“You’ll have to put that out of your mind,” Christian said. “If he goes back, it needs to be on his own terms. If he only returns because you’re forcing him, he’ll feel powerless. That’s no way to take on bullies.”
“I don’t want to force him to go back,” Judith said. “I just want…”
“You want to set up his life so that he makes precisely the choices you think he should?”
Well. Put like that. It made her feel uneasy.
She pressed on. “Whatever you said just now, it was very kind. Doubly kind to attribute all those sentiments to Anthony, when we both know he wouldn’t have made that last point.”
Christian turned and looked at her. His eyebrows crinkled, and he shook his head. “Drat. Now I must contradict you again. Not only would Anthony say such things, he did say them. To me.”
“Oh, I believe he said that bit about being better than the other boys and such like. But revenge? Plastering over a door? We both know Anthony…” She trailed off.
He gave her a pained smile, and all the weariness in his face returned, dropping on his shoulders like a burden he’d carried a hundred leagues. “You really don’t know Anthony, do you?” He sighed. “Judith, your brother was a rigid moralist. He was not a rigid follower of rules. Don’t confuse the two. When the authorities looked the other way—when the schoolyard was ruled by those who favored swagger and intimidation over fair play, and bullies were given free rein? Revenge under such circumstances, according to Anthony, was justice, not a violation.”
His voice was low. His eyes were dark. And for one moment, she felt as if she were looking straight though the veneer of humor that he painted on everything, straight into the heart of him. He was looking at her steadfastly, as if willing her to believe. As if he needed her to understand that her brother could violate rules, laws…everything.
If she could believe that, she could understand what Christian had done. And if she could comprehend that…
“Plastering over the door was my idea,” Christian said to her. “But yes, your brother helped. He approved. And he never told. It was justice.”
She couldn’t comprehend it. She didn’t want to believe him.
But when he said it was justice, he had that same ring in his voice. The one that she’d heard earlier. The one that had so reminded her of her brother.
He’d come, bearing strawberries and an apology. He’d spoken to Benedict and brought a light to his eyes that had been missing ever since he returned home. It didn’t change anything.
He believed her brother was a traitor. He knew Judith well enough to comprehend her likes and dislikes, and he’d only spent summers with her. He’d reached Benedict in a way that even Judith hadn’t, and he hadn’t seen him in eight years. If he could do all of that, how could he not have known Anthony?
He had to be wrong. He had to be.
She swallowed. “I understand what you’re trying to say. Anthony wasn’t as good as I believed.”
“No.” He shook his head. His voice dropped. “I’m trying to say that he was better. Not so cribbed in by rules. He never feared consequences on his own behalf. I think Anthony was a traitor to his country. I have never believed he was a bad person—just a misguided one. You may have never heard him say that revenge is the only response to injustice, but he used to tell me that all the time.”
“And what has that to do with treachery?”
“You know that already,” Christian said evenly. “The only reason you won’t consider the possibility is that you don’t want to admit the truth.”
“The truth about my brother?”
“No.” Christian set his hand on hers. “The truth about us.”
She looked up into his eyes. Some part of her—oh, very well, some large part of her—still missed him. Not just her heart, but her body. Her skin. Her thighs. They all seemed to tingle with his proximity. For a moment, the world seemed to tilt toward him. Her shoulder brushed his lightly. Wool whispered against muslin.
She would hate kissing him as much as she yearned for it. She straightened, moving away from him. “There is no us.”
“There is. If your brother was a traitor, he didn’t just betray England by selling her military secrets. He betrayed you, by risking your entire future. He betrayed your sisters and your brother, by leaving them without support if he were ever found out. And he betrayed me, putting me in the unenviable position of having to keep quiet to save him.”
Judith swallowed.
“I understand. You won’t accept any evidence I can give you of what happened. You don’t want to admit that your brother is a traitor, because if you do, you’ll have to admit the truth about us.”
She didn’t ask what truth. She didn’t want to hear it.
She already knew.
“If your brother was a traitor,” Christian said, “then I am not your enemy. I am not the cause of all the harm you’ve ever experienced. I’m not the villain. Instead, I am the only person in the world who loved Anthony as much as you did. I’m the only person who can understand how much you hurt.”
Her eyes stung.
“If your brother was a traitor,” he said, “you would have to admit that we have a great deal in common. That there is nobody else on earth who can understand you as I do. And you know, Judith…”
He reached out. She ought to move away. She ought to slap his hand. But she couldn’t. His fingertips grazed her cheek and her eyes fluttered shut. He knew her too well, if he knew this, too.
He knew that there were nights when matters had seemed impossible, when she’d laid in bed examining the ceiling, wishing her brother had spoken in his defense. Why had he not said anything? Why hadn’t he explained?
Sometimes, she’d hated her brother, too. She’d wanted to grab him and shake him and demand to know why he’d done what he had.
She wasn’t proud of those moments. They’d left her feeling even more bereft of hope, even lonelier, than the times she’d despaired.
“If my brother were a traitor,” she said thickly, “then I would hate him for what he did to me. I could never forgive him. I would be filled with bitterness. How could I trust anyone at all?”
“You could trust me,” he said in a low voice.
“If my brother were a traitor…” She could scarcely get the words out. “I couldn’t trust myself.”
For a second, she let him touch her. For a second, she could feel a world of possibilities opening up to her. His fingers grazed down her cheek. She opened her eyes to see him looking down at her. He was close, so close that she might have kissed him.
“My brother was not a traitor,” she said. “And I don’t trust you.”
But he didn’t lean down to her. He didn’t kiss her. He left the possibility of the kiss floating in the air, waiting for her response.
He let his hand fall to his side. “It’s all right,” he said. “You don’t have to trust me.”
Chapter Sixteen
Beside Judith, Daisy swung her basket on the way home.
There was very little in her friend’s basket. Some carrots and potatoes, and little else. Daisy had bargained for those vociferously, walking away from the butcher when he’d refused to sell her soup bones for the price she’d offered.
But she smiled as if nothing were wrong. “It’s been an age since the queen came to tea,” Daisy said. “But lo, she sent over her messenger just this morning. She’ll be by shortly.”
It was difficult for Judith to fall back into their little game. She’d spent the last few days being forcibly reminded that their game had once been a near-reality for her.
“What a compliment,” Judith made herself offer cheerily. “She hasn’t called on me since the Prince Consort passed away.”
“You have all the luck.” Daisy looked upward and sighed miserably. “Now you see my difficulty. I am naturally of such a cheerful disposition that dampening my usual vivacity in deference to her mourning will prove difficult.”
“Have
you considered adding brandy to her tea?”
Daisy giggled. They paused at the street corner, ready to part ways.
“Think on it,” Judith said. “Brandy and queens. They go hand in hand. But as I’m sure you’re busy, I’ll take my—”
“Wait.” Daisy bit her lip. “I have a small favor to ask of you.”
“After you looked in on the terrible ones a few days back? I should think that a large favor would be in order. How can I help?”
Daisy looked at her, as if considering the matter. Finally, she shook her head. “There’s nothing you can do.”
“Surely there’s something. Even if it’s only to offer support.”
Daisy considered this. Finally, she fumbled in her pocket. “That is precisely what I need,” she said slowly. “A little support. That’s all. The queen’s visit has left me feeling a little out of sorts, and it might help if someone would…know.”
She held out a folded sheet of paper.
Judith took it, and Daisy’s cheeks flamed red.
For a second, she thought that maybe this was a letter from Crash, Daisy’s…sweetheart? Friend? Enemy? She wasn’t sure which. He’d taken an interest in Daisy once, and Judith wasn’t sure at all why the thing hadn’t come off. But Daisy’s expression wasn’t the flush of embarrassment. It was pure shame.
Judith unfolded the letter.
This is your final notice. I have been entirely too understanding, but your rents are two weeks in arrears. If you do not have the payment for me by tomorrow afternoon, I’ll have the constables put you on the street.
Daisy looked at her defiantly.
Judith felt a lump in her throat.
Here she’d been, mentally bemoaning her own problems—hundreds of pounds missing, Christian causing trouble. Daisy’s father was dead, her mother was ill, and she was going to be homeless tomorrow.
“Daisy,” Judith said slowly. “I… We… That is, I could… If hosting the queen would be a strain on your household,” she managed to say, “I have some room over my way. We could make space.”
“We don’t need help.” Daisy’s hands tightened on her basket. “We only need—that is to say… Nothing. We don’t need anything.”
Judith swallowed the lump in her throat. She thought of the wilted carrots her friend had purchased and the soup bones she had not.
Daisy nodded. “Well, then.” She took the paper back. “I suppose I should make sure the silver gets a proper shining for her arrival, then.”
Judith set her hand over her friend’s fingers. “Daisy. I can help. Isn’t there one thing I can provide?”
Daisy swallowed, appearing to think this over. “Do you have a room where I might be private for a moment? Before I return home?”
Judith nodded, and the two of them walked down the street.
When Judith had first moved here, everything had seemed so impossible. So crowded, so messy, so noisy. Now, when she’d visited Christian’s household, Mayfair seemed unconscionably bright, everyone so spread out.
This place had become home.
It wouldn’t be home without Daisy.
She opened the door to her rickety row house and led her friend up two flights of stairs to her attic. “There,” she said. “We’re private.”
Daisy nodded, sat on the chair in front of Judith’s clockwork arrangement, and burst into tears. She didn’t say anything, didn’t ask for anything. She just wept.
Judith could hardly blame her. She’d have wept, too.
“Daisy.” Judith handed her a handkerchief and put her arm around her friend. “Let me help.”
Her friend sniffled. “It wouldn’t serve. We have a flat with two rooms—far too much space for us. We should have moved houses a year ago. When my father…” Her voice caught. “It’s simply that I grew up in those rooms.”
All of the emotions Judith had refused to feel these past weeks—the aching, gnawing hurt of seeing Christian again, the sharper piercing despair at discovering that Camilla had been handed about like an unwanted parcel, the knowledge that her childhood home was lost to her… It all seemed suddenly overwhelming. She could suppress her own tears. She couldn’t hold back the ones she had for Daisy’s loss, too.
“I know.” Her eyes stung and she wiped at them. “I know. It’s too much.”
Daisy buried her head in Judith’s shoulder.
It was too much. Anthony. When it came down to it, there was a part of Judith that hated him. She always would. She hated him for staying silent on the witness stand, hated him for not defending himself, hated him for not shouting that he wasn’t a traitor, for not explaining anything. She hated him.
She hated him most because deep down, she feared that Christian was right. He’d betrayed his country. He’d betrayed her. He’d left her like this, to make do for their entire family under this terrible burden.
He was dead, and she didn’t want to hate him. She loved him.
But she hated him, too.
Minutes passed. A good weep was like a spring storm: all hard rain lashing the windows until the sun came out. Daisy gave a little hiccough and sat up straight. She wiped at her eyes, inhaled, and then managed a tremulous smile.
“Stupid emotions.” She shook her head. “There. Thank you. I needed that.”
Judith folded her own handkerchief back into her pocket. “I have five pounds for you.”
“No, you don’t.” Daisy shook her head. “No. It won’t serve. We need to move anyway. If you loan me money, I don’t know when I’ll pay it back.”
“It’s not a loan.” Judith opened her drawer and counted out coins. “I won’t sleep at night if I’m worried over you. I can’t solve any of my problems. Let me solve one of yours.”
Daisy exhaled. “I can’t. Judith…”
Judith set the coins in her friend’s hand and closed her fingers on the money. “You can.”
Daisy let out a shuddering sigh. But she didn’t say no.
Sometimes, Judith regretted that she had never told Daisy the full truth. That her friend believed that she’d been born minor gentry, and her family had suffered a minor reversal. Sometimes, she wished she had told her everything.
Now was not the time to make a grand declaration. Her friend would feel hurt that she hadn’t been trusted, betrayed even. She didn’t need more emotions on top of everything.
Judith gave a little nod. “Do let me know where we should meet.”
“Of course.” Daisy gave her a tremulous smile and lifted her nose in the air in exaggerated pride. “Who else will I be able to complain to about the queen’s terrible manners?”
The letter arrived two days later. It had been so long since Judith had written that she’d almost forgotten to hope. But this time, the envelope that had come was thick, not thin, and all the hope she had tried not to feel rose up in her.
She’d finally found her sister. This must be a letter from her. Everything would be well. She wasn’t going to lose another sibling. She would discover that Camilla had been living a life of luxury with an aging woman, who would have loved her so well she had left her all her worldly goods.
She’d been traveling the globe, perhaps, and…and…
And there she went again. She was rather too apt to make a once-upon-a-time story of the world. Still, her fingers shook as she opened the letter.
The envelope, it turned out, was thick because it contained her own letter folded inside it.
An additional piece of creamy paper was on the very official letterhead of Darvin, Darvin, and Darvin, Solicitors at Law in Bath.
Miss Worth, the letter read. Miss Abigail Troworth passed away five years ago. We have no records of your sister. She was not left a bequest. Upon inquiry to Miss Troworth’s executor, her sister, Mrs. Harbough, we are informed that a Camilla or possibly a Camille did accompany Mrs. Troworth at some point in her later years, but she believed the girl was sent away after Miss Troworth’s passing. Mrs. Harbough does not know where, or if, she obtained a further positio
n.
Yours truly,
Irwin Darvin
Judith wasn’t sure when the paper crumpled in her hands. It made an excellent ball, one that she almost lobbed into the fire before realizing that she might need the solicitor’s direction at some later time.
Once-upon-a-time thinking indeed. She might as well have imagined that the queen would visit. After all this time she was still telling herself lies. Everything would turn out right if only Judith worked hard enough. If she never quit. If her brother went to Eton, if she kept smiling, if she never gave up.
If she did all those things…then what? The wicked witch would bring her sister home, as if hard work were a magic wand that she could wave over the world?
No. There were no once-upon-a-times. There was only reality. Her father had killed himself. Her brother had refused to defend himself and disappeared without a trace. She would never know how he died, or what cause he perished for; all she would ever have was aching emptiness.
Her sister, who she had believed to be safe and well cared for, was missing, God knew where. She had to be alive; even now, even with bitterness filling her thoughts, Judith couldn’t contemplate Camilla’s death.
She couldn’t bear the loss of another sibling.
But she couldn’t even take care of her own little brother. If she had ten thousand pounds, she’d go in search of her sister. But she didn’t have even a thousand pounds, and so…
Right at that moment, a great crash came from downstairs—the shriek of wood splintering, the sound of dishes crashing.
Judith shoved the letter in her skirt pocket and dashed down the stairs. As she descended the steps, she could see the carnage. The hutch in the parlor that housed all their dishes—plates, bowls, crockery—had fallen over. A mess of broken wood and shards of china met her.
As did her sister.
“It’s all right,” Theresa said, waving her hands. “It’s all right! Don’t worry!”
“Theresa.” Judith could hardly speak. “What—how—”
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Theresa said swiftly. “The cats are unharmed.”