Edward almost crushed me as he wrapped his arm around my shoulder. “We’re leaving now. Make no attempt to follow us.”
My feet barely touched the floor as Edward hurried me from the room. With a firm grip on my arm, he led me through numerous passages. In his other hand, he gripped the leather satchel of papers my guardian had given me.
Five minutes later found me in the stable yard, with rain racing down my hair and dripping off my chin. I ran my tongue over my lip, unable to taste the saltiness of my tears. The water cascading from the roofline made the orders Edward shouted to the coachman impossible to hear.
I stood numb in the mud. Edward glanced back at me every few seconds, damp hair sticking to his forehead, as if he feared I’d disappear.
“Come on!” Edward shouted over the percussion, sloshing through the puddles to fetch me. “We’ve got to hurry. I don’t trust him.”
Cold water streamed down my neck and into my bodice as Edward braced my upper arm, leading me to the carriage. I climbed in and collapsed on the velvet seat, staining the upholstery and dripping puddles on the floor, representing one more thing I’d ruined that night.
The vehicle swayed as Edward grabbed the bars and swung in. He sat opposite me and silently watched me cry. Whether it was with pity or apathy, I could not discern.
WE ARRIVED at our destination the following day before noon. My eyes burned with weariness as I studied the homestead where Edward had taken us. The frost that had glittered over the landscape earlier that morning had dissolved, leaving behind piebald patches of mud and dead grass.
Behind a wooden fence, a russet-colored cottage waited, enshrouded in a thick, brown fog. Smoke curled lazily from its chimney.
Edward alighted from the carriage, leaving the door open. He looked in the direction of the house, then all at once sank to the ground, as though he’d used the last of his energy. He placed his elbows on his knees and buried his head in his hands.
Inside, dark-green draperies parted and someone peeked out before snapping them shut.
A moment later, Henry emerged from the cottage, pulling on his frock coat. A young man with fiery-red hair followed.
“Edward?” Henry ran to his brother.
Upon reaching us, his face wrinkled with confusion. As his gaze moved over the mud-stained carriage, I noted that one of the wheels was bent at an odd angle. He frowned but said nothing. He faced me and his eyes sharpened.
For a moment, I nearly lost my resolve not to cry, but then forced aside all emotion.
“Edward, what on earth?” Henry demanded.
Edward rubbed the heels of his hands deep into his eyes. His shoulders expanded as he drew in deep drafts of breath. “I married her, Henry. I married her.”
The redheaded man burst into laughter. “I’m sorry,” he said as Henry turned and glared at him. “It’s just that judging by the state of their arrival, I don’t know whether to congratulate them or pay them my condolences.”
Grey swam before my eyes, adding to my dizziness. To keep from losing consciousness, I propped my hand against the carriage for support.
Edward clasped Henry’s upper arm, regaining his brother’s attention. “I married her to Macy.”
Henry shook his head. “That’s not possible. I only left yesterday. The banns couldn’t have been started.”
Edward’s knuckles whitened. “He had a special license from the archbishop. It just happened, and then I panicked. I wasn’t even sure you’d still be here. I just . . . came.”
Henry’s brows scrunched. “I don’t understand.”
“I,” screamed Edward, emphasizing each word, struggling to rise, “married—her—to—Mister—Macy!” He swiped his sleeve beneath his nose, his voice growing anguished. “And that’s not all. She’s Lord Pierson’s daughter. All this time, I’ve been wooing his daughter. Lord blooming Pierson’s daughter!”
Henry cast me a wild look, one that asked if Edward had gone mad.
“Wh-ha-ha-what?” Henry’s companion tipped backwards, holding his stomach. “You expect us to believe that? She married the Mr. Macy, and oh yes, did we forget to mention whose daughter she is? Go somewhere else, Edward. I know an Auburn prank when I meet one.”
“Oh, you’re just brilliant, Devon!” Edward flung his arms open, looking truly dangerous. “Yes, this is all a grand joke because we’ve nothing better to do than ride through the night, risking our lives and reputations, so we can fool you. Ha-ha. We made you think Julia is Lord Pierson’s daughter.” He spun toward his older brother, gesturing toward me. “Henry, I couldn’t just leave her there. You’ve got to help us!”
Henry, however, didn’t answer. He just looked at me.
I felt too numb to do more than return his stare. My only thought was that I wanted to bury my head in a pillow and sleep, to return to dreams, to abstraction—anything to be free of reality.
Though I had spent many summers in Henry’s company, at that time, I had yet to fully understand his nature or appreciate his mind-set. To him, I was already a sister, cherished and beloved. Grief is an apt description for the emotions that delineated Henry’s face. For a full minute, he seemed uncertain what to do. But then in three steps, he strode to me and crushed me in his arms.
It was so improper and so ridiculous. He knew better. Nevertheless, I buried my face in his chest and finally felt able to give a sob.
“You idiot!” he screamed at Edward. “Have you any idea what you’ve just done!”
“Do not yell at me!” Edward matched his tone. “Don’t you dare! You cannot understand the agony I am suffering.”
“Agony! You want agony!” Henry’s upper lip curled as he left me and pummelled Edward. In the next moment, they became a wrestling blur of fists and jabs as they grappled with each other on the ground.
“You mustn’t fight,” the redheaded man pleaded, circling them. “All right, all right, I believe you!”
It was perhaps the first time someone outside of Elizabeth or me witnessed one of their pas d’armes. Since boyhood, Henry and Edward had settled more arguments this way than I care to recount—with Edward usually the loser.
Less than five minutes later, both lay panting on the ground with no clear winner.
Leaves and twigs stuck in Edward’s hair as he stretched his arms on either side and stared up where trees, black from damp, stretched elongated fingers toward the dun-colored sky.
Once more I felt that sweeping rush of dizziness and slouched against the carriage in hopes of warding it off. Henry sat up from the ground and motioned his friend to aid me.
Edward groaned, turning on his side.
“Come on, get up.” Henry stood and stretched out his hand to his brother. “We’re not accomplishing anything right now. We’ll delay further talk until the two of you rest. Devon, have you got a bed Julia can use?”
When my eyes fluttered open, the first thing I saw was a chamber pot, shelved directly above my head. Rosy light rounded the white enamelware side as it caught the rays of the fading sun. I squinted at it, then turned on my side and viewed the space, trying to place myself.
Piles of paper trays held shabby clothing. A new tallow candle waited upon the table. I saw no matchbox.
On my first attempt to stand, the bulky layers of my wrinkled dress arrested my progress, but with renewed efforts, I escaped the sagging mattress.
“Hello?” I called.
The only response was the plunk of water dripping in a pot. Above it, the yellow stain had spread so that it now discolored the wall, too. My voice felt swallowed, and for one fearsome moment, I was reminded of the weeks after Mama’s death.
Edward tells me I made a tragic figure when I entered the kitchen. I have little memory of how I found my seat or ended up wearing Edward’s frock coat.
I do, however, recall the remains of a primitive tea: a brown teapot, honey, butter, and oatcakes. My hand moved over my stomach as the thought of eating knotted my throat.
The redheaded man pushed a
plate of oatcakes toward me, smiling. “Well, give us an introduction already, Ed!”
“Julia—” Edward’s tone was flat—“this is Henry’s best mate, Devon Addams.”
“Well, I can’t very well call her Julia.” Mr. Addams frowned like an impatient child.
I looked up, suddenly uncertain of my own name. The thought of being called Mrs. Macy sickened me. Edward likewise paled.
Henry patched the awkward pause. “Call her Miss Elliston.”
“Huzza! There’s a name to be likened with. Elliston? Like the reprobate William Elliston?”
Both Henry and Edward stiffened, ready to defend my honor.
But in a strange way, the tug of anger was what I needed. It centered me. I needed something to dislike in that hour. I angled my head, giving him my coldest look. “Am I to assume you are acquainted with my father’s work, then?”
“Your father?” Mr. Addams gasped. “But I thought your father was—”
I felt my face burn with the realization I apparently had neither name nor father. I was no longer certain of anything.
Edward glared at Mr. Addams, moving the teapot nearer me. “Here, Juls, eat if you can.”
The fare was simple, plainer even than the meager foods Mama and I survived on after we were left alone. Yet surprisingly, the oatcakes weren’t hard, but soft and infused with spices and chopped fruit. With relish, Mr. Addams explained his process of soaking both the apples and raisins in brandy before adding bitters into the mix with the sliced ginger. Edward listened, with one incredulous brow cocked that this was our topic of conversation, but when he saw me relax and eat, he grudgingly approved.
During that meal, I learned the uniqueness of our circumstances. Henry always visited his friend’s family before school started—later I learned he did so in order to be on hand so he could pick up Mr. Addams’s travel fare, knowing of the family’s hardship.
Henry’s visit was a sort of holiday for their household. The entire clan scrimped and saved in order to see the youngest member, Devon, educated. The fact that he was at university and that his friends now included the landed gentry was an accomplishment the entire family celebrated. Proud that the son of a viscount annually spent a night beneath their roof, the older siblings descended upon the crowded cottage, bringing their best dishes, making a feast of the event.
But apparently that year, while Mr. Macy and I were kneeling before Edward, one of the older Addams sons broke his leg, which sent his panicked wife into labor. It being the first grandchild, the entire family had moved the gathering to celebrate the birth and offer assistance.
“I can’t believe they’re missing this!” Mr. Addams said as he placed another cake on his plate. “Tea with Lord Pierson’s daughter!” He looked at Henry. “This is unbelievable. Incredible, really.”
“You wouldn’t have thought so, had you met him,” Edward said, frowning.
“Oh, wouldn’t I!” Mr. Addams smeared honey over his cake. “Have you any idea how much power that man wields? In Parliament alone, it’s extraordinary, but combine his influence with his wealth!” He bit into the scone, pointing at my ears with his butter knife. “Da is gonna be mad he missed his chance to see that man’s daughter, lemme tell you.”
“Who is he?” I asked Edward quietly.
“Da? Oh, you’d like him—”
“She means Lord Pierson,” Henry said.
Mr. Addams looked all astonishment and stopped chewing to swallow. “Do you not know? He’s our country’s greatest hope.” When I gave a small shake of my head, he prodded, “London’s Lion? Oh, come now! Have you never opened a newspaper in your life?”
I hadn’t. But Mama had.
My heart pounded with the memory of how anguished she’d always appeared as she’d waited for my father to finish the Times. Most days, he’d sneer at her before tossing the paper into the fire, but occasionally, when he forgot, Mama would tiptoe to his seat and anxiously scan the columns before his manservant entered to burn it.
Confused, I twisted my napkin beneath the table, wondering if Mama had loved that man. The thought seemed monstrous.
Yet as I shifted in my seat, I recalled that he had referred to Mama by her first name. Was it possible that he’d had feelings for her?
Placing the oatcake aside, I shunned the idea. It led to a door that I had no wish to open. Whatever had happened between Mama and that man felt too painful to explore. I had my own worries.
“And what is Lord Pierson to us?” Henry’s thoughts matched my own. He faced Mr. Addams. “It’s not like you can mention this.” Then, speaking to Edward, “We’ve got to move quickly. It’ll look suspicious if Devon and I aren’t back on time for school. If we’re going to get you two safely to Scotland—”
“Scotland!” I gave Edward a confused look, wondering what they’d discussed while I was still slumbering.
He winced, looking at his hands, which twisted and untwisted his napkin on the table before him. “We’re not eloping, Henry. She’s married!”
Henry made a scoffing noise. “Yes, well, when you steal another man’s wife, generally one assumes that’s not a point you’ve taken issue with. What else are you planning on doing if not assuming new identities and disappearing?”
Edward crossed his arms. “It wasn’t like I had a plan.”
“Maybe we’re missing the obvious here.” Mr. Addams said. “Maybe there’s nothing to do except wait. I mean, consider it. All evidence suggests that this brute gained her affections in order to strike a blow at Pierson. You said the license was burned. How is he even going to manage to get the marriage recorded in the parish books? Besides, what other husband allows his wife to leave on their wedding night? Obviously, he’s opened the door to gain grounds for divorce or annulment.”
“Which means—” Henry’s voice waned—“he could sue Ed for damages.”
Edward frowned and dropped the napkin in order to stick his hands in his pockets. “Let him. It was worth the risk getting her out of there.”
“Nonetheless, I wouldn’t fancy spending the rest of my life in debtor’s prison. You could, you know, if he suddenly takes offense.”
“No, I don’t think so,” Edward said. “It doesn’t strike me like that. I almost have the feeling he didn’t care that I took her—like the legal marriage was all he was after. I think that’s what Greenham was trying to tell us. That Macy murdered Mrs. Elliston to achieve that end.”
Mr. Addams gestured to me. “Yes, but didn’t she deny the fellow’s claim?”
“Yes, I’ve been waiting to ask you about that,” Edward said.
I glanced at Mr. Addams, uncertain what to say before him.
“You can trust him with anything,” Henry said.
I studied the young man in question again, not certain what to make of him. Next to him, Edward gave me a slight nod.
“I feared I’d send Mama’s apothecary to jail,” I finally admitted.
“How’s that?” Henry asked.
I briefly sketched the circumstances of Mama’s death and how Sarah and I hid what we thought was her suicide. I told them how Mr. Macy had pointed out the inconsistencies, confirming the idea that she had been murdered, but also why I’d publicly denied the possibility.
“Well, that’s one mystery explained, at any rate.” Henry leaned back in his chair. “And for what it’s worth, I’d have done similar, Julia. You’re right; by now all evidence would be gone and a decent-sounding chap would be in prison, while the murderer strolls about free.”
Mr. Addams gave a nervous laugh, holding up his hands. “Whoa-ho. We don’t even know that there’s been a murder for certain, and here we’ve already convicted the man and kidnapped his wife. Can we slow down a bit, please?”
“He’s a murderer,” Edward said. “I know it in my bone of bones.”
“Well, hurrah for you, but the law demands a little more than your hunch.”
“What I want to know,” Henry said, “is why would anyone kill Mrs. Elliston? I
mean, she hardly ever spoke, and from what I gather, she hardly ever left the house. Why kill her?”
I flinched, hearing his uncensored assessment of Mama.
“Because she got in the way,” was Edward’s testy reply. “Greenham said so.”
“Yes, but what does that mean?”
“Well, hold up,” Mr. Addams said, pointing up a finger. “Perhaps in an attempt to injure Lord Pierson, Macy planned to wed Julia, but then her mother caught scent of it and forbade it. Thus, ‘she got in the way.’”
I rubbed my forehead, disliking the cold pit expanding in my stomach. “No. That doesn’t fit. Mama gave her permission for our union. I saw the letter myself. There was no doubt she wrote it.”
“So what do we know, then? Anything?” Henry asked, reining in the conversation. “Any other theories as to why he would murder Julia’s mother?”
Silence met him.
I dully sat back in my chair, feeling my throat tighten. Edward drew me closer to him and buried his nose in my hair.
“All righty, then.” Henry folded his fingers together and placed them on the table. “If we can’t answer the ‘why’ of the matter, let’s discuss our options.” When no one spoke, he held up his index finger. “Option one, and it has my vote: Edward elopes with Julia and they assume new identities.”
“I’ll not cozen the law to steal another man’s wife,” Edward warned.
“Oh, that’s rich, now that you’ve already taken her.”
“I’ll not add to my crime by lying and pretending I have any right to wed her. It’s dishonorable.” Edward’s voice was cold as iron. “What is our next option?”
Outdoors, the bleating of sheep carried in the wind. I turned a weary gaze toward the window.
Mr. Addams held up two fingers. “Seek legal help. See if there’s some ambiguity, some odd phrase in the law you can take advantage of.”
Edward gave a curt shake of his head, showing his doubt. “Maybe.”
“Three,” Henry said. “We seek Lord Pierson’s help.”
Edward stood and strode to the far end of the chamber, as if the suggestion were more than he could bear. “No. You haven’t met the man, Henry. That door is closed.”
Born of Persuasion Page 33
