by Karen Odden
“You’re courageous, too, you know.” She held me close. “Remember that. And write to me often. Let me know when you can visit. We’ll be looking for you.”
And then she was gone.
—
I returned upstairs and remained there until the sky turned black and the stars came out. My thoughts lingered on Anne, forging a new life for herself in Scotland despite all her heartache and worry; and it came to me that it was my responsibility, and no one else’s, to find some sort of happiness for myself. If it meant leaving home, so be it. I couldn’t simply stay here and hope that someday my mother might take pleasure in having me with her. It wasn’t in her nature. But at least now I understood why.
A wave of sadness for both of us rose in me, so large, so full, and so wild that for a moment I couldn’t breathe. But as it receded, there was also the riptide of relief, the aftermath of having faced an unhappy truth.
Sally came to dress me for dinner, and I went down with a mind that was composed, if not content.
Chapter 40
That night at the dinner table, my uncle seemed determined to keep the conversation on cheerful topics—the latest Dickens installment, an upcoming visit to London from a French ambassador, a show by Dion Boucicault at the Theatre Royal—and, understanding that he was doing it in part to amuse me, I roused myself to participate and was rewarded by his encouraging smiles and my aunt’s relieved looks.
The fish course was cleared; mutton with currant jelly arrived; and the topic changed to their upcoming trip to Edinburgh, and their visit to St. Giles’s Cathedral, which they had postponed because of the accident. I was busily considering how I might broach the idea that I’d accompany them to Edinburgh and then visit Anne at Venwell, so I lost track of the conversation; I was yanked back to it when I heard my uncle say something about Lady Truax.
I choked and reached for my glass.
“Are you all right?” my uncle asked.
I nodded and tried to stifle my coughs in my napkin.
“We’ll be in Edinburgh, so we’re going to miss the party,” my aunt said. “But that’s no great loss.”
Uncle John swallowed his bite of mutton and took up his wine. “Why, Catherine, you don’t want to go?”
“Not particularly.”
“I wouldn’t have minded,” my uncle said reflectively. “I like Lady Truax, and the boy George is a good sort.”
“George Truax,” I repeated. “I beg your pardon. Why is there to be a party? What’s happened to him?”
My aunt frowned at me. “He’s engaged. That’s what we’ve just been talking about.”
“It’s no matter.” My uncle gave my aunt an admonishing look and swirled the contents of his wineglass. “But yes, he is engaged—to marry Lord Bucknell’s daughter, Grace.”
Lord Bucknell.
In my mind, I heard Jeremy’s voice pronouncing his name. And Mr. Flynn mentioning that he might be Home Secretary. My pulse began to quicken.
“It’s not announced yet,” my aunt said. “They intend to keep it private for another month. The Bucknells are still in mourning for one of their great-aunts.”
“Elizabeth?” My uncle was looking at me anxiously. “You seem quite shocked. Grace isn’t a particular friend of yours, is she?”
“No, not at all. I barely know her.” I did my best to speak calmly, but my thoughts were skittering about in every direction.
Bucknell and Truax.
Lady Truax—who was Paul’s patient, months ago.
Lord Bucknell—whose family famously made their money in barley, in East Anglia.
Barley that needed to get to market in London.
Mr. Flynn said Hayes bought land out in Suffolk, East Anglia.
Bucknell began with a B.
“My goodness, Elizabeth, what’s the matter with you?” My aunt was staring at me. “You’re all flushed.”
“I don’t know,” I replied. “That is—I’m feeling warm all of the sudden. I spent all afternoon out of doors, and I think I’m exhausted. May I be excused?”
My uncle spoke up before she could reply: “Of course, my dear.”
I fled the dining room and hurried upstairs, scraps of sentences already forming in my mind. It was possible I was grasping at straws—but the pieces lined up just enough that it didn’t feel like mere coincidence.
In my bedroom, I went straight to my writing table, pulled open a drawer to find pen and paper, and scratched out another telegram to Mr. Flynn:
BUCKNELL’S DAUGHTER TO WED TRUAX’S SON. STOP. LADY TRUAX PAUL’S PATIENT. STOP. BUCKNELL B. STOP. BUCKNELL’S FAMILY BARLEY FORTUNE IN SUFFOLK. STOP. ELIZABETH.
I couldn’t trust Timothy with it. I needed to send this one myself.
And I needed to see Paul.
Chapter 41
I wrapped myself in a dark cloak and slipped down the back stairs. But at the threshold, I had a sudden thought and ran back to the library. I took down Burke’s Peerage from the shelf and turned to the page headed BUCKNELL. There was no picture of the current MP, but there was one of his father, and there was a strong family likeness. I wrapped the book in a piece of linen from the drawer in the dining room. Then I went to the barn, saddled Athena, and put the parcel inside the saddlebag. Athena seemed to sense both my urgency and the need for secrecy, for she stood patiently as I drew on her bridle, and she made not a sound as we left the barn. Grateful that the moon was bright in the sky, I gave her as much rein as I dared, and we raced along the roads to the railway station.
There were no lights at the platform, and the place was deserted except for the lone man at the telegraph office.
It took only a matter of minutes to send the telegram, and then I mounted Athena again and rode to the Travers Inn. How long ago it seemed that I woke up here, after the accident. It looked different—darker and quieter and even less prosperous than I remembered. I took the book out of the saddlebag, handed the reins to a man outside, and put a few shillings in his hand. Athena was in a lather, and he looked at her uncertainly. “Walk her for a bit, would you please?” I asked. “And give her some water, but not too much, and nothing to eat. I’ll need to ride her home.”
He touched his cap. “Yes’m.”
I knocked at the door, which was answered by a maid who must have been new, for I didn’t recognize her. “Good evening. Is Mr. Paul Wilcox still registered here?” I asked.
She nodded, her expression curious. “He’s upstairs. Who shall I tell him is calling?”
“Please tell him his sister, and I have the book he wanted.”
The maid glanced at the rectangular package in my arms and vanished up the stairs. When she came back down, her expression was even more inquisitive. “He’ll be down directly, he says. Asked if you could wait in the sitting room. There’s a fire laid.”
“Thank you.”
I followed her into the room and stood watching as she lit the lamps.
At the sound of his footsteps, I turned. His shape filled the doorway; and my relief at seeing him, free of that horrible jail and acquitted of the charges, was so great I couldn’t say a word.
“Hello, Elizabeth. How is Mother?”
“She’s doing better. Still worried about you, of course.”
I felt the maid studying us covertly; but after she’d lit the third lamp, she withdrew, and we were alone.
There was part of me that wanted to fling my arms around him, but instead I only clutched the heavy book to my chest. My heart was hammering, and he took a few steps toward me, a faint smile on his mouth. I thought he might inquire what I was doing there, or how I was. But instead, he asked, “Have you ever read The Wraith of Wessell Hall?”
Surprised, I took a moment to answer. “No, I don’t think so. Why?”
“It’s a ghost story. Not the sort of thing I usually read. I only picked it up from a railway book stall because I’d finished the papers one day, and the train was late.” He slid his hands into his pockets, and his voice was quiet, almost mus
ing. “It’s about a man who stays in a dilapidated old mansion in the middle of a moor. He’s trapped there—I can’t remember why—a storm or something makes the road impassible. But each night he goes to sleep, and in his dream, he sees a lady emerging from a cloud of smoke, and each night she’s more beautiful and more haunting than the last. It gets so that he can’t wait to fall asleep, so he can see her again. And then one night, he wakes from his dream to find her in his room, a wraith who can speak. She tells him her story, and he falls in love with her.” He gave me a look that made me catch my breath. “Finally, the storm ends, and he leaves the house—but neither the wraith nor the dream of her ever returns. And after several months, he misses her so desperately that he takes up living in that wretched house again, just so he can summon her to him every night.” His voice dwindled. “Before you arrived, I was sitting upstairs, wishing desperately that I could summon you. And here you are.”
My throat tightened, and though I knew I should make some sort of reply, what could I say that would convey even half of what I felt? That I was glad he was free? That I was going to miss him when he returned to his London practice? Ordinary words were absurdly inadequate.
Perhaps that’s why he’d told me a story instead.
He smiled affectionately and touched my elbow. “What are you doing here? It’s late.”
“I know,” I choked out. “But I just heard—tonight at dinner—that Lord Truax’s son is marrying Lord Bucknell’s daughter.”
He started with surprise; his hand dropped away; and his smile faded to nothing, leaving his expression bleak. Heavily, as if a weight were resettling on his shoulders, he sat down on the edge of his usual chair and rubbed his hands over his face.
I perched on the other chair, the book in my lap. “Don’t you understand? Lord Truax’s son—”
“Yes, George Truax,” he muttered. “I remember him. I saw him several times when I visited his mother.”
“Paul, I think Lord Bucknell is the MP whom Mr. Flynn has been trying to find. He must have been the one Jeremy saw that night, the one who was carrying the umbrella with the B on it. He has power and influence in spades; the Bucknells are extraordinarily wealthy; their holdings are at least as old as my family’s. And rumor has it he’s to be the next Home Secretary—the fourth most powerful man in the cabinet, in charge of all internal affairs!” I unwrapped the book and laid the linen on the table. “He’s the MP who can push through railway plans. And his family made their money in barley farms in East Anglia. Don’t you remember? Hayes is from Suffolk, and he’d been buying land out there. That has to be the connection!”
On his face was a look of growing consternation.
“You saw Lady Truax several times at her home, didn’t you?” I continued. “Did you ever see Lord Bucknell there? Here.” I set the book on the table and turned the pages carefully so as not to tear them, until I arrived at the one marked BUCKNELL. On the left was a listing of the family members since 1704, along with portraits of the current Lord’s father and his grandfather; on the right was a crest with two horses and a yellow rose. I turned the book toward him and pointed to the portrait at the bottom of the page. “This is his father, but he looks very much like him. He’s about forty-five—”
He wasn’t even looking at it. He was staring at me, and his face had gone white.
“Paul, what’s the matter?”
His voice was strained. “I know what Lord Bucknell looks like, Elizabeth. I treated his wife in London, months ago.”
“You—treated his wife? But she wasn’t on your list!”
“She wasn’t a railway patient. I only saw her once, at Lady Truax’s request. They’re close friends, and Lady Bucknell suffered from nervous headaches. Lady Truax thought I could help.”
“And did you?”
“I administered some drops and prescribed less coffee and wine. I only saw her once.” His eyes were dark and intent. “But, Elizabeth, that’s where I saw Hayes. He was in Lord Bucknell’s study. I’d forgotten until just now.”
“When—when was this?”
“It was October, and I was an hour or two early for our appointment. Another patient had cancelled, and the note I’d received from Lady Truax said Lady Bucknell was feeling poorly. So I went early, on the chance I could see her before tea. I was kept waiting in the foyer for ten minutes or so.” His eyes were fixed on a spot in mid-air, as if he were watching the scene unfold before him. “I happened to be standing where I could see into the room. There were three men inside. Hayes was standing by the fireplace. A man I assumed was Lord Bucknell was standing behind the desk—a tall, distinguished man with a bulbous nose and graying hair.” He gestured toward the open book and looked up at me. “There’s a definite resemblance.”
“And Lord Truax?” I whispered.
He nodded.
“Did he know that you saw him?” I asked.
“Yes.” He bit his lip. “He caught my eye just before a fourth man came in. I don’t know who that man was; it was right then that I was summoned upstairs.”
“Do you remember what the stranger looked like? Did anyone greet him by name?”
“I don’t remember hearing a name. But he was smallish, thin, with graying hair parted here”—his hand moved from left to right over his head—“and pockmarks on his face.”
My heart jumped. “Paul, that must have been Poole, the lawyer. Jeremy said he was short and thin, with a pocked face.”
“Good god. The four of them together,” he said, his expression stunned. “Back in October.”
“Is there any chance that Lord Shaw was there as well?” I asked urgently. “He’s the fifth man—and he may be the one who designed this scheme in the first place.”
He stiffened. “Lord Shaw? Not Hayes?”
“I don’t think so. It’s not really important—he and Hayes are partners in it together, certainly—but was he in the room?”
He shook his head. “I didn’t see him.” And then his expression changed, and he drew the book toward him and hastily turned the pages.
“What are you looking for?”
“Shaw’s crest. He has one, doesn’t he?”
“Of course.”
He found the page. The crest had a green background, with a silver sword crossed against a dagger, and a black bear, its mouth open in a snarl.
He stared at it. “His carriage was outside the house.”
“So Lord Shaw was there,” I said breathlessly.
“He must have been in a corner of the room I couldn’t see.” He closed the book and pushed himself out of his chair. “We need to tell Tom. I know there’s no proof—it’s just a meeting. But he needs to know that Bucknell is the one—”
“I already sent a telegram,” I interrupted.
“What? When?”
“Just now. I sent it on my way here, from the railway station. To tell him that Bucknell and Truax’s children were engaged, and to remind him that Lady Truax was one of your patients and Bucknell’s family made their fortune in barley in East Anglia. He’ll know what I mean.”
He sank back down into the chair with a sigh.
“It all makes sense now, doesn’t it?” I asked.
“God, yes.” He shook his head. “I feel like such a bloody idiot. I can’t believe I couldn’t place Hayes’s face until now—”
“Paul, don’t. How could you be expected to remember someone you barely glimpsed six months ago?”
“You’re being kind.”
“No, I’m not,” I insisted. “But you didn’t finish your story. What happened after you saw Lady Bucknell?”
He was quiet for a moment, concentrating. “I was with her for perhaps an hour. Then I came downstairs. As I stood outside waiting for a cab, Hayes and the man you call Poole came out. And that’s when I saw Lord Shaw’s carriage by the curb.” His eyes narrowed. “Hayes would have remembered me. He gave me a long look as he went by. I think I nodded, or said good afternoon—something like that.”
; “That’s why they needed you out of the way,” I said. “They were certain that you’d seen them all together.”
“But why did they wait so long?” he asked.
“Maybe they only started to worry when they heard that Mr. Flynn had started asking questions at the agencies. Or maybe it was when they found out that you and Mr. Flynn know each other.” I added reluctantly, “I’m sure it didn’t help that I told Lord Shaw that there was a newspaperman here in Travers after the accident.”
His eyebrows rose. “You spoke with Lord Shaw?”
I nodded. “Before Mr. Flynn found out about his connection to Hayes, I went to see him, to find out what he knew about the takeover of the London-Redfield. He was perfectly pleasant—which put me off my guard, I’m afraid.”
“And once they realized there would be a Parliamentary hearing, and Tom might be able to reveal their plan, they needed to make sure I was out of the way.” He stood up and paced over to the window to look out. “As long as I was in jail, I wouldn’t be able to testify that the five of them had met. Even if I was freed—which wasn’t likely—I’d be discredited.”
“But they’ve failed, Paul. The Select Committee meets the day after tomorrow. There’s still time.”
He turned toward me. “You’re right, of course. I need to go to London.”
“I think there’s a late express from Bonwell. James took it last night.”
“I’ll get my coat. Wait for me.” He was up the stairs and back down in a few minutes, looking more like himself than he had in weeks, his eyes bright, his step quick.
I stood by the fire, feeling its warmth up and down my right side. “Will you let me know how it all ends?”
He came toward me and took my hand. “Of course I will.”
“And be careful,” I said. “Hayes may be in custody, but Lord Shaw is just as dangerous. Don’t ask me how I know. But I warned Mr. Flynn.”
He shook his head in bemusement and looked down at our clasped hands. “You have been astonishing, Elizabeth, from the very moment you walked in that scullery. Your unselfishness, your intuition, your willingness to take risks to find the truth. And in the courtroom the other day…” His gaze met mine. “I know what you did for me. Don’t think I don’t.”
