by Amy Cross
“Hello, Daniel,” he continues, as his faint smile grows. “How were your two years away? Did you make your fortune?”
“Where's Elizabeth?”
He takes a slow sip of whiskey.
“Where indeed?” he mutters finally.
I step toward him. “Tell me!”
He takes another sip.
“Don't make me beat the information out of you,” I continue, clenching a fist. “I don't give a damn about you, and I don't give a damn about this wretched house. All I want is Elizabeth, and then we shall both leave you alone forever!”
“Really?”
He keeps his beady little eyes fixed on me as he sips again.
“I said I'd come back for her,” I remind him, “and I came back.”
“You said you'd make your way in the world,” he replies, “so that you might support her and run your own home. Tell me, Daniel, are you now established in some form of trade? Your clothes look no less scrappy and common than before, and I see callouses on your hands. Life appears to be very hard for you.”
“I've found work in Bristol.”
He raises a skeptical eyebrow. “You expect my niece to go to Bristol with you?”
“She told me she'd wait.”
At this, his smile grows even wider.
“I'm not here to explain myself to you,” I continue, “or to prove myself, or to ask for your blessing. I'm simply here to see Elizabeth, so that I might tell her of my new situation and ask her to come with me.” I take another step toward him. “I don't know about you, John, but I don't have time to waste standing around like this. If Elizabeth is here, let me see her. If she is not, then tell me where I might find her.”
He stares at me for a moment, before drinking the last of his whiskey and then setting the glass down. At the same time, he licks his lips.
“I suppose you might as well come with me,” he mutters, turning and heading toward the doorway. “As luck would have it, Elizabeth is out in the garden. I dare say she has perhaps even been waiting for you.”
“As I knew she would,” I reply, hurrying after him. My heart is pounding, and I know everything will be alright if I can just find Elizabeth and get her to come away with me. Now that I have prospects, I doubt I shall find her difficult to persuade.
“You might find her a little changed,” John says archly.
“I don't care.”
“And a little cold. Stiff, even.”
“Don't pretend to care for her now,” I reply, walking alongside him as we make our way to the study. “I would have thought you'd be glad to have her leave your care. You always treated her like vermin.”
“Father?”
We both stop and look back, only to see Sir John's son Matthew watching us from a nearby doorway. Thin and sickly, he has the appearance of a child who has been raised in perpetual fear.
“I heard voices,” he continues, “and I thought... I mean...”
“Go to your room,” Sir John snaps. “This matter is none of your concern.”
Matthew hesitates, and it's clear that he recognizes me.
“Hello Daniel,” he stammers. “I'm so sorry that -”
“Go to your room at once!” his father roars, taking a step toward him and causing the boy to flinch. “If I have to tell you again, there will be consequences!”
This time, Matthew slinks away, disappearing into the shadows. A moment later, I hear him hurrying up the stairs.
“Contrary to popular opinion,” Sir John mutters, turning to me, “I simply wish to raise these children properly. Although Elizabeth was my sister's boy, I treated her no better and no worse than I treat my own son. The loss of her parents was a great blow to Elizabeth, and there was a danger that the girl's mind would wander. Discipline is starkly important in such circumstances. Then again, I would not expect a childless man such as yourself to understand.”
“Where is she?” I ask, struggling to keep from grabbing this arrogant bastard by his collar.
He opens the door and leads me out to the steps at the rear of the house, overlooking the vast, wild garden. “I always felt that it would be better to raise Elizabeth well and have her hate me, than to let her go to ruin but have her as my friend. For better or for worse, that is the approach I took. I have no regrets.”
I step forward, looking around for some sign of her.
“It's just a strange coincidence that you happened to return this week,” John continues. “I can't help wondering whether you were guided this way by some higher power. The Lord has his ways.”
“Where's Elizabeth?” I ask, making my way across the lawn before stopping and looking back toward the house. “I must speak to her at once!”
“Go ahead,” he replies calmly. “You're standing next to her.”
I turn, but there's no sign of Elizabeth at all. After a moment, however, I spot a gray stone over by the trees, and I feel a shudder run through my chest as I realize that a grave appears to have been marked right here in the garden.
“Whether she will hear you,” John continues, as I make my way closer to the stone, “I cannot say. But if you wish to speak to her, then by all means go ahead. If nothing else, the act might soothe your conscience a little.”
“Here lies Elizabeth Jane Marringham,” I read from the stone, barely able to believe the words. “1821 to 1853.”
“She died just last week,” John explains, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. “She could not rest in hallowed ground, for obvious reasons, so I had her interred here at the house. Many people advised me to not even bother with the stone but, well, I wanted to do right by the poor, wretched creature. After all, I'm not a monster.”
He says more, but his words fade as I drop to my knees. I read the words on the gravestone, over and over again, convinced that there has to be some mistake. Finally, however, I look down at the rough, recently-disturbed soil and realize that I have returned too late. All my work in Bristol, preparing for a life with the woman I love, preparing to come and fetch her, has been for naught.
Elizabeth is dead.
“She was quite mad at the end,” John explains, standing directly behind me as I remain on my knees at Elizabeth's grave. “A rather pitiful sight. For myself, I must admit that I was glad when she finally passed. It does no good for a woman to become so wretched.”
“What did you do to her?” I whisper, with tears streaming down my face as I stare at the ruptured soil beneath my knees.
“I cared for her,” he replies, “and I -”
“What did you do to her?” I shout, getting to my feet and turning to him.
He takes a step back.
“Elizabeth was strong,” I tell him, “and wise, and she knew how to stand up to tyrants!”
“There are no tyrants here at Blackwych Grange.”
“She would never have let you drive her to the grave! She swore to me that one day she'd get away from you!”
“Perhaps you give her too much credit.”
I step toward him, clenching my fist once again, although this time he holds his ground. He's a powerful man with many connections, and I have no doubt I'd spend time in a jail cell if I struck him. Still, no punishment would be too great, for the chance to knock this bastard down.
“Go ahead,” he says calmly. “Strike me, if you wish. I shall not fight back. I shall not strike you in return. I shall simply have my men come after you with pistols, and let them finish the job later. After all, you might be a savage, but I am a civilized man.”
“What did you do to her?” I ask again, feeling a crushing, tightening sensation in my chest. Turning, I look down once more at the gravestone. “She promised she'd wait for me. I told her I'd come back, I told her it would just take time for me to establish myself in a city, and she believed me. She had faith in me...”
“I imagine she gave up waiting.”
“Never!”
“Because she loved you?” The smirk returns to his lips, the same smirk I remember from two years ago. “Such
petty melodrama,” he continues. “Still, I doubt very much that you will believe a word that I tell you. You might like to ask around in the village instead, Daniel, and learn just how Elizabeth spent her time while she was supposedly waiting for you. I'm afraid that she came to rather enjoy the company of the local men. I doubt very much that you were on her mind during those nights she welcomed others into her bed. Her actions remain a dark stain on my family's reputation.”
“You are a liar,” I stammer, struggling once again to keep from punching him.
“As I said, you must go to the village and ask around. Surely my word is not good enough for you.”
“Whatever you did to her,” I continue, stepping closer to him, “I shall ensure that you are made to pay.”
“I looked after her.”
“Then why is she dead in the ground?”
“Because she was born with a sinful heart. That's what I believe, anyway. Some people are simply beyond salvation, they cannot be steered away from a path that leads to misery and pain and cruelty. Despite my best efforts, Elizabeth was doomed from the beginning.” He steps around me and looks down at the grave for a moment. “Sometimes I reproach myself for having made such an effort with the girl. Perhaps I should have simply cut her loose. At least that way, the misery would have been over much sooner.”
I pause for a moment, imagining Elizabeth's body down in the darkness, and slowly I realize that I have to get away from this place, lest I do something that causes me to hang.
“I'll find out what happened to her,” I stammer, pushing past John and hurrying up the steps. “You won't get away with this!”
“I did what I could to help the girl.”
Ignoring his supine words, I make my way to the door, but at the last moment I come to a halt. The thought of entering Blackwych Grange again is enough to make my blood run cold, and finally I turn and hurry past the windows, determined to go all the way around to the front so that I can begin my walk back to the village. Sheer panic is driving me, mixed with fury, and I swear my body is trembling.
“Our business is concluded, Mr. Lester!” Sir John calls after me. “There's no need for you to ever come back here! Elizabeth is gone! Return to Bristol and forget about her!”
Ignoring him, I make my way around the corner, quickening my pace in a desperate attempt to get as far as possible from this wretched, miserable house. By the time I'm past the front gate and out onto the field, I feel as if I might collapse from sheer anger, so I stop for a moment and try to regather my composure. After a few seconds, I turn and look back toward the house, and for a moment all I can do is stare at Blackwych Grange as it stands against the dull gray sky.
“He'll pay for this,” I whisper, with tears running down my face. “I swear to God, Elizabeth... I will find a way to make him pay!”
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Another!”
Shoving my tankard across the bar, I wait for the landlord to pour more beer. After a few seconds, however, I raise my head and see him watching me with a hint of skepticism.
“Another!” I sneer, struggling to keep my head up. “More beer!”
“And then what?” he asks cautiously, taking the tankard from my hand. “You've been here all night, lad. Any more and you'll pass out, and then I'll have to drag you through the door and dump you in the gutter. Don't you think you should go to your room?”
“More beer,” I stammer, as the room seems to spin around me. “Either you pour it for me, or I'll come around to the other side of this bar and do it myself. And if I'm the one who pours, I don't see why I should pay.”
I can tell that he's not convinced, but he goes to fill the tankard anyway. I've spent hours in this tavern since returning from Blackwych Grange, and I feel that I need more beer if I'm to get my thoughts together. My instinct is to go straight back out to that wretched house and kill John Marringham, even if I would assuredly hang for the crime. Then again, killing him would be too easy, and I feel certain I must find some more ingenious way to make him suffer. The world must know the truth about that man's dark soul.
As soon as the refilled tankard is slid back toward me, I raise it to my lips and drink some more of the foul beer.
I need to think.
I need a plan.
And I need to stop thinking about my poor, dear Elizabeth. At least she's no longer in pain, she's no longer suffering under the thumb of her uncle. I can only hope that she has found peace in the next life.
“Daniel Lester,” a voice says suddenly, sounding rather jovial and sober. “Now here's a face I wasn't sure I'd ever see again.”
As a hand pats my shoulder, I turn and squint, struggling to see properly. After a few seconds, I'm able to make out the pudgy, slightly swollen face of Father Sutter Carlisle. The village priest has always been a large man, but the past two years have clearly done nothing to ease his girth, and the stool creaks as he sits next to me. He's out on weight since last I saw him, though he appears to be wearing the same clothes, with straining buttons and large bulges.
“You seem surprised to see me,” he continues, still grinning. “You cannot have thought that I would abandon my flock. I'm just not that kind of man.”
I let out a faint groan as I take a gulp of beer. “I simply assumed,” I mutter finally, “that you'd have keeled over dead by now.”
He smiles. “Drunkenness makes you more honest,” he suggests, clearly amused. “There's something to be said for that, I suppose.”
I take another sip, but I'm keenly aware that the infernal priest is watching my every move. I wait for him to look away, for him to find some other subject that's worthy of his attention, but finally I have no choice but to turn and meet his gaze.
“What?” I ask firmly. “What in God's name do you want?”
“How much beer have you drunk tonight, my friend?”
“Not enough. And you're slowing me down.”
“I hear that you went straight out to Blackwych Grange upon your return to the village,” he continues. “I can only assume that you intended to effect a reunion with poor Elizabeth.”
“She's dead,” I reply, slurring my words slightly.
“Did you speak to her uncle?”
“I should have killed him.”
He shakes his head. “You don't mean that, Daniel. I might not have seen you in two years, but I know you're a good man. You could no more murder John Marringham, or anyone, than I could renounce the Lord.”
“Elizabeth is dead,” I tell him, although a moment later I realize that he probably already knows. My head feels so heavy, I have to let it dip for a moment, but I quickly sit up straight once more. “She's buried out there at the house. Why isn't she in the churchyard?”
“The churchyard is hallowed ground.”
“And?”
“And Elizabeth...” He hesitates for a moment, and finally that wretched smile fades from his lips. “You loved Elizabeth very much, did you not?”
“And she loved me!”
“I'm sure she did.” Again, he pauses. “Perhaps it would be better if you leave first thing in the morning, Daniel. No good will come of your attempts to learn the truth. I think you should remember Elizabeth as you knew her two years ago, rather than digging into recent events. Trust me, my friend, you would not like some of the things you might learn.”
“I have to know the truth,” I reply, before taking another sip of beer. “And I'm not your friend.”
“Hallowed ground is reserved for those who have lived good lives.”
“Elizabeth was a better person than anyone else in this godforsaken place,” I continue. “Present company included.”
“You didn't see her over the past year, Daniel. She was much changed. At the risk of sounding overly dramatic, I would venture to suggest that she was no longer the same Elizabeth Marringham that you knew during your time here.”
“You didn't know her at all,” I mutter, staring down into my tankard and seeing that it is once again hal
f empty.
“I spent some time up at Blackwych Grange,” he replies. “Elizabeth might not have been a churchgoing girl, but I still got to know her rather well. In fact, I feel that I developed a unique understanding of her character. I watched the change, Daniel. I saw her soul blackening and turning away from God. I tried everything in my power to help her. Together with her uncle, I fought for the poor girl, but her desire to sin became too great. By the end, she was -”
“You're a liar!” I sneer.
“Love is blinding you.”
“I know Elizabeth.”
“Perhaps not as -”
“I know Elizabeth!” I shout, slamming the tankard down so hard that, even half empty, it still spills a little. “I know her better than anyone else, and I promise you... She was a good person!”
He stares at me for a moment, as if he's studying my features and trying to divine my thoughts.
“Well,” he says finally, “I have no doubt that you think you knew her, but -”
“You're a fool,” I continue, holding the tankard up and pouring the last of the beer down my throat. I can scarcely swallow fast enough, and soon beer is running down my chin and neck, but finally I finish the last drop.
“Daniel,” Father Carlisle continues, “please listen to me and -”
“More!” I yell, sliding the tankard toward the barman.
“This is not the way to deal with your grief,” the priest continues. “You should leave the village immediately and go back to your new life. Remember Elizabeth as you knew her, and please, I beg you... Do not dig into her recent history. If you do so, you will learn things about her that should stay hidden. Trust me, my friend, she was in such a wretched state by the end... Death was a welcome relief. For her, and for everyone around her.”
Ignoring the fool, I look toward the landlord.
“Are you going to fill my tankard?” I ask, struggling to get the words out as the room continues to spin around me. “Or do I have to come over there and do it myself?”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Stumbling away from the tavern's front door, I try to stay on my feet. After just a couple of steps, however, I trip and fall, landing hard against the window and then slumping down into the mud. I get up again, and this time I manage several more steps before falling once more. The third time, I bump into a stone wall and manage to clamber over, but finally I fall down and find that I can't summon the strength to rise. I'll just rest here for a few minutes, while the world stops spinning, and then I'll get going again. And then I'll find out what really happened to my beloved Elizabeth.
