by Martha Keyes
Burke looked down, not meeting Samuel’s eyes. “Nothing good. It will depend upon the Gilmours, though you know how seriously the justices treat followers of General Ludd.”
Samuel stopped, tossing his hands up in frustration. “He’s not a follower of Ludd! He’s a man desperate to feed his family, for heaven’s sake!” The anger was building inside him, and he could feel his hands beginning to shake, jostling the liquid in his glass. He tossed it off, throat burning and eyes watering, then slammed the empty glass down on the nearby table.
“I know, Sam,” Burke said. “John is my friend too.”
Samuel glanced at Burke and let out a gush of frustration. “You’re right, of course. I’m sorry, Burke. I just can’t bear to see John meet the same fate as those bands of ruffians.”
“Nor I. But the justices won’t care about that. They only care about making an example of anyone inciting violence or rebellion. You know that as well as I do.”
Samuel ran a hand through his hair, pacing again.
“I must get home now,” Burke said. “Molly is sick, and I promised to put the children to bed.”
Samuel sighed and nodded. “Yes, of course. Go.” He put a hand on Burke’s shoulder. “Thank you for coming to tell me.”
Burke shook his head. “Never did I think to bear such news, Sam. I always thought you were foolish to regard people like the Gilmours and the Paiges with such caution. But you were right. In the end, it all comes down to money for them.” He drained his glass, set his wide-brimmed hat atop his head, then turned and left.
Samuel tossed and turned for the better part of the night, his mind taken up with so many contradictory thoughts, he thought he might be going mad.
He had considered going to John after Burke left—telling him to take his family and run. But he only considered the idea for the merest second. The Reeds had no money to sustain the life of fugitives. And with Mary increasing, such a course would be even more dangerous than usual. Besides, Samuel’s conscience balked at the idea of engaging in such subterfuge.
As much anger as he felt toward the Gilmours and Archie Paige, he found that most of it was directed inward. He could have prevented all of this.
He had let Georgiana into the village, had vouched for her to the villagers and promised them they could trust her, had befriended her brother.
He had let her into his heart.
He had been a thoughtless, selfish fool, in fact. It had been his weakness for her, his blindness that had led to all of this. Why could he never learn to steel his heart to these newcomers?
Never would he have trusted the word of the Gilmours or agreed to play cards with Archibald Paige if he had not first allowed himself to trust Georgiana.
He had known it was foolishness when he had first met her, but he had ignored his instinct instead, and it had all led here: to a man’s likely death.
Chapter 18
Georgiana’s visit to Amblethorne Park had been a waste. Lady Gilmour and Sir Clyde were not at home and were not expected to be until far into the evening. She fretted all day long, unable to find distraction in any of her usual activities.
Archie was not at Granchurch, and it was from Aunt Sara that Georgiana discovered his intention of riding into the nearest village to see whether any entertainment was to be had there. When he returned after dinner, his high spirits provided a great contrast to Georgiana’s.
“I take it you found Pickton to your liking?” she asked.
“Well, no,” he said, “not really. It is only slightly less sleepy than Rushbury, as it turns out.”
“Then what are you grinning about?”
It felt strange to see his wide smile when things were at such a crossroads in the village. But Archie was blissfully unaware of what was happening, and she could hardly explain it in a way that would make him understand. He had not come to love the village and its people as she had. The goings-on were a matter of indifference to him, naturally.
“Just the very unexpectedly productive and fortunate morning I have passed,” he said, rubbing his hands together in a satisfied gesture. “I shall now be able to pay one of my most pressing debts and may not have any need to remain here quite so long, after all. Particularly if I can turn what money I now have into more money, which I fully intend to.”
Gambling. She might have known that it would be success in such an arena which had brought up his spirits so.
He turned to leave the room, and she almost let him leave without saying anything. It almost seemed foolish to bring his attention to the situation. But she had promised Samuel.
“Archie,” she said. “I had been hoping to speak with you about something.”
He turned back toward her and raised his brows, waiting for her to continue.
“There has been an incident in the village—a terrible decision made by one of them—and while I know that you aren’t involved in things here as I am, I merely wished to ask that you refrain from concerning yourself with it in any way. It is a very delicate situation.”
He stared at her wordlessly, as if seeing through her, and then opened and shut his mouth. He cleared his throat and nodded. “Anything else?”
She shook her head, and he shot her something between a grimace and a weak smile before leaving her to herself.
The wind howled as Georgiana lay in her bed later that evening, trying in vain to fall asleep. The windows creaked with each gust, and the fire in the grate was nearly extinguished a number of times, so drafty was the side of the house where her room sat. The eerie groaning and whining of the wind made her skin prickle. Whatever little buds had managed to burst from their enclosures on Rushbury’s trees and flowers, their strength was certainly being put to the test.
She didn’t know when she finally fell asleep, only that it felt as though she tossed and turned for hours, with flashes of dreams coming and going until she lost consciousness. When she awoke in the morning, the wind had stopped entirely, and she could hear a bird chirping its morning call outside her window. The thought of trying to pass the hours until she could make a call to the Gilmours without seeming rude chafed her.
She rang for Patience. A walk into the village might calm her nerves, and perhaps the Reeds would be glad for a loaf of fresh bread from Mrs. Green.
She rang the bell again, and it was a few minutes before rushed footsteps sounded in the corridor outside Georgiana’s door. Rather than Patience appearing, it was the chambermaid. “I am very sorry, miss, but Patience hasn’t been seen today. Would you like me to help you dress or bring you a tray?”
Georgiana frowned. Patience had been very prompt in her short service, and it was unlike her to be missing at this hour, particularly since Georgiana had slept later than usual.
“Just some tea, thank you,” she said. She would dress herself.
The morning was bright, and Georgiana felt her nerves settle a bit as she stepped along the track down to the village, holding her empty basket and gazing at the way the morning sunlight shone through the passing clouds intermittently. Mornings always provided so much more hope than dark nights, and Georgiana felt a sense of calm about the future as she stepped into the village. They would find a way to help John and the Reeds. Something would occur to her. And perhaps the Gilmours’ hearts could be softened to the plight of people like John.
As she approached Mrs. Green’s, the smell of fresh-baked bread met her nose, and she couldn’t help but smile at the inviting scent. She bought three loaves from a grumbling Mrs. Green, who was very clearly not at her best in the mornings. Georgiana felt a gush of appreciation and affection for the woman. She wouldn’t have changed a thing about Mrs. Green. Much like the baguettes she sold, she had a firm and crusty exterior that made her interior feel all the softer.
She thanked her kindly and left the bakery, stepping out into the street and glancing up toward her destination. Her heart stuttered as she noted both Samuel and Mr. Burke standing at the door of the Reeds’ home, speaking with Mrs. Reed in t
he doorway. An unfamiliar equipage stood in the street, its two horses fidgeting as Samuel held their reins.
No one noted Georgiana’s presence, and as she neared the group, it became clear that the tone of the conversation was somber. This was hardly a surprise, though, given the situation the family was in.
She hesitated slightly. Should she leave them to their conversation?
But Mrs. Reed’s eyes moved toward her, and Georgiana raised the basket in her hands, a few traces of steam rising into the air. Mrs. Reed closed her eyes and turned her head away, and Georgiana’s face fell.
Mr. Burke and Samuel followed Mrs. Reed’s gaze, and their jaws both unmistakably hardened upon seeing Georgiana. Her stomach clenched, but she took in a breath and stepped toward them.
“Good morning,” she said. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but I thought I might bring you a loaf or two of bread—and see how Patience is doing.” She held up the basket slightly to display the bread.
Mrs. Reed still didn’t look at her, and an unwieldy silence filled the air. It was Mr. Burke who finally spoke.
“I am very sorry for the inconvenience it may cause you, miss, but I imagine Patience wishes to be with her family this morning.”
Georgiana blinked. Mr. Burke’s tone was brittle, a hard quality piercing through the civil words.
She nodded quickly. “Of course. I shall just leave this basket with you, then,” she said to Mrs. Reed.
Mrs. Reed finally turned her gaze back to Georgiana, and Georgiana swallowed at the look of pain mingled with anger that emanated from her tear-filled eyes.
“Why?” Mrs. Reed said, her voice hoarse.
Georgiana looked to Samuel for any sort of explanation, but he turned his gaze away. Her stomach clenched, and her breath came more quickly, her heartbeat quickening even more, twinging and aching at the thought of Samuel being angry with her.
She blinked away the thoughts that rushed her mind, anticipating rejection from him—the rejection she had been terrified she would open herself up to by allowing him into her heart.
She couldn’t fathom what was happening, what had caused such a shift. She looked back to Mrs. Reed, raising her shoulders and shaking her head slowly. “I am terribly sorry, but I don’t understand.”
Mr. Reed appeared behind his wife, his face drawn and lined with a resoluteness that inspired a strange panic inside Georgiana. His eyes passed over her briefly, and she wasn’t even sure that he recognized her. They landed upon Burke, and Mr. Reed inclined his head once, the slightest tremor in his bobbing throat.
“It is time, John.”
Mr. Reed looked to Samuel with pleading eyes. “I shouldn’t have done it, Sam. But with the kids hungry and another one on the way” —his voice broke— “I lost my head.”
Samuel said nothing, only grasping at Mr. Reed’s shoulder in a kind but bracing manner, his throat bobbing beneath his cravat.
“We will give you a moment to say your goodbyes,” said Burke, stepping away from the door and turning his back to the Reeds. Samuel followed suit, and Georgiana stood rooted to the spot momentarily, watching as the Reeds turned toward one another and Mrs. Reed’s body began to shake.
Georgiana turned away, feeling as though she had just witnessed something terribly intimate, something never meant for her eyes.
She stepped toward the vicar and the constable. “What has happened?”
Samuel wouldn’t meet her eyes, his nostrils flared and jaw hard. “He is being taken away for trial. Information was laid against him.”
“What?” She glanced at the Reeds again, wide-eyed. She couldn’t imagine that any of the villagers would serve the Reeds in such a way. “By whom?”
Samuel’s jaw worked for a moment. “By your brother.”
Georgiana stared.
The world spun around her. Archie? Surely it wasn’t true. She felt a sickening thud in the pit of her stomach as she thought on her conversation with Archie. He had boasted of his newfound ability to pay one of his debts.
“It couldn’t be,” she said, eyes still unblinking. “He assured me that he would not interfere with the situation.” She shook her head. “No, he wouldn’t do such a thing.” Would he?
“Much as you assured me that we needn’t worry about him involving himself,” Samuel said, a bite to his tone.
Her breath caught at the hard words, and she lowered her head, hoping to conceal how they had affected her.
“He informed on John last night,” Samuel said, his words softer now, as if he were trying to temper his frustration.
“But Archie has never even met Mr. Reed. How could he possibly know…?” She trailed off, feeling the color drain from her face as she remembered his offhand inquiry about who lived in the Reeds’ home.
Samuel scoffed lightly. “Your confidence in your brother is inspiring, but the fact remains that he laid information against John. He was able to identify him by name and correctly identify the house he had seen him enter after the crime was committed. He came by that information somehow.”
Georgiana’s heart sank, and she shut her eyes. No wonder he was angry with her. She had assured him more than once that Archie thought himself above the happenings of a small village like Rushbury. She hadn’t accounted for his financial situation.
“He came by it by me.” She hardly dared open her eyes to face Samuel, but she forced herself to, stifling the desire to flinch at the look of disappointment he wore. “He had the information by me. Though I swear I had no notion why he was asking.”
The way he looked at her, eyes full of betrayal and hurt, felt like something from a bad dream.
“I trusted you. You assured me…” He looked away toward the Reed home, where Patience stood in the doorway, tears streaming down her face as she held one of her younger siblings on her hip. “It hardly matters. The damage has been done.”
And it is your fault. He didn’t say the words, but they were implied in what he was saying.
And he was right. She had immediately dismissed the idea of Archie doing anything. If she had taken the possibility seriously, she might have prevented all of this.
“Excuse me,” Mr. Burke said gravely. “I must take John.” He left Samuel’s side and strode over to the Reeds, putting a hand on John’s shoulder and grimacing at Mrs. Reed.
Georgiana couldn’t bear to watch. “Samuel,” she said in a pleading voice. “You know I would never do anything to—”
He put a hand up, his other gripping at the bottom half of his face. “Please. Do not.” His hand slid down his chin harshly, and his eyes moved back to the Reeds. Georgiana could see the pain and helplessness in them as he watched the family.
“What can I do?” Georgiana asked, feeling desperate to put an end to the nightmare she was caught in.
“You have done enough,” he said. He watched the Reeds a moment longer, then shut his eyes and let his head fall. “Please just leave us in peace.” He turned away and moved toward Burke.
It must have been a full minute before Georgiana realized that she was standing still, the basket in her hand trembling along with her fingers. The smell of the warm bread was long gone, and no steam rose from the basket. Samuel, Mr. Burke, and the Reeds conversed in low tones, seemingly oblivious to her presence. It was as if she had ceased to exist, merely a ghost looking on.
She dashed a tear from the corner of her eye and turned away toward Granchurch House, forcing down the small sob that threatened to escape her.
Samuel couldn’t stand it a moment longer. He turned to look over his shoulder, but it took time before he spotted the retreating figure of Georgiana, beginning the ascent up the lane toward Granchurch House.
His heart writhed within him, aching with one beat, pounding angrily the next. He hurt deeply for the Reeds—at the prospect of losing someone he loved so dearly—and while he knew that it was Archie, not Georgiana, who had informed on him, he found himself unable to deny her a portion of the blame. Perhaps it was simply his way of shifting t
he blame anywhere but himself.
But if she had never come to Rushbury, Archie would never have come; if she hadn’t provided John’s identity to Archie so thoughtlessly, he wouldn’t have had the ability to lay the information. Without the Paiges, he could have arranged things—arranged them so that justice was served, but mercy too. The Gilmours might have been repaid, and John need not go to prison.
But deep down, Samuel knew his anger was directed at himself. For believing he could trust anyone from Georgiana’s world and for assuring the village—the people who trusted him—that they could trust her as well.
He could plead with the Gilmours, and he would certainly do that, though he harbored little hope that it would do any good. He could fall on his knees and pray that God would soften the hearts of whatever justices would hear John’s case. But he was familiar enough with the fates of those guilty of similar crimes to have little hope there either.
He felt entirely helpless, and as he watched Georgiana disappear around the bend in the lane, he felt the first shadows of despair engulf him.
He was alone.
Georgiana blinked as she faced the door of Granchurch. She hardly remembered the walk there.
She felt numb, but as she wiped the back of her glove on her face, it came away wet from tears. She entered the house, setting down the basket of bread upon the entry table and letting out a large gush of air as she set a soft hand atop the towel wrapped around the bread. All the hope from earlier that morning had vanished and left her feeling almost dead inside.
Her first inclination was to go upstairs and lie upon her bed, begging sleep to submerge her so that she needn’t relive what she had just witnessed, what had just been said to her.
Please just leave us in peace.
She winced and strode through the doorway and up the stairs. She couldn’t sleep, but she could ride.
Shedding her dress for one more appropriate for riding, she fiddled with the buttons, grateful she could do so without the assistance of a maid. The thought only brought on a fresh wave of eye-watering. No wonder Patience had been absent. She was about to lose her father.