by Cheryl Bolen
“No, I spoke with Lizzy. She told me of another departed servant called Maude.” Too late Alexandra remembered Tris’s wish to keep their final interview secret—and Peggy’s propensity to gossip. She watched the maid’s face in the mirror. “I wonder why she wasn’t on your list?”
“We all thought the old woman was dead,” Peggy said, looking shocked. “Are you certain she isn’t?”
“Lizzy wasn’t sure, but I hope not. I collect I will find out tomorrow when I try to pay Maude a visit.”
“You’ll take me along this time, won’t you?”
“If I’m still not up to riding, most assuredly.” Alexandra turned to her maid, putting a finger to her lips. “Tell no one else, I beg you. You know his lordship doesn’t want me continuing this investigation. I cannot risk any word reaching him concerning my plans for tomorrow.”
“Mum’s the word,” Peggy promised. “But I do believe the old woman is dead. Why make the journey at all when you’ll most likely put your reconciliation in jeopardy for nothing?”
“Perhaps you’re right.” Hoping to keep her maid in such good humor permanently, Alexandra made a big show of sighing. “I shall think on it,” she told her and rose to collect her bonnet.
Chapter 56
“Peggy thinks Maude is dead,” Alexandra told Tristan as he helped her into the curricle. “But I want to try to visit her anyway. You won’t mind, will you? Even if the journey proves to be fruitless?”
“I said I’d take you, and I don’t intend to go back on my word. But whyever would Peggy say she’s dead?” He climbed up beside her and pulled the hood over their heads to shield them from the bright sun. “I thought no one knew about Maude.”
She winced. “I mentioned her without thinking. But I made her promise not to tell,” she added quickly as he lifted the reins. “And she also believes that I plan to visit Maude tomorrow, not today. I made the timing very clear.”
Annoyance tightened his jaw, but he didn’t want to start this outing with a disagreement. As he drove away, he told himself firmly that what was done was done. Nothing untoward was likely to come of it, since it was plain no one was following them. By all appearances, everyone had bought their story that they were off for nothing more interesting than a honeymoon picnic.
Alexandra took up the silver basket and wrapped their luncheon in one of the large napkins, leaving only the lemon puffs in the bottom. “For Maude,” she explained. “Thank you so much for doing this. It means a lot to me.”
He slanted her a glance. “It means a lot to me that you were willing to forgo it.”
“I’m glad,” she said softly and left it at that. They rode silently for a few minutes before she turned to him again. “Would you care for something to eat?”
He shook his head. “I’m not hungry.”
“Neither am I. I’m too nervous to eat. This is our last chance…”
She trailed off, and little was said for the rest of the ride.
But he hadn’t missed the “our.” Our last chance.
Like most servants, Maude hadn’t gone far from the place of her birth to find employment. Nutgrove was less than an hour away, an hour Alexandra spent leaning against Tristan, smelling faintly of lemon puffs and the same perfume he’d noticed earlier that morning when he’d kissed her.
The kiss had been intended for show—he hadn’t meant to get carried away. No, he thought ruefully, that had been his sweet, innocent wife’s doing. She was either a natural born seductress or a very quick study, and gradually…so gradually he was only just beginning to recognize his doom…she’d been spinning a web around his heart.
Blast it! He wasn’t ready for this.
Even if he was—hypothetically—prepared to love again, he couldn’t allow himself to fall for her now. She was about to reach the end of her search, see her hopes for their future fade once and for all. She was about to finally accept that her life with him would never improve. After that, it wouldn’t be a question of if she would leave, but when.
As she’d said herself, this was their last chance.
And then he’d be left to go on without her. The thought was almost too much to bear. He imagined never getting to touch her or kiss her again. Never knowing where she was or what she was doing. Never knowing if she was happy or if she missed him.
Alexandra had changed the very essence of his existence, the very substance of his home. Even the servants walked with more spring in their steps and smiles upon their faces. He imagined the music, the light, the life she’d brought with her to Hawkridge Hall—things he hadn’t even realized were missing until her arrival—fading back into a dull, gray hush.
He didn't want to go back to the way it had been without her. He could hardly imagine living there without her. In fact, he couldn’t imagine living there without her.
He couldn’t imagine living anywhere without her.
Blast it.
And this, of course, was assuming one of the best possible outcomes, that their interview was merely fruitless. If instead Maude confirmed Tristan’s guilt or, heaven forbid, the true murderer somehow got to Alexandra…
Well, scenarios could only get darker.
So he sat beside her in the curricle, upright and tense, alternately praying and cursing the impossible muddle he found himself in, until they passed the signpost that read NUTGROVE.
Alexandra immediately straightened and called excitedly to an elderly gentleman walking a tiny dog. “Good sir! If I may bother you…might you know the direction of a woman who goes by Maude?”
And it was the oddest thing…but just hearing Alexandra say “Maude” again, that vague, niggling sense of unease Tristan had felt two days ago came back.
The old man cupped a hand to his ear. “Eh?”
“Maude!” she shouted as they rolled along beside him. She turned to Tristan. “What is Maude’s surname?”
He shrugged. “I never thought to ask.” He’d forgotten her. How was it that he’d forgotten her?
“Maude!” Alexandra yelled again. “Might you know anyone named Maude?”
“Ah, Maude.” The man smiled, revealing gaps where he’d lost several teeth. “Down the corner,” he said, gesturing and pulling his dog’s leash in the process, nearly choking the poor little beast. “Turn left. Honeysuckle Cottage.”
“She’s alive,” Alexandra breathed, her brandywine eyes brimming with excitement. “Goodness, I hope she knows something that will help us.”
“It could be someone else named Maude,” Tristan cautioned, that sense of unease growing stronger.
“It isn’t. I just know it.”
Somehow he also knew it wasn’t someone else. And in any case, there was no sense arguing the matter, when they’d know for sure soon enough. “Honeysuckle Cottage,” he muttered. “That isn’t much of a direction.”
“The man seemed to think it would do,” she said as they turned the corner. “Look! There it is!”
Sure enough, about halfway down the lane stood an old stone cottage wreathed in pale-flowered honeysuckle vines.
No sooner had the curricle rolled to a stop than Alexandra hopped down, basket in hand, and started for the door. Tristan just sat there for a moment, feeling the unease tangle into a knot in his gut.
Finally, he climbed down and followed her. “You’re supposed to wait to be handed down,” he said peevishly.
“Oh, bosh!” She knocked on the weathered wood. “This is hardly the time for propriety.”
How much she had changed since he first met her. She’d always shown remarkable poise, but now she’d gained the shrewd self-assurance of someone much older than seventeen.
She shifted on her feet. “What’s taking her so long? Dear heavens, I hope she’s home. Lizzy said if anyone saw anything that night, it’d have been she.”
And suddenly he knew why he’d forgotten Maude. He hadn’t forgotten her. He’d deliberately pushed her clear out of his mind.
She’d been the person closest to his uncle. Th
e person most likely to have seen him if he’d sleepwalked into his uncle’s rooms that night.
The door swung open, and Maude stood on the other side, leaning on a cane and looking much like Tristan remembered her. A faded cotton dress hung on her slight frame. She’d always seemed so frail she might break.
“Good afternoon, Maude,” he said.
Her pale green eyes widened, looking apprehensive. “Lord Hawkridge?”
She knew something. She wouldn’t look like that unless she knew something. The knot tightened in Tristan’s gut.
He wrapped an arm around Alexandra’s shoulders and forced a smile. “This is my wife, Lady Hawkridge.”
Alexandra reached into her basket. “Would you care for a lemon puff?”
“No, my lady. Thank you.” Maude’s blue-veined hand went up to pat her gray curls nervously. “Why are you here?”
The knot twisted. “We wish to talk to you,” he said. “May we come in for a moment?”
She looked like she wanted to say no, but then turned abruptly, her cane tapping across the wood floor as she led them inside and to a small table. “These are all the chairs I have,” she said, her voice wavering.
There were two. And they were rickety. “I’m perfectly content to stand,” Tristan said, helping the elderly woman to sit while Alexandra took the second chair. He made a mental note to send the old nurse some decent furniture next week—that was, assuming he wasn’t locked up in some prison. He’d been the marquess for less than a day before she’d departed, but that was no excuse for not seeing that a long-term employee was comfortable in her retirement.
Perhaps he’d have done that if he hadn’t forgotten her.
Maude held on to her cane, still leaning on it even while she was seated. Alexandra reached across the little table to touch her other hand. “I’ve been told you were very close to the last marquess,” she began gently.
“Y-yes.” The old woman’s eyes looked everywhere but at her.
“Do you remember anything that happened the night he died?”
“Y-yes.”
Tristan stopped breathing.
“Did you see anyone go into his room?” Alexandra continued. “Anyone who might have done him harm?”
“Y-yes.”
Alexandra sent Tristan a startled glance—a hopeful glance—before she looked back to Maude expectantly.
No further information seemed to be forthcoming. Tristan feared he’d expire if he didn’t breathe. He wished Maude would accuse him already, so he could breathe.
Alexandra’s gaze darted to his again before her smooth hand tightened over the wrinkled one. “Who was it, Maude?” she whispered, her eyes flooded with not just hope, but also a measure of self-protective doubt.
The cane crashed to the floor as Maude covered her face with her hands. Beneath her cotton dress, her bony shoulders shook with silent, racking sobs.
Petrified and resigned, Tristan crouched beside her chair. “Maude? What is it?”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” came a muffled wail through her fingers. “It was a mistake, I swear it.”
“Of course it was a mistake, but that doesn’t make me any less guilty.” Ignoring Alexandra’s gasp, he eased Maude’s hands away from her face. “Whether intentional or not, I’m still responsible for his death.”
His life was over. Or at least it was meaningless, which was the same thing.
“I’m s-sorry,” Maude repeated. She stared into space, tears rolling down her parchment cheeks. “It was a mistake.”
Except for the painful knot, he felt only numbness. But she looked downright distraught. “Maude, what was a mistake?”
Her tears flowed faster. “The l-laudanum.”
Tristan dug a handkerchief from his pocket. “The laudanum?” His memory flashed on the nearly empty bottle he’d taken from his uncle’s rooms and tried to give to Alexandra. You’ll want to take only a little, he’d told her. You can overdose on laudanum.
He hadn’t thought the knot could tighten more, but it did. He must have poisoned his uncle with that very same bottle.
“I just wanted him to stop hurting.” Maude took the proffered white square and dabbed her eyes with it, then balled it in her fist, staring at her hands in her lap. More tears splashed down on them. “H-he was coughing. He couldn’t sleep. I gave him too much. Too much. I used all of it.” She was babbling so fast Tristan couldn’t seem to keep up. “Perhaps I gave it to him twice that night. I didn’t intend to. I couldn’t remember. My m-memory isn’t what it used to be…”
“Could you mean…” A mist had obscured Tristan’s brain. He’d stopped breathing again. He took both of Maude’s hands. “Do you think you may have accidentally caused my uncle’s death?”
She nodded and met his gaze, her eyes reddened. “I should have died instead of him.”
“No.” He couldn’t catch his breath. His vision clouded. His pulse felt thready and weak.
“I told you,” Alexandra murmured.
He was innocent. He was innocent.
Relief flowed through him, blessed relief after more than two years. He felt weak and lightheaded and giddy, like Alexandra when she drank too much wine.
Alexandra. She’d had faith in him all along.
“Maude.” He swallowed past a lump in his throat. “Will you tell this to the authorities?”
A sob escaped her. “Th-they’re going to hang me.”
“I won’t let them.” His knees hurt, but he remained crouched there, holding both her hands, when all he wanted was to collapse in relief. “You did your best, didn’t you? Always. You cared for my uncle when he was a child, then his children, then him again. I won’t let them hang you for doing the best you could. Everyone makes mistakes.”
He heard a little noise from Alexandra and turned to see her. A fat tear rolled down her cheek, cracking his heart.
“They’re going to hang me,” Maude repeated.
“No.” He looked back to the older woman. “I will protect you. I promise your safety, Maude, if you’ll only explain what happened to the authorities.”
She stared at her lap. “You promise?”
“I do. No one will hurt you. You can come back to live at Hawkridge, if you’d like. We’ll take care of you.”
A long moment passed when all Tristan heard was the beat of his own heart pounding in his ears. At last Maude lifted her red-rimmed gaze to meet his, her eyes filled with gratitude and relief of her own.
“I’ll talk,” she said. “I lied to the sheriff before, but this time I’ll tell the truth.”
Chapter 57
When Maude’s door closed behind them, Alexandra and Tris paused on the garden path and turned to each other. And just stood there, looking at each other, for a very long time.
“Alexandra,” Tris finally murmured. He took the basket from her hand and set it on the gravel, then gripped both her shoulders, searching her eyes. “I’ve never seen you cry before,” he said.
“I’m not crying,” she said as her eyes glazed, making a liar of her. “It was just that when you said everyone makes mistakes…well, I’m sorry for mine, Tris. I’m sorry I was so obstinate that I drove you away.”
He held her face in unsteady hands. “I’m not sorry you were obstinate. Look where it led. I was too obstinate to see you might be right.” He shook his head. “I even thought Maude was confessing my guilt instead of her own.”
“Everyone makes mistakes,” she reminded him with a watery chuckle. She blew out a shaky breath. “Goodness, Tris, we did it.”
“You did it,” he said. “Sweet heaven, you did it.” Grinning foolishly, he swept her up to twirl her in a wide circle right there in the cottage’s little garden.
She laughed, lifting her face to the sky. “I told you,” she crowed as he set her on her feet. “I told you that you weren’t capable of causing harm to your uncle.” She poked a finger into his chest. “And you aren’t capable of hurting me, either.”
He raised both hands
in surrender. ”You were right about that, too. They were just accidents.” Then his hands darted out to seize her, yanking her to him.
“Oof!” she said, feeling the tenderness of her bruises. “Maybe now you have hurt me.”
“I’m sorry.” He kissed her and set her carefully away before he bent to retrieve her basket. “But I’ve never been so happy to hear I told you so in my entire life.”
He led her back to the curricle and handed her in, then clambered up beside her. Seizing her once more, he kissed her so thoroughly she forgot her bruises altogether.
“Let’s go home,” he said, lifting the reins.
The curricle jerked as they pulled away. She unwrapped their luncheon, spreading the napkin over her lap with all of Mrs. Pawley’s offerings. She was famished. She couldn’t remember ever being so hungry.
“Everything is going to be so marvelous,” she said, taking a big bite out of a chicken leg. “All of society will have to apologize to you, and my sisters are both going to marry dukes.”
“Marquesses aren’t good enough?” he asked with a raised brow.
She slapped a chicken leg into his open hand. “I suppose marquesses will do.”
They ate and laughed all the way home, talking about their future. Tris still hadn’t said he loved her, but she really didn’t care. She was certain he did, and if it took him ten years to admit it, she could wait.
Was it her imagination, or had she never seen the sky a more brilliant blue? The sun sparkled on the Thames. Birds trilled in the trees. Everything seemed unnaturally bright, including her joyful husband.
“I’ve never seen you so jolly,” she teased as they headed up Hawkridge Hall’s drive. “Now that I know you’re capable, I shall expect you to remain so.”
“Constantly?”
“Indeed. We’ll be the jolliest couple in England.”
His laughter trailed off as the house loomed into view. The sight seemed to sober him slightly. “It is jolly to know I’m in the clear, but let’s not celebrate until the authorities have taken Maude’s statement. At the rate the law moves, she could die before they get out to Nutgrove.”
