by Sarah Sokol
Henry reeled back, dazed and shaking his head. With an angry, wordless roar he charged forward at Ben, but his movements were slowed by liquor and a blow to the head. Ben slid to one side and slammed his foot out into a hard kick that cracked across Henry's knees, sending him tumbling to the floor.
Ben reached down, seized Henry by the coat collar and dragged him onto his back, then delivered two more punishing blows to his face, just as he had seen Oliver do. The pain speared through his knuckles and hand, but the adrenaline pumping through his veins kept him from noticing.
"Get my satchel and cane," he called to Charlotte.
She watched the scene with glittering eyes, and gave a brief nod, pushing herself painfully upright and limping into the hallway, returning moments later with the objects as directed.
Ben reached under the sofa and pulled out the pistol, as Henry began to groan and move on the faded wood floor. "Take this," he directed and handed the weapon to Charlotte.
She handed over his belongings, then took the gun in steady hands and aimed it at Henry. "He's waking up."
"I know." Ben rummaged through his satchel and pulled out a pouch of powder he had concocted. Taking a small pinch of it, he gripped Henry's chin to force his mouth open and sprinkled the powder on his tongue.
"What are you doing to him?" Charlotte asked.
Ben glanced up and gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile as he felt Henry's body go limp. "It's a sleeping powder. Chamomile and valerian, it won't hurt him."
"Good. That's good." Charlotte exhaled a sigh and carefully set the pistol down on the side table next to the sofa. "What on earth happened? Did he truly confess what I think he did? I can hardly catch my breath."
"Yes," Ben said grimly. He heaved Henry's body onto its back and pulled out the set of spelled manacles from his satchel. Feeling no remorse at the pained groan from the unconscious man, Ben twisted both of Henry's arms behind his back and bound his wrists.
"What do we do with him?" Charlotte whispered, staring down at Henry's body. "I didn't hear the beginning. Did he say what else he was doing to Margaret? What besides the strawberries?"
"He didn't." Ben straightened up, brushing off his hands and tucking his components away. "I can test any food or drink with a bit of time."
"Do you think he was using magic?"
"No. I don't think so. I don't feel any familiar power in or around him or this place. But I can look at Margaret's room too, just in case." Ben nudged Henry's body with his toe. "I should get this fellow safely locked away, first."
"You're right. He belongs in jail right next to Sutcliffe," Charlotte muttered, but there was a lack of vehemence in her tone. "I can take Margaret. She has an aunt, Henry's wife's sister, who lives in the village. I know her, she's kind and loves Margaret. Duncan will drive me."
Ben hesitated, examining her expression. "Are you all right?"
She laughed again, incredulous. "No. I'm not. I don't know if I will be for some time. I just can't believe Henry."
"He was mad," Ben said, stepping towards her. Now that the adrenaline had faded, he could feel the throbbing in his knuckles, and as he lifted his hands to place them on Charlotte's shoulders, he noticed a trickle of blood from his right hand. He ignored it and drew Charlotte's stunned form closer to him. "You could not have done anything for him."
"If I had said yes," she whispered, stricken green eyes turning up to him. "Perhaps Margaret would not have suffered so."
"If you had said yes, perhaps he would have snapped and killed you both. Perhaps you would be weakened upstairs and poisoned too. Perhaps you wouldn't have been able to save Margaret anyway. Perhaps many things. You cannot torture yourself over what might have been."
She bit her trembling lower lip and nodded. "Yes. You're right. I just... it's so much to take in."
"One step at a time." Ben leaned down and placed a soft kiss against her lips, then another because he could not help it. "We don't need Margaret seeing her father like this. We'll get Henry out to my horse. Then we can pack things for Margaret, and I'll see you off in the carriage. I shall keep in contact and come back to examine the girl further as soon as I can."
"And get some sleep," Charlotte said. Her cheeks were pink, eyes still wet as she reached up to brush a fingertip against Ben's cheek. "Very well. It's a good plan. Step one, we fetch Duncan."
Ben smiled. "Yes. First we fetch Duncan."
Chapter Thirty-Two
The Whitcomb Estate
"Take three deep breaths for me." Charlotte smiled as Margaret's thin shoulders heaved up and down three times in gusty exhales.
"How was that?" Margaret asked, looking at Charlotte through wide, sky-blue eyes. She was neatly tucked under clean white sheets, and though the bedroom was smaller than her old one, it smelled fresh, and sunlight lit the whole place with cheer. Toys and books were scattered around the space, and Ellen, Margaret's aunt, stood on the other side of the bed looking on.
"It sounds much better," Charlotte proclaimed, patting Margaret's hand. "I think you may be able to get out of bed and go for a little walk soon."
"Oh, truly? You think it could be so fast?" Ellen beamed a wide smile that looked just like Margaret's.
"I truly do. We will take things slow, one day at a time, but I have high hopes," Charlotte said. She wasn't just placating them. The rattling that had plagued Margaret's lungs for days was finally fading away, thanks to daily visits from Charlotte. The last of the shadows had been chased from existence at long last, and Charlotte was now focused on helping to repair the girl's internal organs, rebuild muscle and try to get her on her feet again.
"Amazing." Ellen wiped away a tear from beneath her eyes and leaned down to kiss Margaret's forehead. "Work on your reading a little more, dear, while I speak with Lady Whitcomb outside."
"Please, call me Charlotte, I keep telling you." Charlotte wrapped up Margaret in a tight embrace. "Or Lottie, like this one does."
Margaret giggled and tried to wriggle free. "You're squishing me!"
"Mhm, don't tempt me or I shall squish you for real," Charlotte teased as she gave one last kiss to Margaret's cheek before straightening up.
Margaret sat up against her pillows and began reaching for her primer but paused and looked back at Charlotte. "Do you know when my Papa will be coming back yet?"
Charlotte bit her lip and exchanged a glance with Ellen, who moved forward and stooped to Margaret's level. "I've told you, darling, he loves you very much, but he won't be able to see you again for a long time. But I know he will be thinking of you every moment, and we will keep you so busy you will hardly miss him."
"I know." Margaret nodded and bend her head dutifully to her primer as she mumbled, "I just thought maybe Lottie would be able to make him come back."
Charlotte squeezed her eyes shut. This little girl was going to be the death of her if she kept on with these tragically brave utterances. "I don't think I'll be able to do that, Margaret. But perhaps if you draw him a picture or write him a story, I could bring it to him, and he'll know you were thinking of him too."
Margaret brightened up at that. "Oh! I can do both. I'll start on the story. I've been practicing letters."
"Good." Charlotte bit her lip, determined to fight back the tears threatening to well up. "You can read it to me when it's finished."
The girl was already absorbed in her task, so Charlotte followed Ellen to the door, and they stepped out into the hall. It was a single-story cottage on the outskirts of the village, but it was safe, pleasant, and a lovely place for a child to grow up in Charlotte's opinion.
Ellen led the way down the short hallway to the front room, where Ben was seated at the plain wooden dining table. He sprang to his feet and bowed when they entered.
"How is she?"
"She is doing well, better than expected. Whatever Henry used, it faded fast. He must have been poisoning her every single day for her to stay so weak." Charlotte felt another wave of anger. "Damn him for leaving t
hat girl without a father. Another victim of his stupidity."
"But she is safe and well now, thanks to you." Ellen bobbed a rough courtesy to Ben. "And you too, Lord Winters. Did you have any luck with your testing?"
He gestured to the scattered glass specimen jars on the table, surrounded by copious notes and testing components, some scientific, some magical. "That's the last of it, and still not a thing. Perhaps he didn't keep the poison in the house, in which case, it's difficult to know where to start looking."
Ben had been staying in the country the past few days, going through every single item and substance in Henry's home. Charlotte thought it must be the mystery that fascinated him. He was like a dog with a bone when it came to an unsolved riddle; he couldn't leave it alone.
"I suppose you will just have to twist tighter on Henry, then," Charlotte said.
"We'll try. From the news Oliver sends, Henry's completely snapped. He just babbles like a lunatic, even in the Truthspeaking circle it's impossible to tell what he's saying, or what he means." Ben looked to Ellen. "Sorry to speak ill of your family."
"Feel free to speak ill of him. I think worse things every time Margaret asks me about him," Ellen said. She crossed her arms and turned to Charlotte. "It's all right to bring the picture and story this one time, because I don't want to disappoint her. But please don't offer that again. I don't want Margaret keeping in contact with that scum, especially if he's going to hang. It only raises more questions."
"Oh." Charlotte hadn't even thought of that. "I understand. I'm so sorry."
"It's all right. I am not angry. You've done so much for her, for us, that I can only ever be grateful." Ellen's firm expression relaxed into her usual genial one. "Now, will you two be staying for tea?"
"Thank you, but no." Charlotte stretched and bounced up on her toes. "My feet are feeling so much better, I think I may try to make myself useful and help Agatha around the house."
"I must also refuse." Ben gave a low bow. "I'm sorry I haven't been able to produce any answers for you yet as to what Henry did, but I won't give up searching."
"He really won't," Charlotte promised, letting her eyes twinkle flirtatiously at Ben.
After bidding their farewells, they stepped into the dusty lane outside Ellen's cottage.
"There is one more bit of business I didn't want to discuss in front of Ellen," Ben said, drawing Charlotte to the side of the road into the soft green grass. "Some of the things Henry has been mentioning don't make sense. He does speak of killing Avery, so I know it was him. But he keeps saying things like 'he promised she would be fine,' and 'he told me it wouldn't hurt Margaret.' Whoever 'he' is, there's a possibility that someone was helping Henry. I know we haven't discussed it much, but with the cattle taking ill as well, it seems Henry has some sort of a connection to illness in some way. The fact that I haven't been able to find any sort of poison is very strange."
Charlotte toyed with the ribbon of her bonnet. "Perhaps it was Sutcliffe, somehow? But that doesn't make sense, if he supported Avery. Perhaps Henry is simply imagining voices in his head. I have heard of people stricken with madness, and they begin to think some other person is commanding them what to do. Maybe he just needs someone else to blame so he doesn't have to take responsibility."
"That is what Oliver thinks," Ben agreed with a nod. "My hope is to keep Henry under observation, and once he calms down, perhaps he will speak of this external influence more rationally, and we can get to the bottom of this all. It just doesn't make sense to me that he would kill Avery over simple jealousy."
"I did think that was a little odd," Charlotte said. "But this whole situation has been odd. And I did complain about Avery a lot when he was still alive. I felt like he was keeping me contained, suppressed constantly. I knew it was for my own safety, of course. I still loved him more than anything."
"I understand." Ben leaned in and clasped her shoulder with one solid, strong hand. "If Henry has more secrets to reveal, we will find them, but even if he does not, his madness is not your fault."
Charlotte had heard these words repeated so many times over the past few days. She smiled with a cheer she did not quite feel and peeped up at him from under the brim of her bonnet. "Well, keep me updated on the situation. Will you be accompanying me on my walk home?"
He hoisted the large satchel now bulging with packages and specimen jars. "I should drop this off in my room at the inn first. I can meet you at the Whitcomb estate for afternoon tea if you like."
Charlotte laughed. "The Whitcomb estate, how lofty that sounds. Yes, Lord Winters, I would be delighted if you joined me for afternoon tea."
"Excellent." Ben gave her a wide grin and bowed low, sweeping his hat to one side before replacing it on his head. "Until then, Lady Whitcomb."
Charlotte stood and watched his tall, dark figure make its way through the humble streets of the village to the small local inn. She was sure he had meant that gesture to be laughable, but she thought it really had been quite gallant.
He still had not said anything to her about all that had happened. His words, calling her 'love,' and his kisses. Yes, three kisses now, and still nothing. The man was infuriating and adorable and wonderful and she hated him. But not truly.
Charlotte sighed and began the long, rambling walk home. It was so pretty, the village quickly fading to open, grassy meadows again, and the road was lined with wildflowers. She was beginning to understand what Sophie always meant when she talked so affectionately about hating and loving Hollis in the same breath.
Why couldn't she have some simple, sweet romance, like Marie and Teddy? Perhaps it was the distance that made their hearts grow fonder. She supposed she would find out after Marie returned from her trip to London. After everything that had happened, Charlotte had been struck by a romantic notion she didn't know she was capable of and sent Marie off for a visit to her redheaded betrothed.
The walk began to take its toll on Charlotte's newly-healed feet. The growing pain and tenderness made each minute feel that much longer, and even with the sunshine strengthening her, she grew quite grumpy by the time she saw her estate rising in the distance. With each step she replayed in her mind Margaret's wistful little voice asking for her Papa.
Setting her jaw, she made her way around to the back entrance that led directly into the kitchen. She needed some biscuits. Sophie would be so proud.
As soon as she opened the door, the smell of baked goods filled the air, and she saw Agatha relaxing at the kitchen table, flipping through a recipe book. Stephen was in the process of filleting a pair of freshly caught trout, wielding his knife with the expertise gained by years of practice.
"Hello, dear. Nice walk to the village?" Agatha asked, glancing up with a warm smile. "Oh, you took your bonnet off again. Charlotte, your freckles..."
"Now, now. She's not a little girl anymore. She can grow her face to be one enormous freckle if she wants," Stephen chuckled, saluting Charlotte with the knife. "How's Margaret?"
"Doing well. Better all the time." Charlotte wandered over to the biscuit tin and peeked inside. Jam tarts, perfect. Picking out the biggest one she took a large, angry bite. How had her good mood evaporated so thoroughly?
"Then why the sour face, buttercup?" Stephen inquired, shooting her a glance from under shaggy brows.
She moped her way to the opposite side of the kitchen. "Oh, I don't know. It's just always so bittersweet to see Margaret doing well but missing her father. And I just... Ellen mentioned that Henry may hang for what he's done. What am I supposed to say to Margaret then?"
"Oh, dear." Agatha set down her recipe book and patted the chair next to her. "Such heavy cares on such young shoulders. Come sit down, I'll make you a cup of tea."
"It's all right." Charlotte munched another bit of jam tart. "This will hold me over. I think I just want to read for a while. Oh, and Ben is coming for tea, so you know."
"I'm sure he will just let himself in, as usual," Agatha murmured dryly. "Very well, dear. Come ba
ck if you change your mind and want company."
"I will." Charlotte gave them an attempt at a smile and wandered back through the doorway to the hall beyond.
She wasn't sure where she was going, but her feet seemed to have a location in mind, and she blinked as she realized she had arrived at the door of Avery's study. Nudging it open with one hand, she stepped inside and looked around.
It was the location of so many sleepless nights, poring over his books and papers. Reading his notes in the margins, wondering what he had meant, what he'd been thinking. Wishing she had dragged him out of his study more often, asked him more questions about his work, learned more.
It was a room full of trouble and lingering regrets, and now she was adding to them. All that time, she had been befriending the murderer. She had smiled, looked in his eyes, shook his hand. Tended his daughter. All while Avery was cold in the ground.
The worst of it was, she couldn't shake the lump of guilt in her stomach. She knew, she told herself, Agatha and Stephen repeated it, Ben reiterated it, it wasn't her fault. Henry was the one who snapped, he was the one who did the deed, he was the one who was deluded.
Still the guilt lingered. The thoughts turned over and over in her head. If she had only known, she could have stopped it. She shouldn't have complained to Henry about Avery. She should have seen something was wrong about Margaret's illness sooner.
Sighing again, she flung herself down into the high-backed leather chair and kicked the desk petulantly. She didn't even want to see Henry's face again, or Sutcliffe for that matter. It felt like time to leave all of it behind and start to work on herself. On healing the gaping wound inside that had been continuously bleeding since that fateful day a year ago.
It would take time, that was all. But eventually she would convince herself that it wasn't all her fault. Eventually, she would say she was fine, and it would be true.