The Reigning and the Rule

by Calia Read

He turns around when I call out, “Let’s play a game I like to call, ‘Who Would Want to Hurt Emmeline,’ shall we?”

  The man stops walking but doesn’t face me. I know I have his attention.

  “Would Matthew want to hurt her?”

  Shoulders tense. He knows Matthew, but it’s not a big enough reaction. Thanks to the alcohol, his defenses are down. Thanks to the alcohol, I’m going to receive the answers I’m looking for.

  “No. I don’t think he would,” I murmur. “Maybe David?”

  His hands curl into fists. Still no answer, though.

  “Hmm. No again. So that leaves one last person. One person who has everything to lose. Does Uriah want to hurt Emmeline?”

  He turns around, his eyes enraged. “What did Emmeline tell you?”

  In the time Serene has been gone, I’ve come to realize how incredibly easy it is for lies to become the truth, and the truth to become lies. One whispered falsehood is all it takes for someone’s world to be destroyed. Oh, how easy it was for Uriah to be deceitful. The person he spoke out against didn’t have the opportunity to defend herself.

  But now she does.

  The second I run into the dining hall, the fragments of my dream click together like puzzle pieces. One by one, they smoothly align, and I realize the gravity of what’s happening right now.

  This isn’t a dream. I won’t wake up in a few seconds and find myself tangled up in Étienne’s bed or in my brother’s car while we take a road trip. There’s no getting out of this. No barriers to hold me back. I have to see it happen in real time. To know if I fall and won’t wake up before I hit the ground is a terrifying thought. What’s more is Étienne’s involved. His life is on the line.

  We’ve been through a situation like this before. However, I wasn’t prepared for this to happen again. This isn’t part of our plan. I don’t know what to do, where to look, or what to say.

  With my heart beating like a drum, I walk deeper into the spacious dining room. I have only the strung lights across the balcony to help me zigzag around the tables without Étienne and the man seeing me. The closer I get to the gallery, I expect to see the man’s face, yet as he speaks and Étienne advances on him, he turns, causing his face to be cast in the shadows.

  “Tell me the truth,” Étienne demands.

  His voice is calm, but I hear the undertones of anger. At any second, he’s liable to lose his temper. And if the past has taught me anything, the man he’s speaking to could pull out a weapon and hurt him. So many horrible things could happen.

  Étienne and I agreed not to change the course of history, but I can’t help myself. The minute I open my mouth, I say, “Étienne! Wait!”

  In unison, both men give their attention to me. My eyes momentarily connect with Étienne’s before I look at the man. He takes a step closer to me, and when he does, I see him clearly. I’ve seen enough pictures to know this is Uriah. From yesterday’s conversation with Asa, I was anticipating the culprit to be David because of his link to Johnathan Whalen. Uriah’s not entirely innocent, but I believed he wasn’t in New Orleans when Emmeline passed away. He had too much to lose to be caught.

  Oh, how wrong I was.

  Uriah has to be drunk because he stumbles toward me. Instinctively, I take a step back while Étienne blocks Uriah from coming any farther.

  A growl tears from Uriah’s throat. “Come back, Emmeline.”

  Emmeline and I don’t look identical. Some features are similar, and from a distance, perhaps we can be mistaken for the same person. The rage and desperation in Uriah’s brown eyes have me confused. Does he despise her or need her?

  Étienne holds his hand out and presses Uriah back. “Serene, leave. Now,” he demands without tearing his gaze away from Uriah.

  Fear so all-consuming takes control of my body, and I become paralyzed. My feet feel as though they’re in quicksand. All my energy is going into lifting each foot and turning the other way and running, but I’m slowly sinking into the ground.

  “Serene!” Étienne hollers. “I said go.”

  Uriah looks away from me. His brows furrow as he stares at Étienne with confusion. “Who’s Serene? That’s Emmeline!”

  Étienne doesn’t linger on who I am and attempts to reason with Uriah. “This is all one big oversight. You need to leave and go home to Chicago.”

  Uriah blinks rapidly and gives Étienne a once-over. “Who are you again?”

  “I’m a family friend,” Étienne replies evasively. “Take my advice and go.”

  “Not possible.” Uriah’s words are final. But how he begins to pace and glance toward the direction of the street below us and at me makes me think he’s starting to question himself.

  At least I think he is. I still can’t get a full understanding of Uriah.

  “Why is that?” Étienne asks.

  Uriah waves a hand in the air as if Étienne’s question is too tedious to answer.

  Étienne opens his mouth, but Uriah stops walking and abruptly turns and looks at him. “Emmeline is here. Why else would I be in New Orleans?”

  “You still love her,” Étienne comments.

  A strange look crosses Uriah’s face. “Of course. She’s my wife.”

  Denial and anger mixed with delusion. This is getting worse by the second. Étienne gives me a quick look over his shoulder. “Go,” he mouths.

  “I can’t,” I mouth back.

  I can’t leave unless Étienne goes with me. Doesn’t he realize that by now? We’re a package deal.

  Uriah drags all ten fingers through his hair. Sweat drips down his forehead. He looks ready to collapse at any second. When was the last time this man got a good night’s sleep? I think back on the letters Emmeline wrote to Margo and realize her battle to end her marriage and have control of Hambleton’s was far more difficult than she ever let on. Uriah was not going to go down without a fight.

  I take a step closer to Étienne. My finger hooks around one of his suspenders. Étienne’s shoulders momentarily tense up. I know he doesn’t want me here, but there’s nothing he can do about that right now. If he’s going to change our plans, then so am I.

  Uriah grips the hair near his temple and tugs hard. He releases the brown strands and begins to bang his fists against his skull over and over before he mutters to himself, “Thanks to her, I am empty.”

  “Why are you empty?” Étienne asks, breaking Uriah’s soliloquy.

  Uriah stops pounding his head and stares at Étienne blankly.

  “Tell me what happened, and perhaps I can help you.”

  Étienne’s appeal causes Uriah to perk up. I tug on Étienne’s suspender. He reaches behind him and blindly rubs my arm. “Tell me,” Étienne urges.

  “I didn’t anticipate loving Emmeline,” Uriah blurts.

  Neither Étienne and I say a word. The two of us stay as still as statues, afraid one false move might break the moment.

  Keep going, Uriah. Keep going, I urge inside my head.

  As if he can read my mind, he continues. “Johnathan told my brother he lost his friend, Edward Hill. Johnathan was under the impression Edward’s mistress, Abigail, was responsible.”

  Uriah doesn’t know he’s standing mere steps away from the man who supposedly pulled the trigger. I wonder how he’d feel about that information.

  “He couldn’t find her anywhere and suspected she might have changed her name when she fled from Charleston. It took him several months to find out Abigail was now Emmeline and had relocated to England and had a son. He propositioned my brother first to travel to England, find Emmeline, and kill her. My brother rebuffed his offer, and then Johnathan came to me.”

  He stops, pacing long enough to look toward Étienne. There’s a faraway look in his eyes. A sinister smile spreads across his face, making my blood go cold.

  “I said yes.” Uriah begins to pace once again. “Never given death much thought. But for money, I’ll think of anything. And the amount Johnathan offered was enough to pay off all my creditors. I
have business ventures after I sold my shares of my family store.” He laughs darkly. “My investments did not come to fruition, and I lost a lot of money.”

  “I make investments. I understand the risks involved.”

  Uriah stares at Étienne with wide eyes. “You realize why I accepted Johnathan’s money then?”

  Étienne’s answer is instantaneous. “Of course.”

  Right now, he’s merely appeasing Uriah, and Uriah laps it up like a thirsty pup. With Edward, there was shouting and bleeding and the fear of the unknown. And honestly, the fear of the unknown is still there. Uriah is a wild card. One second, he seems calm and stable. Then the next second, he’s smiling and laughing darkly, and hitting his fists against his head. His range of emotions is astounding and beyond nerve-racking.

  “I trailed her for a week. Watched her with the boy,” Uriah confesses. “Couldn’t go through with killing her. Told myself I would wait until we were on the ship, but then I talked to her. From Johnathan’s brief descriptions of her, I expected Emmeline to be quiet but manipulative. She turned out to be forthright and determined. I found her exhilarating. Our conversations on the ship mitigated all the expectations I had of her.

  “By the time we reached dockside in New York, I sent a message to Johnathan that I couldn’t find Emmeline. I felt lying and not accepting his money was the best choice. I didn’t know how I would pay my creditors, but I would find a way. Then Emmeline told me her idea about Hambleton’s.” A genuine smile causes his lips to curve, revealing money is his first true love. “Hambleton’s became a blessing and a curse. Because of the store, I found success I hadn’t seen in years. But Emmeline wasn’t happy. She didn’t realize I was trying to shield her from prying eyes. She was in danger.”

  My heart begins to pound. The last of Uriah’s words sound awfully familiar because once upon a time, Asa said them. I want to ask Uriah what he means by danger, but I don’t know what his reaction will be when I speak up.

  “Prying eyes?” Étienne asks.

  “Johnathan,” Uriah supplies. “It was imperative she avoided attention; I took great measures to make sure Johnathan never knew who I married. But if he saw pictures of Emmeline attending the grand opening of Hambleton’s, I was terrified he would finish what I started.”

  “You were tryin’ to be a good husband.”

  Uriah feverishly nods. “Absolutely.”

  I believe Uriah believes he was genuinely trying to protect Emmeline. Perception is reality, and his reality veers from the truth.

  “I told her over and over, I loved her and I only wanted to take care of her. She didn’t believe me! In the end, she was simply after my money. Soon, I’ll be left with nothing again.” Bitterness coats the last of Uriah’s words.

  “She betrayed you,” Étienne says.

  Uriah nods and then locks eyes with me. He looks like he wants to tear me apart. Gasping, my hand drops from Étienne. I step back from him, closer to the dining hall.

  “I was trying to protect you from him! Don’t you understand?” He lunges for me again. All of his anger is directed toward me.

  “Uriah, she’s not Emmeline!”

  The thing about angry people is they cannot get out of their own way. At some point, they’re bound to slip up. Uriah’s futile slipup was love. He welcomed the emotion into his life when greed already had residence in his soul. Greed doesn’t share. Greed will never share. And if it ever does, it won’t start with love. Uriah concocted the perfect cocktail of emotions to drive him over the edge of insanity.

  With fingers spread, Uriah reaches across Étienne’s shoulders only to slash at the air. The only part of me he touches is the sleeve of my dress. But it’s too close for comfort, and Uriah is still trying to charge at me. He’s like a wild animal backed into a corner. He won’t stop until my blood is on his hands.

  Uriah is tall but not as tall as Étienne. Most notable is his size. In fights, size doesn’t matter, though—being agile does. With expletives pouring from his mouth, Étienne shoves Uriah, causing him to stumble. Étienne follows him. His hand curls around his shirt as he extends his right hand. His fist solidly connects with Uriah’s cheek.

  It’s enough to send Uriah sprawling into the floor, moaning softly to himself.

  Étienne whips his body around. Panting, he looks at me as he loosely shakes his right hand. “Run! Do you hear me?”

  “When have I ever left you before?” I shriek. “This wasn’t part of the plan, Étienne!”

  “I couldn’t go through with it!”

  Slowly, I shake my head. Laughter travels from the street. Heels echo on the concrete. The juxtaposition between the happiness below us and the bleakness of our situation is impossible to ignore. It causes the hair on the back of my neck to stand.

  My mouth opens to tell Étienne I’m scared of losing him again when I spot Uriah standing.

  For being drunk, Uriah’s quick on his feet. He’s charging at Étienne before I have a chance to warn him. Everything after that occurs in slow motion even though it’s a matter of seconds. Étienne turns right before Uriah can grab him and tackle him to the ground. I don’t know if Étienne intends to dodge out of the way or if he wants to cause harm to Uriah. All I know is, it’s the three of us standing on the balcony. And then it’s a tangle of bodies. Uriah’s body becomes malleable, almost folding in on itself as his shoulders curve over the railing, then his back. As he loses his balance and his weight become top heavy, Uriah panics. I watch in horror while Étienne slowly backs away. Soon it’s only Uriah’s feet and his hands. His fingers are spread, wildly clawing at the air above him. Then he’s gone. A bellow born from fear and death rips from his throat.

  I never get the chance to run to Étienne. And he never has the opportunity to come to me. I don’t have time to look over the balcony and see Uriah because I’m already slipping away. I never get to see the reaction of the people on the street. I can only hear the screams echoing in my heads. Or maybe those screams are my own.

  My body vibrates with helplessness and defeat.

  Étienne stares at me with pleading eyes. Can he sense the change in me? Does he know I’m slowly slipping from his time?

  Gradually, I start to lose my hearing. The screams fade to a whisper. I begin to have tunnel vision.

  Étienne reaches for me. For a fleeting moment, I think to myself, There’s still time. Perhaps he can save me!

  But that thought is promptly crushed when I watch in horror as his hand moves through my stomach.

  My father once told me how if I’m ever scared or suffering to simply close my eyes and take a few deep breaths. He told me it won’t solve everything, but it will settle the riot of emotions inside me and help me think clearly.

  Desolation prompts me to do precisely that because when you’re at rock bottom, you’ll do just about anything. When I open my eyes, I’m surrounded by darkness.

  I’m on my way back to the present.

  There’s not a single deed, whether good or bad, that goes unnoticed. Especially when the act requires sacrificing your life for someone you love.

  At times, you can reap the rewards of acting selflessly, but most moments are unnecessarily punished. For me, I know the punishment for my deed before it happens.

  The second Uriah fell off the balcony, I watched Serene slip away before my very eyes. Just as she did the first time when she shot her grandfather to save my life two years before. The coroner determined Uriah’s death as an accident. The guardrail outside the garden room has been loose for months, according to employees at the hotel. It was very unfortunate and could’ve happened to anyone.

  The prostitute that I hired to stand in as Emmeline was paid handsomely to keep her mouth shut and immediately left once I told her to. Because I was the only person to see Uriah fall, I was the first person the police interviewed although there was nothing to go off. I was barely interviewed. Emmeline looked numb when the news was broken to her. I watched with detachment as the news was broken to h
er in the front lobby. Her newest husband immediately consoled her. I don’t know how long they spoke with the police because I went up to my room minutes later. The next morning, though, when I checked out, they were nowhere to be found, and the area where Uriah’s body fell onto the street was blocked off. The body was gone, and the blood washed away, but the crimson red had seeped into the concrete like paint. Journalists and photographers were swarming the area like predators who just got the whiff of fresh meat. Policemen were trying to hold them off, but they were nothing if not persistent.

  Asa moved his schedule around, and we traveled back to Charleston together. It was a somber train ride back home. The two of us barely saying a word, shocked at the events and wondering if what happened was real. Which was remarkably familiar to the first time Serene left.

  That was two weeks ago.

  Leaning back in my chair, I drag my fingers through my hair and close my eyes and try to blot out the image of Serene. With the exception of the servants, Belgrave is empty. When I walk up the stairs late at night to my room, I swear I can hear the faint sounds of Nat and Serene’s laughter trailing down the hall.

  I can hear Serene sarcastically saying, “Ah, the lord of the manor!” two years ago before she walked into the dining room and boldly confronted me for having her indecent dressed burned. I didn’t know it, but I started falling in love with her mind and confidence that day.

  She has made an imprint on my life, on my family’s life, and on Belgrave. She has altered us and time. In the past, I’ve held out hope she would come back to me. In the past, I’ve also doubted whether time would ever let me see her again. But deep in my marrow, I know we are going to see each other again. I don’t know how, when, or where, but it will happen. I’m as sure about it as I am of my next breath and it makes the days a bit more bearable even though I’m still miserable. I’m still half the person I was.

  I finish my drink and place the empty glass on my desk. It’s the early hours of the morning. I’ve postponed sleep as much as I can. Done as much work as possible.

  Standing up from my chair, I turn off the desk lamp. In the process, my hand knocks over the neat stack of mail on my desk. I made my way through half of the mail. I’m willing to bet half of these are pending invoices from Nathalie’s wedding reception.