“Very determined to leave.” Mrs. Carter’s voice was loud, but her Jamaica rhythm was uneven, maybe a little flustered. “Be careful, indulging your friends. You already had one late husband. Marks, for one, looks too healthy to meet the same fake fate.”
More snickers.
Even Clancy chortled.
“Stop, Mrs. Carter,” Mama said. “Let things be. He who is without sin gets to cast stones.”
The laughs stopped, but the ladies would continue to convict me.
Always the butt of jokes, I was sick of it, but this was the push I needed. Nothing would stop me from getting my proof. Nothing.
The other half of the marriage registry would show that I was married, in a ceremony filled with promises of forever.
No one believed me, not without undeniable proof. That’s what it took for the world to believe a woman, whether she be damaged or whole.
I balled up my yarn and jabbed my bone needles into the pile. “Ladies, it’s always a special time to sit with you. Pity this will end when I marry.”
Wool bundles in my hand, I turned and walked the ten paces to the door. With my head held high, I left the room but pushed the door a little too hard. It slammed.
Mrs. Carter’s laugh filtered past the threshold.
I sank against the wall and wrapped my arms about my yarn and the poking needles.
One step closer to proof, Ruthy. I could do this. One step at a time all the way to Blaren House. I wouldn’t stop until I had both halves of the registry in my hand.
Chapter Five
The Widow’s Sister
Waiting for Clancy to announce my carriage, I paced outside Mama’s parlor and tugged my long sleeves, as if showing my wrists were scandalous. This was my nerves wanting me to hide. Leaving the house was always so hard.
My sister, Ester, came out of Papa’s study and stood close to me in the small hall.
She held her baby son, Josiah, in her arms. “I see you made it out of the dragons’ den.”
“You can join me in the dragons’ den any Tuesday.”
“No thanks.” My sister’s voice sounded soothing, even sympathetic. “I don’t knit well enough, and I don’t know how you survived Mama’s friends all these years.”
“Part of my punishment. Until I’m married, in a ceremony in front of God and the gossips, I have to pay. Part of my testing. How will I be made gold without a few trials?”
My words sounded cheery, but my fingers rattled my bone needles. I peeked at my baby nephew and cooed at the innocent boy, so like Chris. Golden-colored skin. Good grips with his tiny palms.
“Having you here, you and Christopher, feels right.” Ester stepped close, close enough for me to see clearly her olive face. It beamed bright but her lip twitched.
Oh no. The girl wanted something.
I moved my watch chain away from the boy’s fingers. “Out with it, sister.”
“Nineteen Fournier is so big. Must you and the barrister leave when you are married? Do you have to live somewhere else?”
“Yes! As soon as possible,” I said the words without hesitation.
Ester’s head dipped as if she’d been struck. The perfect daughter would never understand.
Josiah’s mouth felt wet, so I wiped spittle from his puckered lips. “He hasn’t proposed. And when I do marry, I’ll still be in town, not far away. You can come to me on Tuesdays to escape Mama’s knitters.”
“I don’t want to lose you again.”
Lose what?
The shell of the person I once was.
A wild child forced to live so carefully.
A target made to endure wounds from dragons like Mrs. Carter.
I shook my head with some violence. That was despair. That wasn’t me. I lived. I knew my truth. I was grateful that I wasn’t what the gossips said. But every day was a battle. If I made it out the door, Fournier’s front door, I was a winner, today’s lucky winner.
“You, my lovely sister, will visit often. You will stay late and drink tea in my very own parlor. You will read me and Chris Shakespeare.”
The smile on Ester’s cherub face blossomed. “That will be wonderful. We could do that here. Tonight? I know I haven’t been as supportive as I should, with the baby and my husband running for Parliament, but—”
“Please stop.” Shrugging my shoulders, I rubbed my thumb along my nephew’s smooth cheek. “Your priorities are good. Josiah is looking stronger. He’ll be crawling soon.”
“Please, Ruth. You’re my sister. I want us to be close again. I love you and my nephew. I don’t want you two to go.”
“Little Chris is everything, so full of curiosity, so sweet. I need him settled in a new situation, something less crowded. Something of my own where I can count my steps and know things won’t change. My slippers won’t move from the spot I put them. And clocks, my clocks will sound as loud as possible.”
“Marriage to Barrister Marks does that? My Bex says he’s a good man, honorable, a fighter for abolition, but he works a lot.”
“Yes. Yes, that’s perfect for me.”
“Mr. Marks will stay away long hours, and your sight isn’t better. Chris is so active.”
That was Ester’s polite way of saying I’d be blind, that darkness was coming for me. Another judgement for the sins I didn’t commit. Eloping could never equal Adam’s brutal death and all the things done to me.
I am dwelling again. This is my personal trap to keep me here, not venturing outside and gaining my proof.
“Ester, sweet Ester. Nothing has stopped the shrinking of my sight, but I’ve made an amiable truce with my faltering vision. I’m learning how to manage. Adam used to count…I will be fine, and Chris will be great. You and yours will be my honored guests.”
I reached and smoothed the wrinkles forming on Ester’s brow. “I get fewer headaches without the lenses, and I don’t have to see sadness on cute faces like yours. There are benefits.”
Ester didn’t say anything, she just cooed at Josiah.
There wasn’t much to say.
I loved my sister, but this was my truth. My pile of spectacles on my bed table attested to it. And Croomes needed proof, undeniable proof to believe anything. That was another of my truths.
My wool fell when Ester pulled me and Josiah tight against her.
“Sorry, Ruth.”
I kissed her cheek. “Once I’m married and secure, we’ll have those Tuesday teas like Mama. I won’t make you knit.”
Mrs. Fitterwall came down the steps from the upper rooms. “Time for Josiah’s nap. Your heavy shawl is on the table at the front, Mrs. Bexeley. Your coat, too, Mrs. Wilky. Here are your spectacles.”
The woman shoved her open palm close to my face.
I was livid. I knew her hand was near. I knew how the red-haired housekeeper moved, like there was a crook in her neck from not stretching.
I didn’t complain. Maybe she thought she was helping, holding my crystal spectacles three inches from my face. “Thank you.”
I put the heavy lenses on my nose. Spotting my yarn, I scooped it up. I knew the answer already, but I asked anyway. “Where are you going, Ester?”
“Yes, where, Mrs. Fitterwall?” Ester’s prim mouth was open wide.
“With your sister, silly goose. That’s what Mrs. Croome said.”
My mama didn’t trust me and had appointed a guardian, the perfect daughter, to accompany me. I nodded and didn’t let my disappointment show.
I shut up and took it.
Mama tigress was still in control. Her words had been said from on high. Mrs. Fitterwall should’ve had the commandment etched on stone tablets. Trust must be earned.
“Yes, come along, sister.”
Bewilderment settled in Ester’s topaz eyes. She tugged at the bodice on her simple beige gown. “Ummm. I should change.”
“There’s no time. Give your son to the housekeeper and let’s go.”
She did, and Mrs. Fitterwall hummed a lullaby and took the wee lad up
the stairs—with that crook-necked movement of hers.
“Ruth? You never go anywhere.”
Her voice held such surprise.
Just what I needed to bolster me, a doubting Ester. I chuckled inside.
“I’m glad you are getting out of the house for a bit, but Ruth, I don’t have to go with you, if you need privacy.”
Ester’s soft eyes whimpered. In another moment, she’d repeat platitudes about waiting on change, prayers for patience, or some comforting Job-like concession on long suffering.
There was no time. My strength would wane if I didn’t go now. Ester could be helpful when I took that first step out the door.
I put a finger to Ester’s mouth. “You look like a suitable chaperone. You’ll keep the wayward daughter from a new disaster.”
My sister didn’t move.
I sighed and tried again. “Come with me, Ester. I want you with me. I need you.”
“I don’t have to go, Ruth. I trust you.”
I looked at the door. She’d help going down those steps. “You shall come. Wear my coat. That will fix you up. I’ll wear your shawl. We’ll both match in pink. And that’s your favorite color. We’re in fine Croome fabric as we visit my husband’s family.”
Ester moved with me to the door.
With my spectacles, I study it.
The smoothness of the ebony-painted wood.
The glass sidelights that let in the sun.
The strength of it, a barrier to keep out the world.
“Your husband’s family. The barrister’s family? That’s an odd way to put it when you haven’t married him.”
“Not him. Adam Wilky, my late husband.”
She tugged my arm and pursed her lips as if she were going to share a secret. “But Adam’s made up. There’s no family to visit.”
I took all the lies told about me and pushed the anger to my hands. The volcano swirling in me blew open the door.
The carriage sat close to the house, like Jonesy would do for me.
My chest shuddered. I gripped Ester’s arm tightly. “Come see how fake Adam Wilky’s life was. Let his father attest to his existence.”
Ester started forward. I matched her strides to make myself go over the threshold.
We made it.
The air was different, so different out of the house. It whipped at my face.
My panic stirred, but I’d learned to ignore the frenzied feeling that made my lungs burn.
Closing my eyes, I leaned on Ester and soon we were on the pavement. I blinked, and I saw the carriage standing in front of me.
I jumped in so fast Ester must’ve thought I’d lost my mind. Well, I had years ago, but a survivor did what she had to do.
The carriage moved.
Ester stared at me. She must have thought I was crazed. Part of me was. I’d put hope in Adam again. I prayed his family, his wealthy Mayfair family, didn’t see my face and turn us away.
Chapter Six
The Widow’s Cold Feet
The carriage moved down Fournier Street fast.
“We’ll be on Gracechurch soon,” Ester said, in a way meant to both inform and let me know we could turn back.
I put on my spectacles and looked out the window.
Shops. Houses. People.
I didn’t know the streets anymore.
That saddened me.
I thought of when I had. I thought of the docks and Adam walking me to Papa’s warehouse near the Thames. We’d done that every week for six months.
For just a moment, I let bitterness sweep over me. It blasted through the knitted weave of the shawl, rattling the spaces betwixt my ribs. Adam’s loss became fresh in my mind again, and I hated how I’d let the size of my world shrink.
My fault. My fears. My fleeting fire—my hands couldn’t hold on to it. With proof, I’d shut up the naysayers. I’d be able to be bold me for more than a few moments.
I sat back on the seat and adjusted my spectacles, but the heavy things gave me a clear view of my sister’s frown. “Say your peace, Ester.”
My sister took off her straw bonnet. Her chin lowered as if she couldn’t hold my gaze. “I don’t know where to begin.”
“Ask your questions or repeat the lies I’ve heard for four years. Lord knows they are numerous.”
Ester raised her head at my chuckles. Her topaz eyes were fiery. “Going to find an old beau, the man who deserted you, is not worth your time. It’s a scandal that should never be mentioned.”
She grabbed my hand. “You are worth so much more than a dandy who lied and lacked faith.”
“Adam was fashionable but no dandy.”
My sister pounded the seat as if she had become frustrated. “He didn’t know the jewel that you are. How can you debase yourself and crawl back to him? Great, you found where the scoundrel lives. Slap his face and leave him be. I’ll help you. If I’d known, I’d have brought a poker.”
Part of me was quite proud of my sister’s outlandish streak. Part was touched by her love for me. But a big part of me needed her to believe my truth.
I folded my arms about the plain shawl, no fringes, no special collar, plain, plain peach in hue. “You finished? My Adam was no bounder. Before you think of striking an innocent, know that Adam did not trick me. He did not bed and dump me. He was none of the lies you’ve been told.”
Ester’s angelic face scrunched with her lips poking out. She flattened her palm against the ebony cloth of the tufted seat. “Then tell me what happened.”
“Adam Wilky was an actual man. We did marry at Gretna Green. He was killed by a bunch of evil, horrible men who robbed us on our way back to London.”
“That’s not what Papa and Mama said. Papa found you in a brothel.”
I had been so sick when Papa had come for me. I may have been confused in what I said, but I’ll never forget the disgust in his eyes carrying me out of Madame Talease’s bawdy house.
A headache started.
I rubbed my temples. “I married Adam. I had no proof when Papa located me. I’d been beaten, brutalized to the point of death. I doubt if anything I said made sense to Papa. But Adam and I went through a ceremony. I know Adam loved me, and I watched him die, protecting me.”
Ester gasped, she paled, looking like an ashy angel. “But it was fake. Adam Wilky was invented. Mama said it was a lie. Papa’s lawyers found no proof that a man by that name existed.”
“A lie is what they call the truth when no one believes it.”
I dug into the reticule and pulled out the halved page of the blacksmith’s registry. “See, this section says C. A. Wilkinso… and Ruth Eliz… The rest is cut off. My half had been in the trunk I received two weeks ago. Adam’s half, he sent by post to his family’s residence, Blaren House. That’s where we are going.”
“That makes no sense. The registry has to be available for everyone to view to maintain its validity. Why would you do something like cutting up the record that could validate your union?”
“Adam did it. He knew his life was in danger and that our marriage made me vulnerable to those hunting him. He took the registry, cut it in half, and sent his piece to his father. If his father has Adam’s last letter, then maybe he will give it to me.”
Ester held the torn parchment paper to the window. “This says Wilkinso. You’ve gone by the name Wilky?”
Was it wrong to be mad at a dead man?
I hated Adam for his secrets, as much as I hated that he was gone. I was conflicted and hurting, but these should be old wounds. For the past two weeks I’d told myself so many times it didn’t matter, that he’d had reason for this deception. Just more of his cloak-and-dagger ways. Truthfully, it made everything hurt all over again.
I took back the old document and smoothed it against my knee. “Wilky, Wilkinson. None of it matters. You don’t believe me.”
“Ruth, is it possible he took the document to get rid of the proof? That he’d changed his mind and thought it more convenient to have no evidence?”
It was possible, but I’d never let Ester know that.
The wrong last name was why Papa had found no evidence of Adam.
Time and hurt had a way of shifting things. Adam, hero or villain? Who was he? Why had he had so many secrets?
Ester put a hand on my shoulder. “Is it worth confirming that this man you risked everything for was a scoundrel?”
Scoundrel. Liar. Those were words I’d have never thought about Adam, until two weeks ago.
He could be all those things and still tragically dead.
For a moment, I wanted to make the carriage turn back. I should keep the lies I’d lived rather than find the truth and know how stupid I’d been.
I’d loved Adam with everything. I’d given him everything, and he couldn’t even give me his true name.
I felt weak, for I was weak.
Sinking against the seat, I wished to fall into the tuft of the fabric and never come out. I wanted to be a hairpin that slid into a crack and was lost.
Then I remembered my son.
He’d look for me like he did butterflies and birds and frogs. I wasn’t doing this for me. Chris needed to have a name, even if it was the wrong one.
Turning the plain gold band Papa had bought to replace the one taken, ripped from me like the cross Adam had given me, I stopped hiding. This was my truth. “I married Adam. It was a legal ceremony. The name is cut off, but it’s Wilkinson. Adam’s father, Algernon Nathaniel Wilkinson, that is who we are to meet. He lives at the address Adam scribbled on the back. I need both parts. That’s my proof.”
A sad sigh left Ester. She folded her arms and tucked a palm under her chin. “If he wrote the wrong name, the marriage is invalid. His family can claim it wasn’t legal. Christopher is as pale as Josiah. The white Wilkinson family will not claim you.”
I knew this.
I didn’t think Adam would be so cruel, but I never thought he’d lie to me, either. I closed my eyes. “I have to believe the good in him. He did not take me to Gretna Green just to have at me. We married. I was a bride. I was loved.”
My voice sounded strong. I saw my sister nod and back down. But she didn’t see my confusion, my growing doubts.
The Bewildered Bride (Advertisements for Love) Page 4
