Only a few couples strolled the beautiful grounds along the river, but no one she recognized.
She’d taken care to wear a dark gown in anticipation of her role as a daughter in mourning. Not to mention the contrast against her skin gave the impression of a pale complexion. If she was to convince Mr. White that her health was suffering then she needed to look the part.
Ducks gathered beneath her perch on the bridge, angling for a morsel of bread. She dropped a few leaves into the water and watched them scramble around each other in hopes that it might be edible.
Silly things, she thought.
Soft footsteps approached and she looked up in anticipation of seeing poor Mr. White, but instead got quite a start, for it was a most unexpected sight, like a ghostly apparition.
“Miss Redford?” she said, quite confused. What were the chances of bumping into her here?
“No, Isobel. It’s Emma.” Her voice was even, without a hint of surprise, as if she knew she’d find Isobel in this location.
“Miss Emma! You look so well. I’m so pleased you are…unharmed,” Isobel lied. “Does my brother know you’ve returned?”
Emma’s face betrayed nothing. In fact, it was the least animated Isobel had ever recalled seeing it.
She stood at a distance a few feet and held a small rectangular case in front of her with a small white sketching of an apple. A cigarette case, perhaps? Had she taken to smoking in the day? How vulgar.
“You don’t need to pretend, Isobel, I know what you’ve done,” she said with a hint of agitation in her voice.
“Miss Clayton, whatever do you mean?”
“I have to say, I was quite surprised to find out that you’d hired Mr. Jacob, or whatever his real name was, to get rid of me, but why on earth would you try to kill your brother?”
Isobel looked around. Any minute Mr. White would arrive.
“How dare you make such accusations against me. Do you realize who you are addressing?”
“Yes, I know exactly who I’m addressing. And you know exactly what you are and so will everyone else.”
“Nonsense, there is nothing tying me to any of this. Mr. Jacob is dead. And as far as Mr. White is concerned, he acted on his own behalf.”
“That’s not what he says,” Emma said with a knowing look.
“You can never prove any of it. I know William and he would never betray me, not ever, he loves me.”
“Every man has his price, Isobel.”
“You’ll please address me properly, it’s Lady Isobel, or madame if you wish.” Isobel was suddenly feeling unwell. She did not like the direction this conversation was going. Who did this woman think she was? “I’ve had quite enough. I’ll ask you to leave, Miss Clayton, or I shall be forced to alert a constable.”
“You’re right about one thing, Isobel.” Emma disregarded her request. “Mr. White will not betray you because he’s dead.”
A flood of relief washed over Isobel. The last tie to her deeds severed. She couldn’t help but cry out in relief.
“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”
“You’ll read about it soon enough, but I saw it with my own eyes. He jumped off the Waterloo Bridge. Perhaps your love sonnets were not up to standard.”
“How—” she started to say, but realized instantly that Miss Redford had betrayed her. How could she not have seen that coming?
Rage flashed through her at the insult. How dared she!
“I’ll simply deny all of it, you know.” Her hands rested on her hips. “My father will never believe you. It will be my word against yours.”
“I know he will never believe my words, but yours, on the other hand, he will certainly believe that.”
“Do you play me for a fool? Why in heaven’s name would I confess? Now that Mr. White is no longer a loose end, I am free of my crimes and will watch with gleeful anticipation while another takes the fall for it.”
“Perhaps, but if I am to pay for your crimes, would you at least indulge me one favor and tell me why?”
“Why?” Isobel echoed with disdain. “Why, you ask? I am so sick of having to do everyone’s bidding. As a woman I have no power over my life. I am property. I want to choose my own path and have my own power. With Henry gone, don’t you see, I stood to become something—a countess. I would have had my choice of suitors. And you, sadly, you were an unfortunate casualty. I did so enjoy your company, Emma, but you were a distraction that I could ill afford.”
“You tried to ruin so many lives—and have succeeded, I might add. I’m sure Mr. White would concur if he could speak from his watery grave. But was it worth it?”
“If everything had gone to plan then yes, it would have been worth it.” She took off her gloves and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Men do awful things all the time and no one bats an eye. The moment a woman tries to shift things to her advantage she is ostracized and criticized.”
“That may be true and certainly will be for still a long time to come, but women do not need to employ the methods of men to improve themselves. Killing is never the solution, Isobel.”
Emma noticed something on Isobel’s hand for the first time and seemed taken back.
“That ring you’re wearing, where did it come from?” she asked.
The sudden shift in conversation was surprising and Isobel took a moment to register what she’d asked. She looked down to her fingers. On her right hand she was wearing her grandmother’s emerald ring flanked with tiny diamonds.
“This?” She held up her finger and Emma nodded. “It was my grandmother’s. She left it to me when she passed on. Why ever do you ask? I’m certainly not a thief,” she said as if that was not a low she could possibly fall to.
“It looked familiar to me, that’s all, but I must have been mistaken,” Emma said, not looking so well herself. “I should go. I’ve taken enough of your time.”
Emma turned and started to walk away but then hesitated a moment.
“I do feel sorry for you, Isobel,” she said in a sincere tone, not a hint of anger or scorn. “One day you may come to realize everything that you’ve thrown away in your search for power and I know that if that day comes it will be difficult for you to atone.”
And then she walked away.
Isobel watched her as she went until she disappeared completely behind some trees.
Suddenly the wind picked up and a redish-brown bird swooped down towards her from a nearby oak tree. It landed about five feet away on one of the bridge columns and watched her.
“I haven’t got any food for you, bird,” Isobel said dismissively.
It was an imposing bird. It looked like a red kite, but she doubted it could be because she’d thought them extinct.
Its eyes penetrated hers like it was trying to read something there. It made Isobel slightly uneasy, so she threw her hands in the air and tried to shoo the filthy thing away. But the bird held its ground.
Then in a sudden motion, with grace and power, the bird lifted into the air and flew away in the same direction that Emma had gone.
For some reason, in that short exchange, Isobel felt like she had been seen as she was.
A sense of vulnerability weaved its way through her core.
What had she done?
Chapter 36
Proof
Finally, I had my proof, yet I didn’t feel the way I thought I should.
As I walked back to Miss Crabtree’s townhouse, there was a feeling of melancholy that I couldn’t shake.
That ring!
Without a doubt it was the same ring that Ben had given to me when he’d proposed. It was one of a kind. Passed down from his ancestors.
Isobel had been his great-great-great grandmother?
That thought sent chills up my spine.
Ben’s family was wealthy and had been living in this area for generations, so it wasn’t completely out of the question, but still, it was worrisome.
What would become of Isobel once she was revealed to th
e world?
Would she be imprisoned or, worse, executed? Hangings were still going on in this country during this period. Not to mention they were still a public spectacle.
Did that mean that Ben would not exist? That his life and his family would be snuffed out like a candle and dissipate into the air?
Too many questions twirled around my head.
This should be a happy moment. I’d thought that revenge was best served hot. But my feelings now were tepid, not steaming as they had been.
For the first time I saw the vulnerability in Isobel. She’d looked like a desperate young woman.
Granted her actions had been horrific, there was no doubt about that, but when would this cycle of violence and revenge end?
I felt slightly ill at my own deceit—forging a letter from a dead man, using that knowledge to manipulate her into confession and then recording it all on my iPhone without her knowing.
Okay, I hadn’t tried to kill anyone.
But still.
All of it left me feeling dirty.
Sure, I had to keep my eye on the prize—my own freedom and Henry’s love. But how well would I be able to sleep at night knowing what my own actions had caused for others?
Just as I arrived in front of Miss Crabtree’s, Harold came down and perched on the light post near me.
We acknowledged each other for a long moment, a silent commiseration, before I made my way up the few steps to the door.
Before I could use the knocker it flew open and Henry stood in its frame with anticipation.
“Oh, darling.” Concern was etched on his face. “Did your plan fail?” He scooped me in his arms to ease the pain.
“No,” I said without feeling. “It worked exactly as I’d hoped it would.”
“I don’t understand, why are you looking as if all has been lost?” he asked, confused and troubled. “Have you been injured?” He pulled away slightly to give my body a once-over. With a wave of my hand I quelled his concern.
Both my mother and Miss Crabtree joined us in the entrance hall after hearing our voices.
“Emma, what’s happened? Did she not confess?” My mother anxiously fidgeted with her shawl.
“It all worked,” I said, my own mood now turning to frustration. “But I’m left feeling like I’m no better than she is. Plotting and lying and preying on someone doesn’t leave me feeling particularly proud of my actions. Even if my plan was quite brilliant.” There was that small consolation.
“At least now, my dear, we can plan our life together. We will be free of my sister and of the false accusations against you.” Relief poured from Henry’s every word.
“What will happen to your sister?”
Henry ran his hand down his sideburn, cupping his chin in thought. “If she’s found to be an accomplice to Mr. Jacob’s murder, my attempted murder and forgery, I suppose there is a possible trip to the gallows in her future,” he said without remorse or any hint of humor.
“That’s just it. I don’t want that to happen. Is there a way to punish her without that?”
“I can’t imagine that your recorded evidence could be shown to anyone outside of the earl, Emma, so I don’t believe it would come to that,” my mom said with a note of compassion. “Even at that, I’m not sure what he would make of it in the first place. You are taking a grave risk just in showing it to him.”
Of course there would be that small hurdle. What would a nineteenth-century man make of a smartphone? Especially a man set in his ways about the world he currently lived in.
Henry himself had been mesmerized by it when I showed it to him. He was clearly afraid to touch it at first for fear that it might do something unexpected, pressing buttons cautiously and jumping back slightly when the screen would light up or a notification would sound. Even the digital clock was something of a wonder.
Watching him play Food Ninja was perhaps the highlight of that experience, however. His large fingers worked with the agility of a toddler’s with the swishing motion.
“That’s true, darling. Outside of my father, no one would see your evidence, so it is unlikely that she would ever truly pay for her crimes.” Disappointment resonated in his voice.
“That’s a relief then.” As much as I hated the idea of her walking free, now that I knew she might have a greater purpose, as Ben’s ancestor, that knowledge could hardly be ignored.
“Forgiveness goes a long way too, dear,” Miss Crabtree piped up and gave my arm a squeeze. “Perhaps having to live with the knowledge of what she’s done will be punishment enough.”
There was a tone of sadness in her voice that I picked up on, like she was talking from experience.
“I can think of few people who would illustrate that point and Isobel is certainly not among them, Miss Crabtree.” Henry’s comment was laced with contempt. “However, it will be for the earl to act as judge and jury. I can’t imagine that forgiveness is a behavior he’s much accustomed to.”
The first tingling of butterflies rose in the pit of my stomach at the thought of confronting the earl with the evidence.
My mother could see my worry and she snaked her arm around my waist and kissed my cheek.
“I’m so proud of you, Emma.” Her eyes were like shiny marbles. “You are twice the woman I am and I wish I could take credit for that.”
“She is every bit your daughter, dear,” Miss Crabtree said to my mom reproachfully. “Every bit. Now let’s have dinner before poor Emma starts to crave something dreadful. That butter made of peanuts is positively ghastly.”
“And Marmite on toast is not equally repulsive?” I said in my own defense.
“You Americans have still so much to learn,” she said and clucked her way to the dining room.
I couldn’t shake the anxiety I felt about what was to come.
Would the earl even be willing to listen?
Chapter 37
Secrets
Eileen couldn’t sleep.
She threw a shawl over her nightgown and padded down the hallway on tiptoe.
Out of habit, she poked her head in and checked on Emma, who was sound asleep. Just like the child she remembered from only weeks ago. She shook her head, hardly able to believe they were one and the same.
Then she continued downstairs and into the parlor.
“Couldn’t sleep, dear?” Miss Crabtree asked from a dark corner, startling her.
Of course, being blind, she had no need of light.
“Not well, I’m afraid. Rather than toss and turn I thought I’d just get up.”
Miss Crabtree was sipping a cup of tea. “Cup of tea?” She gestured to the pot on the table.
A moon sliver cast a dull blue light in the room. Eileen lit a few candles and settled down next to the old lady.
“Don’t mind if I do,” she said, pouring a cup for herself. “Were you having a restless sleep as well?”
“Dear, at my age, every night is a restless one. Always so many things going through this head of mine and so afraid to let any of them go in case the next morning I find that I can no longer remember.”
They sat for a moment in silence.
“Will you tell her then?” Miss Crabtree asked abruptly.
“Beg your pardon?” Eileen wasn’t sure what exactly the old woman was referring to.
“About her father, of course,” she said as if the answer was completely obvious.
“How did you—”
“Young lady, you don’t get to be my age without acquiring a certain expertise on human nature,” she said in a scolding manner as she adjusted herself more comfortably in the chair. “Not to mention your sister Emily told me.”
Eileen was relieved the woman was in fact not a mind-reader.
“Ah, she did, did she? Well…” Eileen wasn’t sure how to answer because she had been on the fence herself as to the proper course. “I’m not sure.”
“Why are you not sure, dear? Do you enjoy keeping the secret? Does it not cause you a certain amount of anx
iety?”
Sharp as a tack, Eileen thought begrudgingly.
“Perhaps it does, but the truth is, knowing Emma as I now do, she’d want to know the man and that could end poorly.”
“So he’s still alive?”
“Very much, it seems.”
While in London, she’d noticed his name in one of the local papers, The Times as he’d been in attendance at the opening of a new opera. Just seeing his name in black and white had twisted her gut. She had been tempted to show up at his home but then realized what a terrible scandal that could turn into.
“And you’ve considered seeing him.” It wasn’t a question but a statement.
“Every moment of every day.”
“That’s foolish, dear. I can hear your heart pick up at the mere mention of him. Why would you waste another minute?”
When Miss Crabtree put it like that, Eileen’s hesitation made no sense, but there were other reasons, she knew there were. Having Emma here was not the least of her considerations. What if he didn’t want to acknowledge her? That would be crushing for both of them.
“He’s got another life now, a wife and possibly children. We were young at the time. He’s probably even forgotten.” Eileen started picking at the loose thread on her nightie. “It was twenty-four years ago.”
Miss Crabtree seemed to be getting impatient. She sighed heavily.
“Are you sure he’s married?”
“Yes, of course. I left because of it, right before it was meant to happen.”
The old woman just nodded her head slowly as if to acknowledge what was being said.
“You ran away then?”
“Well, I wouldn’t…” Eileen had never really considered it running away per se. She’d had her daughter to consider and wanted a better life for both of them. She guessed in some light it could appear to be a retreat of some kind. “Actually, yes, I did just that. I was hurt and wanted more for myself than the life he was able to offer.”
“That’s why you were worried for Emma, it reminded you of your difficult decision.”
“I suppose you’re right,” she said, slightly deflated. “Before I met Henry and saw them together, it felt like she was headed for the same problem I ran into all those years ago. I wanted to protect her from that. And from making a huge mistake. One she would carry with her forever.”
The Wayfarer's Daughter: A Time Travel Romance (The Wayfarer Series Book 2) Page 15
