by Fiona Harper
Eyes still closed, she kissed him softly, as if she was testing that he was still there—still real—that he hadn’t vanished in a puff of smoke.
He kissed her back, pulling her closer, taking her deeper. She went willingly.
This was real. It was.
Now all she had to do was believe it.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
FAITH sat cross-legged on one of the blue sofas in the library, her feet tucked under her knees, a Bible open on her lap, feeling as if she was fizzing inside.
‘Well, Hosea, Chapter Eleven, Verse One, doesn’t seem right,’ she said, making herself concentrate on the tiny print. ‘And Habbakkuk doesn’t even have that many chapters, so I’m flipping over to the New Testament to see what the only other H book says...’ She parted the book nearer the book and began thumbing through the thin pages. ‘Ah...Hebrews, Eleven-One...’
Marcus came and sat down beside her. ‘What does it say?’
She read it in silence. All the fizzing stopped.
Then she read it again, just to make sure, before saying the words out loud. ‘“Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.”’ She slapped the book closed and dumped it on the sofa. ‘Great.’
Marcus leaned over her, picked up the Bible and had a look for himself.
Faith waited while he read. ‘There’s only one Faith I can think of on this estate—apart from me, of course.’
Marcus closed the book and rested in it his lap, his finger still marking the place. ‘The window...’
Yes, the window.
‘It’s a dead end, isn’t it?’ she said, finding her voice suddenly hoarse. ‘Your great-grandfather never finished laying out his clues, or they were never there in the first place. We’ve just been stringing together bits of evidence that were never really connected. It’s all been for nothing.’
She stood up. She needed to go somewhere—for a walk, preferably—but it was dark and freezing cold. The only option was to retreat to her turret.
Marcus got to his feet. ‘Not for nothing, Faith... We found out the truth about Bertie’s mother. You gave him that.’
‘Yes, and what good has that done?’
She’d hoped Bertie would be happier, but he’d been very quiet and withdrawn since Marcus had spoken to him. She walked to the window and folded her arms, staring out at the black lake, only distinguishable from the dark lawns by the play of a half-hidden moon on its surface. The fragments of light reached for each other, trying to assemble themselves into a whole, but the wind on the water kept ripping them apart.
She looked back at Marcus, scowling at her from the fireplace, looking impossibly handsome.
She’d fallen in love with him, hadn’t she? She’d done everything she’d promised herself she wouldn’t and let herself believe in the fairytale.
Okay, no. She hadn’t exactly let herself believe, but she’d stopped herself from not believing—which was just as dangerous. She’d invested in it all oh-so-much-more than she’d meant to. Just like the non-existent treasure hunt.
‘That clue on the statue was probably nothing of the sort. We were just jumping to conclusions, seeing what we wanted to see.’
As she stood at the glass, staring out into the blackness, she realised she probably wasn’t the first woman to look out of this window and feel this way.
‘I wonder if Evie stood here,’ she said softly as Marcus came to stand behind her. ‘Mr Grey said she used to stare out of the castle windows crying after your great-grandfather
died.’
He suddenly gripped her shoulders. ‘Of course,’ he said quietly.
She shrugged his hands off and turned to face him. ‘What?’
‘Something Arnold Grey said the other day that I dismissed as an odd comment suddenly makes sense. I didn’t understand at the time.’
Her forehead creased. ‘What was it?’
‘Do you remember? He said his sister told him she didn’t just stand and stare out of any particular window. She looked out of all of them in turn. I think Great Uncle Reginald told her about his brother’s letter—about the message.’
Her heart lightened. ‘You think she found it? That there
really was one? Do you think she worked out what it all meant?’
He shook his head. ‘I think the old—’ He stopped, didn’t say the word she guessed he wanted to. ‘I think that dear old Great-Uncle Reggie gave her the message, but didn’t elaborate. The work in the chapel was supposed to be a surprise. And why would my great-grandmother have cried so much if she’d found the comfort such a message should have brought?’
Faith’s face fell. ‘Oh. How cruel.’ She shook her head. ‘She knew the message was in a window, but they didn’t tell her which window, and she spent years looking before she gave up and accepted the lies they fed her.’
His expression grew hard. ‘Even so,’ he said, his voice stony, just like on the first morning she’d met him, ‘she shouldn’t have given up.’
Faith turned back to the window, placed her hands on the cold glass. ‘Not everyone is like you Huntingtons, you know. Some of us have blood flowing through our veins, not steel.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
She watched his reflection in the darkened window. ‘Just that you’re a special breed. Not everyone is as strong as that. Sometimes people have to know when it’s time to give up and walk away.’
He was looking at her, his gaze intense. She refused to turn around.
‘But think of the trail her husband was preparing for her—it was proof of some kind, a memory she could have taken forward with her. If not for herself, then she should have stuck it out for her son.’
Faith threw her hand in the air, exasperated. ‘There was no trail! It was all in our minds. All it did was lead us right back to square one. And even if there was, Evie never knew about it!’
‘Then why did someone change the window? It had to have meant something.’
She shook her head. ‘They just made the same mistake we did. Thought it meant something when it didn’t. They just decided not to take any chances and hide it anyway, even if they didn’t understand what it meant.’
His face was hard, like the stone wall behind him. ‘How can you be married to someone for five years and not believe they loved you?’
Faith glared back at him. Pretty much the same way you could believe your father adored you when he wasn’t even genetically connected to you, when the overriding feeling he had when he looked at you was pain and humiliation. People could believe in the stupidest things if they wanted to badly enough.
She shook her head. ‘You don’t know. You don’t understand what it’s like to want to fit in somewhere so bad, but to know deep down that it’s never going to happen. To know that one day you’ll just be on your own again.’
Tears started to flow down her face and she swiped them away angrily. She sucked in a breath, trapped that quivering feeling in her lungs.
His expression softened and he moved towards her. ‘Faith...I don’t want to fight with you. The truth is that we may never know exactly what happened.’
He reached her, folded his arms around her and held her close. She burrowed her face into his chest and stayed there. She knew she should breathe out, release this shaky, quivery feeling inside and let her muscles relax, but she couldn’t seem to work out how.
‘Has your genealogist friend come up with anything?’ she asked, pulling away a little and brushing the hair from her face. She needed to talk about something different before she completely fell apart.
‘He left a message on my voicemail earlier,’ Marcus replied. ‘I’m going to call him in the morning.’
She nodded. In the morning her reason for being here would be at an end. No more window to fix, no more phantom trail to follow.
‘You’re right. Of course you’re right. It’s dumb to fight about this.’ She pulled herself away from him and smiled, hid behind that outward show of
happiness. ‘I...I need a bath, I think.’ She stepped out of his embrace. ‘I’ll see you at dinner.’
And then she ran, along corridors and up the winding stairs, higher and higher, until she reached her turret and shut the door behind her. She ran into the en suite bathroom, wrenched the taps so the bath flooded with scalding water, and stripped off all her clothes. While the water gurgled and the steam rose she covered her face with her hands and wept.
This was ridiculous. She felt... She felt... As if someone had died. As if she’d lost something precious. And all she’d done was race around for the past few weeks on a fool’s errand, chasing a dream that wasn’t really there.
She lay in the hot water and churned it all over in her mind. She couldn’t imagine Evie as a coward, that she’d run for nothing. A mother would never leave her child like that unless she was pushed to the limit.
Poor Evie. Faith knew what that was like—to wake up one day and realise you were a stranger in your own home, to discover the family you’d trusted had lied to you your whole life. Evie had trusted happy-ever-after and it had let her down badly. She’d believed. She’d really believed. And it hadn’t been enough.
That thought had Faith springing from the tub and into her bedroom, panic rising in her chest. She closed her eyes. She loved Marcus. She knew she did. And everything inside her told her loved her, too. Yet...
She held her breath, tried to push the shaky feeling down with the air she was holding in her mouth and throat.
Marcus was her fairytale.
She wanted him so, so much. But that didn’t mean the last page wouldn’t close. Didn’t mean the story wouldn’t end the way it always did—with the words The End.
Faith yanked open the dresser, looking for her underwear. It sat there, plain and functional, in the ornate, perfumed walnut drawer. She looked at it for a second, then pulled all of her panties and bras out, not caring when the elastic on one item got caught somewhere and she had to wrench it free. And then she stuffed them into the front pocket of her case and zipped it up tight.
* * *
The next morning Marcus went to find Faith, only to discover she was already on her way to the chapel to put the repaired bottom section back in the window. She hadn’t come down for dinner the night before, and when he’d knocked softly on her door there had been no answer. He was worried about her.
He also felt guilty. He should have realised she hadn’t been in any shape to see straight about that blasted last clue.
He arrived at the chapel to find her already at work, quiet and composed. He breathed out a little and instead of disturbing her sat in one of the back pews and silently watched her. Although she didn’t turn round, he sensed she knew he was there.
When all was finished she stood back, hands on hips.
He stood up and walked towards her. ‘It looks wonderful,’ he said.
Pity that the sky was dark and threatening rain, dulling the impact of the bright, jewel-coloured glass.
She turned and smiled, but it lacked its normal lustre. ‘All done. My work here is over.’
He closed the distance between them. ‘Wait until you see your window in all its glory at the Carol Service.’
She glanced over her shoulder at the window. ‘It’s not my window—it’s not even Evie’s. It’s just a pretty picture made out of glass that a rich man paid for.’
Ouch. Okay. She was obviously still smarting from the whole dead end thing. He decided to tell her his news, the information that would let her know their search for Evie’s treasure trail had at least turned up something good. Hopefully that would allow her to get a little perspective on the matter.
‘We’ve located a relation of Bertie’s in the East End of London.’
‘Really?’
He nodded. ‘My friend discovered that Evie remarried five years after she left Hadsborough, had another child. Her daughter’s daughter is still alive. Bertie has a niece.’ He smiled. ‘You won’t believe it, but she’s a florist—carrying on the family tradition.’
‘What does Bertie think about all of this?’
Marcus frowned. ‘Surprisingly, he’s a little bit cool about the idea of meeting her. But I’m going to her invite her down for the Carol Service. He’ll feel differently when he sees her.’
Faith’s expression darkened. ‘Why don’t you listen to your grandfather? If he doesn’t want to meet her, he doesn’t want to meet her.’
But now was the perfect time. He didn’t want his grandfather to be engulfed by the sadness that had been creeping over him. This time he wasn’t going to stand idly by while someone he loved sank further and further, stupidly trusting it would all work itself out in the end.
‘I know it will help him,’ he said.
She shook her head and picked up her bag.
He took a deep breath. ‘A genealogist could help you find your father, too.’
Faith went still. ‘Don’t push, I said, Marcus. That’s my business, not yours.’
A horrible feeling settled in his stomach. This was not going well. And he had no idea why. He decided to try another approach.
He reached out, caught Faith’s hand. She looked down, and then back up at him. He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss on her lips—a kiss that was supposed to have been a prelude to more. But he pulled back, frowning. Her lips felt cold and she’d barely responded.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.
She shook her head, her eyes blank. ‘Nothing.’
‘I’ll butt out,’ he said. ‘If you don’t want to find your father, that’s totally up to you.’
She nodded. On the surface she looked pleased. But everything about her seemed weighed down. Grey...
‘Okay. Thank you.’
That was when he realised what was wrong. This was the wrong Faith. This was black and white Faith. Where was the warm, vibrant, caring woman he’d been kissing last night? He knew she’d been upset about the window, the treasure trail... He just hadn’t realised how much it had rocked her, how heavily she’d invested in it.
‘It’s more than that, isn’t it?’ he said.
He and Faith had never lied to each other before. They might have hidden behind their respective walls, but they’d always, always been straight with each other.
She looked away and wrapped her arms around her middle. ‘I can’t stay for Christmas after all, Marcus. I need to go home, to see my family.’ She turned and looked him in the eye. ‘I’m sorry.’
That was when he realised for the first time in weeks he had no idea what was going on in her head. And he’d seen that look on a woman’s face before. Emotionally checked out. That was what it was. He didn’t like that at all.
‘Then I’ll come with you,’ he said.
A horrible idea was forming in his head—one that told him if he let her go now she’d never come back.
She hugged herself tighter, moved her weight onto her heels, as if she was going to back away from him. ‘I need to do this on my own,’ she said, her voice quiet. ‘You more than anyone know that I have some issues to sort out back there.’
He nodded. He didn’t like it, but he understood it.
‘What date are you back?’ he asked, testing. ‘I’ll come and meet you at the airport.’
This time she did step back. ‘Not sure. I might have to go straight up to York.’ She shrugged one shoulder. ‘I’ll call you.’
Now she hadn’t just blocked him out, she was lying to him. He had two choices—get scared or get angry. He chose the latter.
He stepped towards her. ‘Tell me what’s going on,’ he demanded, knowing his tone had more of a growl than he’d intended it to. Unfortunately it was the tone guaranteed to make Faith McKinnon dig her heels in harder.
That was when she let him have the truth. With both barrels.
Her chin lifted. ‘I’m going to the cottage for a few days. I need time to think.’
The rage started to bubble out of control inside him. More lies. He’d been right to
get worried. Faith McKinnon was putting on her running shoes.
‘You’re not her—you’re not Evie,’ he said, in a low tone full of warning. ‘Don’t take the coward’s way out. All I’m asking is that you trust we have something we can start to build on.’
‘Are you calling me a coward?’
‘No.’ Yes.
‘Then what are you saying?’
He shook his head, and when he spoke his jaw was tight. He had to force the words out. ‘That running away won’t solve anything. It doesn’t avoid the mess. It just leaves it for someone else to clear up—I think my great-grandmother demonstrated that admirably. Bertie is living proof of her mistake.’
‘I’m not running away,’ she said, folding her arms again, tighter this time. ‘I’m going home. There’s a difference.’
Well, if there was one he couldn’t see it. And she was slipping away. If he didn’t do something drastic in the next few moments she’d always be out of his reach.
‘But I love you!’
That definitely hadn’t been the tone he’d intended to use the first time he told her that, but he was good and fired up now, and he hadn’t been able to help it.
She flinched at the words—actually flinched. That wasn’t good.
‘It’s not enough, is it? I’m not sure anything I offered would be good enough for you. What would be enough to make you stay, Faith?’ He really was shouting now. ‘And what happens if you never find it? What legacy will you leave behind for your children? If you ever let a man close enough to have any... What is all this running going to teach them about life?’
She walked backwards, shaking her head. ‘Don’t you pin that on me. You don’t know anything about what my life has been like.’
‘Faith!’ He grabbed for her, but she kept backing away. ‘I’m just trying to protect you from making a mistake you’re going to regret.’
‘The only thing I need protection from right at this moment,’ she said coldly, ‘is you. And if I am making a mistake then it’s mine to make.’
