It was almost true, too. There were still more secrets, secrets about Edward, about my affection for him, but those would never surface. I could never let them surface again.
He helped me up to my feet and kissed my cheek gently.
“Leave everything to me,” he said, glassy-eyed and broken-voiced. “I will take care of this.”
“Oh, Byron. How could I ever deserve you? You are a saint. I will spend my entire life repaying you for your charity time and time again. What shall I do? Tell me and I will obey.”
“You run home for now and just wait for my word,” he said, grabbing his coat and heading out the door to fix my problems for the second time in twenty-four hours. Knights didn’t always wear armor. Some had gray temples and a mean way with a typewriter.
“Very well, I’ll wait for you there,” I said.
Right before he vanished out the front door, he turned back to me. The front lobby and work area of Langley’s stretched between us, our little haven from the world.
“I love you, Luella,” he said. I looked at the floor.
“I’ll never know why, but I am so grateful for it.”
He smiled weakly and headed out the door.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Et tu, Byron
I PACED BACK and forth in my kitchen, trying my best not to think about Byron and Cooper. Part of me thought it was a fool’s hope, but the other half believed there was much Byron could do to dissuade Cooper’s intent. He could vouch for my character. He could call on a gentlemanly code that men seem to have with one another. He could lie and provide an alibi, saying we were together the night of Mr. Thomas’ death. I had to have faith in Byron’s resourcefulness. He was my only hope.
He could come up with something. He had already, so many times, come to my rescue. How could I ever forget the chance he took on me as a writer or when he asked for my hand, in spite of my advanced age, a charming characteristic of mine that would have who-knows-what effect on our ability to bear children? All he had ever asked from me was my returned devotion, and I had withheld it from him with firm resolve. If anyone had ever loved me, surely it was this man. Time had taught me I could trust his adoration. Mrs. Crow had been right.
I wrung my hands, turning again to look out my window. I was a ball of nerves, continually reminding myself to draw strength in my union with my betrothed. Nerves yes, but they were nerves like watching someone attempt a daring feat. I was confident he could accomplish the task and reveled in his attempt, even if my breath caught in my throat.
I heard a gentle knock on the door. Was it time already? Had he made it back so soon?
I rushed to the door and swung it open.
“Any news?” asked Mrs. Crow. She was dressed in her Sunday best and clutched a beautiful violet purse.
“Oh, Mrs. Crow,” I said, letting out a big breath. “I thought you might be Byron. But, you’re all dressed up. Are you going somewhere?”
She blushed but held her head up a little higher. For the first time, I saw the beauty of her younger years, borne with a polished grace and hidden beneath the effects of age.
“I didn’t know how else to show my support,” she explained. The thought touched me. It was a useless effort, after all. Mrs. Crow’s appearance would make no difference in my desired outcome, yet the gesture bolstered my nerve the same. At the very least, I had a courageous, radiant, and wise woman by my side. That had to count for something.
“Thank you,” I replied. “Look at us worrying like this. It’s quite out of hand now, isn’t it?”
“Out of our hands, yes,” she said. We waited, stewing in the awkward silence. I offered her some tea, and we made very little conversation.
“I apologize I don’t have any more to offer,” I said, lifting the cloth on our breadbasket to find stale crumbs. “Anna usually picks up something from Mrs. Barker’s, but I guess she didn’t before she left.” I laughed uncomfortably. Mrs. Crow did her best to reciprocate with a grim smile.
“You haven’t told Mrs. Barker about all this, have you?” I asked. I knew it was audacious of me to ask, and I didn’t really expect a truthful answer.
“I thought we’d keep this one in the family,” Mrs. Crow responded.
Bam. Bam. Bam.
Pounding on the door broke us out of our sparse conversation with a start. With a final squeeze of the hands, I walked to the door and opened it.
Rebecca flew past me like a thunderbolt. She had changed out of her nightgown into walking clothes, but she still bore signs of little sleep. Before I knew it, she had a large sack on the table and was unpacking worn pieces of men’s clothing.
“Rebecca—”
“Put this on, quickly,” she said, shoving a pair of trousers in my face.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I objected.
“Luella, do not interrupt. We have very little time. Cooper is on his way here right now. You need to disguise yourself and leave through the back of the building.”
Byron had failed then. My old warhorse couldn’t get it done.
“You’re wrong,” I protested. I wanted to reject what she said. “Byron is going to the station to speak on my behalf. He should be speaking with Cooper right now.”
“Byron betrayed you.”
I felt the floor give out beneath me.
“You’re lying.”
“I heard it myself through Cooper’s door. He told the Sergeant you have lost your senses and recommended your incarceration in an asylum.”
The dizzying nausea. The spinning room. The swelling anger. My familiar demon warming the bellows inside of me.
“Don’t slip away from me!” Rebecca said, grabbing hold of my shoulders. “Don’t let this beat you. Not like at Doug’s. You need to focus now and feel later.”
I looked at her, feeling so helpless, but there in her eyes blazed energy and loyalty. Her face was close. I could not see anything else. I could hear nothing save the creaking of the building under the winter sun and horses’ hooves outside. Rebecca’s eyes went wide. She dashed to the window and craned her eyes to see down the street.
“Put on these clothes, now!” Her voice left no room for negotiation.
“Mrs. Crow, you led Luella astray,” Rebecca said.
“I’m a stupid old woman,” Mrs. Crow said. I glanced at her between donning pant legs. Her youthful vitality from before was gone without a trace. She gaped out the window stupidly, tears streaming down her face. I recognized the sagging of her shoulders. I, too, knew the bitter sting of guilt.
“There’s time for that later,” my friend continued. “You have a chance to make up for it now. Go to the front door and follow instructions when you’re there.”
Mrs. Crow’s mouth fell open, but she swallowed her questions and left out the door. Rebecca threw more clothes at me. A workman’s shirt. A waistcoat. A long coat. A top hat. I did my best to keep up.
“Now this,” Rebecca said, handing me a fake mustache.
“Really, this is too much,” I muttered, fumbling to change out of my skirts and pull the shirt over me.
“You’ve impersonated a man for years on paper. Are you going to shrink now that it’s time to test your mettle?”
“I’ll never change in time. They’ll be bursting through the door any minute.”
“Not if Doug has anything to do with it,” Rebecca said, holding open the vest.
“Doug?” I gasped. Suddenly, outside, I heard muffled yells.
“I’m not moving at all until Luella Winthrop comes out here and returns my love!” Doug’s booming voice shouted. I nearly froze on the spot.
“What is he talking about?” I whispered.
“Stop asking questions and move!” Rebecca hissed.
“I don’t care who you are. You could be ruddy Queen Victoria. I know my heart, and it wants that woman.” He was positively roaring.
“Get out of the way, man, in the name of the law!” That was Sergeant Cooper. I’d recognize him anywhere.
“L
uella! There you are!”
“Oh, Scott!” I heard Mrs. Crow’s crackling voice cry back dramatically in a heavy Yorkshire accent. “How can you show your face after what you did to me?”
“Now follow me,” Rebecca whispered. I looked like a stock broker when it was all done. I caught the briefest of glances in the looking glass as I moved past it. I made a terrible man. I didn’t think my mustache would fool anybody, let alone a police sergeant.
She cracked the door open, and we crept into the hallway, closing it silently behind us. Through the cracked front door, I could see Doug’s massive form blocking entrance to the building.
“Forgive me, Luella!” Doug recited.
“How can I?” Mrs. Crow replied.
We tiptoed up the stairs and on to the second floor.
“They’ll see us straightaway up here if they enter the building,” I whispered.
“Move aside, man!” Cooper barked outside. “This is not Luella Winthrop!”
“You’ve been lying to me about your name?” Doug gasped in fake abhorrence.
“It’s true, Scott. I’m sorry. Me name’s Ruby.”
“And you have the nerve to ask me for an apology!”
“Move!” Cooper shouted. Then a great scuffling of feet and commotion followed.
Rebecca beckoned me to the back wall, where a large window looked over a single-story building and courtyard below.
“You’re mad,” I whispered, but before I could protest with a substitute plan, she had opened the window and hopped out, sidling down the back by means of a pipe and woody climbing vines. I felt significantly more agile in the borrowed trousers, and if Rebecca could do it, so could I. I sidled out the window, grabbed hold of the pipe, and lowered myself to the ground with great effort. We were out of the building now, but arguably closer to Cooper and his officers.
Through the window above us, I could hear the police shout between each other.
“There’s nothin’ here, sir!”
“Just some skirts, still warm.”
“A kettle is still on heat, too!”
Rebecca put her arm in mine, as if she were my wife or relative.
“Walk that direction,” she said, pointing away from my apartment toward some alleyways between the buildings behind my building. I obeyed, my heart pounding. I tried to control my breathing, but the excitement, the exertion from climbing down the building, and our rapid pace soon had me out of breath.
“Take a right,” Rebecca said.
“Rebecca,” I said, “what have you done? If they see you with me—”
“They won’t. A right, now.”
The shouts had grown fainter, but I heard the sound of horses’ hooves on the road coming in our direction.
“They’re coming,” I whispered.
“Take a left,” she insisted. It was madness. I followed her instructions, but as I turned down the side road she indicated, I could hear horses’ hooves getting louder. It sounded like we were heading right toward them. The brick buildings around me felt like they were caving in, the cobblestones kicked up at my feet. I could see our path ahead down a narrow alleyway. It looked like the alleyway from my dream about the fog all that time ago. We walked faster, but I saw a police officer atop his workhorse cross the opening in front of us.
Rebecca saw it and cursed under her breath. I started trying service doors in the alleyway as we saw a police wagon roll by. They would undoubtedly see us before long.
I tried a handle. Locked. I tried another. Locked again. We tried door after door to no success, and we were fast running out of alleyway.
Ahead of us, a policeman walked across the alley’s opening and turned to look directly our way. Rebecca instinctively hid her face under her bonnet. I nonchalantly tried to turn us around to walk back the way we came.
“Oy! You there!” the copper called. I pretended not to hear, maintaining a brisk but unhurried pace, but I heard his footsteps start down the alleyway toward us, pumping faster.
My pulse quickened again, adrenaline surging through me. The alleyway was suffocating. Everywhere I looked was brick and mortar. They would soon fall and crush me, a tidal wave of reality.
“Excuse me, sir!” the officer called again.
I ignored him still. We were almost to the opening where we had entered. At least then we’d have an opportunity to make a break for it and hide.
The thought perished with the view of two more officers talking to each other near the outside of the opening. We were trapped.
I scanned the walls for a side street or an open window, but I could find nothing, just more locked doors. If I attempted any of them, it would give us away immediately.
Suddenly, one of the doors burst open, and I was absolutely astounded to see Mr. Barker walk out with a large bag of moldy bread. We were just on the other side of the bakery! How had I not noticed? I was familiar with this area. I had walked the streets on the other side of the building so many times. Mr. Barker gave me a curt nod, but I made my way through the door without a word.
“Hey, what do you think you’re—” he started. I ripped off my fake mustache, shielded from the officer’s view on the other side of the open door.
“Mr. Barker, it’s Luella,” I said, holding a finger to my lips. He dropped the bag of bread in surprise.
“Luella?” He gaped.
“I’m very sorry about this. I’ll explain later.” I closed the door and locked it, sealing him outside. He started banging on it immediately and demanded to be let in. Mrs. Barker was hard at work on her butcher’s block kneading a large pile of dough. She toweled off her hands and made her way toward us.
“I’m coming! Don’t need to be in such a fuss, George.” She nearly bumped into us, letting out a stifled scream, surprised at the appearance of a strange looking couple in the back of her bakery instead of her husband. But, she recognized me in a moment.
“Luella, why in heaven’s name are you dressed like that?” she asked.
“Ask Mrs. Crow. She can explain everything.”
We bounded out the front door on to a police-free street. We ran across and slipped into another alleyway, hiding behind a tower of wooden crates. We held our breath and watched as the officer burst out the bakery door and turned left and right searching the street. After some deliberation, he headed north.
I bent over and tried to catch my breath, but Rebecca pushed me on.
“We can’t stay here,” she said, grabbing me by the wrist and pulling me upright. I watched as she led me down the alley, poked her head out to examine a new street, and then hurried us along, ever the happy couple. “Put your mustache back on,” she said. I tried to acquiesce, but the adhesive was failing. I held it up with my hand.
My mind raced, trying to discover where, if anywhere in Dawnhurst, would be safe for me. I figured I would have to get to the east side at least, where I knew so many little places I could hide away. But then, the police force might know the east side even better than I did. There had to be somewhere on the west. Perhaps over by the clock tower, or I had heard that some churches allow a type of sanctuary. The thought of going to my parents’ wedding altar in my shame made me taste bile.
We meandered through side streets and lesser traveled roads until we were close to the west bank of the river, looking out onto a large open square, bordered by large trees and the riverfront on one side and large, waterfront residential apartment buildings on the other. The square was alive with morning traffic, including fishmongers hawking wares, ferry captains directing the loading or unloading of their vessels, a grocer’s stand trying to unload the last of his fall wares, and a few of the city’s police force. Whether these officers were part of the womanhunt, it was impossible to say.
Rebecca pulled me under one of the trees and took my hands.
“I’ve arranged for your travel out of the city,” she said. “There’s a stage coach just on the other side of the square to take you to the country.”
Out of the city! I�
�d never considered it. I’d never been out of the city before. This was my home, my father’s home.
“You’re not coming?”
“It would raise suspicion, and Cooper doesn’t know I’ve helped you escape. I will be fine here. It’s better that you go on alone.”
“What will I do?” I couldn’t show her that leaving the city made me almost as afraid as facing the police.
“Start a new life. Lie low. You may want to live by a new identity for a while,” she suggested.
“How can I ever thank you?” I asked. I felt naked, ridiculous dressed as a man, and completely indebted to my friend for it.
“Don’t get caught.”
“Rebecca,” I searched for words. There were so many questions I wanted to ask her, but one rose like a clamor to my lips louder than any other. “Why?”
She hesitated, ready to push me forward, but my reticence dragged an answer from her.
“You remind me of my sister.”
“You never told me you have a sister.”
“I don’t anymore,” she smiled sadly. My heart reeled with the recent loss of my own sister.
“What happened to her?”
“One day perhaps I’ll tell you, when you can afford to think less of me. Now go. Walk to the stagecoach there on the south side next to the flower cart, get in, and hit the ceiling in the carriage twice.”
I didn’t understand, but it was clear that was all she was prepared to tell me, and time was not on our side. She hugged me once and gave me a deep, lingering look. Her eyes were filled with encouragement and love bridled by the affected street smarts older siblings hold out having. Then she turned and disappeared around a corner.
I looked across the square, where a stagecoach lie in wait to take me away from Dawnhurst-on-Severn for the first time. I had failed the city. I had failed my father, the man who took it upon himself to look after all who knew him, who had paid for my education with his own health. I’m sorry, father.
The Crimson Inkwell Page 25
