Dear Luella,
What is there to say, really? You’ve always been the writer. I never had the intelligence you do, nor the wisdom. But, through our lives together, I’ve learned to do as you say and not as you do. I hope that I at least have in courage what I lack in my other faculties. I have explained everything I know about your recent activities to Jacob, and upon understanding your mysterious evening disappearances and sudden affection for Byron again, he fears the worst and that scandal is imminent.
I’m sure that Mrs. Crow has divulged my plan to you as well. She always was a bit of a gossip. You’ll be happy to know the peddler’s love cure I kept in the kitchen cupboard did not work, at least not in the way expected.
I hope that you do not believe me to have just run off with him to be married in secret. He has relatives in the country. We will be staying with them and married soon. I suppose, in a way, I’m getting what you always wanted for me: me married with a family protective of my well-being and reputation.
I wish it hadn’t been like this. I wish there had been another way. But, what chance did I have when I lost your confidence? I don’t know what you’re mixed up in, dear sister, but I’m sure you’ll make it through alright. You always do.
If you do manage to break free and clear of everything, with your name intact, I imagine I could convince Jacob to let me come visit you from time to time. I hope, by then, you will see me as a loving sister and your equal. Pray forgive me for not telling you before I left. I knew you would have stopped me. I could not have allowed it. I’m in love with Jacob. He is willing to stick by my side through thick and thin, just as you once did, dear sister.
Isn’t love terrible, though? We search so obsessively for the love a family might provide, only to leave a family to have it. I will miss you so terribly. Even writing the words is enough to shake my resolve about all of this, but you told me: sacrifice everything. I have this chance, and I fear to postpone my decision lest it expires before my doubt.
Goodbye, Luella. I will always love you so dearly. I hope you can learn to be happy.
With heartfelt gratitude,
Your sister
Anna
My tears dotted the parchment as I read and reread her note. There was good to be had. I was glad that Jacob’s family had chosen to accept the couple, even if it meant them thinking me a scandalous relation.
But, the pain was so real, and it came on in waves.
I felt like doubling over, like curling into a bed and dying. My lungs felt like they had been clamped on by a vice grip. I’d lost her. My sweet baby sister. I had given my whole life to protecting her, and now—my body convulsed.
Even if she did come to visit, things would never be the same. I wouldn’t see her smiling. I wouldn’t laugh with her over silly jokes or tease with her about idle gossip. I wouldn’t feel the warmth of her companionship as we walked to parties or visited Mrs. Barker’s bakeshop. I would have no one to share news as it happened. She wouldn’t be at my wedding, as I tied the knot with a man I didn’t love.
Why had I kept so much from her?
I put my face into my arms, leaned over the table, and wept openly, not for Anna, but for myself. The sobs came, tearing at my insides. My life was nothing more than shattered pieces. I couldn’t even run to my father’s memory anymore. I had no one.
Mrs. Crow put a hand on my back. I don’t know when she came back downstairs, but I lifted my face to see she was crying, too. I embraced her and buried my face into her old, soft shoulder, wishing, pretending she was my mother.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The Gray-Haired Knight
I WOKE TO the sound of someone knocking frantically on my neighbor’s door. It sounded like the steady banging of the bottom side of a fist.
I opened my eyes and lifted my head gingerly. I felt awful. My lower spine was on fire, and I couldn’t feel half my face. The other half was iced in drool. I was in my kitchen or at least somewhere that looked my kitchen. The furniture and wallpaper were just a little off. Had Anna changed something?
I sat up and realized I was still sitting at Mrs. Crow’s kitchen table. She sat there in the chair across from me, head against her chest, snoring lightly. Anna’s letter lay open in front of me. It wasn’t a dream. She was still gone.
The light coming through the window made me squint, and there was a distinct musk in the room. The banging continued outside.
“Luella!” I heard a muffled voice accompany my door’s deep tissue massage. I looked around haphazardly and checked myself to see if I was dressed. I was still wearing my flannel dress from the day before, dressed the way I had been when I was out in the fog. It was crinkled in deep creases at awkward locations. “Luella!”
“Mrs. Crow?” I croaked, testing my voice. She stirred awake quickly.
“Hands off, sailor!” She woke with a start and looked around, reorienting herself. “What time is it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Luella, it’s Rebecca!” I heard from outside.
“You’d better get the door,” Mrs. Crow told me. With both of us conscious, I slid more readily back into reality. I must have fallen asleep at the table sometime last night. Who knew how late I’d been up? I just remembered exhausting pain. This morning, I felt numb. I nodded and opened the door to the outside hallway.
“Rebecca?” I asked, emerging from Mrs. Crow’s front door. She turned around with a start. I had never seen her so disheveled. Her hair was a mess of disorganized curls, and I could see a night dress hidden under her heavy coat. “You’re hardly dressed. What are you doing here?”
She pushed me back inside Mrs. Crow’s apartment assertively and without response. When we were safely inside, she turned around and shut the door.
“I came as soon as I could. Cooper came by my apartment early this morning.” She broke off when she eyed Mrs. Crow. “Who is this?”
“This is my neighbor, Mrs. Crow.”
“Do you trust her?”
“I do with my life. She can hear whatever you have to say.” Rebecca eyed her skeptically.
“She looks like a gossip,” she said.
“Luella, should I retire to give you some privacy?” Mrs. Crow asked, exchanging a stern look with my friend from the police station.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Mrs. Crow. This is your house.”
“I’m afraid we don’t have much time,” Rebecca insisted, sitting me down. “Cooper asked me for your address.”
“What for?” I asked.
“Luella,” Rebecca said, leveling her eyes at me with great severity. “He’s coming to arrest you.”
I couldn’t believe what she was saying. I heard the words, and I understood them, but they were like small talk. How do you do? Would care for some tea? Cooper’s coming to arrest you. I was still waking up for heaven’s sakes.
“Please, Rebecca, what are you talking about? I haven’t even had breakfast yet.”
“Don’t you understand?” she said, gripping me by the shoulders. “He thinks you’re involved in Luke Thomas’ murder.”
Mrs. Crow began breathing heavily. She held on to a doorframe for support. “Good heavens.”
“Murder? Luke Thomas hung himself in a suicide,” I said. How could I be mixed up in another man’s suicide?
“Cooper’s decided the circumstances are peculiar and suspicious, and he’s treating the event as foul play. He intends to make you his prime suspect.”
“Foul play? But that doesn’t make sense.”
“Luella, would you just listen to me?” Rebecca shouted. “He means to have you in prison!”
I couldn’t doubt her, and the weight of her words finally sank in.
“But, Cooper was a friend of my father’s,” I stuttered.
“I don’t know anything about your father,” she replied. “I only know he was asking for your address with the intention of coming here with several officers to arrest you.”
“Did you give it to him?” I asked, my h
eart rate rising, a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.
“Absolutely not,” she said. “But that won’t slow him down for long.”
I sank back in my chair, feeling like a millstone hung off the back of my neck.
“What do I do? Rebecca, it’s as I told you before. I can’t say I’m innocent, nor can I say I have any guilt in Mr. Thomas’ downfall.”
“You are innocent,” she insisted. “To think anything else is madness.”
“What should I do?” I asked.
“What any sensible woman should do,” Mrs. Crow said, inserting herself for the first time in the conversation. “Go to your husband and explain what’s going on.”
“Byron?” I gaped at her. He was the very last thing on my mind.
“It’s too risky,” Rebecca said. “You need to pack a bag and leave straightaway.”
“To go where?” Mrs. Crow asked. “Luella, you are about to embark into a marriage with this man. He loves you. He will protect you, or he’s no man at all. It’s time for you to grow up and learn to trust the people who care about you.”
“I care about you, and you can’t know how Byron will react to the truth,” Rebecca said to me.
“That’s what marriage is! It’s a stream of hurdles you conquer as a team,” Mrs. Crow said with renewed vigor. “You have to go Mr. Livingston.”
My head swam in dizzying circles. Rebecca had an excellent point. Could I possibly tell the truth to Byron? The whole truth? How would he react? And yet, I could not argue with Mrs. Crow. I had already decided to commit fully to my forthcoming marriage, and if that were true, it meant divulging to him the nature of my distress. I had hoped to do it one day. Now was as good a time as any. Shouldn’t I enjoy the benefits that Byron had always promised me with his affection? He had promised me devotion, swore to me his trust and fidelity.
Besides, what other option did I have? I had no other home. If I ran, I would be a fugitive, aimless and wandering. I couldn’t chase after Anna. Jacob’s family was already saving one Winthrop from scandal. I couldn’t risk bringing my mess and shame to her new situation. Besides, I had no idea where she was. I knew about Jacob’s family home in the city, but I had no idea where to begin searching outside the city boundaries.
“Rebecca, is there any way you can stall Cooper?” I asked.
“I can try, but he’s on the war path. If I start behaving too strangely, I fear he will turn on me, too.”
“His own secretary?” I was incredulous, but Rebecca didn’t give off the appearance of being overly paranoid.
“I’ve never seen him like this before. His eyes were so cold this morning. It’s like I never knew him at all,” she said simply.
“Well, do what you can,” I said, rushing across the hall to grab my coat and hat. “I’m going to Langley’s.”
“Are you sure about this? Think about the risk,” Rebecca asked as I locked my door behind me. The question jarred me, and I had to screw up my courage to speak to her honestly.
“What other road can I take?” I said. “I chose Byron in the end, didn’t I? It’s not just a farce. I made a choice, and it’s time for me to act like a good wife.”
I stepped out the big, creaky front door, made my way down the steps, and hailed a cab.
I felt every cobblestone under the cab’s wooden wheels as the driver hurried his horses along. It wasn’t a far walk to Langley’s, and I shaved off a couple of minutes travel time at most, but something inside me whispered that I should save my strength. There was no telling what I might need it for ahead or how taxing it might be to divulge my vulnerabilities to Byron in full. Besides, the cab gave me less opportunity to change my mind.
As the shock wore off, adrenaline slowly took its course. I was furious with Cooper. There could be no greater betrayal than this. He was one of the few people in my life who had known my father, and this was his opinion of me. It disgraced his memory. It disgraced me.
We arrived at the shop quickly, and I paid the driver more than I’m sure he required. What worth is money to a condemned woman?
I ran up the steps and burst through the front door. Byron was in his office talking with someone I didn’t recognize. He saw me and waved me over jovially.
“Luella! I’m glad you’re here. I have some news. This is Mr. Fairweather. He has the most wonderful idea for a new column: our own report on updates from the world of tennis!” Byron and Mr. Fairweather stood to go through a formal introduction.
“You must be Mr. Livingston’s fiancée,” he said.
“Byron, I need to speak with you urgently and in private,” I said, ignoring Mr. Fairweather’s outstretched hand. Byron smiled at me as if I were pulling off some great joke but reconsidered as he studied my face.
“Is everything alright?” he asked. I eyed Mr. Fairweather, and Byron jumped into action.
“Right, Mr. Fairweather, if you will just wait in the—”
“Mr. Livingston is busy for the day. Would you mind coming back tomorrow?” I butted in. The new writer looked awkwardly between my betrothed and me before muttering his assent. He donned his hat, and the moment the front door closed after him, I pushed Byron into his office and shut that door behind us as well.
“What the devil is going on?” Byron asked, leaning against his desk.
“Byron, I need your help,” I began. The tears were coming already, but I would not let them sidetrack my intention. “Sergeant Cooper with the Dawnhurst Police Force intends to arrest me.”
Byron coughed out a guffaw.
“It’s true. His secretary, my friend Rebecca, whom you know as my story courier, rushed over this morning to tell me.”
Byron sank into his chair. “Why would he want to arrest you?”
“He believes I was complicit in the murder of the banker, Luke Thomas,” I said as calmly as I could.
“Luke Thomas,” he tested the name aloud. “The man from your story? The story you begged me to recall.” He trailed off, trying to make sense of the new revelations.
“Byron, I need your help, as your betrothed. Luke Thomas committed suicide. Cooper has no right to lock me up.”
“Why did you ask me to recall the story?” Byron asked.
“I don’t even know Luke Thomas.”
“Why is a police sergeant arresting you for his murder?”
I took a deep breath. There was no more avoiding it. I had to start from the beginning, build my explanation brick by brick, so he could understand.
“I’m mixed up in something. I didn’t mean to be,” I began, staring at his pet bird. “Please, don’t judge me too harshly.”
I started with the night after the Steely-Eyed Detective story, sparing only the most painful details, but divulging my relationship with Bram, explaining his strange, hypnotic way of speaking and drawing me into his yurt. I told him about the pen, about my fight to understand why I even tried it in the first place. I explained the intoxicating feeling of seeing reality conform to my stories, the luxurious comfort of the accompanying success with the paper. I told him about my writing sessions with Bram and about the crushing weight of expectation that came with each new edition. I told him about the magical dependency triggered by my repeat experiences with the pen.
Having it all out was very cathartic. Byron nodded here and there, urging me forward, and as he listened, I could feel a significant weight come off my shoulders. It was a wonderful feeling, being bonded to the man I would marry, knowing that he cared about me enough to listen and yolk himself to my burdens.
“When I confronted Bram about my illness, I was seduced into writing a final story. I don’t know how. I don’t even remember writing so many of its details, details I had been careful in every other instance to leave out. When I learned what had happened, I ran here to beg you not to print it.”
“So, the magical pen allowed you to know details that would have otherwise been hidden to you about Mr. Thomas’ death,” Byron said, knitting his eyebrows.
“Yes.”
“But, I didn’t print the story. Why is Sergeant Cooper so interested in arresting you?”
“After I wrote the stories with Bram, I would go to the police station just to ensure they had, indeed, come to pass. When I went to the station the other morning, news of the suicide broke harshly.”
“Why?” Byron asked. “I’m sure the police have dealt with more gruesome stuff than that. Not to say it isn’t terrible, but—”
“Because Luke Thomas is the father of the Steely-Eyed Detective,” I confessed. Tears bubbled in my throat. I tried to swallow them down.
Byron’s eyes went wide. He nodded absentmindedly as if he was finally connecting some dots.
“I was there when they told him, and it affected me because I felt terrible for the man, but also because I felt as though I had caused it to happen.”
Byron stood up and walked to the window, studying something outside. He fingered his pipe, the way he often did when deep in thought. The following silence was agonizing. I wanted him to believe me, but I knew what I was asking. It had taken me so long to embrace the truth about the pen, and I had experienced its effects firsthand. As Byron sat there pondering, looking out the window, Rebecca’s words pecked at me.
He won’t believe you. You need to pack a bag and run.
“My poor, dear Luella,” he said, without turning to me. “What is it you would like me to do?”
“Save me, Byron,” I begged. I crossed to him, took his hands, and knelt. “Save the woman who would be your wife. Go to Cooper, tell him that his suspicions are unfounded. Provide an alibi if you have to.”
Byron looked down at me with weary eyes. I could see that my story had pained him in excruciating ways. It couldn’t have been easy for him to hear about my rendezvous with other men. The skylark sang on in its cage, oblivious.
“Byron,” I said. “We are getting married next week. Now you know my every secret. I am so sorry for the pain I’ve caused you. Let’s put it behind us. I am yours. Believe me I am yours. Nothing needs to prevent our union and all the happiness that awaits us on the other side.”
The Crimson Inkwell Page 24
