The Making of Mrs. Hale Page 8

  She jerked her head away, sorrow stealing across her heart, refusing her to meet anyone’s gaze. Why she felt like crying she did not know. He was not worth her tears. Unless he really was dead.

  “What would you prefer?” Jon continued. “That Hale be dead or have abandoned her?”

  “You know, it really would be easier if he were dead,” Mother mused. “Then Julia could be a widow, and we could almost pretend none of this ever happened.”

  “I am sitting right here, you know,” Julia murmured, her desire to cry dying as she worked to stem the frustration heaving against her chest. Really? Why must her brother always assume this superiority and treat her like a little child? She was a woman now, a mother, a wife. Surely she should be treated with more respect than this! “I would prefer not to speak about him,” she said in a louder voice.

  “I’m afraid we must do so,” Jon continued. “We must find out what has happened. Surely you want to know the truth?”

  But did she? Did she really want to know that he had abandoned her? Would she really want to know if he was dead? Perhaps it was best to pretend the past two years had been some kind of nightmare. Now that she was back with her family, life could resume as it had before she’d run away to Gretna Green. Back when she’d been the pretty, spoiled daughter of Lady Harkness, back when she felt like she had the world at her feet.

  The tiny boy in her arms yawned, reminding her both of the late hour, and that amid the pain of recent months there had been glimpses of joy. Surely, if nothing else, rescuing Charles from a life more destitute than hers had been something of a blessing. For her, as well as him.

  “No,” said Jon. “We must find Hale, and when we do, he shall be forced to explain his actions.”

  “I find it hard to believe your enquiry agents could not find him,” Mother said.

  “I shall renew my conversations with them, I assure you. Edinburgh is not so very far away.”

  Jon’s gaze searched hers, forcing her to admit to another truth. They were trying to help her, after all. “Perhaps …”

  “Yes?”

  He frowned, an action almost enough to make her waver, but she drew in a breath and forced herself to continue. “Perhaps if you do so, you should ensure they search for a man called Rayne.”

  “Rayne? I don’t understand.”

  “It … it was the name he used when we traveled north.” The name she’d happily owned when she did not want to be found, either. “He rented our different lodgings under that name.”

  “He did not even have the decency to use his own name?” Mother muttered something decidedly unladylike.

  “You say different lodgings?” Jon’s frown seemed permanently etched between his brows. “How many did you stay in?”

  She thought back, remembering the surprised delight of their first town house, in one of the most modern buildings in New Town, and how happy they had been there, until it became evident her husband had not the talent of managing money that her brother possessed. They’d been forced to abandon the pretty house with its views over the park and find something less substantial, and rather less clean, complete with a reduction in servants. She had tried not to complain, had tried to improve the place with what pretty fripperies she could afford from the housekeeping money given her. But even as she’d tried to be careful, she’d noticed the way his face would tighten when he asked about such things. He didn’t seem to understand just how hard it was to be forced to do without.

  Of course, she had not realized just how much she would do without until they moved to their final lodgings. She shuddered. The only good thing about those dingy, smelly flats were the friends she had made. Her eyes pricked, and she hugged poor Charlie closer.

  “Julia?” Catherine’s eyes were soft with compassion.

  She forced trembling lips into what she hoped resembled a smile. “I was just remembering.”

  “Your time away must have been very hard.”

  Julia nodded, ducking her head, even though she saw no censure in the mild brown eyes. Still, she could hear the unspoken condemnation: by running away to Gretna Green Julia had certainly made her bed. And now had come the inevitable challenge of assuring herself she really had enjoyed lying in it …

  After a few moments, she became aware that Henry was speaking.

  “… don’t believe it follows necessarily that he has abandoned you, or indeed that he is dead. Really there could be countless other explanations for why he did not reappear. What if he has a brain injury and cannot remember who he is or where he is from? He could even be trapped somewhere.”

  “What? Like imprisoned in a castle in some Gothic novel?” Jon scoffed.

  “No,” Henry said quietly. “But perhaps he has an illness like my father and cannot remember who he is anymore.”

  Their faces shadowed. Here was something else she had missed, some secret sorrow that she would have known once upon a time, but now had to guess. His father was that unwell?

  “I’m sorry, Henry,” she said.

  Serena, silent until now, moved beside her husband, and placed a hand on his arm. “The earl has not been well for some time now. It might only be a matter of months.”

  Julia’s heart panged. Poor Henry.

  “I feel it only fair to say that we must head north as soon as we are able.” Henry gave Jon a small smile. “Terribly sorry, old man.”

  Jon shook his head. “You have responsibilities that cannot wait. We understand.”

  Julia peeked at her brother. Would Henry and Serena’s departure mean she would need to stay with him instead?

  “You will, of course, send our regards to your parents, Henry,” said Mother. “I would like to see them, and perhaps inquire on the progress of my little mining venture, but things being what they are …” She fluttered her hands in a helpless gesture and glanced at Julia.

  “Of course. I’m afraid I will need to postpone such talk until matters are more … resolved.” Henry’s face shadowed.

  Compassion stirred her heart again. Like when his father died.

  The tea tray was brought in, and conversation veered to other concerns, until Julia wondered if they would ever return to the topic that had held her prisoner in her chair for so long. Charlie made the mewling noise that denoted his hunger. Fortunately, she no longer needed to resort to the watered milk of those first weeks when she’d tried to feed him, nor the thin gruel that had been all she could manage on their journey south. She glanced at little Elizabeth, whose healthful appearance bespoke what money and settled family life could obtain. She would certainly never lack for anything …

  “We digress,” Mother said firmly. “It should be a matter of the utmost importance that Hale be found and brought to justice. I will not let him escape the consequences of what he has done to my daughter.”

  Julia lowered her head, but the protest would not remain quiet. “I went willingly. Really, he cannot be held to account for my choices.”

  “But you were so young!” Mother said. “He took advantage of you. You did not know what you were doing.”

  “I knew exactly what I was doing,” Julia confessed, peeking up. “I know it wasn’t right, I knew it then, but I thought I loved him.”

  “And now?”

  Five pairs of eyes stared at her.

  She shrugged helplessly. It was so hard to know anything now. So much of what she once thought true had turned out to be a lie. And if by some miracle Thomas returned, she scarcely knew what she would say. Would those feelings of passionate love return? Would she ever be able to trust him again? What would he say when he met Charles? The unknown held an oppression that seemed to encumber the very atmosphere, fears that weighed heavily on her soul.

  If he were brought before the courts, what was the penalty for running away with a minor? Would he be sent to Newgate? How would he survive prison?

  “Poor dear sweet Julia,” Mother said, drawing her into her arms again. “Do not worry. If that man should return, we will protect
you.”

  But did she want protection? Did she want to meekly return to the family fold? Now she had tasted freedom, did she really want to return to being the dutiful daughter, the unexceptionable sister, back to her old life? Even now she could feel the stifling nature of their affection, could feel the pull to succumb to their will. Was following so tamely the best thing after all? Serena’s words stirred through her consciousness. If only she could have a cottage of her own, the chance to start afresh, without the frayed and tangled cords of kinship that flayed against her heart.

  Besides, somewhere, deep below, she still felt a faint throb of affection for him. She had loved Thomas Hale, even with all his faults, had once believed he could nearly hang the stars. His bravery, his kindness, his efforts to please her, those were traits she needed to remember, too, even though they seemed quite drowned out by more recent actions. Did she still love him? Perhaps. Could such love be rekindled? Possibly. It was hard to know what might happen if he did return. Would she offer him her lips, her arms—perhaps more? Her face burned. Trying to sort through these shifting emotions was exhausting, and so confusing. She was not sure of anything anymore.

  “I think some of these questions are best left for another day,” Henry said. “I know we want to solve everything immediately, but I think tiredness leads to ill-judged decisions.” He gave a wry smile. “Speaking from personal experience.”

  “I believe you are right,” Catherine said. “And if you have need to return to Derbyshire, I think it best for us to release you so you can begin your preparations to leave.”

  “Soon enough,” Henry said. “We have no desire to rush people.”

  “Nor have we any desire to impede your departure.”

  “Ah, but mine are not the only wishes to consider.”

  They turned to her. Julia’s cheeks heated. “I would not wish to be the cause of your delay.”

  “I’m afraid it is not just your company that would be missed.”

  Another look heavy with meaning passed between Catherine and her brother-in-law, and Julia saw how they turned to look at Serena, who was holding little Charles.

  Their conversation continued in low tones, the focus shifting away from Julia. She exhaled. There would be many questions to face over the next few days and weeks, not least of all the matter of where she would live. The familiar churn of worries began. After such a long, long day of tumultuous reunion, sleep would take a long time to arrive tonight.

  Thomas walked into the tavern—one that brought back not a few memories of several he’d visited on his journey north. And a place he’d need to visit again if he was ever to find enough coin to return to England’s capital and—please God—find his missing wife. That is, unless he could find the man who might hold the keys to everything.

  He glanced around the room, spying a few familiar faces, but not, unfortunately, the man he was looking for.

  “Och, and would ye look what just dragged in!” His gaze settled on the genial-faced Munro tending the taps, a man with whom he had enjoyed many a conversation prior to his mission to Spain.

  “Munro.” He made his way to the bar and ordered a dram of Scotland’s finest. After all the disappointments of the past twenty-four hours, he was more than due a tot or two. He downed a fingerful, felt the heat slide satisfactorily down his gullet to warm his belly.

  “How are ye, ye wee bittie Englishman? Where have ye been a’hiding? I’ve not seen yer ugly mug in here for well on six months. Ye almost had me wonderin’ if ye got religion!”

  Thomas snorted. Religion? What good would such a fool thing do him? “Ye be a funny, funny man, Munro.”

  “Aye, that be true,” he said complacently. “Now, despite ye drinkin’ that whiskey like ye hadn’t had a drink in years, ye have the look of a man on a mission about ye. Is there something we can help ye with?”

  “I’m looking for Joseph McKinley.”

  “McKinley, McKinley.” The man stroked his chin. “Can’t say I’ve seen him recently. But I have heard he’s been getting around town a bit lately. Swimming in lard he be, said he came into a windfall or some such nonsense. Trying to make a name for himself.” He nodded slowly. “I’ve seen him down at the Black Harp a few times.”

  Thomas raised a brow. “They let you out of here sometimes?”

  “Aye, and I be needin’ to. The clientele ain’t what it used to be.” Munro eyed Thomas’s attire with a grin. “They be lettin’ all the riffraff in.”

  “Thank goodness for that,” Thomas said, offering his own grin and farewell. Information about McKinley’s whereabouts was worth the price of a drink.

  Two streets away he stood outside the Black Harp, an establishment of definite superiority to the one he’d just visited. A quick scan of the room brought a measure of relief. Finally.

  He strode to the corner table, where a mustachioed man—dressed almost as well as Thomas had on his good days—was holding court with several gentlemen whose avid interest suggested they were his inferiors. He did not hesitate to interrupt. “McKinley.”

  “Hale!” The swarthy-faced man’s eyes opened wide. “Well, this is a fine surprise.”

  “Is it?” He eyed the other men. “Excuse us. We have a matter of urgent business to attend.”

  There were vague murmurs of complaint, but after quick glances at McKinley, whose nod granted permission, they exited.

  McKinley leaned back in his seat. “Not the most elegant of interruptions, my friend.”

  “I have no time for elegancies these days.”

  “No need to tell the world. Your raiment shouts the fact,” McKinley murmured, examining Thomas’s attire with disfavor.

  Thomas stifled his impatience. His former colleague had always held the aspirations of a dandy. “Tell me, where is she?”

  “Where is who? My dear man, this interview has all the appearance of an attack! Come, let me buy you a drink, and celebrate your return.” Ignoring Thomas’s protests, he snapped his fingers, and ordered a bottle of whiskey. “Y’know, we all thought you were dead.”

  “Really?” Thomas watched the man’s face for the faintest trace of guilt. “Why would you think that?”

  He shrugged. “Word gets around. You know how it is.”

  No, Thomas didn’t. But he sensed McKinley would not be forthcoming should he press the matter. “Well, I am very much alive.”

  “Thank the good Lord above.” McKinley raised a glass of amber liquid to the ceiling. “Glad to know you’re back among the living.” He took a large swig.

  “I was never among the dead.”

  “No? That’s not what I heard.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  McKinley took another swig; his nose was growing red. “On the day I went and visited your poor little wife and gave her your note and money—”

  “What? You say you gave it to her?”

  “Of course I did. What do you take me for?” McKinley eyed him curiously.

  Thomas pressed his lips together. Who to believe? The testimony of Becky, who had never approved of him—more than once he’d overheard the poor widow’s remarks about his rascally ways—or that of his closest friend in Scotland, the former military major whose acquaintanceship in India had been such that Thomas believed him the only man who could be trusted with the truth, and with securing his wife’s future.

  But if McKinley was right, why had things been left behind? Henderson—weasel though he be—had been quite plain about matters. Julia had not paid rent for nigh on two months, and he’d been as patient as he could, “but a man’s got to eat, and when she couldn’t cough up the brass for the third month I had to let yer rooms go to someone who would.”

  How could he reconcile these conflicting views? Unless his first instinct was right, and Julia had overspent as she used to. But would that account for her selling her clothes like Becky said? Unless—his stomach lurched—Julia had parted with such things to leave all traces of him and their ill-conceived marriage behind.

&
nbsp; He wrapped his hands around the glass, stared into the amber liquid.

  “Hale? Forgive me, but you do not look at all the thing. Have you eaten?”

  “Eaten?” He shook his head. “I cannot remember when I last ate.” Another snap of his old friend’s fingers brought a servant and a request for food. This gesture drew the attention of another man, who, after a quick look at Thomas, claimed McKinley’s attention for a few minutes.

  Around him the noise seemed to intensify, to infect Thomas’s ears with chaos. He felt himself sway, although perhaps that was the effect of alcohol on an empty stomach.

  How could he know what was right and true? Whom could he trust? How he longed for the days when his friends were such that he knew their word was as sound as their principles. Before he’d been the one to betray their trust by running off with the sister of his best friend.

  Dear God …

  He shoved his head in his hands, willing the food to arrive so he could eat and escape the madhouse of confliction. But when the food came, his stomach protested the greasy stew and black pudding, contented only with a taste of tattie and some bread.

  “She really is a pretty thing, your little wife,” McKinley said. “Now, there be no need to look at me like that, ’tis merely the truth I acknowledge, that’s all. But I’ll confess she did not look best pleased when informed her husband was going away with scarcely a word of notice.”

  “The notice was in the letter you were supposed to hand over.”

  “I tell you I did! You dinnae believe me? Well, and this be a fine way to treat your fellow officer. And after all we went through in Poona, too.”

  “I’d rather not think on India right now. I’m more concerned about the whereabouts of my wife.”

  “You mean you don’t know where she is?”

  “If I did I wouldn’t be here talking to you.”

  “Well, that puts a different light on things.” McKinley leaned back in his chair, a strange smile on his face. “I’m certainly very sorry to hear that.”

  “So, you’re saying you definitely gave her the money?”

  “I’m saying that, yes.”