The two of them sat together in silence while they waited for any news from downstairs. Twenty minutes later, the doctor returned. He was white-faced, clearly shaken. “They found her.”
Evelyn felt relief flood through her and she fell back against the pillows, exhausted with the sudden release of tension.
Ada stared at her daughter, clearly shaken. “Found who? Who is down there? And how did you know about it?”
“Rebecca...” Evelyn murmured. “Lady Brokeridge's personal maid. He knew she had talked to me,” she explained. She turned to the doctor. “Is she well?”
“She is regaining consciousness, my lady,” he said gravely. “I do not know how much of the sleeping draught was administered. I cannot tell yet if it will cause lasting damage.”
Evelyn felt ill. What had been done? What had been given to them both to make them sleep like that? She glanced at Ada.
Ada must have read her mind, for she asked, “What draught? Doctor, what was in it?”
“Valerian, mostly,” the doctor admitted. “More than that I do not know. Poppy, mayhap. Whatever it is, it seems to have a powerful effect. I have never seen the like.”
Evelyn bit her lip. Mrs. Brook had told her Mr. Adam knew more about plants even than she did herself. She should have realized then. “Dangerous,” she murmured.
The doctor nodded. “Indeed, Lady Evelyn. It is very dangerous indeed. Which is why I think you should sleep as long as possible. That, combined with the bruising you have sustained, makes me think sleep is the best cure.”
Evelyn nodded. “Take care of Rebecca,” she murmured.
“Yes,” the doctor said. He seemed to be a vast distance away behind Evelyn's closed eyelids. Evelyn allowed herself to slip back into sleep. Her mother was still holding her hand. All was safe again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
LEGACIES OF THE PAST
LEGACIES OF THE PAST
The next morning, Evelyn felt well enough to move out of her bed. She was still shaky and weak, but the effect of the drug had worn off completely and she finally no longer felt ill.
She and her mother sat together in the parlor, taking a light breakfast. They were staying in her parents' townhouse, Holyrood Place, and the familiarity of it made Evelyn feel more comforted than she had in weeks. She breathed in the scents of scones and sipped her chocolate from a porcelain cup. She was not sure she ever wanted to drink tea again.
“So the police went to Brokeridge Manor after you found me?” Evelyn asked quietly as her mother related the events of the evening before.
“Yes, dear,” Ada said gently. “Your father sent them there directly.”
Evelyn shuddered. “I do not want Barrett to hate me for harming his father.”
Ada reached across the table and took her hand reassuringly. “He will not hate you, dearest. I do not think he could. I saw his face when he saw you carried from the attic.”
Evelyn could not help a small jolt of surprised delight. “What did he look like?”
Ada closed her eyes. “My dear, I have not seen such anguish on anyone's face.”
Evelyn smiled. “Thank you for telling me, Mother. I must admit I am surprised by that. I did not know he felt that way about me.”
Ada smiled back. “I have no idea why you are surprised. You are a great-hearted young woman. You inspire love.”
“Thank you.”
The new knowledge of how deeply Barrett cared for her did relatively little to ease the pain in Evelyn's heart. She knew now that she would not marry him – there was too much sorrow between them for that. In addition, the fact that she had revealed his father as the murderer of his mother would not make matters easier for him or for her, however much he cared.
She bit her lip, thinking about that. She was sure there would be no real outcome from her identification of Lord Brokeridge as the murderer: he could not very well be prosecuted for a murder that happened fifteen years before with no witnesses! If they tried to accuse him, it was only her word against his, and he was a powerful man. He could, perhaps, be charged with the assault on her and on Rebecca, though even then it was doubtful that an earl could be brought to trial. Besides that, the thought of having to face him in the courthouse, with so many people staring at them both as she gave her testimony, frightened Evelyn. She just wanted to forget. To leave this all behind her.
“What will Barrett do, do you think?” she asked her mother.
“You mean, does he wish to marry you? I rather think the question is: do you wish to marry him?”
Evelyn swallowed hard and tried to meet her mother's eye. She was gazing at Evelyn kindly, her hand on hers. It did not make it easier. “No,” Evelyn said in a small voice. There was only one man she wanted. Bronson. And he was forever below her station, and now he had even left the manor. She knew of no one else she even thought she loved.
“Good,” her mother said, surprising Evelyn, who had thought her mother's dearest and deepest wish was to have her married as soon as possible.
“Good?”
“I would not see you married into that family. He has breeding, yes, but even if he is nothing like his father, I would always wonder and always worry about you.”
“Thank you, Mother,” Evelyn whispered. “That is good to hear.”
Her mother laughed. “Did you really think I could sit by and let you marry into a family where a man murdered his spouse?”
“I know you have always allowed me my own choice, but yes. I really thought my marriage was more important than my happiness,” Evelyn admitted.
Ada smiled fondly, though the smile was tinged with sadness. “I cannot believe you would think I was so cruel,” she said quietly.
Evelyn squeezed her hand. “Not cruel, dear Mother. Just unfailingly practical.”
“Sometimes the one can lead to the other,” her mother said quietly.
“You mean like Lord Brokeridge?” Evelyn asked, thinking of the fact that he had murdered his own wife to enrich himself.
Her mother nodded.
The two of them sat in silence a while, thinking about what had happened. The parlor, with its pale silk-figured walls and elegant wing-backs, seemed a thousand miles from all that hate and horror, but part of Evelyn's soul was still in shock. As she sat trying to regain her sense of safety, the door burst open.
“He's gone,” Lord Donnelly said flatly.
“Father?” Evelyn asked nervously. She had never seen her father look so angry. His voice was quiet – he never raised his voice – but he was white with anger, his face hard.
“I was just speaking to the police. Lord Brokeridge has fled. No one knows where to. The servants say he packed a case and took a cab. He has probably chartered a passage to the Americas by now, or Heaven knows where.” His hands clenched into fists. “I wanted to see him hang for what he did.”
Evelyn sighed. “Father, you know that would help nothing. And my being responsible for a man's death would weigh on me forever.”
Her father turned to face her, black eyes flickering. “It should not weigh on you so! He could have killed you!”
“Liam,” Ada said softly.
“I know,” he exhaled wearily, all the anger drained from him. “And I know, Evvie dear, how it is to feel haunted by a death.”
Evelyn swallowed. She hardly ever noticed her father's scar and how it served as a stark reminder of his military past, but she noticed now. “I know, Father,” she whispered. “And what of Lord Barrett?” she asked. “Is he..?” She left the sentence hanging, not sure what she wanted to ask. Is he still there? Is he angry? Is he sad?
“He is at the house now. He asked after you. He will probably be Earl now – his father has left in appalling disgrace and the title will be passed on to the son. It does not right anything, though, does it?” he said, a wry smile on his face. “His departure cannot bring back Lady Brokeridge, or heal the fear in your heart.”
Evelyn sighed. “I know he can no longer hurt me, or anyone. That i
s enough.”
Her father stared at her, and then nodded. “You are right, my dear.” He sighed. “You are wise to say it.”
Evelyn swallowed. She did not feel wise, brave, or clever. She felt uncertain, scared and sad. As she thought it, she remembered what she had wanted to ask her mother. “Father, is it true that Bronson...” Again, she could not finish the sentence.
“He fled,” her father said shortly. “He came back to the manor. A day later, he was asked after by a man who came looking. He ran away. I do not know why. Perhaps he was in debt? He could have been a fugitive from justice, maybe? I do not know.” He sighed. “I did not expect it. He was a good man.”
Evelyn thought then that her heart really would break. “He fled? He is in hiding?”
“Yes, my dear,” Ada said gently. “I am sorry. I know you trusted him. His duplicity must be a true blow for you.”
I trusted him, yes. I loved him. He was the one thing left in my world.
“It is,” she said in a small voice. I cannot tell them I loved a carter. It would horrify them.
“Well,” her father sighed. “It goes to show how double-dealing people can be. I would not have thought him a criminal, and I would not have suspected the earl of Norwich. Not that I knew him, mind,” he shrugged. “Even though he did own an estate not far from ours in Ireland. I never met the man. Strange.”
The mention of the Irish lands jogged something in Evelyn's memory. “This man who came to search for our groomsman,” she said carefully, not wanting to say Bronson's name in case she wept. “Where did he come from? Did he say?”
“I do not recall,” Liam admitted. “Do you, my lady?” he asked Ada.
“I do not think he said it,” Ada said, “though I did notice he wore a livery. It was an unusual one. A green badge on the sleeve, with something like an eagle. That's right.”
“An eagle?” Evelyn asked excitedly. “Not a griffon?”
“I did not see,” Ada admitted. “It could have been a griffon. Now that you say it, yes, I think it was. Why, dear?”
“I...” Evelyn began, and then paused. It was the merest thread of a theory. She did not want to expose it to the scrutiny of her parents until she was sure she was right. I always meant to find the other one.
Evelyn tucked the idea into the back of her mind. It could wait until the family returned to Ireland.
Now, the main concern was that they were all safe. Lord Brokeridge had fled the country. It was perhaps not the fate Lord Donnelly would have wanted for the man, but it was enough for Evelyn. She was content that he could no longer hurt Barrett, or Rebecca, or her. He was gone.
“We will return to Ireland soon?” she asked her mother. She had not wanted to sound wistful, but she could not help the tone of her words.
“We shall,” Ada confirmed. “In two days' time, I hope we will have concluded business. Then, if you like, we can return.”
Yes. “I would like that very much indeed.”
The rest of the day passed in quiet tranquility. Evelyn and her mother sat in the drawing room, Evelyn playing Patience or drawing sketches while her mother played the pianoforte or sang. The gentle familiarity of it was easing some of the pain in Evelyn's soul, and she was surprised when she found herself drawing a likeness of Bronson.
“I wonder,” she said aloud. She could not help it.
“Sorry, dear?”
“Nothing, Mother,” Evelyn assured. “I was just wondering what it will be like to be home.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
UNEXPECTED OCCURRENCES
UNEXPECTED OCCURRENCES
Home. Ireland. The greenness, the tall trees, the long drive winding to the gray stone edifice of Donnelly Park. As the carriage rolled down the drive a week later, Evelyn felt her heart soaring. Despite the fact that seeing it reminded her of Bronson and all that she had lost, the relief and joy overwhelmed any source of grief.
“Evelyn!”
“Stella!”
Evelyn embraced her maid, who cannoned out of the house the instant the butler opened the door to admit the family. “Oh, milady! I am so pleased to see you! Welcome, welcome!”
Evelyn was surprised to feel tears running down her cheeks. “Oh, Stella,” she said, her voice choked. “I am so pleased to be back!”
“Come upstairs, milady,” Stella said warmly. “There's water drawing for your bath. Nothing like a bath to wash away the cares of travel.”
Evelyn nodded and followed her parents across the threshold to her home.
After the bath, Evelyn sat while Stella dried and combed out her long golden hair. The bruises on her head had mercifully faded, meaning that Stella did not notice anything odd.
“Stella?” Evelyn asked as her maid plied the comb, exclaiming about the length of her hair.
“Yes, milady?”
“Bronson. The groomsman and carter? I heard he left our service?” She had held back her questions for too long now, and she had to ask Stella. Stella was also a friend. She would know.
“Oh, milady!” Stella said feelingly. “It was terrible! The way they came for him. So vicious, like! I was there and I was scared. Heaven knows what they planned to do to him...” She trailed off.
“Them? What happened, Stella? Tell me?” This was completely different than the story her friend Alexandra had passed to her. This made it sound as if he had been abducted.
“Oh, Miss. It was about two weeks after you had left. He left the day after you, but then a few days later, he came back to the manor. He had gone to seek something – I don't know if you heard?”
Evelyn nodded in reply. That must have been what Alexandra had told her when they met in London.
Stella continued. “Well, he came back. He had found something out, he said, though he didn't say what it was. Then, the next day, they were here for him. Three men. Riding black horses, black cloaks on them with green trim. They rode into the stable-yard. They were looking for the groom, they said. They asked after him by name: Bronson. I was there hanging up the washing, when I heard this commotion. As you can imagine, I said he'd gone. He was there, right enough. I heard him come into the stable on the other side. I said, loud as I could: “I don't know who Bronson is. He's not here.” He left and went and hid.”
“Oh, Stella!” Evelyn said, turning to face her. “Thank you for being so brave!”
“Oh, 'twas nothing, milady,” Stella blushed, though she looked pleased. “I would have done it for anyone.”
“Thank you for saving him,” Evelyn said, and squeezed her hands. An idea was starting to form in her mind, a wild, crazy idea that nevertheless made a certain undeniable sense. In addition, if her suspicions were correct – and now she had almost no doubt they were – then Bronson would indeed have died.
“They seemed they wanted to harm him,” Stella agreed.
“Stella,” Evelyn asked gently. “Did they say where they were from? These men, I mean?”
“No, milady, they didn't,” she admitted. “I know, though! Would know that anywhere.”
“You do?” Evelyn asked urgently. “Tell me?”
“Well, milady, I did recognize the badge. The green dragon-thing on the black field. Everyone knows that badge, and fears it. It be Lord Brokeridge’s badge.”
Evelyn stared. That was the final piece of information. That was exactly what she had suspected, but had not known. Until now.
“Thank you, Stella,” she whispered fervently. She was crying and was surprised by that, by how much this meant to her.
“Why, milady?” Stella asked, looking somewhat puzzled. “Why is that good news?”
“It is. Oh, thank you! Thank you so, so much!”
Evelyn tried to stop crying, as Stella was looking at her with a very confused face. She wished she could keep a straight face, as she had so often even in terror. However, she could not. She was so happy! Now all she had to do was find him. Bronson. He had to know the truth.
A quick questioning of Stella led her to the cook
, with whom Bronson had apparently left details of his whereabouts.
“He wanted to be sure that any letters would reach him. So he told Murdie where he would be hiding. Letters! Letters from whom, I ask you?” Stella asked, eyes round.
Evelyn felt her heart contract. Letters from me.
As soon as her hair was dry and she was dressed in her favorite blue day-dress, she headed downstairs to the kitchens. She could hear her parents in the dining-hall and she knew she should go in and join them for dinner, but this was urgent. She had to know where Bronson was. Now.
“Lady Evelyn!” Mrs. Murdoch exclaimed. “It's you!” She spun around from where she stirred something at the stove, a look of delight on her face.
Evelyn laughed, elation causing her heart to soar. “I don't know who you thought it was, Murdie.”
The woman embraced her and sat her down at the table, exclaiming that she looked pale – she always said that, ever since Evelyn could remember – and needed some apple pastries to fill her up. Sitting behind a monstrous plate of pastries, Evelyn asked her the question she longed to ask.
“Where is Bronson? Our groom. Do you know?” She could not wait a second more.
“I...” The woman hesitated, clearly wondering whether or not to tell. Then she leaned forward. “Between you and meself, milady, he is at 13 Guthrie Avenue. The cottagers’ homes there in the village? You'll find him there. But no telling anyone, mind. He's deep in hiding.” She looked around, clearly nervous that someone would overhear them talking.
“Thank you, Murdie,” Evelyn said, gripping her hand. 13 Guthrie Avenue.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
RESOLUTION
RESOLUTION
“...And yes, we can confirm that Millie O' Connors bore a child, whom she left to be cared for by the O'Briens.”
An Earl To Remember Page 33
