by Sara Reinke
Chapter Fourteen
On the coach ride home to Darton Hall, Charlotte studied Reilly, who sat across from her. He seemed to do his best to try and sleep, oblivious to her attention; he rested his temple against the window frame and kept his eyes closed. With every jostle or bounce of the carriage, his brows would lift; he would draw in a soft, hurting gasp for breath. Charlotte watched him, her lips pressed together pensively, her brows drawn.
What does Cheadle hold over you? she thought. Cheadle was a thief-taker by trade and his turn as a domestic servant for James had always struck her as odd. Thief-takers were bounty hunters, usually thieves themselves, and were more concerned with fattening their own purses than with any sense of civic duty. They hunted down other criminals and turned them in for the reward money.
Reilly, however, was not a criminal. Even if he, Lewis, and Kenley had lied about Kenley’s enlistment in the navy, Charlotte could not believe they had conspired together to commit any sort of crimes. Reilly and Lewis were commissioned officers and both noblemen of good standing and some caliber. Despite his father’s past, and his own youthful indiscretions, even Kenley was now considered a gentleman of proper status. All three of them were good men with good reputations that none would see compromised. None had any reason to commit crimes.
However, Cheadle was an experienced thief-taker, which meant he had contacts in London and throughout England. His word was likely accepted without qualm or question on the matter of wanted criminals; when Cheadle turned someone in for a reward, the men he surrendered were surely assumed guilty.
Did Cheadle threaten you, Reilly? Charlotte thought.
Did he promise to frame you for some sort of crime, something heinous enough to see you hanged and against which you feel helpless to defend yourself?
Reilly’s eyelids fluttered opened as the carriage jostled roughly along a deep rut in the roadway. He winced visibly, and blinked at his sister, noticing her attention. Charlotte held his gaze for a long moment, until his expression shifted with disconcertion, and he closed his eyes again to escape her.
What did Cheadle do to you? she thought.
At Darton Hall, Charlotte lay awake beneath her coverlets for a long time after the house grew quiet, the family and servants within taking to their beds. At last, when she felt certain it was safe, Charlotte shoved her blankets aside and rose to her feet. She drew her dressing robe about her shoulders and stole into the corridor.
She was not particularly surprised to find a light aglow beneath Reilly’s door. She was surprised, however, to hear Meghan’s voice cry out quietly from within his room as she drew near.
“Reilly, what happened?” she exclaimed.
Charlotte knelt at Reilly’s threshold, peeking through the keyhole. She could see nothing except for his writing table, the vacant chair beside it, but she could hear Reilly and Meghan clearly as they stood just beyond her view within the room.
“Who did this to you?” Meghan gasped, her voice fluttering, near tears.
“It is nothing,” Reilly said before uttering a soft, pained gasp that made Meghan whimper.
“Who did this to you?” she whispered again.
Charlotte frowned, trying to crane her head, to see them.
“I took a tumble from my horse this morning,” Reilly said, and Charlotte drew back, startled as he walked into her line of sight, crossing directly in front of his door. Her eyes widened to realize the cause for Meghan’s distress; Reilly wore only his breeches, and he had been brutally beaten. Charlotte could see distinctive bands of dark, vicious bruising wrapped from his belly to his back and kidneys where someone had taken to him purposefully and repeatedly with their fists.
“Reilly!” Charlotte whimpered, aghast, feeling tears spring to her eyes. Her hands darted to her mouth and she shied back from the door. No tumble from a horse had inflicted such injuries; Cheadle had beaten him, and Charlotte knew it. Cheadle had pounded compliance into Reilly.
“I will have to rip the linens,” Reilly said, crossing slowly toward his bed, limping visibly. “I think I have some cracked ribs, and binding them tightly will help.”
At this, Meghan burst into tears, and Charlotte watched her brother again cross her field of view. She heard his voice, soft and anguished. “Please, Meghan,” he whispered. “Please do not. It is all right. Just some broken ribs and some bruising. Help me with the linens. I know how to bind my chest. I made friends with the shipboard surgeon on the Endurance. Binding some splintered ribs is naught.”
He was trying his best to make light of his pain, to reassure her, but Meghan would have none of it. “Who hurt you like this?” she cried. “Who did this to you?”
“It does not matter,” he said. He, too hovered on the verge of tears and his voice was tremulous. Charlotte had never known Reilly to weep before; the sound of his despair only drew more tears to her eyes.
“Reilly…” she whispered again, helplessly.
“It is over, Meghan,” Reilly said. “I have seen to it… may… may God forgive me.”