An Impossible Choice (All Things Possible Book 1)

by Kate Rolin

  “Not so frightful anymore, is he?” Argel cut her friend a side-glance.

  “Mr. Pendenny is not frightening in the least,” Wynny declared righteously.

  Her friend was love-struck. Argel was sure of it. Laughing she said, “Mr. Pendenny is not who I was referring to and you know it. I meant—”

  “Wynny Hughes, Argel…is everything quite alright?”

  Argel looked up to see someone heading towards them. “Benson,” she smiled and waved, “sold out already?” She hadn’t heard his approach, as he was without his cart.

  “Sold out?” He hesitated a moment. “I, oh, yes. Actually, I forgot something at home.”

  “Do you need us to stay with your cart until you return? We’re heading that way now.” Argel didn’t want his produce to disappear. Not that there were thieves in Beddgelert, but animals were another matter.

  “No, no,” the man shook his head profusely, “not necessary.”

  Argel noticed he looked a little disturbed. “Benson, is everything all right?”

  “Yes, of course. I’m just becoming a forgetful old man.” He laughed rather loudly. “In fact, I’ve forgotten what I needed in the first place. It must not be that important I suppose.”

  “I suppose not,” Wynny laughed beside her—the first sign of her actually listening to the conversation.

  “Well then, I’ll just be going.” Benson started to walk off when he stopped. “You didn’t happen to see two men pass by here just minutes ago, did you?”

  “Yes,” Argel nodded. “Mr. Westlake and Mr.—”

  “Mr. Pendenny!” Wynny eagerly interrupted.

  “Yes,” Argel shot her friend an amused look, “Mr. Westlake and Mr. Pendenny. We just met them on the road before you came by.”

  “Do you know them, then?” Benson peered at Argel primarily.

  “No, not beyond introductions, though Mr. Westlake and my uncle know each other.”

  At that, Benson’s eyes seemed to sharpen. “Do they now? How…pleasant.” His voice drifted off as he seemed to be thinking about something. “Well. I’d better get back. Hwyl fawr Argel, Wynny.”

  “Hwyl fawr,” Argel and Wynny both replied as he turned away.

  “Oh, and Argel?” Benson had paused a second time. “I would be careful around those two. Even if that one is a friend of your uncle’s, they’re still strangers to Beddgelert. I would hate to see you…get hurt. Both of you.”

  Argel’s brow knit together as a confused laugh escaped her, “Benson, whatever do you mean?”

  “Just promise me Argel,” he said sharply.

  “Alright,” she answered, stunned. “I promise.”

  He grinned, seemingly back to his old self. Without another word, he turned and left. Argel stood in the road, looking after him.

  What was that carnival of a conversation all about? Perhaps Benson truly was losing his mind. He’d just mentioned that he was growing forgetful. But, he wasn’t that old…perhaps ten years younger than her uncle. Whatever could he have—

  “Silly Benson,” Wynny said as she stepped up beside her. “To think we should fear that kind Mr. Pendenny.”

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  “I’m glad to see things going so well at the mine. That bodes well for your related investments,” Pendenny said as he continued scribbling notes in his book.

  “Yes, yes,” Damon muttered, leaning back in the other wooden chair as they both sat in Pendenny’s hotel room going over the books. Faithful Pendenny—always reviewing his accounts everywhere they went.

  Damon’s mind was distracted, however, with thoughts of seeing Argel again at supper. He glanced to the round clock on the wall and shifted in his seat. He still had a good thirty minutes until her shift began.

  “You…you don’t think that she could be the Phillips girl, do you?”

  The blurted question interrupted Damon’s thoughts. He rested the chair on all fours and looked over to find Pendenny staring directly at him, his spectacles removed and dangling from his hand. “What are you talking about, Pendenny?”

  “Her. Argel. She came here sixteen years ago, no parents…” He cocked a brow. “It’s possible.”

  Damon stilled, blood humming in his head. The thought honestly hadn’t crossed his mind; he’d been so caught up in Argel to consider any connection to the Phillips name. But everything Pendenny just said made it sound possible indeed. “Was her name Mary?” he asked softly.

  “I don’t recall. Phillips is all I know.” Pendenny sat back, finger tapping on the table in front of him. “I’ll look into the matter when we return home. I’d never before considered a connection between Black Jack and the Phillips family. We didn’t even know a niece existed.” He paused, glancing back up at Damon. “Surely…surely you don’t think Black Jack capable of such a thing? He’s a liar and a cheat, I know, but kidnapping? Murder?”

  Damon sat in silence, mind churning. His steepled fingers rhythmically tapped his chin. Something about the possibility deeply worried him. “But if Argel is the Phillips girl, why keep her here? Alive? What motive could he possibly have?”

  “Yes, what motive indeed…” Pendenny’s words trailed off in thought.

  Damon sat up straight. “Send a message to London asking the girl’s name. Since it appears that we’ll be here for a few weeks, perhaps we’ll have word before we leave. If it is Argel…” His mind raced with the implications. She could be in more danger than he thought…

  “Yes? What could we do?”

  “Take her back with us.” Damon stood, ignoring the shock on Pendenny’s spectacle-free face. The man’s act was so good, even Damon often forgot that he didn’t really need them. “I’m going to clean up before supper. You sure you won’t join me?”

  “Does Miss Hughes work there as well?”

  “I don’t believe so, just Argel and some other chap.”

  “Then, no, I have some more figures to balance. Bring me back a sandwich or some other, won’t you?”

  “Very well, suit yourself,” Damon turned to make his way to his own room. Anxiety now mixed with anticipation at seeing Argel soon, making him move with urgency.

  Supper was a similar affair to the night before. Again, he had the stew. Again, he listened with rapt attention as Argel sang. And again, he offered to walk her home.

  Moonlight shone down upon them again as she walked beside him, her arm in his. “Your singing was quite lovely again tonight, Argel.”

  “Thank you,” came her soft reply.

  They walked on, neither speaking until Damon decided to ask the question that had been toying with his curiosity since the night before. “I noticed you sing with your eyes closed, last night and again tonight. Why is that?” Trivial compared to his other concerns, but he still wanted to know.

  She laughed, “Embarrassment. I don’t like being in front of crowds, the center of attention. It helps to calm my nerves. That’s why I insist they purchase their second drink before I sing. They’re more likely to join in—and it also helps the inn financially.”

  Damon chuckled, “A cunning angel.” He looked down to find her blushing. How could he have ever thought this sweet creature in league with her uncle? He was certain now of her innocence in the matter, or at the very least her ignorance.

  They continued walking as an avalanche of thoughts devoured Damon’s mind. There were still so many questions, so much he wanted to discuss with her; particularly in relation to Pendenny’s suspicion. But he didn’t wish to scare her off. Better to begin with something less…personal. “I passed the most peculiar mound of earth today. It was as if it was a grave of some sort, yet I saw no marker.”

  “Ah,” Argel nodded, “’tis the grave of Gelert.”

  “Gelert?” He cut his eyes to her, “Who was that?”

  She grinned up at him, “You can’t visit Beddgelert without hearing the tale.” Her voice turned serious then, “Legend says that Gelert was the faithful hound of Llywelyn th
e Great.”

  “And, he was?”

  “Don’t interrupt,” Argel said, a wry smile on her face. “Llywelyn was Prince of Gwynedd, ruler of this territory many, many years ago. Well, one day Llywelyn returned home from a hunt to find his child, a baby, missing. Gelert’s own mouth was smeared with blood, implicating him. Llywelyn was so angry, he drew his sword on the spot, killing his once-faithful hound. The poor dog yelped loudly and then died.

  “It was then that Llywelyn heard the cries of a baby close by. He found the child unharmed, under a cradle, and a dead wolf lying nearby. Gelert had saved the babe, you see. Protected him from the beast. Llywelyn was so overcome with guilt, he buried the dog with grand ceremony—under the mound you saw—and they say the man never smiled again,” Argel finished quietly.

  “What a tale,” he smiled. “What is it with this village and animals?”

  Argel laughed, the sound warming his blood. “Legend also says that the story was all made up not many years ago, by David Pritchard, no less.”

  “Pritchard? From the hotel? Why ever would he do such a thing?”

  She shrugged beside him. “The hotel had just opened, and, well, legends draw tourists, and tourists need a place to stay. There’s not much other reason to venture to Beddgelert.”

  Damon laughed in amazement, “Ingenious! And he even built the mound. Ha!”

  They crossed the bridge then, and Argel’s tone changed. “No doubt you have heard plenty of tales yourself, seen many interesting places…”

  She sounded wistful.

  “Yes,” he said slowly, wondering at her tone. “I suppose so. But I am a man of business, rarely staying in a place longer than necessary, always with a purpose. Never seeking pleasure other than a successful transaction or deal, so I am afraid you would find my tales to be quite boring.”

  He stopped then, and looked down at her, realization dawning. “Argel, have you never left Beddgelert? Not once since you came here?” Unease from Pendenny’s suspicion gnawed at him.

  “No,” she looked down at the ground as if too pained to admit it, and sighed. “I love this place, don’t misunderstand, but…” She visibly swallowed and Damon had the distinct impression this was not something she would tell just anyone. “As beautiful as it is—the hills, the mountains—I often feel that they are closing me in, keeping me prisoner.”

  “Your uncle, he won’t take you with him? He leaves often, does he not?”

  She looked up at him then, sadness and longing evident in her eyes. “No, never. It isn’t safe.” As soon as the words were out, Argel gasped, her eyes growing wide. Clamping her mouth shut, her eyes darted to the ground.

  Damon’s unease only grew with her words. He placed a finger under her chin and gently tipped her head up to look at him. “Argel,” he said softly, “why isn’t it safe? What brought you here in the first place?”

  Her lips parted, but he saw she hesitated.

  “You needn’t fear me, Argel. You can trust me.”

  He watched for a moment as a struggle played out across her face, when finally acceptance won out and she nodded.

  “Here, let’s sit for a moment,” Damon motioned to a nearby tree, its broad shadow casting the ground around it in darkness. Perhaps the darkness would help her to confide in him, now knowing the reason she sang with her eyes closed.

  Removing his cloak, he placed it on the dark ground and bid her to sit beside him. Together, they sat there in the still quiet of the night, looking out on the moonlit world around them. It felt like minutes ticked by as they sat in silence…and he waited. When he heard her soft sigh, he reached over to gently squeeze her hand.

  She didn’t pull away, but continued holding his as she began. “Damon, I…I killed my parents.”

  His heart stopped. Surely, he misheard. Of all possibilities, this was the last thing he’d expected to hear. “You don’t mean—”

  “Yes, Damon, I do,” she sounded as if in agony. “Oh, it was accidental and I was a young child, but I did it just the same.”

  Damon was dumbstruck and his jaw dropped, refusing to work. Even if he willed it to move, what could he say?

  Her revelation only deepened the mystery surrounding her. What was Black Jack’s connection to this—for he knew there must be one. So many questions, but he simply sat still waiting to hear more—more that would tell him she was mistaken.

  “I was always bad about falling asleep with my candle burning—scared of the dark, you see. I awoke one night to flames…everywhere. And heat, oh, the heat,” she stopped for just a moment and he felt her shiver.

  Damon’s heart went out to her then, something he had vowed would never happen again, and he knew in that moment he would never get it back—not in one piece, anyway.

  And in that moment, he found he did not mind in the least.

  “I remember,” she continued slowly, “screaming for help. And the next thing I knew, a hand reached through the flames and pulled me to safety.”

  His gut twisted. “Your uncle? The burns on his hand?”

  “Yes, all because of me,” her voice broke and Damon was defenseless. He pulled her into his arms and she laid her head on his chest like a little child. “Everyone died in the house, except for the two of us. When he found me, I was wrapped in my blanket, hiding, which is why I was spared the same scarring fate. But I should have been burned. It should have been me.”

  “You can’t blame yourself, Argel. You were so young—five, six?” He rested his chin on her hair, the tight curls tickling his skin.

  She sighed. “I’ve tried telling myself that, but it’s useless. ’Tis like Uncle says, we all have our burdens to bear.”

  A growl escaped Damon’s throat as his arms tightened about her. Curse that wicked man. He’d have a few additional things to say to this uncle when he finally arrived. But there was one thing he still didn’t understand, “Then, tell me, why can you not leave Beddgelert?”

  “I-I’ve said too much already.” She stiffened.

  “You can trust me Argel. Please tell me, if nothing else than to share the burden you bear.”

  Damon sensed, more than heard, Argel let out a slow breath. “Uncle says someone also wanted to harm me. In fact, at first we believed this man started the fire, until it was discovered it started in my room…my candle…” She paused. “I’m told my parents were quite wealthy, you see, and I have an inheritance waiting in a trust for me until I either marry or turn twenty-five, at which time I will have full access to it. After the fire, with my parents gone, Uncle began to receive threatening letters. When he heard about a plot on my life, he brought me here, where we have stayed ever since. We live quiet, unassuming lives in Wales—surely the evil man wouldn’t venture to find me here, not after all this time.”

  “So this…person. He is still alive? Still out there? How does your uncle manage to avoid him on his travels?” Something about the story didn’t sit well with Damon.

  She shrugged, “I don’t know, that’s the problem. I always hope Uncle will bring back word of the man’s death, but we don’t even know who he is. Until then, Uncle says I’m not safe in England. He can travel because he’s not the one with a price on his head.”

  Damon grunted. It may not be a price, but Damon had his own reckoning for the man.

  “I live for my twenty-fifth birthday,” Argel continued wistfully. “Uncle promises we will make the journey undercover and I can obtain my inheritance and go far away, wherever I please, and find safety.”

  “Why not simply marry? Then you would have your inheritance and would be under your husband’s protection.” Not that he wasn’t selfishly glad she was unmarried.

  “Well, I-I simply haven’t been asked. Beddgelert is a small village,” she shrugged again. “All the men here simply see me as ‘little Argel’—like a sister.”

  “I find that hard to believe, Argel. Someone as kind and beautiful as you…”

  He could just make ou
t her head dipping in embarrassment, nearly too dark to see. “I did think once, a long time ago, that the cobbler’s younger brother took a shine to me. Little things he said, looks he gave.”

  Damon’s frown deepened with acute jealousy.

  “I thought he went to speak to my uncle about me, but I was mistaken. Uncle said it had to do with work and the boy never looked at me like that again. Apparently, it had all been nothing.”

  Though Damon was grateful for selfish reasons, he hated that Argel had felt rejection. Could her uncle have discouraged the match? But, why? “Argel, what were your parents’ names? Was your father a viscount?” Suddenly, Pendenny’s suspicion did not seem quite so ludicrous.

  “No. I-I don’t know. I don’t remember their names, much less if my father held a title. I don’t remember anything about them, other than that they loved me. It’s more of a feeling I suppose than a memory, but I’m sure of it just the same. I know that may sound odd, because I can’t even see their faces in my own memories. Uncle says it is because of the great guilt I feel, my anxiety affecting my mind, which is why he refuses to speak of them.” She quieted then and Damon thought on all she had told him. Obviously, it still caused her great distress.

  After a moment, her small voice reached through his thoughts. “I’ve…never told anyone any of this, you know. Not even Wynny.”

  His heart instantly swelled with pride, more than with any other victory he’d encountered before his life. She trusted him…of her own accord. It was very nearly the thing he’d been searching for his entire life. The thing he’d thought he’d found once before only to learn he hadn’t even been close.

  His voice was rough with feeling, “Thank you for telling me, for trusting me.”

  Argel turned in his arms and he could sense she was looking up at him. “When you leave…” she paused as if afraid to go on, “will this be like all of the other places you’ve visited? Will you move on and forget about Beddgelert?”

  His heart twisted as he realized what she was really asking. “Never,” he firmly replied. “The beauty you spoke of, the hills and mountains—I’ve only been here two days and already I know it will continue calling to me long after I’ve gone, not ceasing until I return.”