by Laura Martin
‘When I got to England I persuaded my cousin Lizzie to assume my identity for a few weeks whilst I slipped away. I’d found McNair’s address and was determined for us to be reunited.’
Amelia didn’t recount the dizzy anticipation she’d felt on her journey to Brighton. Her thoughts had been full of breathless reunions, impassioned kisses and romantic vows never to be apart. The reality had been so much different.
‘When I got to his address McNair was more than a little shocked to see me, but he recovered quickly.’
She closed her eyes as she remembered the honeyed words he’d used to placate her after his first expression had not been of complete pleasure. He’d led her into his rooms, entwining his fingers with hers and had whispered all manner of scandalous endearments in her ear. Amelia had fallen for him all over again, her infatuation deepening every minute she was in his company.
Amelia glanced at Edward, unsure how much to say. He seemed to pick up on her hesitation and wordlessly stood, crossed the short distance between them and refilled her glass with whisky. Amelia took a fortifying sip as she remembered McNair’s kiss, the way his lips had trailed over her skin, the light dance of his fingertips over her back and the warmth of his body pressed close to hers.
She would have given herself to him, completely and utterly. It was only pure luck that she had not fallen into bed with the man she’d thought she loved.
‘We were disturbed and McNair left the room for some moments. Whilst he was gone I wandered around, looking at this and that. Then I saw the will on his desk.’
She’d stared at it for a whole minute, uncomprehending. Reading the letters, but their meaning not fully sinking in.
‘It was his wife’s will. It transpires that she had become unwell just over a year ago, coinciding with McNair’s return to England. She had passed away at the end of last month.’
‘You didn’t know he was married?’
Amelia shook her head. She’d stared at the piece of paper detailing McNair’s wife’s bequests to certain charitable organisations and she’d felt as though her heart was actually ripping in two. Years of flirtation and infatuation had immediately soured and as McNair had walked back into the room she’d finally seen him for what he was: a trickster, an adulterer. She’d hated him in an instant, but more than that, she had felt all of her self-confidence and trust in her own judgement destroyed in one fell swoop. She’d allowed herself to be taken in by this villain and that hurt almost as much as the scoundrel’s betrayal.
‘I confronted him when he returned and at first he tried to deny it. I became a little hysterical and suddenly he turned nasty.’
He’d shown his true colours then. Gone was the man who had whispered his desire to spend eternity in her arms and the real McNair replaced him. This McNair snapped and snarled like a wounded animal and let her know it was just her father’s substantial fortune he was interested in.
‘He admitted his plan had been to seduce me, entice me to run away with him, then extort money from my father for my safe and scandal-free return.’
It had been the ultimate humiliation. Just one more man who wanted her for her money.
‘What a bastard,’ Edward said, not apologising for his language. Amelia felt her spirits buoy a little as she continued. It was the most animated she’d seen him.
‘I threatened to expose him as a scoundrel and a liar, empty words, but I think he had a new scheme afoot, some new girl he was trying to con, for he became enraged.’
Amelia raised a hand to her cheek where McNair had left his mark.
‘He hit you?’
She nodded. ‘He punched me, right on the cheek. He was livid, like a wild beast.’
It was no excuse, not for what she’d done, but Amelia truly had been afraid for her life.
‘There was a fancy letter opener on his desk and I grabbed it, thinking to brandish it and warn him away, but he just laughed at my efforts and came at me again.’
She closed her eyes as she relived the moment the blade had sunk into McNair’s flesh, the soft resistance, the warm trickle of blood that had flowed over her hand, McNair’s surprised exhalation before he collapsed on to the ground.
‘I stabbed him,’ she said so quietly she wasn’t sure Edward would hear her words.
She couldn’t open her eyes, couldn’t bear to see what another person thought of her taking a man’s life and all because of a seduction gone wrong.
‘I stabbed him and I killed him.’
Some men would come and take her hand, try to comfort her despite there being nothing that could change the fact she was a killer. Some men would chastise and condemn her, even restrain her until they could summon a magistrate. Edward did neither. He sat in the chair across from her in silence, giving her time to collect herself, to steady her nerves and to continue.
‘I fled, I ran as far as I could as fast as I could, then when I couldn’t run any more I kept walking.’
‘And that’s how you came to be here, on the night of the storm.’
Amelia looked up at him, trying to read his expression, to garner exactly what he thought of her.
‘How long was this letter opener?’ he asked, taking her by surprise.
She measured out a few inches with her fingers, trying to recall the look of the blade before it had been covered in blood.
‘And where did you stab him?’
‘What does it matter?’ she asked, feeling sick.
‘The blade was small. Unless you hit a vital organ I think it unlikely you killed the man.’
She shook her head. She’d killed him. No one could bleed that much and not be dead.
‘He collapsed to the floor...there was blood everywhere.’
‘Did you check to see if he was breathing? If he had a pulse?’
She hadn’t. In fact, she hadn’t been able to look at his body at all once the blood had started seeping from the wound around her fingers.
‘There was too much blood,’ she repeated.
Edward fell silent, seeming to realise if he pushed her much further Amelia wouldn’t be able to keep her tenuous grip on her composure.
‘What do you want to happen now, Amelia?’ Edward asked.
‘I don’t want to hang.’
A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Amelia watched as Edward fought it and returned his expression to the more familiar frown.
‘An admirable ambition. I don’t think any judge would hang you.’
Amelia wasn’t sure. And even if she wasn’t sentenced to death, a long spell in one of the country’s notorious prisons was just about as bad as the noose.
‘It was self-defence. You’re a young woman of a good family and by all accounts McNair seems to be a known scoundrel.’
It sounded as though Edward was justifying handing her over to the magistrate to face the penalty for what she’d done.
‘It’s up to you, of course, but if you run then you will spend your entire life looking over your shoulder, wondering whether this crime will catch up with you.’
Amelia hadn’t thought of that. She’d been so preoccupied with the here and now, avoiding being apprehended for murder and getting as far away from the scene as possible, she hadn’t thought what her life would be like with this always hanging over her. She would always be a murderer. Even if she returned to India, to her father’s protection, she would never be able to undo what she had done.
‘I want to go home,’ Amelia said in a small voice.
She wanted her father, with his gruff voice and stiff embraces. She wanted the rolling hills of Bombay with the humid heat and monsoon rains.
‘To India?’
She nodded. He looked thoughtful.
‘You can stay a couple of days,’ he said eventually. ‘I will summon my steward and instr
uct him to make discreet enquiries, see what the state of affairs is with this McNair. We will make a further decision when we have all the facts.’
She didn’t know how he could reduce her momentous revelation to such a cool, calculating plan, but as his words sunk in Amelia felt a surge of hope blossom inside her. He was going to help her and, more importantly, he was going to let her stay.
With a yelp of relief Amelia sprang from her chair and launched herself across the room at Edward. He was stiff under her embrace and momentarily Amelia remembered how his body had moulded to hers the night before as she lay in bed shivering from the cold. He was capable of warmth and closeness, but he wasn’t comfortable with it.
‘There are conditions,’ Edward said quickly. ‘I don’t like to be disturbed. We shall take dinner together and nothing more. The rest of the time you may do as you please, but you will not venture into the East Wing. Is that clear?’
Amelia nodded, willing to agree to anything if it meant she could stay. For a while at least she was safe. She would remain hidden in this strange, half-empty house until they could be sure exactly what the situation was with McNair’s death. It was a reprieve, the sanctuary she had hoped for during her mad dash over the Downs. Of course it wouldn’t bring McNair back to life, wouldn’t change the fact that she was a murderer, but for now she would have to be content with safety over absolution for her crime.
Amelia pulled away, pausing as she got to arm’s length. Something made her stop, to hesitate. Her eyes met Edward’s and for a second there was a spark, a flare, between them. Amelia felt skin begin to tingle and her blood rushing around her body. She was aware of every tiny movement, every breath, every muscle. There was something captivating about this gruff, generous man, something not obvious at first glance, but hidden beneath his cool exterior.
Then Edward shifted and the moment was lost. Amelia stood, turning away to cover her confusion. She wasn’t sure what had just passed between them, but she did know she had no right to experience whatever it was. Taking a deep breath, she forced a smile to her lips before turning back to face Edward.
Chapter Five
As Edward’s pencil danced over the paper he felt all the tension and worry from the last couple of days flow from his shoulders. Drawing preserved his sanity, it was a hobby that had become much more. In the last few years he had lost himself in his sketches, picking up his pencils whenever his grief or solitude threatened to overwhelm him. Sometimes he drew from memory, a person from his childhood or scene from the village. Often he would sketch faces, allowing his pencils to flow over the familiar lines of the faces of the people he had lost over the years.
Today he was sitting by the window, drawing the view he could see. He’d needed this time alone, some space to regroup and sort through the events of the last couple of days. So he had retreated to his rooms soon after Amelia had finished telling him her story.
It was strange having another person in the house. Ever since he had dismissed the servants a few weeks after the fire he had lived alone. Edward knew he’d turned the house into a sort of mausoleum, a place of memorial for all that had he had lost. Maybe it wasn’t the healthiest way of dealing with his grief, but he’d never felt he deserved anything more than the loneliness he had imposed on himself. Now, with Amelia’s presence, he felt uncomfortable and guilty. It should be Jane here with him, not some pretty young woman.
He didn’t believe for a second Amelia had actually killed this Captain of hers. A petite little thing like her wouldn’t be able to best a seasoned soldier with just a letter opener. Far more likely the scoundrel was still alive and hell-bent on vengeance. That was the real reason he’d allowed her to stay, to ensure she was kept hidden from McNair and whatever plans he had for the woman who’d injured him. Part of him had wanted to hold back and send her on her way, but he knew his conscience couldn’t bear the burden of another death.
So he had promised to look into Amelia’s claims and before he had retired to his rooms he’d walked to the edge of the estate and found a willing boy to deliver a message to his steward for a couple of shiny coins. Hopefully the man would visit later and they could get the business sorted as soon as possible.
Then life can return to normal. Edward grimaced. As if anything in his life could be termed normal.
Mulling his future over in his mind, Edward glanced out the window again, his hand with the pencil in falling to his lap as he saw Amelia pacing about the garden. As he watched he saw her heft a spade from the ground and start to dig.
For years the lawn had been overgrown, but covered in lush, green grass. Now it was beginning to be peppered with several muddy holes of varying depths all scattered about in front of the flower bed. It looked a complete mess.
It wasn’t the mess, however, that made Edward spring up from his chair, it was the realisation of exactly where she was digging. Now there was only a thorny tangle of overgrown bushes and Edward couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen a flower, but he knew for certain the area she was attacking had once been the rose garden. The rose garden Jane had once loved so much. With a growl of displeasure Edward stood, pushing his sketches to one side, and quickly made his way downstairs. Out in the garden the full extent of the damage became apparent.
‘What are you doing?’ he asked, not bothering to hide his exasperation.
‘Digging,’ came Amelia’s cheery reply.
She carried on plunging the spade into the ground, a look of steely determination on her face.
‘Why are you digging?’
‘To rescue the roses.’
She didn’t look up at him as she spoke, too intent on her task.
‘Stop,’ he said, adding a quiet ‘please’ as an afterthought.
‘Won’t be long now.’
She carried on wielding the spade.
‘Stop now.’
The hole in front of them got a little larger and Edward’s shoes were sprinkled with mud.
‘Stop,’ he bellowed.
Amelia halted, the spade frozen in mid-air, and looked at him with puzzlement.
‘What’s wrong?’ she asked.
‘What’s wrong? What’s wrong?’ Edward tried to keep his temper in check, but as he looked around at the devastation in front of him he lost the battle. ‘You’ve destroyed my garden.’
Amelia took a step back, but Edward couldn’t regret the volume of his outburst. She had desecrated the rose garden, the patch of ground he and Jane had spent hours planting and tending together.
‘It was a mess to begin with.’
Edward felt guilty. He knew he had neglected a lot in the past three years, allowing the house and gardens to fall into disrepair. He regretted allowing the garden he and Jane had planted so lovingly become this overgrown mess of tangled brambles, but that did not give Amelia the right to swoop in and attack it with a spade.
‘If I had wanted it any different, I would have done it myself.’
‘Like the rest of the house?’ Amelia challenged him.
He could see she regretted her comment as soon as she’d said it, even going so far as clamping her hands over her mouth as if trying to pull the words back in.
‘Do not touch anything else,’ Edward said, his voice low and dangerous. ‘Now leave.’
She hesitated for just a second and then dropped the spade and hurried back to the house.
‘I’m sorry,’ Edward whispered, closing his eyes. ‘I’m sorry for letting things get like this.’
He knew the house and gardens were in a terrible state. No one could live there and be unaware of the dust and the weeds and the crumbling stone, but over time he had become used to it. Each time he’d noticed another cobweb or another fault he’d closed his eyes to it and tried to forget. He knew this was partly due to his need to punish himself. The problems arose when he realised h
e’d let the things Jane had loved fall into disrepair. He should have been a better custodian.
Carefully he began replacing the clumps of earth Amelia had dug up, patting the turf on top and trying to return the grass to how it had looked before. Once he had finished he sat back and regarded the overgrown rose bushes thoughtfully. After a few minutes he got up, walked to one of the outbuildings and began his search for the gardening equipment.
* * *
Half an hour later his fingers were scratched and bleeding, but the tangle of rose bushes had been trimmed back to a more respectable size. Each individual plant was distinguishable from its neighbour now, and although there were no buds on the bushes it looked more like the garden it had once been.
As he sat back on his knees he sensed Amelia’s presence behind him.
‘They must look beautiful when the flowers are in bloom,’ she said quietly.
They had been beautiful. The whole garden had been beautiful. He and Jane had often taken evening strolls through the grounds in the summer months, stopping to admire the roses or sniff the fragrant flowers.
He turned to face her, trying to work out what to say. Amelia was already walking back towards the house, her head held high, but the slight hunching of her shoulders belying the burden she was carrying.
* * *
Amelia didn’t want to return inside just yet. She had been shocked by Edward’s reaction to her trying to do a spot of gardening and was still smarting from his harsh words. She couldn’t quite understand why he had reacted in such a fashion; it was only a rose garden. Part of her had wanted to be helpful, to repay Edward’s kindness with an act to show she was grateful for him letting her stay. Her other motivation for wanting to attack the flowerbeds was much more selfish.
Amelia couldn’t bear to be idle, not at the moment. Every second she wasn’t occupied with some task or other her mind wandered back to the encounter with McNair in his study. Over and over she would relive the moment he had lunged at her and she’d plunged the letter opener into his abdomen. It made her feel sick and light headed, but no amount of willpower could stop her from dwelling on her crime.