by Amy Corwin
“And when you discovered Major Pickering hadn’t died, and that he had even arranged to meet a survivor from the fire, you killed him,” William said. “And then you tried to kill Lady Sarah because she had the proof and had seen you the night of the fire.”
“Yes,” Athelby said, trying to move around to face his employer. The duke refused to look at him. “I did it to protect you, Your Grace!”
The duke made a gesture as if to push Athelby out of his sight. “Stop searching for excuses. You did it to protect yourself. I am deeply ashamed of you, Athelby, and myself. I will have to face the victims—take responsibility for your reprehensible actions. And to think I allowed you to remain in my home all these years.” His voice broke, and he waved Athelby away. “Get him out of my sight.”
William rang for a footman. When he came, William gave him orders to lock Athelby in the pantry and then send for the constable.
The duke, his lined face gray and drawn with grief, sat heavily in one of the armchairs flanking the fireplace. He stared hopelessly into the flames. With a quick glance in his direction, William pulled Sarah forward. They joined Uncle John, who lounged near the door.
“How did you happen to bring the duke here?” Uncle John asked. “How did you know he was not the murderer?”
“He made no attempt to leave the card room at the appointed time. In fact, I had the devil of a time convincing him to come with me,” William replied softly. “I realized then that not only was he not involved, but he was completely unaware of what was happening under his very nose.”
“He must have been aware—he got the note in his invitation—didn’t he?” Sarah asked, confused. She clung to William's arm, afraid he would abandon her now.
“In fact, no. Athelby made sure of that. It wasn’t just me he prevented from speaking to the duke,” William said. “He stopped any piece of information that might have alerted the duke to the fact that he had embezzled funds. Or that he then committed a series of crimes to pay back what he stole. The worst of it was murdering everyone at Elderwood that night, simply because the duke’s daughter had arranged to meet Major Pickering and hand over what she had found. I gather the two of them were also planning to elope.”
When William paused, Uncle John’s knowing gaze flickered briefly over Sarah’s face.
She felt bereft.
After a moment, William continued, “The marquess apparently agreed to help them, although that is only conjecture at this point.”
Uncle John shook his head. “My brother-in-law never indicated to us that he had any suspicions. He said he was helping two young lovers and hoped his neighbor, the duke, would not take it amiss.”
“But Major Pickering survived—” Sarah said.
“He must have been late,” William answered, giving her waist a squeeze. “Too late to save her or anyone in the house.”
The duke stood, rubbing his face. “I can’t believe he would do such a thing. Why, at one time he courted my daughter—my youngest child. He said he loved her. How could he do such a beastly thing to her over a few pounds? Why not come to me and admit his error like a man?”
“He feared for his position. And I suspect your daughter’s affection and preference for Major Pickering may have sealed her fate—along with the fate of everyone at Elderwood,” William replied gently. “He must have felt doubly betrayed when she not only spurned his advances, but took proof of his crimes to her beau.”
The duke’s tired face grew gray as he asked, “Why did she not tell me?”
“Would you have listened?” Uncle Archer replied softly.
The duke was silent for a moment. Then he blinked and straightened. “Well, it is over, now. We know what happened, although I almost wish we did not. I—I will have to take responsibility, of course.” The duke offered his hand to William. “Thank you for your assistance. I will not forget it. And Mr. Archer, I think I would like to find Her Grace and go home. The next few weeks will not be pleasant, though they have to be faced.”
There was nothing any of them could say. The duke’s statement was all too plainly correct.
Chapter Thirty-Two
“I’ll arrange for your carriage.” Uncle John nodded to William and escorted the duke out of the library.
Alone with Sarah, William turned to find her staring up at him, her gray eyes wide and troubled.
“Are you sure you are unharmed?” he asked, gently moving her into the candlelight to examine her neck and shoulder. “I thought I heard a shot, before we came in.”
“You did—but he never hit me. I suppose he wasn’t trying. He only wanted to scare me.”
“And you were very brave, Sarah—Lady Sarah.” His eyes roved over her dear face, trying to memorize every line, every expression. Time was short now that she was Lady Sarah again. After tonight, he would never see her again.
She met his gaze squarely. “That’s it, then. It’s all over.”
“Yes, I hope so.” The words strangled him.
“I haven’t been able to work—I can’t pay your fee. But I will, I assure you.”
“Your aunt paid me. You owe me nothing.”
“Then the accounts are closed,” Sarah said, staring at the top button of his waistcoat.
“I suppose they are.”
There was an awkward silence. His nerves nearly broke.
Then, with a sudden burst of energy, Sarah grabbed his forearm. “Don’t leave me here—let me come back with you to Second Sons! Tonight!”
“Sarah, we’ve been over this—you can’t return with me. You’re a lady.”
“Yes, but if…if you don’t want me, I can simply work with you. Just think, I can be a maid, or footman, or anything! Surely, I can assist you in your inquiries. And if you don’t want me, I’ll ask Mr. Gaunt to hire me.”
“Sarah, Sarah…” William laughed bitterly and pulled her into his arms, resting his cheek against the top of her head to hide the pain in his face. She felt so right in his arms, so warm. The lace and feathers of her cap tickled his nose, and he chuckled and sneezed simultaneously. “I suppose you’ll just steal some poor stable boy’s clothes and run to Second Sons regardless of any advice?”
“If you really don’t want me to…” she replied, her voice soft and sad. “If you don’t want me—if I’m not beautiful or intelligent enough—”
“Never fear, Sarah, I want you. You’re more beautiful than you realize. I love you. But I can’t ask you to give up your position and family. Not when you’ve just found them again.”
“I’m not giving up anything, you dolt!” she replied. She wrapped her arms around him and snuggled deeper into his embrace.
“Yes—you are. And I can't expect you to marry me—Mr. Archer would never allow it. Not now. Now go—get out and go back to your family, where you belong.” His heart hammered so rapidly he could hardly hear.
She hit him on the chest with tight fists, her face white with fury. “Fine—I understand, well enough. Then get on with your beautiful life, Mr. Trenchard. I wish you well with your high ideals.”
With that, she turned and fled from the room. He watched her pass out of sight through the doorway, like the gates of heaven slamming shut in the face of a damned soul.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Sarah’s heart ached as she joined the Archers. Somehow, she managed to paste a smile on her face and dance a few more waltzes and struggle through the rest of the night. She felt numb. She couldn't seem to concentrate on anything and felt vaguely surprised when no one seemed to notice.
They were all oblivious to her pain and the horrendous future that stretched out in front of her. Endless years of hollow, social engagements, filled with false smiles of feigned happiness.
The next morning, Sarah felt tired and despondent. After dawdling over her bath, she was preparing to step out of the chilly water when she heard a gasp. Dripping, she swaddled herself in a voluminous towel and peered over her shoulder. Her aunt was staring at her as if her hair were on fire.
The feeling was so intense Sarah patted her damp head just to make sure.
“Your back!” Lady Victoria exclaimed, her face ashen. “Your back!”
“My back?” Sarah repeated. She twisted her head around and tried to look over her shoulder. Water sloshed around her ankles. All she could see was the towel. “What’s wrong with my back? I didn’t cut myself, did I?” There was no trail of blood swirling through the soapsuds.
She almost wished there was. Maybe she would feel something, then.
Lady Victoria stepped closer. She grasped Sarah’s shoulder with cold hands.
“Ow!” Sarah protested with a shiver.
Her aunt ignored her and pulled at the towel. “Moles! At the edge of your shoulder blade. Your left shoulder blade!”
“Oh,” Sarah said, still puzzled. She’d never studied her back before, mostly because she couldn’t see it.
“Five moles in a line following the edge of your shoulder blade, with two more to the left. The Cygnus constellation. The swan!” Lady Victoria turned abruptly to the maid. The girl stood waiting for Sarah to step out of the bath water so she could begin the tedious process of emptying it. “You must fetch Mr. Archer at once!”
Had her aunt taken leave of her senses?
Sarah climbed out of the bath. She grabbed her wrapper, tugging it over her damp arms. “Why did you send for Uncle John? At least give me a moment to dress!”
“It won’t matter. And he’ll want to see—Oh, Mary!” Lady Victoria pulled Sarah into her arms and sobbed into her neck. “Oh, Mary!”
“Lady Victoria, please!” Sarah tried to push her away, but her aunt clung to her. She sobbed and…was that laughter?
She was wailing and laughing simultaneously as if she were seriously deranged. The recent events must have unhinged her mind. Thank goodness, she had had the foresight to send the maid for her husband. Perhaps he could talk sense into her. Or give her a good, brisk slap.
“Lady Victoria, perhaps you ought to take a seat,” Sarah said, distracted and uncomfortable. The clammy folds of her wrapper clung to her limbs like icy ropes.
Sarah managed to ease her aunt into a chair by the window. Lady Victoria sat with her face in her hands, mumbling the name “Mary,” interspersed with short bursts of sobs, mixed with hysterical-sounding giggles.
Sarah watched her for a moment, seriously concerned. Her aunt was not one to break down so easily.
“Just rest, Lady Victoria. Uncle John will be here shortly.” Sarah ran to her clothes press and plundered the contents for a chemise, petticoat, and one of her new morning dresses. She’d have to forgo the corset. She didn’t have time to struggle with it.
Still trying to tie enough tabs to keep everything in place, Sarah jumped violently, slamming her knee into the clothes press when a knock sounded at her bedroom door.
“Come in!” she said, glancing at her aunt. Lady Victoria was less hysterical now, although her hands still covered her face.
“The maid said you wished to see me,” Uncle John said, strolling into the room. As soon as he caught sight of his wife, huddled in her chair, he rushed over. “Vee! Vee, dearest, what’s wrong?”
Lady Victoria glanced at him and burst into a fresh bout of tears.
“Good God!” Archer put his arms around her. He stared over her head to Sarah. “What happened? Get some water and sal volatile, at once! Don’t just stand there, young lady!”
Catching sight of the maid hesitating in the doorway, Sarah turned to her. “Fetch the sal volatile! Or smelling salts, or something! And send for the doctor!”
“Yes, Lady Sarah!” The maid rushed away, leaving the door open in her haste.
“Vee, dear, what is it?” Uncle John asked his wife, gently squeezing her shoulders. When she didn’t respond, he rubbed her cheek with his knuckles.
Pointing a shaking finger at Sarah, Lady Victoria said, “Mary! Mary!”
Her husband hugged her, a curiously smug smile curving his mouth. He rested his chin on her head and glanced at Sarah. “I see. You were bathing—yes, I see now.”
“See what? What’s wrong?” Sarah asked, confused.
“Did Lady Vee see your back, by any chance? Perchance while you were bathing?”
“Yes—I’m sorry, I still don’t understand. What’s wrong with my back?” A sick, churning feeling seeped through Sarah. She sat down abruptly on the edge of her bed, staring at her aunt and uncle.
The world slowly spun and crumbled around her.
“Presumably, nothing,” Uncle John said. “It is simply that our child, Mary, had a line of moles on her back, remarkably similar in form to the Cygnus constellation.”
“Your child? Mary?”
“Yes. I’ve been thinking for some time now that the mark on your forehead might be indicative of more serious harm. You don’t remember, do you? You didn’t know who you were after the fire?”
“I—I remembered Lord Longmoor thrusting that box into my hands and kissing me. He called me Sarah! I—I couldn’t remember precisely, but why would he call me that if it wasn’t my name? And then I saw the paper in the box. He must have been my father. And I had a locket with the name ‘Sarah’ inscribed. I must be Sarah!”
“No. He loved you—your entire family loved you very much—but you weren’t Sarah then, and you aren’t Sarah now. You are our daughter, Mary.”
“But the locket—”
“You traded with your cousin, Sarah,” Lady Victoria said. “Don’t you remember? You had her locket, and she had yours.”
“No—I don’t remember.” The jumble in her head spun one more time and settled in a series of fractured images.
She’d remembered the two other children she had played with at Elderwood. They had been so timid—she had always been the one who had to go to the kitchen to steal the cake and milk for them at night. They were afraid of the dark. And she remembered their shadowy faces, but until this moment, she simply had never been sure which one of those children she had been.
But now, she realized in a rush why the Archers made her so uncomfortable with their kindness and offers of love. She had been desperately afraid she was wrong about them—about everything. If she loved them, she would only suffer the pain of losing them one more time.
She couldn’t bear it. Not again.
She caught Lady Victoria’s gaze. The love in her eyes made Sarah—Mary—burst into tears of confused, wary joy. As if in answer, Lady Victoria broke down into a fresh bout of crying. Even Uncle John surreptitiously wiped his own eyes with the handkerchief he had pulled out for his wife.
“You knew?” Sarah—Mary—asked her father, swallowing and hiccupping as she strove for control.
“I suspected. Getting the proof, however, would have been…indelicate.”
“Before or after you tried to kill me with the water jug?” she asked.
He hummed, his brown eyes dancing. “Let’s say I had my suspicions when I saw you. When I saw your eyes, to be precise. And then there was the fact you had escaped and successfully hidden your identity for over thirteen years. With truly remarkable ingenuity, I might add. To me, that was proof enough that you were an Archer. Sarah and Samuel were never so bold.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“It was possible—not likely—but possible, that I was wrong, and that you really were Sarah Sanderson. It seemed advisable to wait.”
Sarah chuckled and wiped her eyes before rising to give her parents a hug. She felt lightheaded with bubbling, frothy emotions, as if she had drunk an entire bottle of champagne. Lady Victoria clung to her. And even her father’s crushing embrace lasted long enough for her to laugh and weep again.
“Oh, this is so wonderful,” she said at last, when her father released her.
Her father eyed her searchingly. “But? I sense something that is not so wonderful, after all.”
“Oh, no—I’m grateful and delighted to find you are my parents.”
“But?” Even Lady Victoria
was now studying her.
“I—I'm desperately unhappy. Oh, not with you. The thing is—I love Mr. Trenchard!”
“I don’t see anything so terrible in that. I assume he loves you, as well?” her father asked. “He certainly made a pest of himself during the investigation.”
“I—I think he does, but he refuses to marry me.”
“He does, does he?” A martial light entered her father’s gray eyes.
“Oh, not because of my past—I assure you. He says marriage to him would only ruin me. Socially. But I don't care!”
“Well, yes,” her mother said in a slow voice. “There is that, I’m afraid. He does have a point. And it's rather noble of him to remind you of it.”
“But I don’t care—as if I’m not ruined already!” she replied bitterly.
“Mary!” her parents said in unison.
“I am—there’s no sense trying to deny it. A lady doesn’t work as a bricklayer.”
“You are the cousin of a duke, my dear. You simply can’t be ruined,” her father said. “Besides, you spent the last thirteen years in a boarding school in Switzerland, if I'm not mistaken.” His eyes twinkled. “However, your Mr. Trenchard is a fine one to be worrying about ruination. As a member of the middle class, he ought to be more concerned about his own reputation.”
“What do you mean?” she asked suspiciously. She could sense the wheels turning in her father’s mind. Unfortunately, she wasn’t sure that was altogether a good thing.
“They’re very, well, moral,” he explained. “And very susceptible to accusations of depravity and bad behavior—which makes them depressingly easy to convince.”
“I still don’t understand,” Sarah said, eyeing her mother who was now trying desperately to stifle a laugh.
“Oh, John, you wouldn’t!” Lady Victoria said.
“I don’t see why not. If Mary wants to marry him, then marry him she shall.”
“But I explained—he said he won’t do it!” Sarah—Mary—repeated.
“Oh, I rather think he will,” her father said smugly. “After tonight.”