Tthe abbreviated wedding service took place at dusk. Dahlia Regina Talbot accepted James Duncan Christopher Kent as her lawfully-wedded husband, although she had to be prompted to keep her one good eye open and say “I do.” Peter had given James her mother’s engagement ring, and he inched it gingerly onto her finger. He slid a slender gold band on his own finger as Dahlia was unable to do it herself. The Vicar pronounced them man and wife, and James bent over to kiss her so lightly that his lips merely brushed over hers.
The guests filed out of the crowded room quietly. When he was alone with Dahlia, James leaned over and whispered into her ear, “I do love you Dahlia. Everything will be alright.” Then, he followed the others downstairs.
Dahlia smiled inwardly. She was enjoying the dream of marrying James in the strange place she found herself in. It was unlike any dream she had ever had. She couldn’t move, somehow didn’t want to move, knowing if she tried to extend her limbs out of that space, pain would sear through her mind. But if she stayed very still, everything was peaceful and her mind drifted in comforting directions – like to James asking her to marry him. It was so real, yet unreal. She heard voices and knew the people who spoke the words, but she couldn’t see them properly. They faded in and out of her mind’s eye, and their faces sort of drifted by as if on parade. The only thing needling her, indicating that this was not a perfect dream world, was the fact that it was so quiet. There was no music. There would be music at her wedding. There should be music associated with each face that floated in and out of her awareness. Her dreams had always been like her waking hours, filled with colors and sound; but for some reason, in this dream there was only silence. She tried to work this out, but the cogitations made her very tired. Relinquishing control, she let go of the dream and faded into a comforting darkness.
Downstairs, the dining room was full to capacity. The wedding party gathered there, however, was not merry and only picked at the buffet. After what he considered a socially-acceptable time of small talk and nervous nibbling, the Vicar excused himself and left. It was then the real conversation began. The subject was the story to which all of them must adhere, the information they would make public and tell Dahlia when the time was right. As Matty had guessed, the constable had been told the truth to be able to make discreet inquiries, but all others would be told that Dahlia had taken a terrible tumble off a horse and had been sent to convalesce at a special sanitarium in Bath. No one need know about the attack, nor therefore of her marriage. To mention she was wed in such a quiet way would invite rumors of a different nature, but nonetheless damaging to her reputation and character.
Such was the story to be told in Cirencester. The more difficult tale to spin was the one James would have to uphold in Scotland. His grandfather and mother would know the truth of why he was returning to the family estate. All the other members of the extended family who resided there, however, would be told something different entirely. Luckily, he had not seen most of his family in years, and he contrived to take the full blame of becoming wed and leaving London without having completed his studies. He would claim that he had fallen in love and, disliking the city life in London, had wished to continue his studies through apprenticeship back in his beloved Scotland. Most of that was true, in any event. He therefore wished to move back to the family estate with his new bride, who had suffered a fall from a horse just a week after their marriage. In this way, he allowed for the possibility of any child that Dahlia might be carrying to be his. To Dahlia, he would say that he and his uncle finally agreed that their cohabitation at the London townhouse simply would not work, so he had decided to return to Scotland and had asked Squire Talbot to be able to marry her and take her with him.
These tales, of course, assumed that Dahlia would not remember the terrible event that had precipitated all of this collective storytelling designed to protect her. Dr. Chase had cautioned that people who had remained unconscious for as long as she had often do not remember happenings for weeks or even months preceding the injury.
“Sometimes, they never remember. Sometimes, they remember bits and pieces. Other times, their memory comes back all at once, right out of the blue. I cannot tell you what to expect, Mr. Kent,” Dr. Chase said, shaking his head.
“It will be horrific if she does remember,” Doña Isabel commented, hoping she would not remember. “You must be very strong for her if she does,” she continued, looking James straight in the eye. “She will be hurt and ashamed, and you will need to convince her that you married her out of love, not pity. She will be angry with you – and all of us – for not telling her the truth. Let that anger come. Know that it is not directed at you, and know that it will pass. She will push you away, but that is when you need to stay close. She will need you most when she least wants you near. When she runs away, you must be what she is running to. Be there for her.”
“Good advice,” nodded Dr. Chase, but to James it sounded more like prophecy than counsel.
Chapter 60
The following morning, James was overseeing the loading of Dahlia’s trunks in the carriage that would take him, Dahlia, and Matty to the train station – to another life. James stood on the steps and looked around at Talbot Hall and the surrounding estate. He felt a sadness as he tried to see it as Dahlia would – for the last time. Lord only knew when they would return. He saw the enclosed arena he had designed so she could ride and train the horses without wearing the voluminous skirts required by society’s sensibilities. He saw the stables that housed her beloved Talisman and the other horses she adored. In the distance, he saw the fields where the Roma would set up camp and hold their festivals. Behind the house was the tor that Dahlia loved to race around to the summit and back with carefree abandon. The house itself held wonderful memories for him in the scant time he had spent in it. He could not imagine how Dahlia would feel waking up in a strange house, in a strange country, without her family around her and in the home she had always known.
The beat of a horse’s gallop brought James out of his reverie. The constable pulled up and jumped off his horse. “Is the Squire around?” he breathed heavily.
“Inside,” replied James.
“I’ve news he will want to hear immediately,” he indicated, passing James as he took the stairs two at a time. James followed him into the house and into Peter’s study where he sat with Alvaro.
“Squire,” the constable greeted him and nodded at the Roma chief.
“You’ve news?”
The constable nodded gravely, looking again at Alvaro and then at James.
“You can say whatever it is you came to say in front of them,” Peter assured him.
The constable nodded again. “I just came from the Stanford place. I told them that Dahlia had had a bad fall from a horse – as we discussed. I told them that since our Dahlia was such an accomplished rider that we thought perhaps something, or someone, had spooked her horse. I told them I was just wondering if any of them had seen anything to support that.”
“And?” Peter asked anxiously.
“And William said no, he hadn’t seen anything. I asked if his son or sister might have seen anything and that was when he told me that young Edward is gone.”
“Gone?”
“William said he came home one night with blood on his collar and a deep scratch on his face. Edward told his father that he had hit a branch while riding, and William had no reason to doubt his son’s word. When he heard about Dahlia’s…accident…and how badly hurt she was that she was being sent to a sanitarium, he seemed to get very pensive. He asked when Dahlia took the fall. When I told him, he admitted that that was the night in fact that Edward came home with the cut on his cheek. Two days later, Edward disappeared. He left the house in the morning, and hasn’t been back since.”
James saw Peter throw a hard look at Alvaro before turning his attention back to the constable. “And has William done anything to find his son? Any idea where he might have gone?”
“I asked,” the c
onstable nodded, then shook his head. “William said he didn’t bother to find him since his son was old enough to take care of himself. Told me his son never liked the life of a farmer, and – ”
At this, Peter grunted. “Like father, like son.”
“William said he had been in London for a few days and when he returned, all his livestock was gone. His son apparently sold it while he was away. They had a row about it, and then Edward was gone. William said there is no trace of the money he received from the sale.”
Peter looked up sharply at this information. “Has he denounced him?”
The constable shook his head. “Won’t. Only son, etcetera, etcetera.”
The room was quiet for a moment as all this information settled in. James could tell from the set of Alvaro’s jaw that he was ready for a manhunt for Edward Standford – and the carving of the quarry at the end of it. To him, however, it didn’t quite make sense. Edward was a pest, a bully, but a coward when confronted by someone who could hold their own. Was he really capable of the anger and hatred – the need for control that Michael said was associated with rape? He remembered the Roma fair after Dahlia had danced with Edward and been so surprised by her conversation with him. She had not seemed scared of him or what he said. It was almost as if they had come to an understanding of sorts, though he had not questioned her on what that understanding might be.
The constable addressed Peter again, interrupting James’ thoughts. “I did not press William about whether or not his son could have attacked Dahlia. I wanted to get your consent before proceeding. To do so would be to tell Standford the truth about what happened to Dahlia. Do you trust him to keep it quiet if we are barking up the wrong tree?”
Peter grunted again. “I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him,” he muttered under his breath. “I need to think about this,” he said, standing up. “Will you give me tonight to think about it? I need to make the right decision for my daughter’s sake.”
“Of course,” the constable said gruffly, seemingly glad to be on his way when talk moved towards the unthinkable that had befallen the girl with the brilliant green eyes whom he had known since she was born.
As soon as he had gone, Alvaro said, “Do you think this Edward did it?”
Peter ran a hand through his hair. “Don’t know. I wouldn’t have thought so, but I wouldn’t have guessed he had the guts to sell his father’s livestock and leave with the money either.” He thought about how Dahlia had tried to befriend Alyce Standford, and how Edward had accompanied his aunt on her visits to Talbot Hall, but he never seemed very interested in Dahlia whatsoever. His job as escort seemed to be forced on him and he had never appeared to have any desire to see Dahlia when he was here. He did know William was having financial problems. He had probably gone to London to obtain funds to save his property. His son would have known the situation. For him to have sold the precious assets of livestock, then stolen the proceeds, was a traitorous act by the son that would sink his father and aunt into poverty.
“It doesn’t make any sense,” Peter thought out loud. “His actions are those of a boy who hated his father, not the daughter of his neighbor. Why would Edward attack Dahlia?”
Alvaro was not willing to give quarter now that he had a target for his pistols. “How do you explain him coming home with blood on his shirt and a cut on his cheek? Dahlia would not have let anyone get the better of her without putting up a fight!”
Peter did not have an answer. Everything about Edward’s behavior in the past week was suspicious.
Steven came into the study, unaware of the constable’s visit. “Is the carriage ready then, James?”
James looked at Peter. “What will you do?”
Dahlia’s father walked over and put his hand on James’ shoulder. “I will ask more questions, for we have no definitive answers yet. The Standfords have no family of which I am aware. No one to whom Edward would go. Which means he could be anywhere and it will take some time to find him. Go. Take Dahlia where she will be safe and have some peace, for there will be none here for a long time.”
James nodded, and strode past Steven who stood there with a questioning look on his face. “Standford? What’s happened? What have you heard?” Steven peppered his father with questions. James continued up the stairs, knowing there were no answers to be had.
He collected Dahlia in his arms as Glenda wrung her hands and Matty looked on nervously. “We gave her the dose of laudanum an hour ago, as Dr. Chase instructed. He said she should sleep through most of the afternoon. You need to give her another dose around dinnertime,” the housekeeper informed.
“We know, Glenda.” Matty said softly.
“Yes, yes,” Glenda nodded. “You’ll take good care of her, won’t you Mr. Kent?”
“The very best. I promise you that,” he replied solemnly.
He carried Dahlia down to the carriage, and positioned her as gently as he could on one of the benches. Matilda covered her with a throw, and took her seat. Peter closed the carriage door. They had all said their good-byes earlier, which was just as well since he didn’t trust his voice.
“Safe travels,” was all he could manage. James nodded, and the driver slapped the reins, starting a very long journey that took his daughter away from him.
Long after his sons had gone back into the house, Peter stood on the steps and watched the carriage become smaller and smaller. Tears distorted his vision, but still he watched as his little girl traveled, unknowingly, far away. If he thought his heart broke when his beautiful Penelope died, it was nothing to the pain he felt now that his daughter was leaving. He didn’t know how he would survive not seeing the resemblance of his wife in her face every day. As the carriage became a speck on the horizon, he wondered how he could live without the happiness of those brilliant green eyes, and how he would endure the silence of living in a house devoid of Dahlia’s music.
-----
That evening, Alvaro and his sons were sitting around the dining room table with the Talbots. The information conveyed by the constable was shared. Plans were discussed, rejected, and reshaped. Oaths for vengeance were sworn and tempers started to flare – not at each other, but for the situation that had caused this reunion. The air was filled with testosterone and their blood laced with adrenaline.
“We must spread out in teams of two in all directions.”
“The Roma are everywhere. We should communicate with all the families we know first. Surely they will be able to give us some indication of a young man traveling alone without riding about aimlessly.”
“We don’t even know if Edward Standford did it! We could spend days – weeks – searching for the wrong man!”
The bell at the front door tempered the conversation briefly. They heard Glenda cross the foyer and open the door. They were just about to start on the same argument again when a scream cut off all conversation.
All the young men in the room looked to their respective fathers. Peter and Alvaro made to stand up. Before they completed the action, everyone was on their feet and heading towards the entrance. A form blocked the dining room doorway, and it was not Glenda to announce the new arrival, but the guest herself.
It was Alyce Standford, covered in blood.
Chapter 61
Everyone stood stock still and stared at the mousy woman who looked as if she had come straight from the slaughterhouse. Her eyes scanned the room until they found the face she sought. She looked straight at Peter and said, matter of factly, “I did it. I killed him.”
“Killed who?” Peter asked slowly, looking at her hands to see if she still carried a weapon.
“William,” she replied, as if he had asked a silly question.
“Why did you do that, Alyce?”
“Because he killed them all – the only women who were ever nice to me. Each one tried to help me, and I wasn’t strong enough to embrace their help. I wasn’t brave enough to help any of them in return. God will surely punish me for that…” Her voice
trailed off.
“What women did he kill, Alyce?”
“First his wife. Then yours – Penelope, of course.”
The Talbot brothers gasped in unison at the mention of their mother. Peter grabbed the back of the nearest chair. “What do you mean he killed Penelope?”
“He pushed her over the ravine.”
“That’s a lie. My mother died of a fever,” Michael cried defensively.
His father held up a hand to silence him. “How do you know this?
Alyce’s eyes had a glazed look to them. “He told me so. He boasted about it.”
“Why didn’t you go to the authorities, Alyce?” Peter was talking to her slowly, as if she were a child.
“I would have, but William told me he would kill me if I did. There was still little Edward to think of, you know. I tried to protect him. He was still a child.”
Peter’s jaw was clinched. Alvaro took up the questioning. “Who else did he kill?”
“Lady Sweet. Now that poor baby boy won’t know his mother. And she was like a mother to Dahlia, too, wasn’t she?” Alyce’s eyes filled with tears. “He said she was going to ruin all his plans.”
“What plans?”
“For Edward to marry Dahlia.”
Tom couldn’t contain himself. “Why on earth would Dahlia marry Edward?”
Alyce started laughing, the distinct sound of hysteria in it. “She wouldn’t! That’s just it. Don’t you see!” She looked around the room hoping to find someone who understood. “She would never marry Edward. Who would? He’s so awful, like his father.” She started to rub her wrists.
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