Charlock's Secret

by Leah Moyes

  “Yes . . .” He limped closer. “Now, I know for sure.” His mouth lifted high on one side at my expected sarcasm.

  Embarrassed, I knew I was quite the sight. A stained dress, frayed shoes, and my hair pulled back in a tight braid. At least my face was clean as he leaned in closer.

  “I have been searching all over for you.”

  “Me?” Genuinely shocked, I questioned, “why?” My eyes shifted away from his lips as he spoke.

  “Why?” Surprise blanketed his face.

  “Mr. Gilford . . .” I placed my hands defensively on my hips. “Look at your leg. I’m the very reason you’re hurt. I scared the horse, remember?” My lips quivered. “I was told to leave and never come back.”

  His eyes softened, “Kathar—”

  I cut him off, “I was worried about you. I’m glad you’re getting better. You look well . . . fetching actually,” I didn’t hide my usual flattery, “but the whole affair nearly destroyed me.”

  “Merritt, remember . . . please call me Merritt.” Then a sly smile formed on his face. “You fretted over me?” I steamed and crossed my arms in an unforgiving manner. His voice wandered, “I don't recall the mishap. I woke up days later to learn I had almost died, and you departed.”

  “Departed?” I gasped. Merritt cringed beneath my shriek. “They told you I left?”

  “Yes,” he muttered. His forehead wrinkled in obvious distress.

  “On my own accord?”

  He nodded.

  “What did they say?”

  “It doesn't matter.” He shifted weight; his leg probably ached from standing.

  “It matters to me, Merritt.”

  He sighed and whispered, “it had been suggested that you attempted to cause me harm and disappeared when you didn't succeed.”

  My face tightened. “Suggested by whom?”

  “Someone.”

  “Uh, huh.” I knew exactly who suggested it.

  “I didn't consider it for a second, Katharine!”

  My temper flared, but I held my tongue. He spoke louder than usual. “Abby witnessed the entire occurrence. She said you saved my life—that I wasn't breathing until you—you gave me breath.” He appeared astonished by the idea of it.

  I watched as he pressed one palm flat against his chest. “Thank you, Katharine. I am deeply gratified by your sincere concern and subsequent success.” Merritt seemed to recognize the significance of what happened. “I know I am standing here only because of you.”

  The very words I yearned to hear that night echoed in my ears and gently washed the anger aside. I was prepared to defend myself, but he disarmed me by doing it for me.

  “We miss you,” he affirmed.

  A lump lodged in my throat as I attempted to respond. “Oh Merritt,” I cried, “you have no idea how much I miss y—” My words cut short when his form suddenly went rigid and straight. His complexion drained as he shuffled a few steps backward. He nearly fell over. A sound stirred behind me. I circled around to find Joanne and Grace standing there.

  “Oh . . .” I exhaled, slightly embarrassed. I didn’t want them to see me with him. It would be a story I didn’t want to share. With begrudging acceptance, I pointed, his direction, and introduced them, “Joanne, Grace, this is—”

  “Merritt,” Joanne mumbled. She lowered her head, but not before I saw her azure eyes betray her emotions.

  I balked at her unusual reaction. Merritt? How did she know? And that was particularly informal for a first introduction. Why is she acting so odd?

  “Grace.” Merritt tipped his hat gingerly in her direction.

  I could hear her heart thump from where I stood. She giggled, “wotcha, smarty.”

  My eyes rolled, then narrowed as Merritt turned his attention to Joanne.

  “Johnna.” He offered a shallow bow, but his stare absorbed her and never left her face for a second.

  “No,” I disputed, “Her name is Jo—” My head did a double-take. “Wait! What?” My shout rivaled the size of my eyes. It took me a minute, but everything finally clicked. “Johnna?” I cried to both at the same time, considering our previous argument was about a Johnna who supposedly didn't even exist! “Johnna?” I repeated, as my hands flew dramatically in the air. I stared at Merritt fiercely and tried to get him to look back, but he kept his head low. Joanne gazed uncomfortably down at the dirt herself. Grace watched in stunned silence for possibly the first time in her life.

  “Wow.” I mouthed. I knew I’d made a scene, but it kind of deserved one.

  “Katharine . . . I mean, Miss Shelton.” Merritt wiped the sweat from his brow. “I must be on my way. I felt inclined to inform you the family would be pleased upon your return. The girls suffer in your absence.”

  The three of us women seemed to feel the shock wave simultaneously. Our expressions, I'm sure, were identical—open mouth, wide eyes.

  “Return?” I probed.

  “Yes. It was only recently that I’d been apprised of your whereabouts. My valet has been searching for nearly a fortnight. My intentions were to bring you back to Charlock.”

  My hand went to my forehead. A pounding ache began. “I’m positive your father does not want me back.”

  Merritt shifted awkwardly once again. His knee was probably in immense pain. “He is regretful of his actions after Abby came forth. He is a proud man. Please do not hold this against him.”

  I wanted to tell Merritt about the horrible journey that resulted from his father’s pride. I wanted to share the condition in which Joanne found me in, but I pulled my lips tight. Stubbornly, I turned my back on him. “I have a new employer now.”

  “Please reconsider,” Merritt pleaded. “The girls detest the new governess, she makes them toil nonstop, and Abby . . .” Merritt paused.

  “Abby what?” I wheeled back to face him.

  “Abby insists she smells like spoiled eggs.” He chuckled.

  I chortled at that image; they most likely made it just as awful for her as well. With his full attention, I tilted my head provokingly.

  “Is Godzilla still around?”

  “God-zill-a?” He questioned naively as he enunciated each letter. I knew he had no clue who that was.

  “Margaret.” I howled impatiently. “Are you and Margaret married?”

  His cheeks turned a slow red while he mumbled. “No, we are not.” It was obvious this was not a discussion he wanted to have here.

  “Are you still engaged?”

  “Yes,” he muttered.

  Silence.

  “Why didn’t you tell me she was an Abbott?”

  Merritt flashed me another uncomfortable glance. “I’m sorry.”

  “Well, Merritt,” my voice softened with sympathy, and I smiled affectionately at the Merritt I missed. “I appreciate your effort in finding me and inviting me back,” I spoke truthfully, “I miss the girls very much.” Merritt smiled back as I reached for his hand. “I’m glad you now know the truth about me, and you have recovered nicely, but . . . ”

  I just rained on his parade.

  My expression turned deadly serious. “I’d kill the maggot, I mean . . . Margaret, if I came back,” I spoke so matter of fact, that Merritt’s reaction generated alarm.

  “Truly?” Merritt cried. Having been away from my abruptness, he might have forgotten my feelings for her. He repeated himself. “Truly? You would literally eradicate her?” His eyes were twice their normal size and bolted Grace’s direction as she tried to muffle her laugh.

  “Yes.” My tone remained bold and unwavering. I immediately grabbed Joanne and Grace’s hands to walk away.

  He quickly recomposed himself. “May I please, at the very least, offer you my carriage home?”

  I twisted back and smiled. “Absolutely.” I spoke for the three of us, though Joanne's grip tightened next to me. Her flawless complexion strained.

  She remained silent the brief journey home, shorter now that we didn’t have to walk, but Grace said enough for the three of us while I d
irected the driver to the Attwood home. As we exited the carriage, Merritt helped each of us out individually and down the step. Joanne was unintentionally last, and his hand lingered tenderly on hers longer than anyone else. It was apparent to me there was something very real buried between the two.

  “Merritt?” I quizzed as he got ready to leave. “Please come visit us, now that you know where I live, and this whole stupid misunderstanding is behind us?”

  He briefly glanced at Joanne before he shifted to me, “Forgive me, I cannot.” He motioned to get into the carriage but turned and tipped his hat first. “Please understand, I would love to, but . . . I cannot. I will, however, with your permission, disclose your whereabouts to the girls; they would be delighted to see you.”

  “I understand,” I lied. Apparently, there was much I didn’t understand. “Tell the girls hello from me. Goodbye, Merritt.” My voice dripped with sadness.

  “Good day, Miss Katharine.” And he was gone.

  By the time I waved one last time, Joanne had long disappeared. I searched the house but couldn't find her anywhere. Her bedroom door was closed, and because she showed me a great deal of courtesy as she distracted Grace today when she pushed about the ring, I extended that same sympathy tonight and didn't knock. But only tonight, I vowed, because I needed answers.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  In the next couple of days, I didn't have an opportunity to sequester and interrogate Joanne. She always stayed busy. She must’ve known I wanted to talk and carefully avoided me like the plague. Finally, I caught her making a run to her room one night, and I deliberately stuck my foot in her door to stop it from closing. This startled her.

  “Joanne,” I cried. “I need to talk to you.”

  She motioned for me to come inside. “I have nothing to disclose.” She stated abruptly.

  “Oh, really?” I teased to get her to relax. “I believe you have secrets?”

  “Perhaps we both have secrets?” She hurled back without missing a beat.

  I nodded in agreement and moved to sit in a nearby chair while she sat on her bed.

  Eventually, she sighed, then spoke. “You weren’t employed as a maid at Charlock, were you?”

  “What gave it away?” I joked. “My poor bed-making skills or the way I dump the bedpan?” I almost got her to laugh. “No, not exactly Joanne, I'm sorry I lied to you, I was the girls’ governess.”

  It was so quiet we could hear the horses whinny in the stables.

  “What transpired at Charlock that led you here?”

  “Well, you led me here, Joanne. If it weren’t for you, I’d be dead.” I know this wasn’t what she referred to, so I continued. “An incident happened that placed Merritt’s life in danger.”

  “Do you fancy him?” She whispered. Her hands clasped in a knot as if she braced for terrible news.

  “Merritt?” I knew who she was referring to, but I wanted to see her expression. She nodded with obvious apprehension.

  “I really do.” My smile broadened as wide as her eyes. “What's not to love? He's handsome, charming, polite, debonair, and rich. I bet he's an excellent kisser too.” I lingered on the lip thing again. “But he does not love me.” I sighed dramatically.

  She lowered her head, and a faint grin emerged as I carried on, “He's obviously in love with someone else.”

  “Margaret Abbott,” she muttered quickly.

  “Oh, hell, no!” I wailed loudly. Poor Joanne flinched. “Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you.” I softened. “The mere mention of her name causes turrets. No. It's definitely someone else.” Of course, I had my suspicions early in our conversation, but the look on her face confirmed it.

  “How exactly did Joanne turn into Johnna anyway, and how do you know the mysterious Merritt?”

  “We grew up together.” The light in her face rekindled. “My home was Wadsworth Hall, down the road from Charlock. We played together all the time, him, my brother Charles and I. I received the nickname Johnna because when Lizzy was small, she couldn't say Joanne clearly, it came out Johnna. So, the Gilfords started calling me Johnna. They are the only ones that have ever called me that besides Charles.”

  “Where's Charles?”

  “He's gone.”

  “Where?” It was like pulling teeth.

  “Boston.”

  “Boston, United States, Boston?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “When our parents were killed in a barouche accident, I was only 16, and Charles was 13, too young to manage an estate and its affairs. My Father's only living male relative, a cousin, came from America. He attended to my father’s accounts, sold Wadsworth Hall, and returned promptly.”

  “Why didn’t you go with Charles?”

  Tears bubbled on her lower lashes.

  I can be thick sometimes, but it all came together. “You and Merritt were going to be married.”

  She nodded. “We were only children. Foolish dreams.”

  “No, not foolish at all.” I recalled the initials M + J, etched in the tree trunk back at Charlock. Merritt and Johnna were in love. “What stopped it?”

  “I was no longer a woman of circumstance. I claimed no dowry, no money, nothing. Because I elected to not leave England, my father's cousin only left me enough money to survive for a short time. He assumed I would be wed or employed. As you can see, the first option never materialized.”

  “That doesn't make sense to me.”

  “Katharine, even you should recognize that a gentleman of Merritt's caliber cannot marry a woman of my position.”

  “I'm sure Merritt doesn’t care, he has enough for the both of you!”

  “Merritt is bound by his responsibilities.”

  “Screw responsibilities!” I snapped. Joanne jumped again at my explosion. “It's not fair that your worth is defined by your status. Where I come from, there are still some struggles through ignorant classification. I think it’s human nature to view people in categories, but what has emerged is a movement for women to be esteemed for who they are and not what they are or what they have.” Joanne seemed fascinated with that idea as I continued, “Women are no longer bound by such things as arranged marriages. You have the right to marry whoever you choose whenever or wherever you want. Even if you’re poor.”

  “That sounds delightful.” Her eyes clouded over. “I would very much like to call on your home someday, Katharine.” She eyed me warily. “What could possibly ever persuade you to leave such a place?”

  If only you knew. I took a deep breath. “I came to England to hide.”

  “Why?”

  I put one arm around her and squeezed lightly. “I lost someone close to me, and like you, have tried to suppress any memory of that person, thinking maybe I could outrun it. It doesn't work.” My throat strained. I fought to control my emotion. “Eventually . . . ” Joanne followed my words closely, “you have to face it, or it will consume your every waking, breathing moments.”

  It never occurred to me until now that Joanne was experiencing her own agonizing grief over the loss of a loved one. Merritt hadn't died physically, but he was no longer within her reach. I wasn't sure which was worse.

  I hugged her tightly, and we both cried.

  Chapter Thirty

  It had been almost two weeks since the run-in with Merritt, and with no other contact from him or his sisters, I figured my chapter with the Gilfords had ended. Sadly enough, not only for me but also for someone I grew very fond of, Joanne.

  It didn't seem right for their paths to be opposite now after being so intertwined most of their lives. Sure, it was adolescent love, but sometimes that is the purest love out there. Joanne deserved her own happiness. She was the kindest, sweetest person I’d ever met in 2010 or 1878.

  Troubled over the whole thing, I contemplated a way to use my relationship with both Merritt and Joanne to bring them back together. I was not a matchmaker, but there was no doubt in my mind that they belonged together.

  Every nigh
t my mind spun, calculating the impossible, but the more I thought about futures, the more I wondered about my own.

  Halfway through the month of November marked a full six months for me in this bizarre alternate universe. As I reflected on this, for the thousandth time, I surprised myself. Though there were distinct parts of this jaunt into the past, I’d erase if I could, the enjoyable times outweighed them. But the real questions never changed. How long will I be stuck in a place I really didn't belong, and why?

  If only there was a clue to find my way back to the future, and if I did somehow find my way back, what if I no longer fit? What if the world had changed in my absence? What if I’d altered history, even my own? And the most difficult question of all—was there anything worth going back for?

  I never really considered the possibility of time travel beyond the movie “Back to the Future”, which I loved. Michael J Fox, being my thirteen-year-old obsession, but it was fictional—a story created for entertainment. At least that’s what I believed.

  I was certain my dream theory no longer carried weight, but there had to be a logical reason for this. I’ve had some vivid dreams before, some that took on lives of their own. Even my nightmares crossed the line, but could all this be possible because I slumbered deeper? Maybe I hit my head harder than I thought, and I’m living this pretend life in a coma.

  “Katharine?”

  I turned my head. “Yes?”

  “I’ve been calling your name for quite some time. Are you well?” Joanne stood at the entry of the study.

  “Yes, just cheery-o,” I mimicked a growing accent, though, I dusted the same bronze statue for a good ten minutes.

  “This post arrived for you.”

  “Me?” I stepped over to her and retrieved the paper. Unfolding it, I peered back in her direction.

  “Why me? I never get letters.”

  “I’m not sure,” she mumbled, “the deliverer didn’t say much.” Although, in our silence, we both most likely knew who this came from. She stepped out of the room.

  Dear Katharine,

  We cordially invite you to dine with us on Friday, 15 November. Reception time at 5 o'clock in the afternoon. We will send the barouche for your convenience. Messenger will remain for your response.