The Making of Mrs. Hale

by Carolyn Miller

  “But for what purpose?”

  “That is indeed the question.” Hawkesbury steepled his fingers. “Hale, I understand you served with them both in India. Do you recall anything that occurred during that time that might now be considered suspicious?”

  Thomas mentioned something of his concerns about the Pindari episode.

  “Yes, but I don’t see how McKinley’s approval of such an evil action could be relevant to these recent events,” Jon said, his brow wrinkled.

  What was the answer? Thomas closed his eyes. Wisps of memory slowly taunted.

  “Unless McKinley was acting under Fallbright’s orders,” Hawkesbury said slowly. “But why?”

  “Because,” Thomas’s eyes snapped open, “Fallbright wanted to be considered for the role of governor, and thought heavy-handed tactics might be the display of force he needed to ensure such a thing was possible.”

  Hawkesbury sat forward, his eyes glittering. “Have you any proof?”

  Thomas shook his head. “There was always talk about his aspirations, but nobody took them terribly seriously.”

  “But still, there might be letters or journals that reveal something of his ambition. I wonder …”

  Thomas watched Lord Hawkesbury sink into a brown study, tapping his thumbs together.

  “And you believe Fallbright wants Thomas dead,” Jon said.

  “That I do,” the earl said thoughtfully. “I am nearly certain he had no intention of seeing you again after the Spanish debacle. I’m sure your return was a most unwelcome surprise, hence his need to engage in certain physical measures after your visit.”

  “I never truly understood what the objective was for that particular mission,” Thomas admitted.

  “Did you attend the briefing alone, or with others who can vouch for what was said?”

  Thomas thought back. It had been nearly a year ago. “I believe Lieutenant Benson was there also.”

  “And is he someone you can trust to speak the truth?”

  Thomas’s lip curled. “Provided his hand is greased appropriately with coin, then yes.”

  “Money was the object for you to take that job?” Jon asked quietly.

  “Of course.” Thomas met his eyes. “I had no desire to leave my wife, I assure you.”

  Jon studied him a long moment, before saying, “I am sorry that circumstances have led to such consequences. Perhaps if I had not been so quick to judge then none of this would have happened.”

  Thomas savored the apology, but said in an undertone, “It is my own fault for not seeking or waiting for your blessing.” He managed a smile. “Not that I had any real hope of receiving it.”

  “Perhaps not. But I am well aware of my sister’s impatience and headstrong ways, which would have made many a man act in such a way. But never mind that. Let us agree to let the past remain in the past, and look to what can be done about the future.”

  Jon’s handshake at once swept away the shadows and solidified inner resolve. Thomas would live with honor, would do his utmost to live up to his brother-in-law’s approval. “I do appreciate your belief in me,” he muttered.

  “I have faith in God that He would use you for His purpose.” Thomas nodded. After his experience in Edinburgh, he too felt like he was part of something bigger than mere circumstances, almost like God was using him for His plans.

  “I still do not understand how McKinley got involved,” Harry complained.

  “It would seem that was perhaps bad luck—”

  “Or perhaps deep stratagem.” Hawkesbury sat up, looking at him. “Do you recall when you first met McKinley in Edinburgh?”

  “It must have been … within the first three months of our moving there.”

  “And how did you meet?”

  “It was in a taproom, not unlike this.” Thomas gestured to the surroundings. “Munro called out my name and before I knew it, McKinley had spotted me and we got to talking.”

  “I don’t understand,” Jon muttered. “How he could find you when my enquiry agents obviously could not.”

  “Because Rayne was a nickname he gave me when we were in India,” Thomas said slowly. “And the Black Harp was not exactly unknown to former military men, so if he suspected I might be there—”

  “Which he might, given the notice sent to the newspapers about your marriage,” Jon said.

  “Then it seems there is every likelihood that Fallbright was waiting for an opportunity to gather you back into the fold, so to speak, and sent McKinley north to discover your location.” Hawkesbury’s mouth was grim. “I bet the idea of working for Fallbright originated from McKinley.”

  “Yes, now I think on it, I believe he did first mention it.” Thomas groaned, placing his head in his hands. “What a fool I am to have been so misled.”

  “It is difficult when we want to trust those we think we know.”

  Was this another dig? “I am sorry my actions have proved less than trustworthy.”

  “Please, do not think on such things anymore,” Jon murmured.

  Thomas nodded. When would he stop taking things so personally? But forgiveness seemed so hard to receive, so hard to extend to himself.

  “I wonder, do you believe they think Hale is still dead?”

  “We can only hope so. Everything was done to keep things quiet.” Hawkesbury glanced at Thomas, his eyes sober. “I think it best that your death remains as reported in the newspapers. I did not want to tell you, but a newspaper article from Edinburgh has a report of a missing woman from the same address of where you lived. A Rebecca Girvan? It seems she has been murdered.”

  “Good heavens, no!”

  “It seems too coincidental to be otherwise. I think it is their way of ensuring anyone to whom you may have spoken is silenced, permanently. Whether they suspect you are alive or not, it seems they wish to hurt you as much as possible.”

  Thomas stared at Jon, fear clutching his chest. “What will this mean for Julia?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  DAYS PASSED, ONE week, two, melding into a kind of blank nothing. The Advent season, usually her favorite time of year, this year held no loveliness. She could not abide the sight of decorated evergreens, she could not stand to hear choristers sing. How dare people sing when her heart was broken? How could life go on as normal when everything she thought she’d known had been ripped away? How could Catherine have ever suggested Julia trust God with her future when it seemed she existed in a whirlpool of uncertainty, the only known things being her need to wear black, little Charles’s constant demands for attention, and her own troubling nausea. Wonderful signs of the season, indeed.

  She looked up from her book as the door opened.

  “Ah, Miss Julia, Mr. Amherst is here to see you.”

  Her heart lifted a notch. In the trials of recent weeks, Mr. Amherst’s attentions had not been completely unwelcome. Mother no longer felt it necessary to chaperone, and truth be told, Mr. Amherst himself never gave her reason to suspect he looked at her with anything beyond friendship in mind. Besides, what man would seek to be more than friends with a newly grieving widow, especially once her condition became obvious? She suppressed thoughts of her mother’s situation, who, faced with that very same scenario, had married Harold Carlew when she was but a recent widow herself, thus leading to the gossip over many years concerning Jon’s true parentage.

  “Mrs. Hale.” Mr. Amherst bowed. “How do I find you today? I was hoping with today’s milder weather I might persuade you to a visit out of doors.”

  And be seen by the matrons of society, who would sneer at her the way they had at Mother? No, thank you. “I’m afraid that while a visit would be very pleasant, it might not yet be wise to undertake.”

  “I understand.”

  He smiled at her in a way that made her think he truly did understand. Really, she thought, looking at him, it was amazing how he could be so charming and understanding but she never felt anything but sisterly affection for him. He was like another Henry Carmich
ael in that way. But he never excited her senses or made her breath catch the way Thomas did. The way Thomas had, she reminded herself.

  Conscious he was talking again, she did her best to pay attention, to disentangle what was being said. “… drive to Hyde Park in my phaeton.”

  “Oh, but—”

  “You need not trouble yourself about being observed. There are few ladies of society still remaining in London, and we can always raise the hood if necessary.”

  She nibbled the inside of her bottom lip. Perhaps it would be good to escape the confines of the house, and the day was unseasonably mild. Who knew how long it might be until she could do such things again? And if she could venture out unseen …

  “Please, my dear, you cannot have allowed for my concern about the loss of roses in your cheeks. You seem very pale, indeed.”

  After a few more minutes of his smooth talking, she allowed herself to be persuaded, and, having informed her mother of her movements, she soon found herself in a phaeton, dressed in her warmest pelisse and black veil, enjoying the crisp morning air.

  “You are not cold?”

  She pulled the silk shawl closer around her throat. “No.”

  The scents of winter lifted to meet her: smoke and burning leaves, and that of the cows that grazed on St. James’s Park. But despite the questionable virtue of this last scent, being outside did have a cleansing effect on her soul.

  They cleared the gate and the horses moved into a trot. Julia huddled into the cushions, glad for the protection of the raised leather hood, cautious of receiving attention, although she knew the black garb would mark her identity, should anyone care to peer closely.

  As Mr. Amherst took care to point out the park’s features, her heart lifted a fraction more. “The weather has proved most agreeable,” she admitted.

  “Which makes the day all the more agreeable because we can share it together.”

  Her heart stuttered at his words. Surely he wasn’t implying anything more to their friendship? Perhaps she best let him know the current state of her feelings. “Mr. Amherst, I hope you know how much I appreciate your thoughtfulness in taking me for these drives.”

  “It is my pleasure indeed.”

  “I … I did not think I would find pleasure in things again.”

  “It is my hope that you find pleasure in a great many things, and I would be honored should you …”

  His voice trailed off, and she followed his gaze to where a man was watching them. “What is it?”

  “Nothing, I’m sure.”

  Still, a shiver brushed her skin. “Why would he be watching us?”

  “Perhaps he is envious that I have such a fair companion.”

  But she could not think it so. She peered at the man as they drew nearer, narrowing her eyes as he seemed to notice her scrutiny and turned away. He looked a little like … “that man from before,” she murmured.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Nothing.”

  But if it was Mr. Macleary, why was he here? Did he have anything else to say?

  “Stop the carriage.” She placed a hand on Mr. Amherst’s arm. “Please stop!”

  He slowed the horses to a walk. “What is it?”

  “That man. I want to speak to that man back there.”

  “Do you know him?”

  “I believe so, yes.”

  He eyed her with an expression bordering on doubt, but obeyed nonetheless. Minutes later, they were back near the grove of trees, and she was scanning the park to catch sight of him, to no avail.

  “Where could he have gone?”

  “It certainly seems strange that he has just disappeared.”

  Another shudder ran through her body. “It does not seem right that he should spy on us when we do not know where he is.”

  “I believe that is generally considered to be in the nature of spying—”

  BANG!

  There was a mild oath, a loud groan, then before she knew what was happening the reins slackened and the horses were running away. Julia’s horrified glance at Mr. Amherst saw him lolling in his seat, blood staining his shoulder, his grasp on the reins now useless. The horses were frantic, Mr. Amherst ineffectual, and they were running straight towards the pond.

  “Mr. Amherst! Mr. Amherst!”

  He muttered something, his eyes glassy.

  She reached across his lap and tugged at the reins, screaming at the horses to stop. The momentum pulled her to her feet and she leaned back in a desperate effort to not be dragged forward and crushed beneath the flying hooves. Her arms burned and tears were falling from her eyes when she felt the horses finally slow. From her peripheral vision, she saw a man racing towards them—not the spying man from before; this one was dressed in the breeches and leather jerkin of a cowherd.

  “Miss! Miss!” he called, running to the horses’ heads and grabbing valiantly at the bridles. The horses whinnied their displeasure, but slowed to a standstill, leaving her breathless, panting, as she sank into her seat and turned to examine her companion. She gasped.

  His blood spattered the back of the leather-bound seat—and her sleeve. “Mr. Amherst!”

  He groaned something, his head falling onto her shoulder then her lap.

  “Oh, dear God!”

  “He’s been shot!” the cowherd said, wide-eyed. “We best get you out from there, miss, and get him down from there, too.”

  By now several other park visitors had made their eager way to the phaeton, and soon she was surrounded by so many exclamations of wonder and horror and “good gracious!” that she could barely think. But something bade her to ignore her first inclination to run away, bade her to stay and continue to press her gloved hand against his wound, even as she felt the sticky blood ooze between her fingers.

  “Miss, I saw what you did back there! Awful brave, you was!” the cowherd said, admiration in his eyes when she briefly glanced at him. “A real heroine!”

  She released a shaky breath, and raised her voice above the hubbub to demand someone fetch an officer of the law, her mind galloping as the horses had but moments earlier. Who could have done such a thing? Why? Or was it in some way connected to Thomas’s mysterious disappearance and death?

  Before long a park keeper had run towards them, followed not long after by an officer of the law, whose demanding questions so similar to her own thoughts soon had her begging for the respite of home. Back at Portman Square, Mother’s shock was swiftly replaced by concern, as Julia was interrogated before finally being released, with promises a magistrate would need to visit her the following day.

  But the questions refused to release her, and she shivered under the bedclothes, her heart raw with panic-laced memories, and fears that the nightmare of her situation had just taken another turn for the worse.

  Hawkesbury House, Lincolnshire

  If his father could only see him now. Thomas shifted awkwardly against the cushioned back of the sofa, but though pain rippled through his body he permitted himself a small smile. Who would have thought he would be ensconced in an earl’s principal estate, being treated like a king? Certainly his father never would have anticipated anything of the sort. But Thomas’s generous benefactor had refused to see him depart, insisting that he stay for a few days respite from their journey. “For my protection as well as yours. You have no conception of the degree of trouble I face with my wife due to my absence. Lavinia will pity you and I have hopes that might extend to her feeling a drop of mercy for me.”

  The earl’s trouble had been grossly exaggerated, the warmth and affection with which Lady Hawkesbury greeted her husband as apparent as her concern for Thomas. Indeed, seeing the earl with his wife and daughter ignited hope that Thomas might one day somehow obtain but a quarter of such happiness with Julia and little Charles.

  The quiet of the drawing room was punctuated by the earl’s sudden exclamation. “Oh!”

  “What is it?”

  “It is—oh, here, read it.” The earl thrust the newspape
r at him. “The third column, second page.”

  Thomas scanned the page. “You mean about the shooting?”

  “Yes.”

  He read the small print:

  It is reported that a shooting occurred in Hyde Park on Monday afternoon. The Honorable Edward Amherst, second son of the Earl of Rovingham, Somerset, was seriously injured whilst in the company of Mrs. Hale, the recently widowed daughter of Lady Harkness. Investigations have yet to produce any leads. Witnesses to the event which occurred on Monday afternoon are encouraged to speak with the Chief Magistrate at their earliest convenience.

  Thomas muttered an oath not dissimilar to the one already heard, as a welter of emotions consumed him. Who the blazes was this Amherst fellow? Why was Julia with him? Thank God she hadn’t been injured! He was even conscious of a grim satisfaction at the retribution that saw the man so quick to take Thomas’s place had been struck down, before feeling a twist of remorse for thinking such things.

  He lowered the paper to encounter the concerned gaze of the Earl of Hawkesbury. “Do you think they are after her now?”

  “Perhaps they were aware you had met briefly, and now consider her a liability.”

  “I should go—”

  “No.” Hawkesbury shook his head. “You must remain here, like we agreed. If they believe you to be dead then your appearance would only complicate matters.”

  “But we should send word. Julia must be worried out of her mind!” But—a niggling thought whispered—would she? Did not her driving out with another man suggest she did not care?

  “Winthrop will know what to do. He shall arrive in London tomorrow at the latest. And Bevington has also promised his assistance.”

  And the help of his friends was appreciated, was necessary for their plan to work, but … “God help us,” Thomas groaned. “God knows what Fallbright and his men will do next.”