by Karen Odden
James pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, and I could see him striving to speak patiently. “Elizabeth, your interest in this railway scheme—and I blame myself for encouraging you—has become positively unhealthy.”
“Unhealthy?” I echoed, disbelieving. “James, it’s my dowry! Believe me when I say that I was plenty interested without your encouragement. It’s my future at stake!”
“Then you should be more concerned about your reputation!” His eyes were blazing. “Your dowry’s not going to do you one bit of good if something like this gets out. You, spending a night in London, alone, with a man—a newspaperman, of all things!” He took a breath. “Oh, I know you think I’m being patronizing, coming to fetch you. But do you even comprehend the damage you might have done to yourself, had I not?”
“But no one would have known, if Mr. Flynn hadn’t sent a message to you!” I protested.
He let out a bark of a laugh. “Oh, of course not. I’m sure no one even noticed you were there.”
My hands were fists in my lap. “They knew I was there, but they didn’t know who I was.”
“And they couldn’t have found out? Don’t be absurd! You said the boy Jeremy was there. He knows who you are, doesn’t he?”
“He’d have kept his mouth shut,” I said, although with more certainty than I felt.
He threw up his hands. “You can’t be this naïve. And even if he didn’t tell them, you were in an office full of newspapermen! For Christ’s sake, Elizabeth, they ferret out information for a living.”
Of course he was right, but his voice had that tone of impatient disdain that made me feel furious and humiliated and stupid all at once. I fought down my feelings, took a deep breath, and tried to speak calmly. “James, if we had found that listing, we’d have been able to show the Select Committee that there’s been a plan all along. Don’t you see, this is like a puzzle, and we’re finding one piece at a time—”
“And in six months, no one is going to care,” James cut in. “It won’t make a bit of difference.”
I leaned back against the cushion, stunned by the certainty in his voice. “How can you say that? It could make a tremendous difference.”
He bit his lip. “You’re not hearing anything I’m saying.”
Well, you’re not listening to me, either.
“Elizabeth, I know your mother thinks that you’re willful and impulsive.”
I gaped. “She’s said that to you?”
“No, but she’s talked to my mother, and my mother has shared her worries with me. And all along, I’ve defended you. I told my mother that you have a mind of your own, certainly, but you’d never do anything truly foolish. But here you are, having done something utterly imprudent and even dangerous, and you are still willfully disavowing the possible consequences of your actions.” He shook his head in disbelief. “You’re looking at me as if I’m mad, but I’m beginning to wonder if you are.”
I recoiled as if he had made to strike me. “That’s a rotten thing to say, James. I’m not mad, and you know it.”
He had the grace to look ashamed, and his voice lost its hard edge. “No. I know you’re not mad. But you’re not a child anymore. You are making choices that have effects—material effects—not just for yourself, but for the people around you.” He paused and added pointedly, “And you’re hurting them.”
To my dismay, tears began pricking at the corners of my eyes. I tried to blink them back.
“Oh, god. Don’t cry, Elizabeth.” He handed me his handkerchief. “Please don’t. I didn’t mean to make you cry.” He gave a sigh. “We all just want what’s best for you.”
I pressed the handkerchief to my damp eyes, and from my throat came a sound that was halfway between a cry and a laugh. “My mother doesn’t want what’s best for me. She just wants to get me out of the way.”
“She wants you settled, yes,” he replied. “If you want to call it ‘out of the way,’ you can, I suppose.”
I took the handkerchief from my eyes. “How can you defend her, James? You spent summers with us. You saw how she ignored me, how she never wanted me with her—” The tears I’d been fighting back began to fall, and there was a hard ache in the back of my throat.
“Of course she wanted you.” He looked uncomfortable. “Let’s not talk about this anymore, all right?”
But suddenly, desperately, I wanted him to understand. I gulped down my tears and wadded his handkerchief between my hands. “It’s different for you, James. You and your parents and Anthony enjoy each other. I know because I used to watch when you’d visit together. We’d be sitting at the table, and you’d all be laughing and talking about what was happening in the world; your parents would be explaining things.” His expression began to change. “Your father played cricket with you and helped you study for Latin, and he taught Anthony how to hunt pheasant…but my father? He didn’t want to be with us. He”—I choked back what I could have said about him and Lady Shaw—“he was always off somewhere else—riding his horses, or going hunting with his friends, or visiting London. As for my mother? The whole summer after my father died, I sat by her bed for hours every day.” My voice became bitter. “But she didn’t want me. All she wanted was her bloody laudanum.”
“Oh, Elizabeth. That was years ago, and she was very unwell—”
“All right then,” I broke in, determined to make him see. “Three weeks ago, she told me that my personal charms weren’t worth anything without a dowry, and that after she died I would be nothing more than an unwanted obligation to my relations.”
Those words silenced him for several miles, and when he spoke, his voice had lost all traces of contentiousness. “That was unkind—not to mention untrue. But you should know better than to take her words at face value. It was probably the laudanum.”
“Laudanum or not, she said it,” I said tiredly. “So please don’t defend her to me.”
He dropped his head into his hands again, and for a few minutes, all I felt was the working of the train pistons, steady as a heartbeat.
Finally he looked up. “I won’t tell anyone where you were tonight, all right? So far as they know, you were at Anne’s, and I went to see you there; we stayed late visiting, and then I brought you home.”
“What about my clothes?”
“Where are your usual ones?”
“In a bag, with the gig, at the stables near Bonwell Station.”
He gestured toward my skirt. “Where did you get those ugly things, anyway?”
“From a closet in the spare room.”
He gave a grunt. “You can change at the station before we go home.” Then his jaw set in a stubborn line. “But you have to promise me you’ll not try anything like this again. In fact, I don’t want you coming to the jail anymore.”
My heart skipped a beat. “Not go to the jail? Why on earth not?”
“Because you’re not acting yourself these days.” He shook his head. “Go spend some time with Anne. Ride Athena, get out of doors, read your books, do whatever you like, but you need to get your mind away from this railway business.”
I opened my mouth to protest.
“And if you can’t promise that, then I’ll tell my mother where you were tonight.”
“You wouldn’t do that,” I half-whispered.
“Yes, I would.” He looked down at his scarf and fidgeted with it. “I mean it.”
Feeling suddenly cold and sick, I wrapped my arms across my chest, and we rode in silence for a dozen miles, bits of light in the distance appearing and fading.
Finally, he broke the silence. “Elizabeth, look at me.”
I turned.
“You have to remember something,” he said soberly. “I’ve been asked to represent Mr. Wilcox in a manslaughter suit. Now, Mr. Flynn has constructed a train of events that gives Hayes motives for terrible crimes. But even if we could introduce this story into court—and god knows we can’t—Mr. Flynn hasn’t uncovered anything illegal yet, and he
knows it—or it would’ve been on the front page of the Falcon already.” He shook his head. “It’s not a crime to buy or sell shares. It’s not a crime to short-sell stock. It’s not a crime to buy land inexpensively—or to meet with a railway lawyer, no matter how crooked he may be.”
“But sabotage is illegal—”
“Yes, the sabotage is the one undeniably illegal act in this entire mess,” he acknowledged, spreading his hands. “But Mr. Flynn has no proof that Hayes is connected to it. He’s found no link between Hayes and Mr. Wilcox, and there’s no proof that Hayes influenced Mrs. Benedict to bring the charge of manslaughter.” He sighed. “Any connection among them is probably so deeply buried that he’ll never find it.”
I felt a sinking feeling in my chest. Much of what James was saying was true.
“The only things that will help clear Wilcox,” he continued, “are his ability to convey the practical logic of his treatment of Benedict and the presence of witnesses who will testify to his character and his skills as a railway surgeon. I’ve already written to Wilcox’s mentor John Erichsen. He’s very well-respected, and from what I’ve heard, he’s a powerful presence in the courtroom.”
This was a piece of good news.
“Have you heard back?” I asked.
“Not yet. Apparently, he’s away from his practice in Edinburgh. But I sent a telegram, and I imagine he’ll come. We’re going to need him.”
I hated the flat tone in his voice.
We remained silent until the train dragged to a stop at Bonwell Station. James sent for the gig, and I changed my clothes and climbed in beside him. He took the reins for the ride home, and as we topped Cobbley’s Knob, my eyes sought Kellham Park.
The lights were blazing out of the windows.
I let out a groan. “They must have discovered that I wasn’t at Anne’s. Your mother’s going to be furious.”
“She’s going to be worried,” he corrected me. “And rightfully so. You may not want to admit it, but it’s only by the sheerest luck that nothing happened to you tonight.”
I kept silent, but I knew he was right.
We turned onto the long drive and came to a halt in front of the portico. I made no move to climb out, feeling suddenly limp with fatigue and despair.
“Go upstairs and get into bed,” James said gently. “You’re pale as a ghost. I’ll tell them you’re exhausted and you’ll speak to them tomorrow. And don’t worry. I’ll handle my mother.” He took my hand to help me out.
The front door opened and Aunt Catherine emerged, visibly upset.
“I’m sorry, Aunt,” I said, before she could speak. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“How could I not be frightened?” Her voice was sharp.
“Let her go, Mother,” James said. “She’s worn out.”
I left them conversing behind me and went upstairs, nineteen steps that felt like one hundred. In my room, Nora was stoking the fire, and Sally was there, waiting. As I came in, she put her arms around me fiercely and whispered, “Thank god you’re home. You scared us ’most half to death.”
“I never meant to.” I drew back from her embrace. “How did they found out I wasn’t at Anne’s?”
“One of the grooms at Reynolds Hall saw the horse and gig at the station, m’lady. And then he saw you, dressed peculiar.”
I tugged at the fastening of my cloak and dropped it on a chair. “And so of course he had to announce it to the world.”
Sally said nothing, only sighed and began to help me with my dress.
Chapter 28
I woke to the sound of knocking.
As I sat up, the door opened to reveal my aunt. “Good morning, Elizabeth.” Her voice was quiet and controlled.
“Good morning, Aunt.”
“Your uncle and I are leaving for London shortly, and we need to speak with you before we go. I’ll send Sally to help you dress.”
She did not wait for me to respond but merely closed the door behind her with a click. I pushed the bedclothes aside and went to the dressing table to brush out my hair. With dismay, I stared at my reflection. James had said last night that I wasn’t acting myself; but I didn’t look myself either. I had dark circles under my eyes, as if I’d been ill; my cheeks were pasty; my lips pale. With a sigh, I turned away and went to the armoire to choose a dress.
Another knock at the door and Sally entered, looking apologetic. “Beg pardon, m’lady. Your aunt sent me.”
“It’s all right, Sally. Is she in the breakfast room?”
“No, m’lady. In the parlor.” I’d already donned my dress; Sally’s hands did up the back buttons with her usual gentle efficiency. “And your uncle’s with her.”
I understood as well as she did what that meant. The breakfast room had an open lattice vent into the kitchen; the parlor did not. My aunt anticipated a conversation with me that she did not want servants to overhear. And though my uncle was kind, he’d side with my aunt in whatever she said.
When I reached the parlor, they were already seated beside each other on the couch. My uncle looked sober and overtly uncomfortable, whereas my aunt appeared outwardly calm, but the lines around her mouth were strained.
“Good morning,” I said as I shut the door.
“Good morning, Elizabeth,” my uncle said.
My aunt gestured toward the chair opposite. “Please sit down.”
I did.
My aunt laid her hands deliberately on the chair arms and began. “James has impressed upon us the fact that you didn’t go to London frivolously. You went because you thought you could help him and Mr. Wilcox.”
I felt some gratitude toward my cousin for trying to shield me. “Is James still here?”
“No. He took the first train down,” my uncle said.
“But,” my aunt continued, “that doesn’t change the fact that you lied to me about being at Anne’s. And that you went somewhere very dangerous.”
I fixed my eyes on the rose scrolls in the rug. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“Frankly, Elizabeth, I’m very concerned about you—and not just because of last night.” She spoke without anger, and I looked up to find her brow furrowed with what seemed to be genuine concern. “I had a letter from Lady Thurling, and she said that you were quite the subject of gossip at the Travers Inn after the accident.”
I stared. “How could she know anything about that?”
“Her maidservant was on the train. She was taken to the Travers Inn, just like you were.” She gave a deprecatory shrug. “Now, I know that Lady Thurling is a horrible gossip, and she loves to make things sound worse than they are, but when I asked Jane about your conduct in Travers, even she admitted that you behaved strangely. And ever since you’ve come home, you seem to be growing more reckless. First you went riding Athena into the back of beyond for hours—in the rain, no less—and no one had any idea where you’d gone, not even Martin. And last night, you ran off to London disguised as a servant-girl!” She leaned forward. “Honestly, doesn’t this all sound peculiar to you? Don’t you think it shows a want of discretion and—and—self-possession—and common sense?”
I felt my cheeks grow hot. “But there were legitimate reasons for all of it! And you’re not remembering the times I behaved prudently. I’m the one who pulled Mama out of a train wreck and took care of her until Jane arrived. What does that demonstrate, if not common sense and self-possession? If I’ve behaved peculiarly these past few weeks, it was in the name of helping people—of trying to do some good—”
“But there are ways to do some good without causing detriment to yourself,” she broke in. “If James hadn’t found you last night, what would have happened?”
“I’d have taken the train home, just as easily as I took it there,” I retorted.
“Taken the train home, alone, arriving the following day?” She looked horrified. “Good lord, Elizabeth! A month ago, I would have sworn that you’d never do such a thing. But now, I begin to wonder—given the chance—what wou
ld you do?”
My uncle made a small movement, and I caught his eye. He was telegraphing a message: Keep still. If you argue, it’ll be worse.
I bit my lip and remained quiet.
My aunt continued in a calmer tone. “We have to leave for London this morning, and we’ll be away until late tomorrow evening or first thing Friday. You will stay here, quietly, at Kellham Park, until we return. Then we will talk about where you might go.”
“Where I might go?” I repeated, looking from one to the other. “What do you mean?”
Two spots of red appeared in my uncle’s cheeks, and he fidgeted with the gold chain on his pocket watch.
My aunt answered, “We are thinking that it would be best for you to travel.”
“Just for a while,” my uncle muttered, giving me a sideways glance.
My heart thumped. “Travel where?”
“Well, the Lowells are taking a trip to the Lake Country—” my uncle began.
“We’re not sure yet,” my aunt interrupted. “Somewhere you can clear your head, calm your nerves, and recover your equilibrium.”
“It needn’t be for long,” my uncle said. “Just to give you a change of scenery.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “You think that shuffling me off somewhere is the solution?”
“Elizabeth!” My aunt’s voice rose again.
I clamped my mouth closed.
My uncle leaned forward, his expression earnest. “You understand the seriousness of what you did, don’t you? That we’re only trying to help?”
I forced the words from my mouth: “Yes, Uncle.”
My aunt’s fingers twitched at her skirt. “Now, can you promise us that you will stay here at Kellham Park for the next forty-eight hours, so we needn’t worry about you?”
I met her gaze. “Yes, Aunt. I promise.”
She looked relieved.
“May I ride?” I tried to make my voice polite, but the request came out stiffly. “Even James told me he thought it would be a wise idea to spend time with Athena.”
“Not until we get back,” my aunt replied.
