suggest you tell me, or I’ll have to wire a very eager inspector in London about your whereabouts.”
The hairs on Sully’s neck stood up, anger tightening in his gut. “Leave off with your threats, Prendergast. You’ve done more than enough damage.”
“Then tell me—”
“Not on your life.”
With a snarl, Victor lunged for the fiddle and smashed it against the wall with the force of his ire. “Tell me now!”
Sully stared at the pile of splintered wood and curled strings, heat surging through his chest. Everything precious to him, destroyed by this man’s hand.
“I’ll find her and utterly ruin—”
Sully sprang on the man with a growl, but Victor shoved him with arms like iron, strengthened by anger. He stumbled onto the cot and it buckled under him. Victor pinned him with one sharp-soled boot to his heaving chest. “One more chance, McKenna, that’s all I’ve the patience for.”
Sully glared with eyes of fire. No word passed his lips, and neither would it if he knew where she was. Not in a million years would he turn the pearl over to a swine.
Eyes bulging with anger, Victor grabbed Sully’s collar and yanked him up with a sharp snap felt in the back of his neck. A grunt escaped Sully’s lips and he coughed.
“I’m overdue to visit the magistrate in London anyway. Perhaps we’ll pay him a call together.” He yanked Sully’s collar, making him scramble to keep on his feet. “They’ve been looking for you, and the execution will be very public. We’ll see if that doesn’t draw our little countess out of hiding.”
“She’s been captured, I’m sure of it. She cannot save me, even if she gets word of this.”
Victor slowed in the hall, staring into Sully’s face with dull eyes. “Then I suppose no one will care to stop the execution.” A wicked smile curled the man’s lips. “Did you honestly think I’d care if you lived or died?”
34
How beautiful that when I dug into the deepest parts of myself, I did not find that hidden source of confidence I wanted or a better self, but God.
~Diary of a Substitute Countess
A thud startled me awake the next morning, and there was Simone, pale and steadfast, her slender form blocking the sunlight in the doorway. I sat up and looked at her, scrunching the blanket to my chest.
“Here, take this.” She tossed a heavy cloak to me, and I fingered the garment with a smile at the irony. This cloak was the one that had hidden me so I could enter Rothburne for the first time, and now here it was again, covering me as I embarked on the close of this adventure that was just as unknown. Yet this time, I was armed and ready.
“Where are we going?”
Her only answer was a hard stare. “Are you ready?”
It truly was a ruin now, that glorious chapel that had inspired such awe in centuries of the abbey’s inhabitants—including myself. The top had collapsed, allowing sunlight to stream into the darkness. I stepped over the rubble, looking with wonder over the disaster of fallen stone and glass that still somehow embodied the same hushed reverence in me I’d discovered on that first night. God was present even in a collapsed ruin, and perhaps even more powerfully felt without the dilution of man-made grandeur.
I closed my eyes and breathed deeply of the age-old room whose stale air now mingled with the fresh breeze from outdoors. How great was the God whose presence was felt here, even in ruin. Gratitude filled me for the chance to be here, to make things right.
“I will not be a part of this, you understand.” Those were Simone’s parting words to me as she’d handed me off in the lane. “I’ll not feel any responsibility for what becomes of you, for I’ve done my best by you.” She watched me with unchecked fear.
“What will become of you?” I asked.
“I haven’t decided yet.”
But at least she’d given me a chance, and I would take it. I’d set things right as much as I could. Father God, I’m turning this adventure over to you now. Help me rebuild from the inside out. Walk with me through this mess.
Now that I was here, I had no idea how to go about declaring the truth.
I ask that you help me to happen upon exactly the right person just now and know
what to say.
Unexplainable tranquility spread through the inner parts of me where chaos had once been. I stepped through the rubble to what used to be the old monastic library. Perhaps that painting had survived. Charred remains of books and papers littered the floor among fallen stones and beams. The painting, what was left of it, had been splintered and torn, that crimson gown sliced into pieces that curled up toward the sunlight dulled by clouds. I bent to touch the image, to see that familiar face once again.
The smell of smoke burned my nose and tickled my throat, seizing it with dryness. Burying my face into my sleeve, I coughed until my lashes were clumped with tears and my face clammy. A door slammed nearby, with footsteps following—someone had heard me.
The warming room. It’s the only private spot about this place. Sully’s words swooped back to save me even when he couldn’t. I ran toward the tiny calefactory, a little alcove in the now-exposed center cloister, and shut the door as I curled into the tiny room. Used as a respite for the monks when they worked in the outdoor cloister in winter, the little space boasted nothing but a long-dead coal fireplace, a Bible shelf, and a stool.
I shifted in the cramped compartment, banging my head on the shelf, and the Bible struck my shoulder and thunked onto the dirt floor. “Ow!” I lifted the offending book and dusted it off. Then my hand slowed on the cloth cover of a book that was smaller than the Bible, lying next to it.
The warming room. Go there when you can. I’ll leave a message. In all the turmoil, I’d forgotten. With a cry, I held the book up to the window in the door. It was a fresh green-cloth-bound copy of Jane Eyre. It was perfect.
Blinking back tears that clogged my lashes, I opened the front cover and ran my fingers over the inscription written in a painfully familiar hand: To my splendid adventurer. Emotion welled. Several pages had been marked with frayed twine, just as he’d done years ago when our message passing system began. I opened the book with wonder, excitement, and unrelenting hope. Flipping to the first marked section, I read what he’d underlined.
Finding Lady Enderly Page 27