A sudden knock pounded on the front door. Leaving Hazel and Sebastian, Lizzie went to the front door. Lizzie’s mouth fell open with shock as a pair of familiar faces lit up before her.
“Darcy?” Lizzie said, stunned to see her best friend before her, shoulders dusted in the light snowfall and her nose as red as Rudolph’s. “What are you doing here?” Lizzie flung herself into Darcy’s arms, overjoyed.
“We had to come,” Bobby said. “Darcy’s got something for you. I came along as her bodyguard and because I’ve never been to England.” Bobby smiled at them. “And where’s my hug, eh? It’s not every day that someone travels thousands of miles to hand deliver a package.”
Pulling herself away from Darcy, Lizzie hugged Bobby. “What do you mean ‘hand deliver a package’?” Lizzie asked, glancing back and forth between the two.
“Why don’t we go inside, and I’ll explain,” Darcy said. “It’s freezing out here!”
Lizzie stepped back for them to come inside and showed them where they could deposit their coats, hats, and gloves.
“Sebastian, Hazel,” Lizzie said moments later. “We have company. Hazel,” Lizzie gestured towards the newcomers. “This is my best friend, Darcy Chambers, and her boyfriend, Bobby Rodriguez.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Hazel greeted them warmly. “Welcome to my home. Please, sit down and have some tea. I’m sure you two are half-frozen just from walking to the door.” Hazel pointed out as the wind gusted just outside the window. Darcy took a seat while Bobby helped Lizzie carry a chair in from the dining room.
“Sebastian?” Darcy said, surprised to see him sitting beside her. “What are you doing here? And what in the hell happened to your shoulder?” Darcy’s eyes locked onto the sling supporting Sebastian’s wounded side as she made a mental note to grill Lizzie about this revelation later.
“She’s my Nana,” Sebastian pointed to Hazel. “And some crazy bitch shot me after she threatened to kill both Lizzie and me,” he offered up a quick, to-the-point explanation. “You must be Bobby,” Sebastian nodded towards the tall, stocky-built man flanking Darcy’s side.
“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Bobby reached across the short table and shook Sebastian’s good hand.
“Likewise. It’s nice of you two to come all this way.” Sebastian attempted to make small talk while Lizzie collected cups, refilled the sugar and milk, and added hot water to the tea pot. Once all five were seated and armed with steaming cups in their hands, Lizzie spoke up.
“Why are you here?” she asked, reaching out and affectionately rubbing her friend’s forearm.
“A package came yesterday morning,” Darcy leaned forward, letting her elbows rest atop the table. “A manila envelope. Just like the others you described,” Darcy added as Lizzie’s eyes flashed curiously.
“You’re kidding?” Lizzie gushed.
“It was in the process of being hand delivered when I got back from the grocery store,” Bobby interjected. “You were out of milk.”
“This woman was just dropping it onto the doorstep when he pulled up,” Darcy explained. “She said was an investigator. An investigator tracking down Meredith Cardon-Bennett.”
“Mum?” Lizzie’s brow scrunched up with question. Why would an investigator come looking for my mother?” Lizzie asked, absolutely gobsmacked why someone would come searching for a woman who’d been dead for almost twenty years. Her answer came a second later when Darcy laid the said envelope down upon gingham-covered table.
“Read what’s inside. You’re not going to believe it,” Darcy urged her, knowing that Lizzie needed to read the story it told for herself.
Meeting Darcy’s eye and taking a quick look at Sebastian, Lizzie opened the envelope and drew out a stack of papers. One by one, Lizzie took her time as she perused them. The people gathered around her watched intensely as her face covered a range of emotions.
“Oh my God,” Lizzie’s hand flew to her mouth. “Are you serious?” she gasped. A shiver coursed through her as she reread the typed words before her.
“Meredith Cardon-Bennett was born Meredith Blackwell Murray-Harris on April 18th, 1960 to Michael and Corrinne Sargent-Harris of Rippon. According to this, Michael and Corrinne were killed in a traffic accident when she was just three weeks old,” Lizzie read aloud for the others to hear. “Orphaned, Meredith was taken in and adopted by her parent’s neighbors, Margaret and Paul Cardon, and was subsequently renamed. Meredith lived in Rippon until she graduated and went off to university. This is where her trail died out until I happened upon a letter written to Meredith’s adopted sister, Josephine,” Lizzie continued to read. Her mouth went dry and her body itched with anxiousness as the letter told her what her mother had refused to share.
“According to Josephine, she received a query letter from an Andrew Bennett,” Lizzie read but stopped abruptly. “Dad,” she whispered. Tears threatened to flood her eyes, but Lizzie wrestled against them. “Andrew Bennett’s letter stated that he was Meredith’s husband and that he was seeking confirmation about his wife’s heritage.” Lizzie turned the page and resumed reading. “Andrew’s letter stated that he’d discovered a handwritten letter in a drawer. A confession of Meredith’s origins. I am well aware that both Mr. and Mrs. Bennett are deceased, but I am knowledgeable that their daughter, Eliza, lives. Even though my job ended decades ago, I felt it was my duty to pass the letter onto her. After all, they rightfully belong to her as a part of her legacy. My only regret is that I didn’t do it sooner,” Lizzie said and hastily flipped the page over. “That’s all,” she said, seeing that she’d reached the end of the correspondence.
“Darcy?” Lizzie met her best friend’s eyes, as if searching for the answer to something that wasn’t connecting. “What is this?”
“Just look,” Darcy urged, pushing the remaining stack towards Lizzie. Picking up the collection of pages, Lizzie scanned them and stopped with a sharp gasp.
“Oh my God,” she cried, realizing what rested in her hands. “Sebastian,” she breathed his name. “This is an updated version of The Secrets of Water! This appears to be a second edition of the last half!” Lizzie’s joy was palpable. The mystery that she’d doggedly followed had finally reached its conclusion. Overcome, Lizzie suppressed the urge to dance about the small kitchen.
“And that’s not all,” Darcy shuffled through the stack of pages until she found what she was looking for. “Read that. You’re in for a big surprise,” Darcy said, barely able to contain her excitement. Under the table, Bobby slipped his hand into hers, lacing their fingers together. Taking the proffered sheet, Lizzie began to read aloud once more.
“This is the confession of Muriel Sargent-Abbington,” Lizzie stopped to take a sip of tea before continuing. “That’s Hannah Sargent’s daughter,” she announced to those in attendance. “I write this confession not for any wrong that I’ve done, but because there is a secret that I can no longer bear to carry. On December 18th, 1910, I took in a child—an orphaned girl—whose parents were no longer living. The child came to me through my mother, Hannah Sargent. Unable to bear my own children, I did not hesitate to take the babe as my own. My husband and I raised Emily and smothered her with all the love we could muster. As we watched her grow, her dark hair, her dark eyes, her mannerisms—even her inclination towards melancholia—struck me as odd.”
“As the child grew older, I couldn’t help but feel as if she reminded me of someone. For just as many years, I questioned my mother about the child’s origins, but she refused to answer. When Emily was thirteen, my mother fell ill. Upon her death bed, she confessed something that rocked me to my core. As she lay dying, Mother admitted that my beautiful Emily, the child of my heart, was the daughter of her former employer, Edith Blackwell, and an American painter, named Edward Murray. Mother said that she’d promised Edith that she’d never say a word about Emily’s parentage but changed her mind, convinced that Emily and I should know the truth. I want to write it all down with the hopes that one da
y my daughter will find this and forgive me for not being strong enough to tell her the truth. Emily is ignorant of her birth parents, or that she’s adopted. I tried several times to tell her but couldn’t. The fear of losing my daughter was too great to risk saying anything. I just hope that now that I’m gone, she knows that what I did was out of love. That even though I didn’t give birth to her, I am her mother, and nothing will change that. And so, I tuck this letter away in the desk that once stood in Edith Blackwell’s writing room. A room where two identical desks once stood but where only one now remains. If and when you find this darling, know that I loved you more than words could ever possibly say. Now that you are about to be a mother yourself, I can only pray that you understand.”
Lizzie stared blankly down at the delicate scrawl. Her skin shivered as if fireworks exploded across it. Drawing in a slow, steadying breath, she released it and swallowed hard.
“Edith Blackwell is my great-great-grandmother,” Lizzie whispered, stunned to the center of her soul. “My desk is one of the original desks. My mother’s desk might be the one where Edith wrote all of her novels.” Hazel and Sebastian stared open-mouthed, each shocked by what Lizzie had said. The only two that remained unaffected were Darcy and Bobby.
“That explains why you have always felt close to her,” Darcy chimed, deeply moved by Lizzie’s reaction. “And it explains why you look like her,” she added. “Bobby and I saw her portrait at the Museum when we went looking for you. This dude named Martin told us we could find you here and offered a free tour of the museum.”
“Darcy, are you sure this is real?” Lizzie asked, positive of the answer. Everything before her was legit. The date on both the letter and the back page of the manuscript proved it. Even Muriel’s handwriting. Lizzie had seen it a half-dozen times when sorting through Hannah Sargent’s correspondence found at Blackwell Farm. All of it combined proved what she couldn’t have dreamed to be true. Lizzie’s certainty went deep to the marrow.
“You’re the great-great-granddaughter of Edith Blackwell and Edward Martin Murray,” Sebastian said, equally overcome. “Your descended from Edith through your mother.”
“I knew that there was a reason why you were so captivated by her!” Darcy shouted, unable to contain herself.
“I’m related to Edith through my mother,” Lizzie repeated softly, still rocked with disbelief. “I wonder if Mum ever knew?”
“There’s one more thing,” Darcy announced and reached into her back pocket. “Bobby found this when he went looking for a pen to do his crossword puzzle.” Darcy laid a basic, 4x9 size envelope down and slid it towards Lizzie.
“I accidentally hit this knob on your desk and a drawer popped open from the bottom but got stuck. Naturally, I went and got something to fix it. This fell out when I finally got it unstuck,” Bobby explained. “I’m sorry that I opened it. Curiosity got the best of me.”
Lizzie waved it off before insisting that his unintentional intrusion didn’t upset her. “There’s nothing to forgive,” she said, trying to reassure the big man she considered her brother that she wasn’t upset.
“Liz,” Darcy chimed in. “You need to read that.”
With her eyes fixed on the off-white, somewhat yellowed envelope, Lizzie separated the split seam that ran along its top. Slowly, she pulled a folded piece of stationery out and immediately burst into tears, seeing her mother’s handwriting for the first time in almost two decades.
Lizzie swallowed a sob as she ran her fingers over Meredith Bennett’s elegant handwritten words.
“My dearest, darling Pumpkin,” Lizzie struggled to say but her voice cracked, and words utterly failed her. Unable to go on, she handed the letter to Darcy to finish reading it aloud.
“My dearest, darling Pumpkin,” Darcy said smoothly and supportively took hold of Lizzie’s hand. “Right now, Daddy and I are preparing to fly to Boston, and you are upstairs, snuggled into your bed, safe and sound. I know that you’re upset that we are leaving you behind but, we have no choice. Grandma Virginia is in California at a conference and Daddy will be busy flying Mr. Stanton to South America. As for me, I will be finding us a new home. There is something else, though. The reason why I needed you to stay safe in London. Mummy needs to see the doctor, my sweetheart. Mummy is sick with something they call cancer. It’s the kind of sick that needs special medicine and will leave mummy tired and sick to her tummy. It eases Mummy’s mind to know that you’re going to be well-taken care while I’m gone, and that in just under a month, Daddy will fly back and bring you home to Boston. When I come back, we will go back to the Museum to see your great-great grandfather’s portrait again. Mr. Edward Martin Murray is his name. And if you’re good, we’ll drive up north to a place called Blackwell Farm where your great-great-grandmother once lived. Even though it looks like a scary, creepy haunted house now, it once was filled with artists and scientists. It’s a magical place where your great-grandparents fell in love and where I first learned about the secrets of water.”
A shuddered sob tore from Lizzie’s throat as Darcy spoke. “I thought they believed I would get in the way,” Lizzie wept as she dotted her eyes with an already soaked through napkin. “I went to bed that night thinking that they didn’t want me with them because they’d be too busy,” she cried on. “My mother had cancer!” She sobbed and buried her face within hands.
“It’s okay, my love,” Sebastian rose from his chair and went to comfort her. Pulling her against him, he kissed the back of her head as he wrapped his good arm around her. “It’s all right.”
“There’s more,” Darcy announced and flipped the letter over. “Before Daddy and I leave in a few minutes, there is something that I want to share with you. Something that you won’t understand until you are a grown woman. Mummy’s life was not a happy one until I met your father and we had you. My adopted father was abusive and controlling, while my adopted mother favored my older sister, Josephine. They never treated me as if I were an equal part of the family and as I grew older, I could never understand why. That was until I found a confession letter and part of a manuscript inside my old desk. The letter spoke of my true origins. That the family I knew wasn’t my blood family. That my true parents loved and adored me but were killed in a car crash, and that my adopted family hid the truth from me. The letter spoke of my origins, which my darling, are your origins, too. The letter was a confession from your great-great-grandmother, Edith, confirming that she had a daughter, Emily, and how she’d had to give her up when she was diagnosed with cancer. Edith also wrote how she’d bequeathed the self-portrait of my great-grandfather to the Portrait Gallery in London.”
Lizzie gasped as the memory of weekly visits to the museum flashed before her eyes. “I remember her showing me his portrait! She’d point out the features we shared, and she’d describe how he was a magnificent painter with endless imagination. Just like she was!” Lizzie gasped wondrously. “My mother inherited his talent for painting! What else does her letter say, Darcy?” Lizzie asked excitedly through a fresh cascade of tears.
“That’s it,” Darcy declared. “Any other pages that were there are gone.”
Lizzie broke down once more. Unable to bear her tears, Sebastian tightened his grip and held her as she cried.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Hazel exhaled slowly, her eyes registering the shock she felt. “You’re related to Edith Blackwell.”
“That’s what all these say,” Sebastian offered before he affectionately brushed Lizzie’s hair back behind her ear. “It explains why Edith, your mother, and you all favor one another so.” Sebastian straightened himself but didn’t break contact with Lizzie. “What do you want to do with all of this, Liz?” Sebastian’s hand found its way to the back of her neck once more and settled tenderly at the base of her hairline.
“We need to take this to the Museum first thing in the morning.” Lizzie held up the stack of paper.
“I’ll call Harry to drive us,” Hazel added as the shock started to die down and
everyone began to relax once more.
“If you will all excuse me, I’d like to be alone for a bit,” Lizzie announced suddenly and fled the room. Without objection, her friends watched her go to process the revelation she’d just learned.
Lizzie made her way upstairs to her room. Once inside, she shut the door without locking it and sat down upon the bed, her mother’s letter, Muriel’s confession, and the updated half of The Secrets of Water still resting in her hand. Lizzie flipped through the pages, not really reading—just perusing—searching for something that she felt was missing. When she reached the last page, she found what she sensed. For several moments, she sat staring at the page in her hand. Although she desperately wanted to read the remaining manuscript, it was the last page that held her interest.
“Forgive for what I’ve done, my darling,” the note began. “Forgive me for taking their lives but you must understand that I did it for you, and I did it to protect our child.” Edith’s scrawl covered more than half the vellum sheet of her personalized stationery. “I poisoned the wine bottle we were going to share on the night before we were to start our new lives in California. I served it to your murderers at dinner and watched as they paid for their crimes on the dining room floor beside me.”
A gasp escaped Lizzie’s lips as she read a vengeful woman’s confession.
“They wanted to imprison me, to lock me away in Bedlam, steal my fortune, and live off my money. And when I told Addie about our child, she threatened to kill us both. Instead, I took theirs, Addie’s and Wagner’s. Mr. Brown disposed of their bodies. He buried them near the garden shed, on the edge of the refuse pile. I go there sometimes and think about what I’ve done, yet remorse never crosses my mind. I am not sorry for avenging what they did to you. I’m also not sorry for defending myself against their wicked plans. The only remorse that I feel is that we were denied the life we had planned. That our new life in California will go unfulfilled, unlived, unrealized. I regret that you were denied the chance to meet your daughter who is a perfect blend of us both. It kills me to know that you won’t get to watch her grow, and that I won’t, either. I write this now, my darling, to tell you that I will see you soon. I have cancer, you see. Cancer of the lungs. That is why my lungs had gotten progressively worse. That’s what the doctors have diagnosed, and they are certain that I won’t live to see Christmas. Aunt Amelia always said that at the moment of one’s death, we travel down a long tunnel, towards a bright light where all our loved ones waited. In just a few moments, I will see you there, at the end of that tunnel, arms open and waiting to welcome me back into them. I don’t want you to worry about Emily, my dearest. Mrs. Sargent’s daughter, Muriel, has agreed to adopt her. As you know, Muriel and her husband, David, are childless after many years of marriage and no issue to show for it. It is them that I’ve entrusted our daughter to. She could not ask for better parents, my darling—save for us. Muriel and David will make her the centre of their lives. She will not want for anything, especially love and affection. Mrs. Sargent has promised to be a part of her life. And so, my darling Edward, it’s with that I end this letter…”
The Secrets of Water Page 27
