by Amy Harmon
April 9, 1815. Yesterday was my trial before the town magistrate. My sentence seemed too light to the brazen onlookers, but it was the worst I could have imagined. I am to live in seclusion in my parents’ house until the birth—the most awful jail imaginable. No one is allowed to see my growing form, lest it be a bad example for the other girls. I’ve become a prisoner in my own house. My mother won’t speak to me. Her silence pierces my heart.
May 1, 1815. I spend all day in bed, regardless of the sharp words my mother uses. Yes, she is talking to me again, but only to reprimand. I cannot exist without Jonathan’s love any longer. Where is he? Why hasn’t he come for me? I am leaving tonight and moving into the abandoned cottage by the old lighthouse—one owned by the O’Brien family, who left for England and haven’t returned for years. I will leave a note for my parents, but I’m sure they won’t persuade me to return. I hope they will leave me alone.
Eliza stared at the flickering candles for a moment. So that was how Helena came to live in her Aunt Maeve’s cottage. Helena had run away from home, although not far, to escape her mother’s relentless judgment. What a lonesome life Helena must have lived, carrying a child with no one to help.
* * *
The next morning, Eliza rose well before her mother to prepare breakfast. When her mother appeared, she looked surprised to see that Eliza had already laid the table with an appetizing spread.
“This is a nice final meal,” Mrs. Robinson said.
“Are you going somewhere?” Eliza asked.
“We are returning to New York today. I thought about it last night, and I think it’s for the best.” She held up her hand when Eliza started to protest. “I know you wanted to stay longer and that you’re fond of this place, but there’s nothing here of value except the land. And you certainly don’t have any promising future in this town. Once we reach New York, we’ll hire someone to sell the place, and we’ll put the money into a trust fund until you come of age.”
Eliza looked at her mother in amazement. “What about the gossip columns? Are your friends ready to accept your wayward daughter?”
“Your status has undoubtedly been raised, Eliza. Remember, you are a woman of independent means now… Well, once we get this awful place sold and have something to show for it besides dirt.”
How could her mother be so cold? Her mother sent her to this place to hide her from shame, yet now that she had inherited property, she was worthy to be among those whom her mother revered?
“I’m not coming with you,” Eliza choked out.
“What did you say?” Her mother narrowed her eyes, daring Eliza to defy her.
“I’m not coming with you to live among those hypocrites.”
Mrs. Robinson pointed a trembling finger at Eliza. “You’re still under my care, young lady, and you will obey your mother.”
“Just as I obeyed you and came to this place? You were embarrassed to have me around, and now that I own property, you are anxious to show me off.” She folded her arms as angry tears slipped down her face.
Gripping the chair in front of her, Mrs. Robinson’s knuckles turned white. “We’ll be leaving in one hour.”
* * *
Eliza loaded her mother’s bags into the wagon and climbed into the driver’s seat. Her mother’s face was pale and drawn. Eliza settled next to her and urged the horse forward. Mile after mile they traveled in silence, until they reached the train station.
Mrs. Robinson alighted and called for the porter to unload her baggage. She turned and followed him into the station, without so much as a backward glance at her daughter.
Watching her mother disappear into the train station, Eliza had mixed feelings. She hated her mother’s remonstrations, but it was better than hearing them constantly. Besides, Eliza wasn’t ready to face New York City.
Did Helena have the same mixed feelings when she’d left her parents’ home?
Chapter Fifteen
As soon as she reached the cottage after delivering her mother to the train station, Eliza walked into the hearth room and tossed her shawl onto the sofa. The past three days with her mother had left her drained and exhausted. She sank onto the sofa and closed her eyes. She’d have to write Jon again—she hadn’t sent the journal with her mother after all. Eliza hadn’t been able to finish reading it with her mother around, and she didn’t trust that her mother wouldn’t open the package out of curiosity.
The sound of footsteps on the porch startled her. When a knock came, she flinched. Opening the door, she saw the constable standing on the other side of the threshold.
“Good morrow, Miss,” he said, tipping his hat.
Eliza nodded in greeting. “Can I help you?”
“I’m afraid I have bad news.”
Eliza drew her breath in sharply. “Has something happened to my mother?”
“Not that I know of. I’ve come to inform thee that we are reopening the investigation into thy aunt’s death.”
“Why?” A gnawing began in her stomach.
“It appears that the man whom we thought guilty of her murder couldn’t have done it,” he said. “He happened to be in Hartford, Connecticut, committing a similar crime.”
“Oh,” was all she could say. She gripped the door frame, feeling her knees start to give.
The constable’s mouth pulled into a tight line. “Thou hast better stay somewhere else for awhile.”
“But why would someone want to kill my aunt?” she asked faintly.
“Perhaps they thought she had money or other valuables stashed somewhere, and when she awoke, they…” He stopped.
Tears burned in her eyes.
The constable’s face softened with compassion. “Is there someone thou couldst stay with? I don’t think it’s safe for thee to be in this house alone until we’ve found the murderer.”
In a daze, she nodded. “Yes, I can stay with someone. Thank you.” Watching him leave, she walked out onto the porch and sank onto the steps. What did the murderer want? Money? Anyone familiar with Maeve would know of her simple life. Killing her for money didn’t make sense. The closest neighbor was Ruth, surely the woman would welcome Eliza for the night. She decided it was time to pay Ruth a visit. She entered the barn and gathered some eggs to take with her and was surprised to hear another horse approaching.
Stepping out of the barn, she shielded her eyes against the sun to see who the rider was. “Nathaniel.”
He climbed down from the horse and took off his hat. “Good afternoon, Eliza.”
She squinted up at him. “What brings you here?”
“I’ve a business proposition for thee and thy mother,” he said.
“Have you? You’ll have to write my mother a letter then.”
“Did she return to New York?”
“Yes, this very afternoon,” she said, lowering her eyes. “We don’t seem to agree on much.”
“Does that mean thou are staying in Maybrook?”
Eliza chuckled. “Not exactly, Nathaniel. I don’t belong to this way of life. I’ll have to return home eventually.”
But his eyes were still dancing with pleasure.
“All right.” She put her hands on her hips. “Tell me the proposition.”
Nathaniel glanced around the yard and twisted his hat in his hands. “Uh, I was hoping to present it to both thee and thy mother.”
Eliza cocked her head to one side. “And why is that?”
Nathaniel reddened and kicked at the dirt.
“So that she could convince me to say yes to the proposition?”
He stared at her. “H-how didst thou know?”
Eliza shrugged and walked over to the porch. She sat on the top step and waited for Nathaniel to join her.
He stepped over and sat a comfortable distance from her. Finally he stole a glance in her direction and said, “Do you really want to hear it?” But her thoughts were far away. “Eliza?”
She turned and looked at him. “The constable stopped by today.”
“What did he want?”
“The transient who they thought killed my aunt couldn’t have possibly been in Maybrook on the night of her death.”
Nathaniel reached across the step and took her hand, but Eliza gently pulled away.
He sighed. “Thou must come and stay at our house tonight. Thou aren’t safe here.”
“I know,” she whispered, looking down at her feet. “But I already have a place to stay.”
“Pray tell,” he said.
“Ruth’s.”
“The spinster? It won’t be any safer than here,” Nathaniel protested.
“It’s already been arranged.” At least she hoped Ruth would take her in. Eliza rose and brushed imaginary dust off of her skirt. With her back to him she said, “Tell me about the proposition.”
The air between them was silent for a moment. Then, “It doesn’t seem right at a time like this to speak about business.”
“Of course not. It can wait.”
Nathaniel rose and walked over to her, grasping her hands. Eliza stiffened at the warm pressure of his palms and the scent of sweet hay in his clothes.
“I hope thou knowest my marriage proposal is still open,” he said, leaning forward. “I love thee more each day.”
Eliza moved away, and Nathaniel’s hands dropped. She turned and stared into the distance, seeing nothing. Why did he have to be so persistent? “I’m sorry, Nathaniel,” she said finally. “I’m not ready to make a commitment to anyone, especially someone as good as you.”
“But—”
Eliza faced him, her tears brimming. “You deserve someone who loves you back.”
Nathaniel stood still for a long time looking at her, as if memorizing every detail of her appearance, sadness in his gaze. Then he walked past her and mounted his horse.
Wrapping her arms about her, Eliza watched the dust billow behind him as he galloped away. She blinked until the stinging stopped.
* * *
Eliza packed a small bundle of clothing and put the eggs on the seat next to her. The evening shadows were quickly enveloping the road as she drove the wagon to Ruth’s house. Before leaving, she double-checked the locks and made sure the windows were secured.
A candle glimmered in Ruth’s front window like a miniature beacon in a sea of descending darkness. Eliza had no doubt that she would be welcomed into the kind woman’s home for the night.
Knocking on the door, Eliza glanced furtively about. She supposed that Ruth could also be a target, but it was quite well known within the Puritan community that Ruth wasn’t any better off than Maeve had been. The door opened with a loud squeak, and the hunched woman appeared with a shawl clutched about her shoulders, her eyes as round as saucers.
“Hello, ma’am. It’s Eliza,” she said.
“What are thou doing out at this time of night?” Ruth asked.
“May I come in?”
The door opened wider, and Eliza stepped into the dim interior. The room felt quite different than the last time she’d been inside. Then it had seemed bright and cheerful in the morning light. “Are thou hungry?” the wizened woman asked.
Eliza shook her head. “I need a place to stay for a few nights.”
“Thou are welcome to stay here, child.”
“Thank you.” She followed Ruth into the sitting room and settled next to the fire. Ruth picked up a ball of yarn and resumed her knitting. She remained silent, waiting for Eliza to speak.
“The constable came this afternoon,” Eliza began.
Ruth nodded as her needles clicked.
Eliza watched the sparks crackle in the fire. “He’s trying to find my aunt’s murderer.”
Ruth looked up from her knitting. “I thought the murderer was found.”
“It turns out that it couldn’t have been the person that was first accused.”
“That’s why thou hast come here then?” Ruth asked. “Don’t worry about your safety here. We’ll be fine.”
Eliza nodded numbly and stared into the fire. Not until today did she want to leave Maybrook. The emotion from Maeve’s death, funeral, and now the reopened investigation, had left her empty.
“Art thou feeling well?” Ruth asked.
Eliza sighed. “I’m wrung out.”
“Perhaps you could read the letter I received from Jonny today,” Ruth said.
Eliza raised her eyes suddenly.
“Ah, I thought that might interest thee. Thou can read it to me,” Ruth said.
“Haven’t you read it?” Eliza asked.
“Alas, no. I misplaced my spectacles.” Ruth drew out a folded envelope from her apron pocket and handed it over.
Eliza took the envelope. The writing on it was now familiar to her—dark and bold, like the writer himself.
Withdrawing the letter, Eliza began to read. The words were common enough, asking about how Ruth was doing and offering monetary assistance. Halfway into it, she stopped reading.
“Continue, dear,” Ruth instructed.
Eliza exhaled then began.
Apryl spent the weekend at Mr. Thomas Beesley’s country estate, and I joined her there on my return. It was in a pleasant location, but unfortunately I wasn’t able to enjoy the visit. Apryl and I traveled home together, and her parents rode in my carriage. It was nice to have some private time with my fiancée without her inquisitive parents. I can always feel Mr. Maughan itching to ask what my father’s estate is worth.
Eliza’s chest tightened. Jon had gone to Thomas Beesley’s estate? Were they fast friends now? She groaned inwardly. What an unbelievable coincidence. Had they shared a good laugh about her at the Beesley estate—Jon, Thomas, the Maughans, and… his fiancée? Then the other part finally sank in.
He’s engaged.
She looked at Ruth. “Who’s Apryl?”
Ruth chuckled. “That’s an interesting question with an interesting answer. Apryl Maughan is Jonny’s fiancée. But from what I’ve heard of her, the pair couldn’t be more ill-matched.”
Eliza tried to ignore her tumultuous thoughts and focus on what Ruth was saying.
“I never thought I’d see Jonny get engaged so soon after law school,” Ruth continued. “Aye, the boy has always had ambition, and he knows that to work underneath the public eye, things at home must be in order.”
“What do you mean?” Eliza asked.
“He wants to enter politics… mayor, governor, congress, something like that. And a man who has a high-society wife and a strapping son or two will rise in leadership. Thou knowest that entertaining dignitaries and peers is an integral part of a public career. A bachelor can’t accomplish that on his own.”
“Are you saying it’s to be a marriage of convenience?”
“I can’t say exactly, child, since I’ve never met Apryl. Any girl in her right mind would fall for a handsome man such as my Jonny, right?” Her eyes gleamed.
Eliza smiled, feeling flushed. “Ruth, for living in Maybrook, you sure know a lot about the outside world.”
Ruth placed the knitting needles into her lap and sighed. “When thou reaches my age, thou wilt realize that every society is governed by the same ideologies.”
“And what are those?” Eliza asked.
“Money and religious persuasion.”
Chapter Sixteen
Jon awoke well before sunrise. His eyelids felt heavy; the previous night he’d spent most of the time trying to fall asleep. Exasperated, he rose and donned a heavy robe and slippers. Padding down the stairs, he stoked the fire in the library until it was a roaring blaze, hoping the flames would push the gloom away from his mind.
The evening newspaper was still on the desk, and he picked it up, but nothing held his interest. Why was he so restless? Apryl had been more than contrite about the business with Thomas. His father’s estate should be settled in a few weeks, and then wedding plans could begin. Thomas had left in a hurry last night, but not as an enemy. He’d sent the telegram to the constable in Maybrook, warning him about Maeve O’Brien’s murderer.
Everything was in order, and there should be nothing to worry about.
But something kept gnawing at him—nothing was under his control. He didn’t know what had really transpired between Apryl and Thomas. She had sobbed when he accused her of kissing Thomas. The business with his father’s estate could drag on for months. Thomas Beesley definitely had something planned against the Robinsons, and it couldn’t be favorable. Maeve O’Brien’s murderer was still at-large.
And Eliza was still in Maybrook.
There. He admitted that he was worried about the girl. Fool. Losing sleep over someone who had nothing to do with him was ridiculous. She had a family and an inheritance and a beautiful face…
“That’s enough,” he said aloud.
“Sorry,” Sarah murmured.
Jon looked up and saw the maid leaving the room. “Wait, I didn’t see you there.”
Sarah turned around and faced him. “Would you like breakfast in the library this morning, sir?”
“Yes, that would be fine. I woke early and lit the fire myself. I apologize if I startled you,” Jon said.
Sarah bobbed her head and left the room.
After breakfast was brought in and Jon had eaten his fill, he made a new resolve. He pulled out a sheet of paper, ink and a dip pen and began to write.
Dear Miss Robinson,
Thank you for your speedy reply. As you may know already, the transient who was thought to be your aunt’s murderer has been proved innocent of that crime. I’m sorry that you continue to experience disappointments. But I assume you are returning to New York soon with your mother for safety purposes.
I look forward to having my mother’s journal in my possession. It will be helpful to learn about her. If you would prefer me to fetch the journal from your place of residence, I’m happy to oblige.
Regards,