The Making of Mrs. Hale Page 7

  Catherine murmured words of concurrence, twisting guilt deep in Julia’s heart. She had to say something. She opened her mouth to speak when her mother met Julia’s gaze, tears glistening in her eyes. “I cannot believe you had a child and I did not know.”

  “Mother,” Julia began, “I’m sorry, but—”

  “I cannot believe that man did this to you, to all of us!”

  Further explanations died on her tongue at her mother’s passionate outburst. Now that was more like the mother she recalled. “Mother, I’m sorry.” Regrets roared. Would the apologies never stop? Would that be her role now, the forever sorry child?

  She hugged Charles close, a shield against further censure, censure sure to pour forth once they learned the truth about his parentage. Perhaps it was best to admit all, especially with her mother gazing at him with that unfamiliar softness in her eyes. “Mother, I should tell you—”

  “I’m sure there will be many things we can learn over the next few days and weeks,” Jon said, eyeing Julia in a way that stilled her words.

  Perhaps he was right. Waiting a few days might relieve the shock of too much revelation too soon.

  Jon wrapped an arm around Mother’s shoulders. “Today is not a day for recriminations, but for celebration. That which was lost has been found again.”

  “The prodigal daughter has returned,” Julia said, forcing her lips upwards.

  The sound of a cleared throat drew their attention to the door, where Henry and Serena surveyed the room with something that looked like satisfaction. “Forgive the interruption, but I’m of the understanding that reunions with prodigals deserve fatted calves.” Henry glanced around the room. “I trust you all know that you must dine here tonight? My wife insists, and I, being a man ever under her thumb, find I must bow to her decree.”

  “Thank you, Carmichael,” Jon said. “We appreciate the offer.”

  “I’m sure you do, old man.”

  Her brother exchanged smirks with his best friend, leading her traitorous heart to wonder about the missing member of their trio. He seemed so very absent right now.

  “You shall barely be able to get rid of us while Julia stays here,” Mother said. “I cannot believe she has finally returned.”

  “You are sure you feel well enough?” Catherine asked in a low voice, studying Julia, concern edging her eyes. “You seem so much thinner than I recall. I would not have you feel obliged to entertain if you are not well. You truly don’t mind us visiting today?”

  “Of course!” Julia said, pushing her lips up in a gaiety she did not feel.

  How on earth would she avoid giving her family the answers they were looking for without telling all the truth? She would just need to tread as carefully as she had once done across the ballroom. Although she suspected maintaining this charade might prove more challenging than she had anticipated, more challenging than any dance step.

  What would happen if she stumbled? She glanced at Charles, resolve firming once more. For his sake, for hers, she could not, would not, fall.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Edinburgh

  THE ANTICIPATION FIZZING within bubbled higher with each step he took along the narrow cobblestoned streets, just as it had each mile the carriage had traveled northwards. The journey had seemed too long, with too many obstacles, but now here, it would only be a time before he was finally reunited with his bride.

  Would she understand? He hoped so. Not all of the delays were of his making, though some were. After seeing poor Smith reunited with his overjoyed family, Thomas had yielded to their offers of hospitality, and allowed himself the luxury of a hot meal, a warm bath, and a restful night’s sleep. The following morning he’d been surprised with a gift of clothes, “a small token for what the major has done for our boy.” Thomas had been touched, had recognized the immense practicality of such a gift, and had neither the heart nor the income to return the slightly worn items to their owners. He would make restitution, as soon as he returned home and was restored to the garments in his wardrobe, and endeavor to replace the borrowed items on a return journey one day.

  That stop was a small candlelight’s worth of hope in an otherwise bleak stretch of days. Finding a conveyance north was expensive, taking nearly the last of his gold. As it was he could only afford the cheapest seat. For too many long hours he had shivered atop the stagecoach, fighting the cold, fighting the corners, the only thing buoying his spirits the thought that he would finally see Julia again. Would she wish to see him? What if she did not?

  But … no. He must continue to deliberately place his fears to one side, chase them from his mind. He would not permit negativities today; today was a day to rejoice. His legs held a spring, as though he could skip on the cobblestones like a child. Today he would finally see his wife again!

  He turned the corner, huddling into his borrowed greatcoat to avoid the sudden rush of a sub-Arctic wind, the sights of the streetscape growing familiar once again. He grinned, his strides eating up the half mile to home. It was not long now, and he would see her once more. Would have a bath, would exchange these garments for something in his old wardrobe, would finally see, would finally kiss, would finally hold his lovely wife in the way he’d dreamed for so many lonely months.

  Fair Julia, beautiful Julia, who had taken a chance on him and his dreams, casting aside her family in favor of their love. Once upon a time he’d never thought to be the kind of man to want to settle down, to contain his passions for one woman, but she had managed the feat. He’d always known her to be attractive, but as his best friend’s—former best friend’s—sister, she had always been forbidden. Besides, there had been too many other, older, experienced ladies, more than happy to catch his eye and play the game and fall into his bed. He’d been content enough until he realized Julia’s interest in him was deeper than mere flirtation, deeper than her desire simply to annoy her overprotective brother; that she actually seemed to admire him.

  God knew why. He’d never been accounted as particularly handsome amongst his acquaintances; he held no title like Carmichael did, nor an estate that drew women like bees. Granted, he’d had some money, but as Julia had her own he did not think such things mattered terribly to her. Well, they hadn’t then. He fought the pang, fought to stay positive on this most propitious day. Whatever his faults she had seen something in himself that he could not. Regardless, Julia’s admiration had only made him wish to be a better man, to continue to earn her approbation, while her smiles had drawn a tenderness from within that he’d long thought he had lost.

  He swapped his small bundle to the other hand and stretched out cramped fingers as he smiled over that last thought. After the trials of past months, he had not realized just how soft he had become. But the hardness on which he’d once prided himself in India was something that he could not take pride in any longer. He liked himself more when he was with her.

  For even after their blacksmith ceremony at Gretna Green, and once they’d settled into life as husband and wife in Edinburgh, Julia had continued to act like she cared. Despite the roughness, despite the cold, despite the times of hasty removal from one place to another, she continued to see him with something akin to stars in her eyes. God willing, she might still.

  His feet were beginning to ache as he rounded the corner to the stretch of terraced houses forever shadowed by Edinburgh’s castellated hill. In this section of Edinburgh it was rare to find a house possessed by one household; instead, many of the houses had been divided into flats, each floor or part thereof let to different families. And while the accommodation was a thousand times improved from his more recent experiences, he could trace the grime and soot stain in the stones, could smell the acrid stench and hear the sour sounds that denoted a life a thousand times removed from the elegancies Julia had once enjoyed.

  Another pang struck. He didn’t deserve her; he hadn’t treated her as he ought. Dear God, he’d even forced her to suffer under the yoke of another man’s name. Granted it had been to avoid
detection, and they had both enjoyed the silly connection to his real surname, but the knowledge he’d found such things a necessity still swirled shame inside. If only he had done things differently. She was much too good for him, her quality such that he’d always tried to prove himself worthy.

  Worthy? That might be a stretch too far. But at least he would ensure things would change. It had been a mistake to trust his future to others; he saw that now. After missing her so much, he knew he could not afford to chase gold if it meant her love for him might grow cold. He’d taken her for granted, not realizing how much he loved her until he realized how much she uncomplainingly endured the life so different from the one to which she had been born. She possessed a far greater resilience than her dainty appearance suggested.

  He tromped up the steps to their dingy flat—another thing he’d change as soon as he could afford to—and rapped on the door. Anticipation curled within as he imagined her surprise; hopefully her look of delight.

  The door opened. “Hello, my—” His words faltered at the sight of the bedraggled woman there, mousy brown hair and wrinkled face. Had Julia employed this lady to be some sort of housekeeper? A spark of irritation flared. Hadn’t he warned her countless times not to waste money on unnecessary household arrangements?

  “Yer what?” she said suspiciously.

  He offered a small bow. “Forgive me, madam.” It wouldn’t do to offend the hired help. “I was wondering if Mrs. Rayne be home.”

  He suddenly grinned. What was he doing waiting in the hall? This was his home. Well, if Julia was acting the grand lady and refused to answer the door, then he’d simply just go find her. “Excuse me.” He pushed past the woman.

  “Oy!” The woman protested, slapping him on the arm in a manner most unservantlike. “What d’ye think ye be doing?”

  “Finding my wife,” he said, frowning as he glanced around the meager room. It was furnished not unlike he remembered, but missing so many pieces it begged him to reconsider whether this flat was in fact his. He glanced out the window; no, the glimpse of brooding castle remained as it had in his memories. What was he thinking? Of course he was in the right place.

  “Get out! Get out, I say!”

  “Madam, I know we have never met, and that it has been some months since I was in residence, but I assure you I am Mrs. Rayne’s husband.”

  “I don’t care who ye are, or whose husband ye say ye be, get out of my house!”

  “Your house?”

  “Oy, what’s this?” A burly man appeared from where Thomas knew the bedchamber to be. “Who in Hades are you?”

  Thomas straightened his spine. “That same question might be asked of you, sir.”

  “Sir?” The man sniggered, but his eyes grew hard. “You heard the missus, get out.”

  “But this is my house.”

  “Not for the past fortnight, it ain’t.”

  “What?”

  “Ye heard ’im,” the woman said. “It’s ours.”

  “But … those are my pictures on the wall.”

  “You ’spect us to believe you?”

  “Yes. Yes, I do, because it’s the truth. Look.” He strode to the mantelpiece, where a small sketch of an Indian scene rested. “This was given to me in recognition of services performed in Calcutta by General Whitby.”

  “I don’t care if it was given you by King George, it ain’t yours anymore.”

  “But it is.” He put steel into his voice. “I will have you charged with theft.”

  “And I’ll have you charged with trespass and making false claims!”

  He clenched his fingers, feeling his choler rise. How the blazes dared these people carry on so? And where the blazes was—?

  “Mr. Rayne.”

  He turned toward the voice at the door. A wisp of a woman stood there. What was her name? “Becky?”

  She nodded. “Are you looking for Julia?”

  “Yes. Where is she?”

  She shook her head, beckoning him away from the curious ears. She led him across the landing to her own small flat.

  “Julia is not here anymore,” she said.

  “I don’t understand.”

  She shrugged. “She left.”

  “What?”

  “She thought you were dead.”

  No. She couldn’t think that. Hadn’t he written a note of explanation? Admittedly he was several months later than what he’d mentioned, but still … She couldn’t think he was dead!

  At the tense, sad look on Becky’s face, his indignation faded, dwindling into a sickened understanding, a queasiness hovering low in his gut. Perhaps he should have insisted on seeing her before he left, but how was he to know the job that was supposed to take a few weeks would end up stealing five months of his life in prison?

  Still, regrets wouldn’t take him there more quickly; he’d simply ascertain her new abode and speak to her then. Although he didn’t quite understand why she would leave so many of his prized possessions behind …

  He pushed a smile past the shard of doubt. “Well, obviously I am not dead. So, if you would be so good as to give me her direction?”

  “I’m sorry, sir, but I cannot.”

  His gaze hardened. “Becky, I have spent several long days traveling and I’m in no mind to be put off. Please tell me at once where my wife is.”

  “Sir, I wish I could, truly I do, but she left no forwarding address.”

  The alarm bells ringing in his soul grew louder. “Do you mean to tell me she has disappeared?”

  She considered him, her own gaze narrowing. “I don’t know, sir. I knew she was struggling for a long time, and didn’t have enough coin—”

  “Struggling? No, I left enough for her if she were careful.” His chest tightened. “Unless she spent it on silly fripperies.”

  “She barely had enough to eat!” Becky said, eyes now hard with disdain. “How could you leave her for months on end with no word?”

  “But I did leave word. Admittedly, I was absent far longer than I’d anticipated, but I definitely left word, and money.” He frowned. “You mean she did not receive it?”

  Her sharp expression softened a mite. “I don’t think she could have. She was doing her best to sell what she could, but the paintings and pretty clothes could only fetch so much.”

  He swallowed. “She was selling her clothes?”

  “She must have been, for the ones she was wearing near the end were not much better than mine, that’s for certain. And you know she always loved wearing her pretty things.”

  Yes, he did. Guilt pounced. He should have spoken to her, should have said something at least. He moved to the window to stare at the bleak rows of dingy houses. “I believed I had left her well provided for.”

  “Well, you didn’t.” He turned to face the faded woman who straightened as she eyed him. “You left her with nowt.”

  His fingers clenched. “I will not stand here trying to defend myself to you. Just tell me this: where is my wife? You two were always friends—”

  “Like I said, I don’t know where she is.” She shook her head again. “All I know is that she came, said goodbye, said that she had to leave to find her family. She seemed so lost.” Her pale eyes stared at him accusingly.

  Her family. In London. Or possibly Gloucestershire. The ones who would likely wish to see him hung. He muttered a curse under his breath. How in blazes was he to afford a southward journey? Just when he had spent the last of his coin on arriving here. Seemed like it would be back to the tables for him. “And these two?” He jerked a thumb behind him.

  “They be friends of Mr. Henderson. You remember Mr. Henderson who was always coming by about rents?”

  He gave an impatient nod. Yes, because the gouty landlord used to do that even when their rents were on time, then spend the time ogling Julia if she happened to be nearby. He recognized a man who appreciated a pretty face. “What of him?”

  She shrugged, a helpless gesture. “I overheard him and Julia exchange some bitt
er words. Seemed she couldn’t pay, but didn’t want anyone to know she had no coin.”

  The old Carlew pride. He swallowed the first retort. Swallowed the second one, too. Worked to moderate his tone of voice. “And you think she has returned to England.”

  She nodded. “She only took what she could fit in a small trunk. Sold as much as she could.” She gave a long sigh. “Aye, it was all such a terrible time. You remember poor Meggie from downstairs? She got desperate sick about the same time, had just received news her husband had died, poor lass. And her, but newly delivered of a bairn! Oh well, she didn’t have to grieve him long.”

  He fought impatience. He neither remembered nor particularly cared about such things. “I see.” He drew in a deep breath that felt tugged from his toes. “I’m afraid I shall have to have a word with Henderson.”

  She nodded. “He should be downstairs.”

  He uttered curt thanks and hurried down the narrow stairs. After he spoke to Henderson, he’d be sure to revisit his old flat and regain the treasure Julia had obviously thought worthless. Then he’d pay a visit to someone else. Someone who had a lot of explaining to do.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “HE IS A scoundrel, an utter scoundrel!”

  “A blackguard, with no sense of honor.”

  “I’m sorry, Julia, but that man was always something of a loose screw.”

  Julia gritted her teeth, as the now-familiar invective she had feared swirled around the drawing room, and into her heart, stifling her confidence, smothering her future. Really? It had taken only hours for sweet reunion to descend to this?

  “I want him tried and prosecuted,” Mother snapped. “I cannot believe that scoundrel abandoned you in this way!”

  “Mother, we don’t know that he did,” Julia said wearily.

  “That’s right. For all we know he might be dead.”

  “Jonathan!” cried Catherine. “You cannot say such things.”

  “I cannot deny such things either.” Jon glanced at Julia. “And I suspect Julia has thought the same.”