by Eliza McGrey
Mrs. Brian looked between him and I, her eyes scrutinizing, and she curtsied to me. “Very well, my Lady. I shall return with those soon.”
With one last scathing look in my direction, she departed from the room.
As soon as the door closed behind her, I leapt up from the settee and rounded on the young man. “You better explain yourself before I decide to come to my senses and have you thrown out of here.”
He rose to his feet slowly, holding his hands out in front of himself defensively. “I am so terribly sorry, my Lady, but I was at a loss for what to do.”
“So you impersonated a dear friend just to get in to see me?” I asked, my hands planted on my hips. “You best have a very good reason or I will – ”
“I have the very best reason of all,” he said, and the sudden stark fear on his face made me stop, quelling some of my anger. “It’s a life or death situation.”
A chill ran down my spine, but my gaze hardened. “I don’t understand.”
“Allow me to introduce myself first,” he said. He straightened and placed his hand over his heart before bowing deeply to me. “My name is Henry Watson. I am a journalist at the London Gazette and have been working on a story that only you can help me with.”
My eyes narrowed as I stared at the man. “If you think that you can lie your way into my home just to weasel some information about my husband out of me, then you, sir, are sorely mistaken.”
“No, no,” said Mr. Watson, shaking his head. “Not at all. What I needed to talk with you about was far too delicate to put on paper, and it was also something that I had to discuss with you without your husband around.”
I folded my arms across my chest. “Why couldn’t my husband be around?” I asked.
“Because the story is about him,” Mr. Watson said.
There was a desperation on his face that unsettled me. The small hairs at the nape of my neck were standing up straight as I looked at him.
I moved to the settee across from the one we had been sitting on, and sat back down, gazing intently over at Mr. Watson. “Very well. What is this story about?” I asked.
"I don’t wish to alarm you,” he said. “But your husband…well, he has been suspected of wrongdoing.”
“You are being very cryptic, Mr. Watson,” I said, my tone sharp. “You would do very well to explain yourself before my housekeeper returns and I have you escorted from this estate.”
Mr. Watson brushed his hands over his face and began to pace back and forth. “I have been looking after the Colonel’s history for some time now. It seems that the circumstances under which he was exonerated as a war hero are…well, suspicious to say the least.”
“Suspicious?” I asked, fear starting to bubble up inside me. “Suspicious how?”
“That’s the strange thing,” Mr. Watson said. “I have been unable to find any information about him. Men who served alongside him either perished in the war, or give me very little information when I’ve attempted to contact them. Even his superiors were unwilling to disclose any information. I found it very suspicious that a man who was so highly praised was not talked about. The whole situation seems strange, almost as if those involved wished for the everyday person to only ever know about what happened, and not how it happened.”
I smoothed some wrinkles in my dress and took a deep, steadying breath. “Some men wish to forget the terrors of war,” I said, reflecting Barrow’s words from before I was married. “Did you ever serve in the military, Mr. Watson?”
“For a short time, yes,” he said. “But I never was in combat.”
“So you can understand some of the difficulties associated with it,” I said. I wasn’t sure why I was being so defensive for my husband. Perhaps it was because the idea of the contrary was far too frightening to bear. “Do you have any evidence that demonstrates he has done anything dishonorable, as you seem to be implying?”
“There have been a few select people who have seen him in the company of less than savory people,” he said, his brow furrowing. “I know what you must think of me, coming in here unannounced, demanding that you give me information about your husband that would otherwise be left confidential.”
“Demanding information, are you?” I asked, glaring down the length of my nose at him. “I will have you know, Sir, that my loyalty stands with my husband, and nothing you say will be able to convince me otherwise.”
Mr. Watson took a deep breath and looked me straight in the eye. “What if…what if I told you that the Colonel may have been involved with the disappearance of a young woman he was to marry?”
It was as if my greatest fears had been confirmed. As soon as he had mentioned the Colonel, endless scenarios began running themselves through my mind. What if he had a mistress? What if he was stealing money? What if he was a part of some sort of organized crime?
But to be involved with the disappearance of a young woman?
“That is quite the outlandish claim,” I said, shaking my head. “I cannot see how that would be possible – ”
“How long have you known the Colonel?” Mr. Watson asked, his eyes like hard steel.
“I – ” I began, caught off guard. “We were married last fall. Why do you ask?”
“And how long did you know him before that?” Mr. Watson pressed, taking a step toward me.
I took a likewise step backward. “Why are you asking me these questions?”
“Because I want to know how well you know him…or rather, how well you think that you know him.”
My eyes narrowed and my heart skipped a beat. I knew that I didn’t know the Colonel very well. I hardly knew him any better than I did the day we were married. All I had learned was that he was a hard worker, he liked horses, and his favorite meal was roasted pheasant and turnips. Aside from that, I hardly knew him.
As I thought about it, I realized that the Colonel only ever wanted to know about me. When I would ask about work, he would dismiss it, kindly of course, and ask me about my day instead. He knew far more about me than I did about him. I never imagined that could have been for devious reasons, but perhaps it was.
I shook my head. Why was I more inclined to believe the words of a man I had just met than my own intuition about the man I’d been married to for months now?
Mr. Watson sighed heavily. “I knew this was a long shot coming here. I knew how wrong it was for me to ask you to put your husband on the line. I just hoped…”
“What?” I asked when he was silent for a few moments.
“I was just hoping that you could help me find my sister.”
I blanched. “Your sister? What does she – ” then it dawned on me. “That woman who disappeared…”
Mr. Watson stopped his pacing and placed his hands on his hips. “Yes, my sister. She…she was betrothed to the Colonel last fall. And she disappeared without a trace.”
“Last fall?” I asked. “But that was when – ”
Mr. Watson nodded. “I heard he was engaged again less than three weeks after my sister went missing.”
“How horrible…” I said, sinking down onto the sofa behind me.
“The police investigated for almost a week before they deemed her dead. Apparently a body was pulled from the river Themes, but my family and I were not allowed to see it. And I know how many bodies are pulled from that river on a weekly basis. It was not my sister,” Mr. Watson said.
“How do you know?” I asked.
“Don’t get me wrong, my Lady,” he said. “I do not believe my sister lives. There is always a hope inside of me, but I have greater sense than that. I do, however, want to discover the truth of what happened to her.”
“And you think that my husband…that Colonel Richard had something to do with it?” I asked, a lump forming in my throat.
Mr. Watson nodded his head. “There are too many questions surrounding her disappearance. My parents may have been satisfied, but I am not. The journalist in me smells something fishy going on, and I intend to find the r
oot of it. After all my investigations, I was lead here, to your front door…”
I swallowed nervously, looking up at him. “You do understand the precarious place that you are putting me in by sharing all of this with me.”
“I do,” Mr. Watson said. “I thought long and hard about involving you in this, knowing that once I did, there was no going back. But if the same thing happens to you that happened to my sister, then I feel as if I am obligated to warn you.”
“This all feels so cloak and dagger,” I said. “I must admit that I’m quite frightened.”
“That was not my intention,” Mr. Watson said. “But I would be a terrible man if I were to allow you to remain in the hands of an unsafe man.”
I clutched my hands over my heart, which was beating rapidly now. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Could any of this be true?
“More than anything, my Lady, I need your help,” Mr. Watson said, lowering himself down onto one knee, removing his hat and staring at me with a pleading gaze. “I am at a dead end, and know that the answers I seek must lie here. With your help, I believe we can expose the Colonel for the liar I believe he is, and bring him to justice.”
I swallowed nervously. I stood at a crossroads.
I could agree to help him, and bring a guilty man to judgment, giving peace to not only Mr. Watson’s family, but also my own.
Or, on the other hand, I could ignore him and continue living beneath the roof of a man who so clearly didn’t love me, and probably never would. Could I live this life, day after day, until I grew old and he died?
“Please, my Lady…” Mr. Watson said, turning his handsome face to mine. I saw no malice or deceit in his blue eyes. “Please help me discover the truth of what happened to my sister.”
Chapter 8
The only reason why I agreed to help Mr. Watson was because of his sister. Had he been an ordinary journalist knocking down my door begging for information to smear the Colonel’s reputation, I wouldn’t have thought twice about kicking him back out onto the street. As it was, his plight was personal, because no matter how much he really cared to expose the Colonel’s reputation and wrongdoing, he cared more about the truth of his sister’s disappearance.
And as I feared that I, too, might end up the same way as his sister, I agreed to help.
Mr. Watson left soon after I agreed to help him. He left me an address of his residence with me, told me to send him a letter if I were to find anything suspicious. He also warned me not to put whatever information I found suspicious in the letter.
“Wait until we agree to meet,” he said. “I can be here within the hour of receiving a letter.”
I couldn’t quite explain why I trusted him as easily as I had. There was a deep kindness in him. And he had been so incredibly open with her about everything. He was a hurt man, and it moved me. I realized it was possible I was being swindled, but I hoped that he was being honest. If I managed to find something controversial about the Colonel, then I would know he was telling the truth. If I found nothing, then I would inform the Colonel that he had showed up and all about the tale he had spun. Thankfully, either way, I was protected.
The difficult part was deciding when to begin my own investigations. For days, I debated with myself about it. I didn’t want to be caught anywhere near his doors when he was home. He told me I was allowed in his quarters when he was home, but he always seemed to be uncomfortable whenever I was anywhere near his things.
It was even more difficult to explore during the day when I was home alone. Alone was relative, of course, as the house was positively filled with servants. Not only that, but Mrs. Brian seemed even more skeptical of me than usual. I supposed that was partially in my own mind, knowing how unhappy everyone would be with me if I were to be caught.
Once I finally gathered enough courage, I had it all worked out in my mind.
One afternoon in the middle of March, I received a letter from the Colonel telling me that he was going to be late again that night, and that I should not wait for him.
I was no longer discouraged by his lack of emotion in his letters. It was hard for me to look at him as anything other than a dangerous man, so I just smiled and pretended to be happy, just as I had when Mr. Watson had showed up and pretended to be my cousin.
That day was the day I decided to follow through with my plans to look through his private rooms. I decided that I was going to finish my day as normal. I was going to enjoy a meal alone, as I so often did, and not seem unhappy in the least. I was going to enjoy my evening tea in my drawing room, reading a book, and retire to my bedroom at a relatively normal time. I had to keep everything as normal as possible to avoid suspicion. I hoped no one suspected by overly cheery attitude as being anything other than genuine.
As I crawled into my bed, I realized that the most difficult challenge I would make would be Isabelle. As distant as she was, she never let me go anywhere by myself. She was dutiful, and most days, I was pleased to have her company. But now that I was meaning to go somewhere alone, I was at a loss for how to go about it.
I laid awake for some time, debating about how to slip past her. She often stood outside my room for some time in case I needed help getting to the wash room or wanted something to drink or eat.
But I didn’t have a great deal of time. The Colonel would be home sooner or later, and I needed to use the time as best as I could.
Swallowing hard, I slipped out of bed and crossed as silently as I could toward the door.
I pressed my ear to the door. It was made of thick, sturdy wood. There was no way I would be able to hear anything on the opposite side. Eventually, I knew I just had to try. I wouldn’t be able to do what I needed to if I was going to help Mr. Watson…and find out the truth.
I pulled the door open and found Isabelle standing just on the other side.
“Oh, my Lady, are you all right?” she asked. “You are awfully pale. Did you have a bad dream?”
Oh, what a wonderful girl, giving me something to work with. “I did,” I said, frowning and pressing the back of my hand to my forehead. “It was dreadful. I dreamt that my poor mother had died…”
“I’m terribly sorry, my Lady,” Isabelle said. “Can I get you anything? Perhaps a glass of water? Or some tea?”
“No…” I said, shaking my head. “No, I think I just need to use the washroom, rinse some of this sleep from my eyes.”
“Then allow me to go with you – ”
“Dear, sweet, Isabelle, I appreciate your diligence and your affection. But this is something that I wish to do on my own. I will just go and rinse my face, gather my thoughts, and then return to bed.”
Isabelle nodded. “Very well, my Lady.”
I looked at her and smiled. “You know, I believe you have been working far too hard lately,” I said. “You stay awake so very late and wake so early in the morning.”
Isabelle’s eyes flashed, and she looked down at her feet. “It is my pleasure to serve my Lady,” she said.
“And as I said, I appreciate all that you do for me. But you will do me no good if you are to fall ill because you have worked so hard,” I said. I gently laid a hand on her shoulder, and she jumped a little at the touch. “Why don’t you do both of us a favor and head to sleep? Better yet, get yourself something sweet from the kitchens, a hot cup of tea, and a book from my library and relax this evening.”
Isabelle’s eyes were so wide I worried they might pop out. “But my Lady, I couldn’t. I can’t – ”
“Isabelle, you are far too hard on yourself.” I leaned a little closer, dropping my voice, “Mrs. Brian is far too hard on you as well.”
Isabelle’s eyes glinted at those words, and I knew I’d made an ally.
“Please,” I told her. “Go and do those things. If you must, say you are doing them for me. But take care of yourself, all right? I would be very sad if you were to fall ill or exhaust yourself.”
Isabelle debated for a moment. I could see the reflection in her e
yes. I smiled encouragingly at her.
“All right,” she said finally. The smile she gave me was the first genuine smile I had ever seen her give me. “I’ll do that. Oh, thank you, Lady Nash. You are far too kind. Far too kind.”
“Go on,” I said, turning and heading down the hall toward the wash room. “We don’t want Mrs. Brian to catch you.” And I pressed my first finger to my lips.
She repeated the motion and started back down the hall in the direction of her own quarters.
Part of me felt terrible for being so deceptive, but it was for her own good. The less she knew, the less she would be accountable, and the safer she would be if the very worst was to happen.
Well, at least that was over. Now I could head toward Richard’s rooms.
As silently as I could, I turned and made my way down the hall in the direction of the main stairwell. The house was dark, and very quiet. All I could hear was the beat of my own heart, and my shallow breathing.
It seemed as if most of the rest of the staff had gone to sleep, and I was awake all on my own. I knew better. The Colonel had staff awake during all hours of the night, as a way to protect him and I. At first I had accepted that blindly. But now, I wondered if he was trying to keep something safe and hidden here.
I peered over the railing down in the foyer three floors below, and nearly gasped as I saw a flickering light coming up the stairwell.
It was Mrs. Brian making her evening rounds.
I ducked beneath the railing, chewing on the end of my finger. She was surely going to come up here to see if I was in my room, or to prepare the room for the Colonel when he returned. I hadn’t seen anything in her hand, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t on a mission somewhere.
I peeked through the banister and saw her walking all the way up to the floor where I was. I hoped that my room was dark enough for her to believe I was already asleep in my bed. She didn’t often come in to check. I wasn’t a child, after all, and the Colonel had insisted that Mrs. Brian give me my privacy.