The Making of Mrs. Hale

by Carolyn Miller

  “Excuse me, miss.”

  Her reflections were interrupted by Crabbit’s voice from the door, assuring her that Master Charles had slept well and was even now playing happily. Her report was followed by the entry of the maid wishing to know if she might be helped into her gown. She acquiesced, nodded for another maid to clean and tidy the bedchamber, all the while silent, waiting for them to leave, while her mind spun with the possibilities of what he might say.

  That he loved her, she now knew. That she still loved him, she realized, too. For as soon as the shock of his appearance had faded, she knew that under the confusion and the arrows of resentment her love had never really died. But that didn’t stop the questions. What could have kept him away for so long? And how could they make their marriage work? Where would they live? Was there income for a flat? What would he do? What would he say? What would Jon say?

  She had no doubt that Mother was at this moment sending a servant to Jon’s, nor that she would insist on having him here to hear Thomas’s explanation, Mother reasoning his words might yet be edited for the ears of someone not his wife. Julia chewed the inside of her bottom lip. Thomas would not manipulate the truth, would he? He could be trusted.

  Couldn’t he?

  The zephyr of doubt floated through her heart, stirring the trust rekindled in his arms.

  “Will that be all, miss?”

  Was that contempt in the chambermaid’s eyes? Julia lifted her chin and nodded. Oh, why had Mother not thought to hide the family troubles from the servants by shutting the door and lowering her voice?

  She sighed, smoothed her skirts, and moved downstairs, past the wide-eyed footmen, past the watching maids, and entered the drawing room. She chose the sofa where he had carried her, striving for dignity, while the tumult in her breast, the memories of his kiss, held sway. Oh, that he could take her home, wherever home might be now. A pang struck. Had it been wrong for her to leave Edinburgh without word? He had found her, to be sure, but perhaps explanations might prove necessary on both sides. Regardless, he would be here soon, the doorbell would sound, and the next stage of her life would begin.

  Please God … she dared pray. Please let everything be sorted out at last.

  The doorbell rang. She leapt to her feet, then resumed her seat again. It would not do to look too eager, even if she could not wait to feel his arms around her again, to feel his lips pressing on hers, his hands—

  She blushed, ears straining to discern the words the low voice was saying out there. She was pretty sure she heard a “Julia” and a “Charles,” but the rest was too faint. She forced herself to remain seated as the door opened and in walked—

  “Jon!” Her heart, her shoulders slumped.

  “I’m here to protect you,” he said, his mouth tilting as if in semblance of a smile. But his features didn’t light, his eyes hard and flinty.

  “You mean protect me from myself.” She phrased it as a statement, not a question, and was unsurprised at his nod.

  “Catherine did not wish me to come, she thinks it best you and Hale speak alone—”

  “That was good of her,” she managed, in a tone that did not sound too sarcastic.

  He lifted an eyebrow. “And I was half-inclined to agree with her—”

  “Jon!”

  He ignored their mother, his eyes fixed on Julia. “But your attitude reminded me of all the reasons why I should be here. I do not trust Hale not to induce you to actions you will further regret.”

  She tossed her head. “I don’t regret any of my actions with him.”

  “Not even those from this morning?” said her mother. “My dear, I cannot understand why you would agree to such a thing!”

  “And why shouldn’t I sleep with my husband?” Julia flared. “We are married! We love each other—”

  “What I don’t understand is what he was doing here in the first place. Did you have some secret assignation?”

  “Jonathan!”

  “I just wish the servants did not know,” Mother moaned. “It is bad enough for our friends to speculate about my daughter, but for the servants to gossip—”

  “They wouldn’t have known if you hadn’t insisted on coming into my room,” she muttered.

  “Have you lost all respect for your family?” Jon said.

  “I believed you to be ill!”

  “Mother, you told me to sleep as long as I needed.”

  “But not with another person in your bed!”

  Heat filled her chest, and she clenched her fingers into fists. What could she say to make them understand? She exhaled, forced herself to calm, to look them levelly in the eye. “I love him.”

  Her mother protested, and her brother said in his deep voice, “He is not someone you should waste another second of your life on.”

  She shook her head, resuming her earlier dignified posture. “When he returns, I hope you will do him the courtesy of listening.”

  “When he returns,” her mother jeered. “You cannot count on that man to keep his word.”

  “He will prove you wrong,” Julia said, tossing her head.

  “Well, if he’s to do that he’d better get here soon. It’s almost at time.”

  Julia waited, working hard to ignore their muttered censure, working to calm the tumult in her breast. Thomas would come; he would! And they would leave this place, leave London, go and live in a sweet cottage somewhere in the country with little Charles and be so happy—

  Charles.

  Her heart wrenched. She would need to tell Thomas about Charles. She would need to tell him the truth about little Charles. Her teeth caught her bottom lip. Yes, further explanations were indeed most necessary on both their parts.

  The nearer the clock’s hands drew to the hour appointed for his arrival, the greater the tumult within her breast. She had to force herself to remain still, to not look anxious, even as the expressions of doubt continued from her mother and brother.

  Please God, let Thomas come, and let his explanation be all that can be acceptable. Not that she believed her mother and brother would consider very much to be acceptable. But perhaps something he would say might cause them to bend to his favor.

  The clock struck two, and she had to force herself to breathe, her ears alert for every sound. Surely he would come. Surely. He had to!

  The minute hand passed a full rotation, and she could not look. Well, if he was a minute late, that would be perfectly understandable. Perhaps his pocket-watch was in error.

  Four more minutes passed before her mother turned to her triumphantly and said, “He’s late.”

  “He’s on his way,” Julia murmured.

  “He’s not. He’s taken his pleasure and now he’s off doing goodness knows what—”

  “How can you say such things, Jon? He was your friend!”

  “Was being the operative word.”

  “Surely you could see his good qualities, otherwise you would not have befriended him.”

  “He misrepresented himself.”

  “Oh, and you’ve never done such a thing?”

  His cheeks reddened, but his gaze remained fixed and hard. “I like to think my character is one that can be considered trustworthy.”

  “One can trust you to cast off your friends, that is certainly true.”

  His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean by that?”

  She lifted a shoulder. “Simply that I cannot think it such a Christian attitude to cast off your friends just because they don’t agree with you.”

  “And I don’t think it a very Christian attitude to stand by and condone the actions of a rake with my foolish sister,” he said in a level voice.

  Heat rushed through her chest. Well, there was no point continuing this. She tilted her chin and resumed her attitude of detachment as she waited for the knock that would signal Thomas’s arrival.

  But such a pose was hard to maintain when the clock struck the quarter hour, and her mother’s expressed doubts began gnawing away at her self-control. T
homas was on his way. He had to be. He wouldn’t let her down.

  “I told you he would not come,” her mother said, a tight smile on her face. “You must face facts, my dear. Your husband is, as Jon says, a rake, who only seeks his own interest. You would be far better to forget him—”

  “He must be delayed!” Julia said, in a voice far louder and less controlled than she intended. “I am certain he will arrive at any moment.”

  But behind the bravado, her certainty was beginning to falter, fueled as it was by her brother’s and mother’s oft-expressed recriminations. She forced herself to avoid their eyes, to avoid their looks of pity, as she remained seated.

  Even as the clock showed half past two.

  Even as the clock struck three.

  Even as her mother and brother cast her pitying looks before exiting.

  Even as the shadows lengthened through the room.

  Even as she sat in a darkness as heavy as the one filling her heart, her heart that was breaking. He had not come. Was she such a fool to believe—to hope—he loved her?

  Perhaps her family was right, and she was wrong, and Thomas could never be trusted to keep his word.

  Perhaps this marriage which she so valiantly tried to believe worth fighting for was nothing more than a fool’s paradise, one to which she had too eagerly succumbed.

  Perhaps their relationship was as Jon described, with Thomas as a snake who charmed a mouse with its hypnotic eyes. She was the mouse, the mouse that had been mesmerized, seduced, devoured, before the snake moved on to further prey.

  Her heart wrenched, her eyes filled, she bent her head, and in the darkness, she wept.

  “Ah. Major Hale. It has been some time since we’ve met.”

  “Certainly has,” Thomas gritted out. “Perhaps, sir, you were not aware that we were captured within a week of our arrival.”

  Colonel Fallbright, his former commanding officer in Poona and in more recent times, elevated to serve in the Foreign Office in a division known for its covert operations, eyed him with a look not wholly pleasant in his rather protuberant blue eyes. “I sense a degree of frustration, Hale.”

  “You could say that, sir, seeing as we were held in that prison for nearly six months.”

  “These things happen. They are the risks one assumes in such a role.”

  “I understand that, sir, but—”

  But it seemed as though his commanding officer had no interest in anything but the sound of his own voice, frustrating Thomas’s attempts to explain why he was here, instead of being with Julia to offer far more important explanations.

  Not ten minutes after leaving Portman Square he’d been accosted by a former fellow soldier, whose startled exclamation had made him pause, turn, and hold out his hand.

  “Captain Wheeler.”

  “Major Hale.” They shook hands. “This is a surprise. Word was that you were dead.”

  “And yet here I am.” Why did so many of his former colleagues think such things? It was enough to make a man mistrustful. “Tell me, is the old battle-axe still in charge?”

  “Do you mean Colonel Fallbright?” Wheeler said stiffly.

  “I think you know I do,” Thomas said, eyeing his friend. Why did the man seem so standoffish? He never used to be.

  “Well, yes, he is.”

  “Good. I need a word with him. Do you still act as his secretary?”

  “Why, yes, but I’m afraid he’s a very busy man—”

  “Then he’ll understand I have need to speak with him urgently, as I am a very busy man also.”

  “You?”

  “Yes. I have but very recently returned to London, and my wife awaits my return—”

  “Oh, well, then you should go to her.”

  Thomas gritted his teeth at the man’s patronizing attitude. He would return but not before he received his dues. If he could return with the finances owed him, then surely Julia and her mother would be far more open to receive him. And if that necessitated a short delay while he did so, well, Julia would understand. He hoped. “And so I will, but I wish to clarify some matters with the colonel first.”

  “I’m afraid you will need an appointment.”

  “Consider this me making one.”

  “Yes, but I’m afraid he won’t be able to see anyone today.”

  “Nonsense. He will see me. Surely he wishes to know how the mission went.”

  “Well—” Wheeler coughed. “I’m afraid the thinking around Whitehall is that the mission failed when you did not return as promised.”

  “As promised?” Irritation prickled against his chest. “Tell me, is he in his office today?”

  “I … I cannot say.”

  “His own secretary does not know? Seems it more a case of will not say,” Thomas said, his misgivings growing. “Very well. I shall go see him myself now.”

  “Oh, but sir—”

  Thomas shook his head and strode off in the direction of Whitehall, unsurprised by Wheeler’s shouts behind him. A hackney rolled past a minute later and he spied Wheeler’s profile. His suspicions rose all the more. Why was Wheeler so insistent he not speak with the colonel? Mistrust stirred his feet to a faster walk through the cross streets, and then a run.

  By the time he arrived at the building that housed the Secretary of State for War and the Colonies, he was hauling in great breaths, doing his best to approximate the appearance of a gentleman, though he suspected his efforts were in vain. He strode through the front doors, ignored the porter’s request to halt, and hurried up the marble stairs to the offices of those involved in England’s activities overseas. He ignored the muffled oaths as he passed men he’d considered more like friends than mere acquaintances, and opened the door to the colonel’s chamber.

  Wheeler’s desk was empty, the muffled voices from the room beyond giving little doubt as to where the secretary was.

  “I say, sir—”

  Thomas shrugged off a restraining hand, clasped the door handle, and plunged into the room, the urgent conversation coming to a startled stop.

  After the preliminary expressions of mutual pleasure at renewed acquaintance were exchanged, Wheeler was dismissed, the door was closed, and Thomas was finally face-to-face with the man who had orchestrated the fateful mission. Fallbright’s sonorous explanation finally wound to a close, with the reiteration of his earlier comment. “Those are the risks when one assumes such a role. Besides which, you were ably compensated.”

  “I’m afraid not, sir, which is why I am here.” Instead of being where he’d prefer, with his wife. As Fallbright began another lengthy exposition on the honor of serving one’s country and the King, and how demands for recompense were anathema to those of true honor, Thomas’s frustration mounted.

  “That may be so, sir, but I have not seen a penny of what I am owed, and I must press for reimbursement for both myself and those men I served with.”

  “Well, I can understand your desire—”

  “Forgive me, but I don’t think you really can, sir. I repeat, I have seen nothing of what I was promised, and I’m afraid the need for money is becoming increasingly urgent each day.”

  “I am sorry you have not managed your finances more appropriately, Hale—”

  Thomas ground his teeth.

  “But my hands are tied. I’m afraid the promise of reward was entirely dependent on the success of the mission, and as you have yet to deliver any information of value, then I cannot distribute funds. I’m sure you can understand.”

  “What I understand, sir, is that you sent myself and five others to Spain on a mission that seemed doomed for failure from the outset! There was nothing to indicate insurgency as you suggested, rather a feeling of relief that the war was over. We encountered none of the conditions you said we would, but rather the opposite. Indeed,” he eyed the older man narrowly, “it seemed almost a fool’s errand, with nothing to suppose such a place could warrant any interest from the British government at all.”

  Colonel Fallbright
sat back in his chair, his expression inscrutable. “What are you saying, Hale?”

  “I am saying, sir, that it appears that we were sent on a mission of no worth and no substance.”

  “Are you accusing me of something?” Fallbright said softly.

  Thomas opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. Something suggested he tread very carefully, if he ever wanted to see a penny for the past half year of hard labor. Help me say this right. He took a deep breath, forced his tone to sound conciliatory. “Sir, I simply wish to know when my men and I can expect to see some form of compensation.”

  “And as I said earlier, that money was entirely dependent on receiving news that was satisfactory. And as that has not been delivered, and definitely not within the time frame allocated, then I’m afraid there is nothing more that can be said on the matter.”

  Thomas blinked, rekindled anger pushing against the cage of his ribs. “Are you saying my men will not receive a penny?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  He breathed out a long, uneven breath. Dear God, have mercy. “You are aware, are you not, that two of the men died in prison, and their families have been left destitute?”

  “An unfortunate consequence.”

  “Not unfortunate. Tragic!”

  “There is no need to take that tone with me, Hale. I will do what I can—”

  “Will you? I rather feel that you would prefer me to have died than to have returned.”

  The colonel was a second too late in his protestation.

  Thomas stared at him, uncertainty filling his chest. Why would his former commanding officer wish him dead? He stepped back, and said in a quieter voice, “I do not understand, sir, why you will not help me in this matter. It seems that you would prefer to ignore this, rather than wish to aid someone who only sought your good when we served in India.”