Potomac 02 - Beside Two Rivers

by RITA GERLACH

  “Mr. Raverty?” Ethan look surprised. “What brings you out here, sir?”

  “I’ve been sent from Fairview, Mr. Brennan,” the breathless rider said. He glanced at Darcy and then gave Ethan a knowing look. “It’s urgent you return home without delay. I do not know the reasons, sir.”

  With haste, Ethan read the note and then shoved it into his pocket. His expression grave, he turned to Darcy. “I must go at once.”

  “What could be wrong?” Worry swam in the eyes she met.

  “I cannot say, but I must hurry.” He sprinted to his horse and leaped into the saddle. Then with a swift kick of his heels, he raced off on Sanchet.

  Part 3

  For nothing is secret that shall not be made manifest; neither any

  thing hid, that shall not be known and come abroad.

  —Luke 8:17 KJV

  21

  Before Ethan received the urgent message that called him back to Fairview, Eliza sat in her sitting room under the window sketching. She traced from her memory a child’s face, then another’s, and thought of her two daughters she so loved. Darcy was as close as she would ever be—at Havendale. Ilene, her babe, rested in the arms of God.

  A long sigh slipped from her lips and she hung her head within her hands. “Show me, Lord, what I should do. My heart aches to see my child, and you know how I still grieve over Ilene. And Lord, I miss my husband. Wherever he is, please speak into his heart to forgive me.”

  It was a prayer she had said daily all these years. Waiting for an answer, she lifted her eyes to the scene outside. A carriage lumbered toward the house, halted, and a man dressed in black stepped out. She pressed her brows. Who could he be?

  A moment later, Fiona stepped inside the room, her lips pursed, her movements agitated. “A man named Hollen is here, my girl. Should I let him in? I do not like the looks of him.” Fiona adjusted her mobcap and waited for Eliza’s reply.

  Rare to receive a visitor at Fairview. Eliza closed her sketchbook and stood. “What does he want?”

  Fiona shrugged. “I do not know. But he says he has business to discuss. He was here once before and spoke to Mr. Ethan.”

  “Ethan is not here. Send him away.”

  “I told him Mr. Ethan was not at home, but he insists he will stay until he returns.”

  “I suppose I will see him.” She tidied the crimson throw pillows on the settee, and then smoothed the locks of her hair. Long ago it had been black as midnight, but the years had added silver.

  She remained seated when Hollen entered the room, with her hands set on her lap. He paused just inside the door and bowed low to her. He stepped forward, but she stayed him with her hand and then gestured to the chair across from her. Hollen stopped short, stood motionless for a moment, then swayed over to the seat and sat down.

  Eliza’s hands were clasped, her posture as perfect as a well-bred lady’s. “Mr. Brennan is not at home. Is your visit important?”

  “It is, madam. Perhaps it is better that I speak to you any-way—privately.” He glanced over at Fiona, then back at Eliza. “You see, my visit concerns you.”

  Curious, Eliza fixed her eyes on the man. “In what way does it concern me, Mr. Hollen? I do not believe we have ever met.”

  Hollen settled back and drew in a long breath. “We have not, but I have had you described to me.” He lifted his finger and made a circular motion with it, directing it to her hair. “I was told you once had raven hair and violet eyes, and that you were very beautiful. May I be so bold as to say you are still to this day?”

  Eliza saw the snake lurking behind the warm eyes that stared back at her. “Such comments are reserved for my husband,” she said.

  “But he is dead. Or should I say separated from you?”

  Eliza turned her head aside. She looked over at Fiona, with an expression she knew Fiona would understand. “Fiona, I believe the kettle is whistling. Could you …”

  Fiona nodded and stepped out. Eliza saw her shadow pause outside the door that she left ajar. Good. She will listen to every word.

  Hollen went on speaking of things that meant little. Commenting on the room, its arrangement, the furnishings, and then her sketchbook, which he reached over and grasped. He flipped through the pages and praised her drawings. “Ah, this is especially good. Who are these girls? Yours perhaps?”

  Shocked by his question, she did not answer. Affronted that he, a total stranger, would look at her drawings without asking, she reached her hand out to him to give it back. When he did so, she set it on her lap, as if to safeguard the memories behind the pictures.

  “Why have you come to Fairview, Mr. Hollen?” She would be firm with him. No longer could she abide his flattery—his prying questions and uncomfortable stare.

  “I have spoken to young Mr. Brennan, and had hoped to find him at home. But, like I said, it is better that I speak to you, madam. You see,” and he leaned forward, a wicked light in his eyes, “I have come to collect payment from him for a number of private letters a client of mine has in his possession—letters written by you, madam, to Hayward Morgan while you lived at Fairview with the late Mr. Brennan.”

  A cold chill rushed through Eliza. Every muscle in her body stiffened. Her hands tightened around the edge of her sketchbook. “They are forgeries.”

  “Authentic as the day is long, madam.”

  “That cannot be. I wrote to my husband in America. How could anyone in England possibly come by them?” Could Darcy have carried them here? Had Hayward kept them and given them to her? It is not possible.

  “I am here to collect payment for them,” said Hollen.

  “How much?”

  “Six hundred pounds. Five for my client—the rest for my troubles.”

  She gasped. “We do not have that kind of money. We are poor.”

  Hollen huffed. “Fairview is a large house. You can come by that amount easily. But do not fear. Perhaps Mr. Brennan has already acquired the money and when he arrives home, he shall give it to me.”

  She glanced toward the door, saw Fiona’s shadow move. “You will excuse me a moment.” Avoiding his stare, Eliza went to the door and stepped out. Fiona drew close as she whispered, “Send Mr. Raverty for Ethan. Tell him I am in trouble and need him. He has taken the road leading to Havendale.”

  Wide-eyed, Fiona touched Eliza’s hand. “I fear to leave you alone with that man for a moment, my girl.”

  “I will be all right. Do not worry.”

  Eliza turned Fiona toward the front door and the faithful servant hurried away.

  When she turned back inside the room, and sat across from Hollen, he looked over at her without an ounce of sympathy. He rose and went to the mirror on the wall. Then he adjusted his neckcloth.

  “I’m glad you sent your servant out of the room. But she eavesdropped by the door and should be punished for it.” He turned back to her with a proud lift of his head. “Now back to our business.”

  “How do I know you are not lying to me, Mr. Hollen?” said Eliza. “Your claim is farfetched.”

  “I have proof.” He drew from his coat an uneven stack of yellowed pages, worn at the edges and tied together with coarse brown twine. He flung out his hand and showed her one. She glanced at it and saw the fine handwriting that was her own. With her heart swelling in her breast, she took it in her hand, paused a moment, then unfolded the page. It took her back many years, and she remembered the day she wrote this particular missive. Her eyes drifted down the page.

  Forgive me, Hayward, as I have forgiven you. Please allow me to come home. We can begin again with God’s help. I know what you did was done in haste and anger. You were hurt and acted on your pain. Do not keep Darcy from me. No matter what I have done, it is wrong to keep her from her mother.

  Crushed that Hayward never replied, she refolded the page and fought the burn of tears coming up in her eyes. An old wound had been begun to weep, and she swallowed the hard lump in her throat. There had been no resolution, and she was forced to go th
ese many years without Darcy, forced to hold onto the memory of her face, and the agony of constantly thinking of her, wondering how she fared.

  “How did your client come by these?”

  “That I do not know.”

  Bewildered, Eliza gripped the letter until her hand shook. “Is your client Hayward?” Dear God, let it not be so. Could he add any more salt to this wound I carry?

  “Rest assured he is not. Still, I am not at liberty to reveal his name.” Hollen spoke with an air of amusement, but looked as serious as the mission he undertook.

  “Whoever he is, he has no right to them. They are my letters. What kind of evil person is your client? And you, for that matter?” Inflamed, Eliza stepped up to Hollen and ripped the letters out of his greasy hand. Then, before he could stop her, she tossed them into the hearth fire. They curled, blackened at the retreating edges.

  Hollen’s brows shot up and his mouth fell open. “That was pointless, Mrs. Morgan,” he shouted. “My client shall be furious.”

  Eliza put her hands to her breast and glanced at Hollen. “I do not care how he feels.”

  “You should. He has you in his power to do with you as he pleases.”

  “The letters are destroyed. He can do nothing to me,” she said, trembling.

  Hollen muttered under his breath a few harsh words and shook his head. “My client is not an idiot, madam.”

  “His plan to harm me and extort money from Ethan is over. Now, leave this house at once.”

  “You think him such a fool as to give me all the letters?”

  Shocked, she drew in a breath. “What?”

  “There are others in his possession, which he is sure to make known if you do not pay.”

  “If he is so vile to carry out his threat, he will reap God’s judgment for it in the end. I am a woman living in my grief. Has he no sympathy for my despair?”

  “The remaining letters shall be given to your daughter, who resides at Havendale for a short while, I am told. It is my understanding you do not wish to make contact with her due to the nature of your sinful life. She would be tainted, no doubt. Since you are refusing my client’s offer, she will soon know you are alive, that her father cast you out, and that you have rejected her, knowing she is near. In turn, whatever tender feelings she has had for a mother she thought long in the grave will die. Once she knows the truth, you will be truly and utterly dead to her.”

  Eliza brushed her hands along the fabric of her gown. Her eyes smarted with tears, and she could find no words to contest Hollen’s prediction. The painful cadence that beat in her breast caused her to tremble. From around her throat she freed the tiny gold clasp and handed him her pendant. “This should meet the amount he demands.”

  She dropped her treasure into Hollen’s palm. He glanced down at it, shook his head and handed it back. “What can my client do with this? It would be too inconvenient to find a buyer. You must do that, then give me the money.”

  She lowered herself to the settee and stared at the fire in a daze, where the flames consumed the letters. She felt lightheaded, put her hands to her temples, and pressed into them. She could hear Hollen speaking, as if he were in a tunnel far from her.

  “I will wait until Mr. Brennan arrives home,” she heard him say. “I have nothing else to do today. Perhaps you should go lie down, madam. You look pale.”

  Ethan had given Eliza his word that he would not reveal her to Darcy. At one time, while in America, he saw the reasons for it. She used words such as shame, disgrace. Eliza believed the childhood memories of a good mother would be shattered and replaced by hate. But now her reasons were no longer valid in Ethan’s eyes, and surely not in God’s. It would be wrong to keep the truth from Darcy, and he had been prepared to tell her all, until called home on a most urgent matter.

  With the emergence of the letters, which Ethan had yet to see, the chance stood firm that Darcy would know the truth sooner or later. Someone possessed the content, and whether he paid for the letters, a threat would exist. What would she then think of him if he concealed the fact her mother resided but a few miles from Havendale?

  By the time he reached Fairview, curtains of misty rain swept across the land. Smoke rose from one of the chimneys and vanished before it reached the swift leaden clouds. Outside on the gravel drive stood a rickety carriage drawn by a pair of chestnut nags. They shook their manes and blew vapor from their flaring nostrils. The driver, his coat collar turned up to shield his neck from the drizzle, touched the tip of his tricorn hat to Ethan.

  Fiona stood inside the front door wringing her hands. Her brows were drawn down with concern for Eliza. Ethan knew she regretted that she had allowed such a person as Hollen to enter the house in his absence.

  “Oh, Mr. Raverty must have raced that old horse of his. You are here so quickly, Mr. Ethan. Good thing you hired him to clean out the stables this season, otherwise I don’t know who I would have sent.”

  “Be sure to give him a double helping tonight.” Ethan drew off his hat.

  “I will, sir. My girl is in the sitting room with that man,” she said, as she followed him inside.

  Ethan drew off his coat. “How long has he been here?”

  “Too long. I should have told him to go away.”

  “It is not your fault, Fiona. I am glad you let him in. Now I can deal with him once and for all.”

  After he patted her hand to comfort her, he headed toward the room where sunrise after sunrise had poured through the windows, painting the walls golden. But on this day, a grim loneliness had entered, and he was determined to slay it.

  Ethan’s boots stomped over the floor as he pushed open the double doors and walked inside. The curtains were drawn from the windows, and the meager light outside crept in and fell onto Eliza’s face. She raised her eyes to meet his. Tears were in them as if all the sorrow of her past had risen up from a silent grave. A festering wound that had long scarred over had been broken open to bleed.

  Near her stood Hollen. A smug look on his ignoble face indicated he had had plenty of time to badger poor Eliza into believing her worst days were to come. He had come dressed in the same suit of clothes as before, with his hair flat against his skull. His eyes flickered with false sincerity, while his fleshy, ruddy lips drew tight over yellowed teeth. More repulsive than a snake slithering through tall grass, he rubbed his hands together as if they were cold to the bone.

  “Ah, home at last, Mr. Brennan.”

  “I wasn’t expecting you, Hollen—not today. Why are you here?”

  “I came to conclude our business,” he said, with that scheming grimace that was his smile.

  “I should throw you out.”

  With a tilt forward, Hollen inclined his head. “No need, Mr. Brennan. I was on my way.” A triumphant grin passed over Hollen’s lips, and he picked up his hat to leave.

  Surprised, Ethan glanced at Eliza. “I know everything, Ethan. You need not worry any longer,” she said.

  “You do not have the money,” he said.

  “My amethyst necklace can take care of that. You must sell it at once.”

  “It was a gift from Father.”

  “Yes, and he would have approved that I use it to remove this burden from us. You understand, do you not?”

  Ethan shifted his stare over to the blackmailer. His temper pushed to the brink, he strode over to Hollen and shoved him through the door. “Out, you weasel! Go back to your gutless client.”

  Hollen turned back to Eliza, bowed, and tipped his hat. “Good day, madam.” Then he passed through the door with his shoulders squared, but at a quicker pace. Concerned for Eliza, Ethan called Fiona into the room.

  “Strong tea, Fiona, if you please. Eliza is unwell.”

  She grasped his hand. “Sell my necklace, Ethan. It is to safeguard Darcy. I do not care what they do to me.”

  “I have just come from her. I was about to tell her everything when I received your message.” He sat down beside her.

  “Darcy …”
She looked up at Ethan with a searching gaze. “Is she all right?”

  “She grieves for you and her father. I found her at the ruins.”

  Eliza sighed. “Ah, it must have saddened her.”

  “She is searching for answers, Eliza. Did you not teach me that the truth sets us free?”

  She touched his cheek with her fingertips, smiled, and dropped her hand in her lap. “I have been so wrong—and you so right. During my morning devotions I read this verse in the book of Lamentations. It has stayed with me all morning, and now I know why. “I am in torment within, and in my heart I am disturbed.” God help me, Ethan. I must make things right with Darcy.”

  Ethan kissed her cheek. “Tomorrow morning I will ride to Havendale and bring her back with me. Prepare yourself to meet with her. She is to be my wife.”

  22

  After Darcy watched Ethan ride off, she made her way back to Havendale at a slow pace under a turbulent sky. Her heart overflowed with emotion and her thoughts brimmed with joy. Ethan loved her, adored and cherished her. His heart had been as broken as hers, and now healed, they could love again. So filled with elation, she could have fallen on her knees there in the grass and praised God that the truth behind their misfortune had come to light.

  After she settled the mare, she passed inside the house unseen. Quiet prevailed in every room. The only sound within came from the clocks ticking on the mantelpieces. Upstairs she passed her grandmother’s room and peeked inside the door. Just as she had left her, Madeline sat in her chair asleep. Not wishing to disturb her, Darcy went on to her room.

  She penned a letter to Martha about the events of the day and imagined the excitement her cousin would feel while reading her letter. Darcy pictured her seated alongside the rest of the family in the cozy sitting room reading it out loud. They’d all pay rapt attention. Darcy smiled and set the quill down, sealed the letter, and set it beside another to her Aunt Mari and Uncle Will.