So it was that night. Instead of asking how such a thing was possible, my mind rejected further questions in that direction. I concentrated on my highest concern. “Is he dangerous?”
Mr. Greenham leaned against the wind, steering us toward the stable. Before he opened the door, he peered into the darkened grounds and whistled to someone, receiving a whistle back. Then, opening the top half of the door, he said, “Have Night Owl saddled with enough rations for a week and funds for six months.”
“Sir?” The groom shot a doubtful look toward the house.
“That’s a direct order.”
The groom bowed. “What about Cosmo?”
Mr. Greenham nodded. “Macy didn’t say, but have him saddled as well.”
Taking a lantern from inside the stable, Mr. Greenham gathered my arm, then led us to the edge of the garden path. He looked at Edward, the light casting a strange shadow over his features as he lifted his face to the wind. I now suspect a sort of begrudging cheer—like a plant covered in frost, who knows the morning sun will kill it but can’t help but eagerly wait for the first rays of light.
“Sir—” he returned his attention to us, to Edward more specifically—“I charge you with her safekeeping. See her out of this estate.” He moved the lantern toward me and studied me by its gleam. “She’s not strong enough to endure this marriage. If you are a man of God, you will see to it.”
Edward braced my shoulders with his hands and shouted over the wind, “She’s his wife now. What can you possibly expect me to do?”
Mr. Greenham indicated with a nod that grooms were approaching and that we must be silent. In the relentless wind, leaves cycloned around us, cackling like hags. Mr. Greenham accepted the reins of both horses—a black and a grey stallion—and a leather satchel.
When the grooms ran back to their other duties, Mr. Greenham checked the buckles and saddle of the grey horse. He removed a cape from a saddlebag and donned it. Drawing the collar up to conceal the lower half of his face, he turned to us.
“I don’t care how you manage. Only be forewarned, Macy takes special interest in her.” He stuck his foot in the stirrup and swung his leg over the mount. The horse pranced, tufts of its mane lifting in the wind. Mr. Greenham gripped the reins tight with one hand, giving the night a challenging look, before turning his feral gaze our way. “I murdered her mother for Macy when she got in the way. So be sure to use caution.”
I jerked my head up, but it was too late for questions. Digging his boots deep into the steed’s rib cage, Mr. Greenham took off, leading the other stallion by the reins. They melted into darkness.
Once, when I’d scrambled up a hayloft after Elizabeth, the ladder had tipped backwards, taking me with it. I felt the same sensation that night, only without the comfort that a haystack waited to cushion my fall.
I faced Edward, unable to mask my sheer panic and confusion. I shook my head in disbelief. It can’t be, my mind said over and over. I dropped to my knees. I didn’t want to believe it. I wouldn’t believe it. Nonetheless, I sank to the ground and emptied my stomach until there was nothing left but dry heaves. Edward knelt beside me and wiped my mouth with his handkerchief.
“Lord, I need wisdom.” He gathered me in one arm. “God, please help me. Guide me. I don’t know what to do now. Forgive me.”
New waves of sickness gripped my stomach, and I choked anew. When I turned toward Edward, pleading for help, he watched me helplessly. Then all at once his face hardened. He stood and with clenched fists strode toward Eastbourne. Fearing separation from him, I stumbled after him.
He never looked back as he entered the great hall and charged to the dining room. When the doors bashed open, the men looked over in surprise.
Edward headed straight toward Mr. Macy and swung at his face. Blood gushed from Mr. Macy’s nose as his head thwacked the wall behind him. Before Edward could tackle him, three men contained Edward, though he struggled against them.
On the floor, Mr. Macy appraised Edward as he stanched blood with his sleeve.
“Julia.” Edward stopped struggling and held his hand out to me. “Come here. I want a witness to confirm what Mr. Greenham just said.”
Mr. Macy’s eyes slit with an expression that made me feel as though a hand of cold terror had gripped my soul. The storm outside erupted, pounding the windows. Water trickled down the panes.
Edward grew tired of waiting and turned to the magistrate. “Mr. Greenham confessed to killing her mother for Mr. Macy.”
Mr. Macy relaxed and leaned against the wall with a relieved-sounding chuckle.
“Her mother died of natural causes,” my guardian said to Edward, but he cast a questioning gaze to Mr. Forrester. “I especially checked that point.”
“What do you know of her death?” Mr. Forrester asked me.
The memory of our village apothecary’s merciful face thundered back to me, and the way he explained to me the law about suicide. If it became known that Mama had killed herself, all her possessions would belong to the Crown. He and his family were near starvation themselves, yet he’d taken pity on me and broken the law so I wouldn’t lose Mama’s dowry to the Crown.
“Well?” my guardian demanded.
I clutched my stomach, knowing if I told the truth it would launch an investigation. Mr. Hollis, the apothecary, would be jailed. His wife and children would go to the poorhouse. And for what, I wondered. Would they even find anything at this point, if they unearthed Mama’s body? Yet if I said nothing, would it allow Mama’s murder to go unpunished?
“I don’t know what Mr. Greenham meant.” My voice quavered as I lied. “My mother died of natural causes. I was there.”
Mr. Macy lifted his head and stared at me with surprise.
Edward likewise gaped, then shook his head. “But outside, you . . . What is it you fear telling these men? You believed Mr. Greenham. I saw that you did.”
“You mistook me, sir.” I buried my face in my hands. Only I didn’t want to cry. I never wanted to cry again. A few hours ago, I sat in this very room, eating dinner, talking to Edward. Now I was Mrs. Macy, and Mr. Greenham had killed my mother, possibly upon the orders of my husband. My entire life had been a lie. I didn’t even know my own father. Surely I would wake soon from this nightmare.
“Julia, look at me.”
I obeyed Mr. Macy’s command.
Without shifting or blinking, he met my gaze. “What John said has no truth.”
Our eyes locked in unspoken conversation, but I couldn’t understand the language, so I reburied my face.
“I want to speak to my daughter alone,” my guardian said. “Colonel, will you be so kind as to fetch some papers for me. Simmons knows where they are.”
I heard the jangling of keys and murmuring.
“You’ll have to forgive me,” Mr. Macy said, “but I feel my wife has experienced enough for one night. I’m not going to allow a private talk with you on top of everything else.”
“I’ve had enough,” my guardian replied. “I’m ending this marriage.”
There were gasps, and I looked up in time to see flames devouring our marriage license.
“You know I respect your position in government, Roy,” Mr. Macy drawled. “However, we both know your authority doesn’t carry that far. Burning it will make no difference.”
He strode to me and offered his hand. Blood smeared his palm and fingers. Blood likewise covered his face and white shirt.
I pressed against the wall, unable to remove my sight from the red caking his hands.
“Sweetheart,” he whispered. “You mustn’t believe what John said.” He stepped closer, but cringed when I shrank from his touch. He wiped his hand over his trousers, looking miserable. When he knelt, his nose trickled blood again. “Rooke, keep my wife safe. I’m going to change.” Then to me, in the kindest of voices, “Nothing will happen to you in my absence.”
As the doors swung shut, I caught a glimpse of him giving instructions to Reynolds.
I hu
gged myself. I felt weary, wearier than I’d ever been. I rubbed my throbbing forehead with my fingertips, listening to the low hum of whispering. The doors opened, but instead of Mr. Macy, a middle-aged man entered with a leather satchel. He handed the bag to my guardian, who looked in my direction.
“Can you drink this?” Edward knelt with a glass of claret. His tone was kinder.
Shame kept me from looking at him.
“Juls,” Edward said softly.
I heard him, but the words were far away, as if he were speaking into an ear horn on the other side of the chamber. I blinked, trying to focus. My layers of skirts shifted as he knelt upon them.
“Jane Canton’s wedding?” He whispered urgently. “Think hard. Do you remember our conversation in the hay field?”
I faced him. My life had crumbled, and he wanted me to remember something that happened over a decade ago when we had spied on a wedding? Yet even as I resisted that idea, images of a young bride came to mind—a thick garland of orange buckthorn berries atop her head, the way afternoon sun touched her yellow gown, making it glow. Yet it wasn’t her beauty that stood out; it was her red-rimmed eyes, her pale face, and the whiteness of her lips as she approached the church. It was clear, even from our vantage, that the marriage was a great tragedy.
“Why doesn’t she run?” Elizabeth had whispered, looking at Henry.
We all turned toward him. In our youth, Henry, the oldest, was expected to explain the unexplainable. He scowled, pressing his lips together as the young bride’s brother ran up the steps and obediently held open the door.
It was impossible not to see there was something haunting about her poise and grace as she accepted the inevitable. No heroine staring at the scaffold could have been statelier.
“Run,” Elizabeth whispered, clutching fistfuls of grass, using her toes to push herself forward. “Don’t just stand there,” she urged the bride. “Take flight!”
Like me, Henry must have scanned the faces of those surrounding her. Anger glinted in their eyes and hardness formed the downward slant of their mouths.
“She can’t,” Henry finally concluded for us, turning on his back, as if disgusted. “There isn’t anyone to help her.”
Even as I looked at Edward that night in Eastbourne, I felt the same stirring I’d encountered in the sanctuary. Edward waited, silently, willing me to remember.
Gooseflesh rose along my arms as I understood what Edward was communicating. It wasn’t practical and the odds were too astronomical to believe, but we’d already planned for this very event. The four of us had spent that entire afternoon imagining how to escape a wedding.
The idea birthed swiftly, like a mother’s sixth babe, born while the midwife’s back is turned. I only had time to meet Edward’s gaze and nod—I understood. I wanted to flee.
“My things?” I whispered as my guardian broke from the men.
Edward gave a slight shake of his head.
To leave behind all of one’s possessions is a more difficult task than one envisions. The moment one detects the smell of smoke in the house, most people do not dutifully exit, but quickly rummage through desk drawers and jewelry boxes, saving the irreplaceable. With the tips of my fingers, I touched the cold emeralds encrusting my necklace, cognizant that Mama’s locket was in my bedchamber. It contained my only portrait of her.
While I adjusted, my guardian’s shoes appeared in my view. “I wish to speak with you. What I have to say doesn’t concern others. You may leave now, Reverend Auburn.” To me, “Can you recommend a place for our conversation?”
Edward nodded for me to comply, but the green of his eyes slid across the dining room, in the direction of the stables, telling me where he’d be.
I gave him a nod, telling him I understood, then pointed to the chamber where her ladyship had taken me my first night. “There’s a small room off the hall. We can talk there.”
The chamber looked much as it had the night of my arrival. Heavy beams combined with the ancient weapons made it appear spartan. My guardian moved with disgust toward the stiff leather and horsehair chairs lined before the stone mantel.
“I despise Eastbourne.” My guardian’s gaze roamed over the pockmarked weapons. “You never can tell what really belongs to him or what’s been extorted.”
I collapsed into a chair, feeling cheeks burning. Though Mr. Macy admitted he’d blackmailed, until then I’d paid no heed as to how the riches of my future home had been achieved.
“I wondered if you had the capacity of blushing.” My guardian took a seat. “Never have I seen such a nauseating show from a lass in my entire life. What sort of creature did Lucy raise?”
I leaned against the chair, hardening my emotions at the mention of Mama’s first name.
“Only the memory of your mother stays my hand of wrath.” My guardian growled out each word. “It would serve you right if I gave you no means to live apart from Macy.”
My guardian pulled out a folded paper and slammed it on the seat next to him. “When your mother married William, I agreed to give you one of my emerald mines. You wear stones from it tonight. Here is the paperwork.”
I gazed at the vivid green ring upon my finger, recalling how I’d once overheard Mama state she didn’t dare wear the stones; the distinct color was too recognizable. Understanding grew as to how Mr. Forrester had guessed my identity.
“There’s also a handsome living left to you from my mother.” He pounded another paper over the first. “She learned of your existence and took pity. I’m glad she died, sparing herself the knowledge of how shameless you are.”
I met his cold look. I detested him, as much as if he had killed my mother. “How would you know what I am?”
“Macy claims you’ve spent your nights with him. Did you?”
His question stunned me as I realized he thought me brazen. Later, I decided, much later, I would evaluate this situation. “Yes, I did.”
My guardian looked about to strike me, only instead he flexed his hands. “There’s some money I’ve put aside over the years, as well as your father’s living and estate, though I confess, I’m surprised at how poorly your father managed his money.”
“William is not my father.”
“Neither am I.” My guardian returned my stony gaze with one of granite. “As far as I am concerned, you are dead.”
I crossed my arms and legs, then kicked my foot in small circles. My eyes stung, my throat closed, but I would never give this man the satisfaction of seeing me wounded.
“I’m leaving.” He rose and wiped his hands together. “I suggest you hire someone to handle your finances. The account is yours. I will keep a falsified name on it, giving you the means to live apart from Macy, if need be. Though now that he’s accomplished his goal of injuring me, I doubt he will bother you.”
“Good riddance.” At least my voice didn’t betray my pain. I gritted my teeth until they hurt. “Had I known that was his goal, I would have helped more.”
My guardian stared at me as though repulsed. “Never show your face to me again.”
When the door slammed, I gasped for breath and stared at the door. Panic needled my veins. I needed to locate Edward before Macy found me.
At least I had the presence of mind to scoop up the papers and deposit them into the satchel. My guardian must have stalked straight from the chamber, through the dining room, and out the door, for the men were all gone. The room was empty.
I stepped over the threshold of the dining room and paused, too shaky to continue. Footsteps rang through the entrance hall. Certain it must be Macy, for the count of several seconds, I registered only fear.
I sobbed relief when a rain-soaked Edward appeared at the door on the other side of the room. Upon spotting me, he placed a finger to his lips, then signalled me to approach.
Had Mr. Macy arrived first, I am uncertain how I would have reacted. It is devastating enough to lose trust in a person—but to have placed myself in the hands of Mama’s murderer was more tha
n I could handle.
Edward likewise was on edge as he pulled me against his chest and backed us toward the door. His nostrils flared as he glared toward the darkened part of Eastbourne.
It wasn’t until Mr. Macy sauntered into the light from a dark passage that I realized he was there. He wore a clean white shirt, untucked. His face had been washed and his wet hair combed back.
“Really now, Edward,” he said, his tone tranquil. “I would have expected better from you than to steal another man’s wife.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, turning my face against Edward’s chest.
“Julia,” Mr. Macy’s voice soothed. “Are you now afraid? Have I not sworn my protection over you? Come to me. No harm will come to you. We need to talk.”
I tugged on the lapels of Edward’s frock coat, begging him to remove us.
“Sweetheart,” Mr. Macy coaxed. I opened my eyes in time to see him extend his hand. “Have I ever given you reason to doubt my love? What did your father say?”
Edward let out an angry laugh, taking a step backwards. “Never mind what was discussed. Back away! She’s coming with me!”
Mr. Macy paid no attention to Edward. His singular gaze was fixed on me. His expression was a mixture of concern and pity. “Is it your desire to leave Eastbourne?”
I nodded once.
Mr. Macy held up both hands and, with the gentlest of movements, stepped forward. “All right. I’ll wait until you’re ready to talk. I promise you this: whatever Roy said was tainted. We’ve been enemies for years now. And John—”
“Don’t you dare speak to us!” Edward yelled, taking us another step back.
“I don’t think you’ve quite grasped the dynamics of this yet,” Mr. Macy said quietly, turning his head to view Edward. “Allow me to make this plain. I’m tolerating you, Edward, because I fear it might unhinge my wife to rive the two of you apart, just yet. But do not mistake my mercy as permission to take part in our conversations. This is between Julia and me.”
His words stole my breath.
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