by Cheryl Holt
“I can’t, I can’t.” Lydia whipped her focus to Peggy. “I hate you Peggy Jones. I will hate you forever.”
“The feeling is mutual, Lydia,” Peggy spat, and she sank down into a chair.
Annabel grabbed a chair herself and pulled it over to Peggy so they were very close, their feet and legs tangled.
“I want to hear every detail,” Annabel said. “Don’t leave anything out.”
“Be silent, Peggy!” Lydia shouted.
Annabel waved away her sister’s screeching. “Ignore her,” she told Peggy. “Just talk to me. What is this about Harry being Caleb?”
“It wasn’t me. It was Lydia.”
“Fine. What did Lydia do?”
“You remember the trouble she had with a babe catching in her womb. People assumed she was barren.”
“Yes,” Annabel agreed, “and then she had Harry.”
“He was sickly though and he never thrived, but his birth secured her spot with the Boswells. Milton had died by then, and she was a widow who’d given the family a son. It entitled her to this cottage and the stipend and all the rest.”
“Yes, yes, it entitled her to all of it. How does that turn Harry into Caleb Grey?”
“One morning, we went into Harry’s nursery, and he’d passed away in the night.”
“What? Babies don’t perish for no reason.”
“Yes, they do,” Peggy maintained. “More often than you’d imagine.” She scowled at Lydia—who was weeping—then said, “We were frantic and thought we’d be blamed, but it wasn’t our fault. It just...happened.”
“You didn’t notify anybody?”
“No.”
That word fell like a lead weight into the middle of the room.
“Oh, Peggy,” Annabel murmured, “how could you have? You had to be aware of how wrong it was.”
“It wasn’t up to me.” She nodded at Lydia. “Your sister realized—if Milton’s son was dead—the Boswells wouldn’t continue supporting her. She was distraught with trying to devise a solution. For a bit of time, I feared for her sanity. She was that hysterical.”
“Then what?” Annabel asked.
Peggy nodded at Lydia again. “Make her explain. She did it. Not me. I was merely complicit afterward. All these years, I’ve been complicit.”
Annabel stood and went over to her sister. With Annabel standing and Lydia sitting, she towered over her sister. Her sister had never been an overly large woman, but at the moment she appeared shriveled, as if her essence had evaporated.
“Tell me all of it, Lydia,” Annabel said. “Admit it to me or I won’t stop pestering you.”
Lydia’s mouth was clamped shut so tightly that Annabel seriously considered slapping the truth out of her. But finally, she started in, her voice so quiet that Annabel had to lean down to hear her.
“Melinda Grey was a girl I knew from school.”
“She was Caleb’s mother.”
“Yes, and I always hated her.”
“Why?”
“She had everything I didn’t have. She was from a wealthy family, and she was pretty and smart. She stunned everyone by snagging Lord Lyndon—the most famous bachelor in the land.”
“And...?”
“She gave birth right away, and it was touted as the greatest event the kingdom had ever celebrated. She had a perfect life and a perfect baby and a perfect husband.”
“You were jealous of her good fortune? That’s petty and disgusting.”
Lydia sat up straight, her temper suddenly sparking. “She was so smug and so proud.”
“You kidnapped her son!”
“Yes, and I’m not sorry for it! She invited all of our old classmates to a fancy supper so she could lord herself over all of us. She was droning on and on, bragging about how rich she was. I couldn’t bear it.”
“She was a widow by then too. Didn’t you feel any sympathy for her?”
“No,” Lydia scoffed. “Her security wasn’t imperiled at all. She had the mansions and all the money, and she didn’t have to fuss with a husband any longer. She was always so lucky! My husband was dead, my child was dead, and my whole world was in jeopardy because of it.”
“So you took her baby.”
“Yes. After the party ended, I pretended to depart then I snuck up to the nursery. I put him in that satchel”—she pointed to the table—“and I grabbed some of his things and stuffed them in it too. Then I walked out. He didn’t make a sound, and no one ever guessed what had occurred.”
There was an agonizing silence where they exchanged glares. Annabel didn’t want to believe what she’d heard and might not have believed it, but there was such a grim resonance to their comments that there was no way to discount them.
Harry had never fit in with the Boswells. He didn’t look like them or act like them. He felt no connection to them, and they didn’t feel one to him. He was completely his own person, imbued with every aristocrat trait and arrogantly sure he was better than everyone else. He firmly believed he shouldn’t have to stay in the world where he was currently trapped.
Did he somehow recall those days when he’d been the exalted heir to an earldom? Or was it simply the noble blood running in his veins? Maybe it had always spoken to him, ordering him to get himself back to his proper place.
“How did you pass him off as your own?” she asked. “I don’t know much about children, but despite what people say babies don’t all look alike. How could you say he was yours and get away with it?”
Lydia had retreated into her shell by then, and she seemed incapable of explaining. Annabel went back to Peggy.
“Well?”
“We left the city immediately and returned here to Boswell House. We claimed he was very ill, and we couldn’t have callers.”
“And he’d been born sickly so it wasn’t surprising.”
“No, and it was sinfully easy to fool others. We got rid of our servants, and the Boswells never visited. Eventually, when he was a bit older, we simply declared him recovered, that the country air had healed him.”
“No questions were ever raised?” Annabel asked.
“No. Who cared about us? Who would check? We were merely a widow and her companion, living alone with a little boy. It was over a year before Mr. Boswell was traveling through the area and stopped by.”
“I suppose he was delighted with Harry’s improved condition.”
“He was absolutely delighted.”
Annabel rippled with loathing, practically blind with rage. If she’d had a whip, she might have lashed her sister with it.
“Did you two even bother to bury Harry after he died?” she inquired. “Or did you simply toss his body in the creek?”
“We buried him in the woods. There’s a marker. I can show it to you if you’d like.”
Annabel shook her head. “I don’t want to see it. Maybe I will in the future. Not now.”
Another silence festered, and finally Peggy asked, “What should I do, Miss Annabel? What would you advise?”
“We have to tell,” Annabel replied without hesitation.
The response yanked Lydia out of her stupor. “Are you mad? We can’t tell!”
“It’s not up to you, Lydia,” Annabel snapped, and Peggy added, “Not anymore.”
“No one will believe you,” Lydia sneered.
“I have to try,” Annabel said. “Harry...ah...Caleb deserves to have what belongs to him.”
“Caleb, bah! You’ll be giving the Boswells the excuse they’ve always needed to disown Harry. You’ll come forward with an implausible story, but Mr. Boswell will disinherit him all the same. Harry will have no family. Can’t he at least have Milton’s paltry estate? Will you deny him even that much?”
“I think we’d better call him Caleb,” Annabel said.
“I never will,” Lydia retorted, “because he’s not Caleb. He hasn’t been since I carried him out of his nursery.”
Annabel had always wondered if her sister was insane, and now she was sure
of it.
“This is why you were so upset when Captain Grey visited, isn’t it? You were afraid he might notice a resemblance.”
“Of course I was afraid!” Lydia vehemently said. “If you start spouting this nonsense, Annabel, Peggy and I will be hanged! Is that what you’d like to have happen? Would you like to have me prosecuted and hanged?”
Annabel sputtered with exasperation. “Lydia, what you did was so wrong. Do you understand that? There will have to be consequences. I can’t imagine you’ll be hanged, but you’ll have to pay some sort of price. It’s only fair.”
“I was sick with grief, Annabel! I was terrified about what would become of me. I can’t be held accountable for my actions back then. I was in a despairing state.”
“You committed an awful crime,” Annabel said. ““There should be a penalty.”
“You’ve always hated me,” Lydia said. “You’d probably enjoy seeing me executed.”
Annabel thought of Soloman Grey, the poor man who’d been accused of killing Caleb. The allegations had been so horrid that he’d had to flee England.
She thought of Benjamin Grey and how he’d been accused of complicity. He’d fled too, to a career in the army, and though he was home he was so unhappy. He didn’t appear to really want the title that would be bestowed because of tragedy.
Mostly though, she thought about Caleb. He’d been denied all the wealth and grandeur that should have padded his childhood. Instead, for the past decade, he’d either been ignored by his mother or shunted off to dreary schools by his grandfather—who wasn’t actually his grandfather. If there was a silver lining in any of it, it was the fact that Caleb wasn’t a Boswell and never had been.
She suspected he’d be elated by the news.
“I have one question, Lydia,” she said to her sister.
“What is it?”
“Why have you always been so mean to Caleb? You risked so much to take him, and you’ve worked so hard to keep him and not be found out. His presence in your life gave you everything you were so desperate to have: this cottage, your widow’s stipend, and all the rest. It seems to me you’d have loved him beyond reason, yet you can’t abide him.”
“Well, he never liked me, Annabel,” Lydia huffed. “I tried and tried to mother him, but he wouldn’t let me.”
“Perhaps that’s because—deep down—he recognized you weren’t his mother.”
“I did the best I could,” Lydia whined.
At hearing Lydia make excuses for her felonious behavior, Annabel was awash with fury she wasn’t certain she could control. She was conflicted over how to proceed, but at the moment she simply had to get away from her sister. If she didn’t, she couldn’t predict how she might act.
Choices were flying through her head: She’d kidnap Caleb from school again. She’d bring him to London and hide him at the small house she and her brother were currently renting. She’d send a message to Michael so he’d hurry to London to be with them. She’d talk to...Benjamin Grey. Yes, she’d talk to Benjamin and tell him what she’d discovered.
She didn’t know if he’d believe her—he deemed her to be a liar and swindler—but she would tell him anyway.
No matter what happened with Benjamin though, she was very clear on one point. She would inform the Boswells that Caleb wasn’t Milton’s son. She’d inform them that their dear little Harry had died as a baby and was buried in the woods. Mr. Boswell had always begrudged Caleb every single penny spent on his support.
Well, he wouldn’t have to spend another farthing.
Once Annabel spread her story, Caleb would be free from the Boswells and from Lydia. Caleb could live with Annabel and Michael. It was such a brilliant ending she could barely stand to consider it.
She went over to the table, and she grabbed the satchel containing Caleb’s possessions.
“Is this all of it?” she asked Peggy. “Is this all of what Lydia stole from Caleb’s nursery?”
“Yes.”
Annabel started out, and Lydia asked, “Where are you going with that?”
“I’m going to Grey Manor to speak with Captain Grey and apprise him of your crime.”
“You can’t do that!” Lydia shrieked. “You can’t! You can’t! Mr. Boswell will evict me. He’ll cut off my stipend. I’ll lose everything!”
She leapt up, and she would have charged at Annabel, but Peggy stopped her.
“She has to tell, Lydia,” Peggy insisted. “It’s time. If she doesn’t, I will.”
Peggy pushed Lydia onto the sofa, and as Annabel started off again, Peggy said, “Miss Annabel, may I come with you? I can’t remain here another second.”
“Of course you should come, Peggy. This is a madhouse occupied by a lunatic. I’ve always thought so. I can’t figure out how you stayed as long as you have.”
“We’ll both hang, Peggy,” Lydia fumed. “Is that what you want?”
“I’ve told you for years,” Peggy quietly raged, “that this secret is eating me alive. If I hang for it, it’s only what I deserve.”
Annabel marched out, and Peggy followed. Lydia shouted and cursed and called them names, but they kept on.
PEGGY SAT OUTSIDE THE headmaster’s office at Harry’s school. No, Caleb’s school, she told herself. She could call him by his real name now.
In the past, she’d never exhibited any behavior to upset Mr. Boswell so he deemed her a harmless servant. He’d banned Annabel and Michael from seeing Caleb, but it would never have occurred to him that Peggy should be banned too.
When Peggy had introduced herself as Lydia’s companion and requested to speak with him, the headmaster hadn’t hesitated. He’d sent a student to find Caleb and bring him to her, and without much of a delay he hurried down the hall. She stood and waved. On seeing her, he beamed with pleasure.
“Miss Peggy!”
“Hello, Master Harry.” She kept her face blank. She and Annabel had decided Annabel would be the one to tell him the truth.
He marched up and hugged her, and she liked that about him. He was a very demonstrative child—to her at least. He’d always been full of laughter and had generously dispensed his smiles.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“Let’s walk for a bit, shall we?”
“You’ve pulled me out of my mathematics class so we can walk all day if you’d like.”
He led her out a rear door into a garden that would be very pretty in the spring and summer. At the moment, with the leaves fallen and the grass brown, it was a depressing spot.
He was very smart, and she’d never visited him before so he grasped that something urgent had transpired. Would he hate her when he was informed of her crime?
“What is it?” he asked. “Is it my mother?”
“No. I stopped by to let you know I’ve resigned my post.”
“You quit? There will never be a reason to go home now. If you’re not there, it wouldn’t be worth the trip.”
“You sweet boy,” she murmured.
“What will you do with yourself? Are you off to London to try to earn your fortune?”
“I might work for your Aunt Annabel. She’d like me to.”
“That’s a grand idea! You should have switched long ago. How is my aunt? I miss her.”
“Your aunt is very well,” Peggy said.
“Isn’t she always?”
“I lied to your headmaster by claiming I wished to say goodbye, but actually Annabel sent me with a special proposition for you.”
“What is it?”
She glanced around to be sure the garden was empty and they wouldn’t be overheard. “By any chance, might you be able to sneak away?”
He didn’t blink an eye. “When? Now?”
“Yes, now.”
“Certainly. We’re not prisoners. We’re not locked in. I simply won’t return to class, and it’s the last session of the day anyway so no one will report on my absence for quite a while.” He paused and studied her. “Will I be coming back?”<
br />
“No.”
“How interesting. My Grandfather Boswell won’t be happy.”
“Between you and me, I don’t think we’ll have to worry about him ever again.”
“Really? This is quickly growing into an adventure.”
“You should pack,” Peggy said.
“I don’t need to. I have a change of clothes, but I don’t mind if I leave them behind.”
“Annabel has rented a carriage. She’s out on the road, waiting for you. We’re proceeding to London as fast as we can get there.”
“Am I to live with Michael and Annabel? Is that the plan?”
“You’ll live with them—for the moment. In the future, there might be other arrangements.”
“I can’t imagine anything better than living with Annabel and Michael unless perhaps I could inherit a fortune and buy us all a mansion. That would be brilliant.”
“It would be, wouldn’t it?”
She couldn’t guess what would happen once the news began to spread, but she intended to notify whoever she saw—for the remainder of her life—that Harry Boswell was Caleb Grey. And she wouldn’t stop saying it until she’d told the whole world. She’d been front and center in denying him what should have been his so it was incumbent upon her to try to rectify the situation as much as she could.
She sighed, having rapidly realized—since Lydia wasn’t his mother—Annabel and Michael weren’t his aunt and uncle. If lightning struck and they convinced Benjamin Grey about Caleb’s identity, the Grey family would sweep Caleb away from them. He’d move from the Boswells controlling him to the Greys controlling him.
There was too much money and property at stake, and rich people closed ranks. Caleb would become one of their own, and Annabel and Michael wouldn’t be welcome in that tight circle of wealth and privilege.
Peggy hadn’t explained this to Annabel yet. Until matters with Caleb resolved, there was no need to have her fretting over it.
“I’ll depart now,” she said, “and meet you out on the road. Come as soon as you can.”
“I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“Your aunt has a huge secret to tell you.”
“What secret?”
“I’m not about to spill the beans, but hopefully anticipation will get you to hurry.”
