by ID Johnson
“Good. I had a feeling he wasn’t telling the truth. And to think you nearly gave up everything for that wretched man.” She looked at Charlie as she spoke and then back at Meg, a snide grin pulling at her thin lips.
The words stung worse than they should. “Yes, Mother, I suppose I nearly did. Would you happen to know anything about that, Mother? About making the wrong choice?’
“I don’t know what you mean….”
“When you chose Bertram over Da. Did you ever regret that? Once his promises of making the company so grand and profitable fell through, when he buried himself in a bottle and embarrassed the hell out of us at social functions? Did you ever think perhaps you should’ve stayed loyal to Da?”
“Mary Margaret, your uncle and I have only ever been like brother and sister,” Mildred said, her head shaking slightly as she said it.
“Please don’t speak to me as if I am an idiot, Mother. Anyone could see that was obviously not the case. I just don’t know when it all started. I’d always assumed you found solace in the arms of that vile creature after Da passed, but now, I’m not so sure.”
Mildred looked at the officer she’d been speaking to, who was now at least a foot closer to the door, and at Charlie before she said quietly, “Mary Margaret, I’m not sure now is the time to discuss such matters.”
“There will be no other time, Mother. Once I leave here today, you can rest assured I will never return.”
The older woman took a deep breath in through her nostrils. “Perhaps we should retire to the parlor then….”
“No, Mother. That’s not necessary. I see everything on your face. I had hoped that the information I just received concerning your… participation… in Da’s death was simply rumor, but you really are capable of killing, aren’t you, Mother?”
“Mary Margaret!” Mildred warned. The police officer looked much more interested in the conversation now. “I don’t know what you’re speaking of, but I assure you, I was just as shocked when your father passed away as anyone.”
Meg couldn’t say more, not right then anyway. She had secretly hoped for a confession, that her mother would admit what she had done, and while the answer was written all over her smug face, Meg realized she should’ve known better than to think Mildred would actually confess. She had always been about self-preservation. “You’re right, Mother. Now is not the time.”
Her mother nodded, and even though she was nearly four inches shorter than Meg, she still managed to look down her nose at her daughter. “I shall assume your accusation is due to your flustered state and shall let it go.”
If she expected an apology, she wouldn’t get one. Especially now that Meg realized what she’d done to her poor, trusting Da. The tears threatened to come again, and Meg crushed them with the weight of her hatred.
“Mrs. Westmoreland, we are ready to move forward with our investigation,” Officer Brown was saying as he stepped back through the door. “We have enough information now to take him in.”
Meg glanced out the door and saw Ezra being put in the back of one of the police vehicles. “Are you arresting Ezra?” she asked, stepping closer to the glass so she could see better.
“We are,” Officer Brown nodded. “We believe he is responsible for the murder of Charlotte Ross.”
“Dear God,” Mildred mumbled, her hand flying to cover her mouth.
Meg felt her stomach lurch. If it hadn’t been for Charlie’s arm tight around her waist, she may have fallen forward.
“Have you a body then?” Charlie asked for all of them.
The officer nodded. “She was found yesterday in some brush near where the automobile was located.”
“What was the cause of death?” Meg asked, her hands trembling.
“Strangulation,” the officer replied, dropping his head. “That’s all I can say at this time.”
“Poor dear,” Mildred said, casting her eyes at the ground. Then, raising them, she looked at her daughter. “That could’ve been you, Mary Margaret.”
Meg didn’t need her mother to say the words in order to know that. She said nothing, only stood on weak knees, thankful that Charlie had become a steady rock in a stream that was quickly breaking over its banks.
“We would like to collect your brother-in-law, Mrs. Westmoreland, if you don’t mind.” The voice belonged to Det. Weber, and Meg realized she hadn’t even noticed him coming back in through the back door, Jonathan behind him. The politeness, she was sure, was just a formality.
“Of course I mind,” Mildred replied. “But I suppose I have little say in the matter. Two arrests in one day,” she mused. “Mr. Ashton, you aren’t reconsidering your arrangement are you?”
He tightened his grip around Meg to the point she could hardly breathe. “Not in the least. Meg is certainly not a product of the evil that has gone on under this roof for far too long.”
Mildred only raised her eyebrows. “I shall get him for you,” she said, glancing at the detective before she turned to ascend the stairs. “It will give me the opportunity to say goodbye to him privately.”
Meg was certain that last comment was a jab at her, but she ignored it. The emotions running through her mind were too much, even for her carefully guarded compartments, and she felt like she might begin to crumble at any moment.
“Miss Westmoreland, we are prepared to take your statement whenever you are ready,” the detective said quietly.
“Give her a few moments, won’t you?” Charlie said on her behalf, only lessening his grip a bit as he did so.
“Yes, of course,” Det. Weber replied, taking a step backward into the parlor.
“Would you like some water, Meg?” Jonathan asked.
She turned to look at him and could see concern all over his face. She realized she must look a mess if he was worried about her. “I’m fine, thank you. Just shocked. I’ll be all right once this is all over.”
“The worst is past,” Charlie assured her. She knew his words were meant as comfort, but that was only because he had no idea how difficult it would be for her to sit across from Det. Weber and tell him all of the things Bertram had done to her. She realized she didn’t want to be standing there when he came down. She never wanted to see him again.
A scream broke through the silence in the house, making them all jump and look up at the second story as if they could see through the floorboards. “Dear God! Someone—help!”
It was her mother. As the shouting continued, the officers took off up the stairs, even some who had previously been standing outside, Jonathan joining in the pack. Charlie held Meg back. “Stay here.”
“What… what do you think.... Why is she screaming?”
“I’m not sure, but I suppose we’ll find out shortly.”
Tessa came running in. “What’s happening? Why is your mother shouting?”
“I don’t know. But I want to go find out. Charlie, please?”
He released her. “All right, but I wish you wouldn’t.”
As soon as she gained her freedom, Meg began to climb the stairs on shaking legs. Here, where her Da had bounded up the steps to catch her in his strong arms upon returning from trips abroad, always with a gift in his hands. Here, where she’d scraped her knee, and Da had scooped her up to bandage it, singing a silly song about little girls who tumble down the steps as he did so. Here, where she’d stomped down the stairs to confront her mother when a servant had accidentally delivered a letter from Charlie. Here, where Tessa had saved her from her uncle—momentarily—when she’d fallen and he’d snatched her ankle. Here, where Bertram had carried her up the stairs—screaming—to her room to torture her. Here, these steps, the ones that led to the second story and her room, the one place she swore she’d never enter again. The hallway where he’d stood and shadowed her doorway time and again—lurking. The hall where her mother had screamed at her—barely conscious—as she lay in agony on her bed. This doorway, two past her own, where a flood of police officers stood staring up at the ceiling, her mothe
r sobbed, and Jonathan waited for her in the threshold.
“I need to see,” Meg said quietly, Charlie just behind her.
Jonathan nodded and crushed himself against the doorjamb so Meg could squeeze through.
The officers parted as she entered, as if they all knew the importance of closure.
Meg looked up. Her uncle dangled from a rafter, his face blue, his eyes bulging, the rope around his neck frayed and thin. A chair lay on its side beneath his dangling feet, one shoe sliding off at the heel. Her mother had called for help, as if there were a possibility of saving him, but he had been lost to humanity long ago. Meg nodded once and backed into Charlie, who escorted her out of the room.
The monster was gone forever. Suddenly, Meg could feel the air in her lungs in a way she’d never felt it before. Her shoulders fell back and her head tipped up as if they were free of the weight of years of distress.
“Are you all right?” Charlie asked as they continued down the hallway.
Meg didn’t slow. She only said, “Yes,” and proceeded toward the stairs. She’d still have to deal with the knowledge that her mother had killed her father, that Ezra had strangled Charlotte, and that the demons in the boxes may still try to get out from time to time, but for now, there was no reason to tell the officers what she’d endured. She could return to America, freer than she’d ever been before.
At the bottom of the stairs, she paused and imagined her Da coming through the door, a large grin on his face, his arms open. She imagined flinging her six-year-old body into his arms, giggling, the feeling of security enveloping her as he pulled her close to his heart. One last time, a tear slipped from her eye, and Meg let it fall. She closed her eyes tightly, and looking up at the heavens, she said, “Thank you, Da.” She walked out of the door of the only home she’d ever known and kept right on walking, never looking back.
Chapter Twelve
The First Class dining experience aboard the passenger liner they’d booked the next day to take them home was nothing compared to Titanic, and the ship was much smaller, which made the rocking more obvious, but as Meg sat next to Charlie at dinner, she was just happy to have him with her. She had been right in thinking he’d be more at ease on the way home.
They’d insisted on having Jonathan and Carrie accompany them, and no one had objected. Dr. Shaw belonged there with them as much as anyone else, but Meg enjoyed watching Carrie’s face as others served her for a change, and Meg thought she looked lovely in one of her gowns.
They’d spoken at great length about all that had transpired, and yet, from time to time, someone would still muse aloud, bringing the most astounding topics back to the conversation. Meg hadn’t allowed herself to shed a single tear for either Bertram or her mother, and she was hopeful that Ezra would get what he had coming to him, though he swore he was innocent.
Her uncle’s suicide note had confessed to the poisoning of Henry Westmoreland nearly fifteen years prior, and he said he’d acted alone. Meg pushed those thoughts aside and refused to take part in any discussion whenever it came up. She knew the truth—her mother had killed her father—and thanks to her uncle, she’d never pay for it. She liked to think Mildred would be tortured forever at the thought of what she’d done to her husband, but Meg knew her mother wasn’t capable of feeling regret. If she were going to feel remorseful, she would’ve done so many years ago.
“I am so glad that you got the letters,” Charlie was saying to Jonathan as the last course was presented before them. “Now, I know that they are under my control and I don’t have to worry about some newspaper grabbing hold of them and publishing the drabble I wrote when I was ten.”
“Your letters were always well-penned,” Meg disagreed, coming back to the conversation. “If I’d known you were speaking from the heart, they would’ve been much more touching.”
“How’s that now?” Carrie asked, digging into her dessert. “You thought Mr. Ashton was being dishonest?”
“Not exactly,” Meg replied, shrugging. “I suppose I just assumed he was being forced to write them and having them looked over before he sent them, just as I was.”
“Unfortunately, I cannot blame any of my prose on anyone other than myself.” Charlie took a drink of his chardonnay .
“Do you still have all of Miss Meg’s letters?” Dr. Shaw asked, clearly amused at finding out such personal information about his clients.
“I do,” Charlie nodded, “though they are not nearly as entertaining as mine, I assure you.”
“My mother read every single one of them,” Meg explained. “I had to be prim and proper. And discreet.”
“And disinterested.” He said it with a wink, but Meg felt a tinge of guilt just the same.
“I think it’s wonderful,” Carrie said, smiling.
“What, the letters or your cake?” Jonathan asked, with a cheeky smile.
“Both.” Carrie daintily wiped at the corners of her mouth. “I imagine it will be something lovely to share with your children one day. You do plan to have children, don’t you?”
“Yes, dozens,” Charlie said nodding.
With a laugh, Meg said, “Probably not that many, but yes, we should like to have some children someday.”
“I can hardly wait to see cute little Megs and Charlies running about the estate,” Carrie said with a dreamy look on her face.
“While we can name all of our daughters Meg if my beloved likes, I think our first son shall be named Henry,” Charlie said, catching Meg’s eyes.
She felt her heart melt as a smile slowly crept across her face. “I’d like that very much.”
Before they could say more, they were interrupted by a middle-aged man with wire-rimmed spectacles and patches of graying hair above his ears, the rest of his head reflecting the lights above them. He stopped next to Dr. Shaw’s seat, a taller, thinner man standing behind him. “I thought that was you, Robert,” he said, resting his hand on Dr. Shaw’s shoulder. “How are you?”
The man was rather soft-spoken and had kind eyes, Meg noted. “Dr. Morgan!” Dr. Shaw said, grasping the other man’s hand as he rose to greet him. “I had no idea you were aboard. I’m well. How are you?”
“Quite well, thank you,” Dr. Morgan replied. “I’m just returning from a trip to visit my mother in Winchester. I tried to coax her into returning with me, but she says New York is not for the faint of heart.”
They had a good chuckle, and the rest of the table joined in as well. “Dr. Laurie Morgan, let me introduce you to Charles Ashton and his wife-to-be, Mary Margaret Westmoreland.”
“How do you do?” Charlie asked, shaking the man’s hand.
“It’s lovely to meet both of you,” Dr. Morgan said, releasing Charlie’s hand to take Meg’s. She noticed his grip was rather slack and his voice gentle.
“It’s nice to meet you as well,” Meg said.
“This is my man Jonathan Lane, and Meg’s lady Carrie….”
“Boxhall,” Carrie supplied as the doctor shook her hand in turn. “How do you do?”
“This is my assistant Edward Dane,” Dr. Morgan said, and everyone said hello to him as well, though with this greeting Meg noticed a glimmer of something pass between Jonathan and this Edward fellow as he looked at each of them and gave a soft hello.
“Dr. Morgan?” Charlie repeated. “You aren’t perchance the Dr. Morgan? That is to say, Dr. Lawrence Morgan—the famed psychiatrist?”
The doctor’s face turned a bit red. “I’m not sure that’s quite the word I’d use,” he said with a shrug.
“No, I’ve been reading some of your work recently on the human brain. I find it fascinating,” Charlie continued. “Your research is compelling, particularly where it lies in contrast to the work of Freud and others.”
“The human brain is quite complex,” Dr. Morgan replied. “The way one brain responds to a particular stimulus can be quite different than another.”
“Yes, I suppose that’s true,” Charlie nodded. “I’d love to talk to you mor
e about your findings, if you don’t mind. Do you have time?”
Dr. Morgan looked at Dr. Shaw and then back at Charlie. “Yes, of course, I don’t mind at all. If you’re sure you want to sit with a couple of doctors and listen to us ramble on in medical terminology.”
Meg noticed a brightness in Charlie’s face she hadn’t seen since before the sinking, and she couldn’t help but smile. She tried to catch Jonathan’s eye to see if he’d also noticed, but he was… preoccupied.
“Is that all right with you, Meg?”
“Absolutely,” she said quickly. “I think it’s a wonderful idea.” How lucky was she that her fiancé actually asked her permission to leave her side?
“Would you care to accompany us to the smoking lounge?” Charlie asked Dr. Morgan, who readily agreed. “Jonathan?”
It took a moment for Jonathan to realize Charlie was saying his name. “Oh, yes? What’s that now?”
Charlie’s eyebrows crinkled for a moment. “Would you mind escorting the ladies to their room?”
“I’m happy to,” Jonathan replied, rising.
Meg tried to hide her amusement. She’d never seen him disheveled before. “It was lovely to meet you, Dr. Morgan,” she said as she stood and offered her hand.
“You as well, Miss Westmoreland,” the doctor replied with a kind smile.
A few moments later, Meg had her hand on Jonathan’s arm, and he was leading her down the corridor toward her accommodations, Carrie behind them. Leaning in, she quietly asked, “Do you know him?”
Jonathan feigned innocence. “Know who?”
With a coy smile, Meg asked, “Edward, I believe he said his name was.”
“Oh, no. I don’t know him.” Meg looked at him expectantly. Jonathan’s gaze traveled from the floor in front of them to her face and then straight ahead before he added, “But I’d like to.”
She giggled. “Well, then, go back to the smoking lounge once you’ve delivered us.”
He shrugged. “I don’t know about all that, Meg….”
“Jonathan!” she said, turning to face him. “Why ever not? He was looking at you, too.”
