The Making of Mrs. Hale

by Carolyn Miller

  “Exactly.” He met the glint in Hawkesbury’s eye. “God knows exactly what will happen next. And as for your other prayer—for prayer it was, was it not?—God will help us.”

  Doubts assailed him. How could the earl hold that promise as true? “But you have seen what they are capable of.”

  “And I’ve also seen what God can do. Please, do not let your heart be troubled. Trust in God. In fact, let us commit this situation to Him once more.”

  Thomas followed the other man’s lead and closed his eyes as Lord Hawkesbury prayed in low, confident tones, “Thank You, Heavenly Father, that You love us, and that You work in all situations for our good. We ask for Your protection for Julia and Thomas and all those connected to them. Thank You for bringing those evildoers to justice. Thank You for giving us wisdom to know what steps to take. Guide us, lead us, and protect us I pray, in the name of Your Son, Jesus Christ. Amen.”

  Thomas echoed the amen, his spirits lifting a tad. Maybe God might still be ignoring him, but surely He would listen to this man who really seemed to believe?

  The room settled with a kind of peace. From outside came the sound of a small child’s laughter. Guilt twisted within.

  “My lord, I … I know my situation has interrupted your time with your family. I … am sorry for it.”

  “I am not sorry for the opportunity to assist you, my friend,” the earl said. “Please do not tease yourself with that notion any longer.”

  “But—”

  “Neither do me the disservice of doubting my words. My wife and I seek opportunities to serve our God and bring what form of blessing to others that we can. My concerns and use of time are therefore not my own; they are to be used for God’s service, and according to His timing.”

  “I know this has inconvenienced you.”

  “Ah, but those things that may seem inconvenient in the immediate I have learned can often prove to be more about my obedience to God’s purposes, and perhaps seeing His plans outworked in a scheme far broader than what I had imagined and envisaged.”

  Like the dismantling of injustice.

  “So, while we may feel like little cogs in the grand scheme of things, rest assured God can use even small cogs to achieve His purposes.”

  Thomas managed a small smile. “Even the smallest cog?”

  “Our Savior used even the doubting Thomas.”

  The words lit a corner of hope in his heart. God knew Thomas was utterly sin-stained, and had so little to offer. Was He truly willing to accept what little Thomas had?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  “OH, MY DEAREST!”

  Catherine’s arms around her felt so soothing after the past few days of interrogation; first from Mother, then from the magistrate who had arrived on the doorstep yesterday morning. The shooting had absorbed their time and energies. Mr. Amherst had wakened from his comatose state unable to remember anything, so it fell on Julia to offer what she could to help the investigation. That experience had left her drained, and the morning calls from the curious and the kindhearted had left her wanting nothing more than to hide in her bedchamber until the visit to Gloucestershire could be arranged, a visit Mother had said would take place as soon as the magistrate gave permission to leave.

  “And even if he does not, I feel it best we leave within the next day or so. I cannot like how so many of those I once considered my friends have come to ogle, as if we are nothing better than exhibits at a museum. Do they not know we have feelings? No, we must leave, and the sooner the better.”

  Catherine and Jon’s visit was indeed welcome, even though Jon’s eyes held a question she was reluctant to answer.

  “You cannot know how sorry I was to be in Derbyshire when this all happened,” said Catherine, breaking into Julia’s memories. “I cannot imagine what it must have been like to learn of Thomas’s death. My dear, I am so terribly sorry I was not here to help comfort you.”

  Thomas’s death. She glanced at the black crepe gown she wore. His death still felt unreal.

  “Julia?”

  She peeked up to encounter the warmth in Catherine’s eyes. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I was just wondering what plans you have regarding funeral arrangements.”

  “I …” She lifted a hand to her head. Glanced at her brother.

  He nodded, his gaze shaded with something she could not decipher. “I will endeavor to undertake such matters as necessary.”

  His words did not seem to hold much sense, but she nodded anyway, murmured a thank you.

  “And you are well? I cannot imagine what it must have been like to be forced to undergo such a terrifying experience.”

  “I am as well as I can be.”

  Her arms still ached, the muscles feeling near wrenched from her body from the dreadful incident; the bloodied gown she had been wearing was now thrown away. She had no desire to see that ever again.

  “And poor Mr. Amherst! It would seem he was most unfortunate.”

  Mother began a homily on exactly how unfortunate was poor Julia’s new friend, her words, encouraged by Catherine’s soft murmurs of interest, expounding upon his goodness in taking pity on poor Julia, and contrasting his qualities with a certain someone who would not be named.

  “Indeed, he sounds a very paragon.” Jon’s expression, his tone, held an inscrutable, ironic quality. Julia frowned at him, and was unsurprised when he soon requested a private word with her, which his wife acceded to readily, while Mother took a few moments to conjecture his motives before eventually conceding he would not give satisfaction, and exiting the room.

  The mantelpiece clock ticked ominously. Julia eyed her brother. He seemed unsure as to how to proceed, his brow furrowed, his mouth downturned.

  “What is it, Jon?”

  “I cannot like this.” His lips pursed. “Who is this Amherst fellow?”

  She felt her defenses rise. “He is a friend.”

  “Yes, but where did you meet him?”

  “I met him at Lord Carmichael’s—I mean, Lord Bevington’s—town house, when I was staying there. He was accompanying one of Serena’s friends, Miss Caroline Hatherleigh. He is a neighbor of theirs.”

  “Yes, but what was he doing accompanying you?”

  “I told you. He is a friend.”

  “I cannot like it. It seems too convenient …” His voice trailed away, yet his gaze remained speculative.

  “What is convenient? The fact I had a friend who wished to provide some measure of distraction when I first learned that Thomas was dead?”

  “Putting aside the fact that I have doubts as to whether or not a man and a woman can ever be friends without one side or the other wishing for more, I cannot like the fact that you were encouraging the attentions of another man. Can you not see what that must appear like to other people?”

  “He is my friend.”

  “Not in the eyes of others.”

  “Then others are mistaken—and possessing minds of a degenerate nature!”

  “But you are supposed to be in mourning, are you not? Forgive me, but you do not give that impression.”

  “But I am!” She fought to calm herself, to not let the interview revert to those previous encounters when she had always felt like the child fighting the older brother’s protective censure. “I am very sad. You do not know—” what it’s like to feel torn between grief and pain at Thomas’s betrayal. “You cannot know what it is like to have lost …” trust in someone. She swallowed a sob.

  “You are right,” Jon said, his tone gentle. “I do not know your pain.”

  “No, you cannot!” She wiped her cheeks. “But neither do I want to hide in my bedchamber, crying for the rest of my days.”

  “I understand it has scarcely been two weeks since you learned of his death. Surely you must be aware that most ladies would not be receiving the notice of other men in that time.”

  Indignation sparked. “Most women, perhaps. But not our mother.”

  He flinched, and drew back. “I d
o not think that is a helpful comparison.”

  “No? But it is a true one.” Mother, who had married another man only weeks after Jon’s father had died. “Besides, I had no one else to turn to. You weren’t in town.”

  “And for that I am very sorry.”

  His expression supported the sentiment, taking the wind from her anger, forcing her gaze to her clasped hands. The truth of Thomas’s betrayal she could not speak of, would not speak of. Such shame would never pass her lips. She could well imagine her mother holding no such compunction.

  “It is just …”

  She peeked up. “Just what?”

  He seemed to reconsider his words, as he shook his head again. “I am curious about how you discovered Hale’s death.”

  She shrugged. “We had a visitor, a Mr. Macleary, who—”

  “Macleary, did you say? Not McKinley?”

  “Macleary, he said his name was. He had a Scottish accent.”

  “Can you describe him?”

  She thought back. “He was much shorter than you, so about medium height, and stocky,” she added. “Dark haired. A moustache. I cannot remember what color eyes he had. Oh, but he did have a tan, because I remember thinking at the time he looked a bit like Thomas when he first returned from India. Remember?”

  Thomas, who had looked so handsome in his military garb. Her heart panged. Another memory triggered, releasing a gasp.

  “What is it?”

  “I just remembered! I thought at the time that he reminded me of someone, but I could not think who. He was the same man who came and visited me in Edinburgh, and told me Thomas had left for Spain. I did not recall it at the time, for he was not dressed in military clothes, and back then he had no moustache, and I am sure he said his name was McKinley.”

  “Who? The man who visited you in Edinburgh?”

  “Yes.” She frowned. “It was so long ago, I cannot be certain.”

  “Julia, please try. It is very important.”

  “Why?”

  He groaned. “Why must you question me all the time?”

  “Because I am your sister.”

  A smile ghosted his face. “Please. We need to know. Was this man who came to call the same as the one who visited you in Edinburgh?”

  “I believe so. Yes, I am nearly certain.”

  He exhaled, sat back in his chair. Silence filled the room as his forehead creased. “Julia, there is something else I must tell you.”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m afraid that man was not honest with you, neither recently, nor in the past.”

  “Well, I know he wasn’t in the past. Thomas said he’d given this McKinley man money to give me, which McKinley then denied. That is, if Thomas was telling the truth.”

  Jon nodded. “He was.”

  “How do you know? I cannot know what to believe about him anymore.”

  “Then believe this—you are a married woman.”

  “I am not. Thomas is dead. There was a notice in the newspaper—”

  “I’m sorry to tell you—or perhaps not sorry, as the case may be—but that notice was false.”

  “What do you mean? I don’t understand.”

  “Thomas is not dead.”

  She blinked. “No.”

  “Yes.” He moved nearer, grasped her hands. “Thomas is alive.”

  “No. The man said—”

  “He lied. You must believe me. I spoke with Thomas but two days ago.”

  “You cannot be serious. Why are you saying this?” She pulled her hands away. “Why would you want to make me believe such things?”

  “Forgive me, but there was no other way.”

  She gestured to the door. “But Catherine was expressing her condolences. Why would she—”

  “She does not know.”

  “Then why … ?” Her head was spinning. Who could she trust? What was real anymore? “Is he really alive? Truly?”

  He held her hands firmly and looked deep into her eyes, the way he had years ago when he’d informed her that her father had died. “Yes.”

  Her breath caught. “Then what—?”

  “I—we—didn’t want—”

  “Who is this ‘we’?”

  “Thomas, Henry, Lord Hawkesbury, and myself.”

  “What has Lord Hawkesbury got to do with this?”

  “It was he who first learned of Thomas’s injuries.”

  “Macleary told me it was an accident, that Thomas had drowned.”

  “That is near the truth. Thomas was severely beaten and left for dead in the harbor.”

  She gasped. “No! Where is he? I must go to him!”

  “Please, let me finish.” He repossessed himself of her hands. “When he was found, he was taken to an infirmary, where he spent some days unconscious while the doctor wondered if he would ever waken.”

  Her eyes filled with tears. “Where is he?”

  “He is safe. It would seem his attackers believed him dead, which is a belief we wanted to perpetuate, in order to discover who would wish that on him.”

  “But who would do such a thing?”

  He paused, and then said, “When Hawkesbury learned of his condition, he sent missives which finally reached me in Manchester. Hawkesbury wanted to get Thomas away as he felt it was no longer safe. He believes McKinley has a vendetta against Thomas that is somehow connected to their time in India. This may be why this so-called Macleary fellow came to see you. Can you remember Thomas ever talking about McKinley, or a man called Fallbright?”

  “No, we barely spoke when he was here.” At the sardonic gleam in her brother’s eye her cheeks heated, and she hurried on. “Wait, did you not say Thomas was now safe? Could you not ask him?”

  He sighed. “I’m afraid his injuries are so severe that his memory has been somewhat affected.”

  His pause prompted her to say, “And?”

  Jon gently squeezed her hands. “There’s some question of whether he will be able to walk properly again.”

  Her mouth fell open. “No. Oh, no! Where is he?” Tears burned and leaked from her eyes. “I need to see him, and he would want to see me.”

  “He is safe, and is desperate for you to be safe also.” His hands moved to her upper arms. “Please, believe me, Julia. We all want you to be safe.”

  “But—”

  “No, we really do,” he said.

  His smile smoothed away a mite of her tension. “But what am I to do?”

  “I will speak to Mother, and we will expedite arrangements so that you can remove to the country as soon as possible. We want you and Charles and Mother to be safe.”

  “You think they might hurt us?”

  “It would appear they have already tried.”

  Her breath stilled. “And they got poor Mr. Amherst instead.”

  “Forget him. He is not your concern.”

  “But—”

  “No, Julia. He made his choices in pursuing friendship with a married lady, and I cannot allow you to be concerned with his affairs anymore. You must instead focus on what is your concern, your husband.”

  “My husband,” she echoed. Her heart twisted, and she peeked up. “Does he know about …”

  “Mr. Amherst?”

  She nodded.

  “I would think by now he would. The shooting was mentioned in the papers.”

  What must Thomas think of her, allowing the attentions of another man so soon after news of his death? Oh, how shameful was she? She swallowed a sob. “I thought Thomas was dead.”

  “Do not condemn yourself in that regard. He is not precisely blameless.”

  “I know.”

  “What do you know?”

  “I know about the woman in Spain.”

  “What woman in Spain?” he said sharply.

  “When Lieutenant Harrow visited …” She realized by Jon’s puzzled frown that he did not know. Her breath caught. She could not tell him. She shook her head. “It does not matter. Thomas is not blameless, and neither am I.” For she ha
d not exactly discouraged Mr. Amherst’s attentions, had she?

  Jon’s frown had plunged even deeper, and she hastened to steer his thoughts back to their previous track. “So, you want us to leave London?”

  He nodded. “I want you to be somewhere where they will not be able to find you.” His face creased in a brief smile. “I could not bear it if something happened to you.”

  The tenderness in his expression hugged warmth around her heart. “I am sorry I have been such a burden to you these past years.”

  “I am, too.”

  She gave a choke of laughter, relief easing across her chest at the humor glinting in his eye. “So, when will you tell Catherine and Mother?”

  “I won’t. Not until everything is finally sorted.”

  “But they believe him dead.”

  “And hopefully everyone else will also. But I did not think it fair to allow you to continue to believe such a thing. But you will need to do your best to continue in the mode of a grieving widow. We would not want your actions giving rise to anything that might draw suspicion.”

  “Of course.”

  He made a few more suggestions, and then went to find his wife, and to encourage their mother to make their departure from London even sooner than she had arranged. Leaving Julia alone in the drawing room, filled with a mix of renewed hope mingled with underlying dread.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  “GENTLEMEN, PLEASE EXCUSE me,” the Countess of Hawkesbury said, “I find I am not feeling quite the thing.”

  Thomas pushed to shaky feet as the countess murmured to her husband, before offering him a wan smile. “Major Hale, please sit. I might be counting on you to do your best to distract my husband from worrying about me, but I would not have you do so at the expense of your health.”

  He glanced at the earl, whose frowning attention remained claimed by his wife, and slid gratefully back into his dining chair at her gesture to sit.

  “You are sure you are well?” Lord Hawkesbury asked.

  “I will be, once I rest.” She stroked his shoulder. “Please do not worry, Nicholas. Now you can resume your conversation about matters I know you would prefer to discuss.” And with a further smile for her husband, and a murmured good night for Thomas, she departed.