“Tell me what happened to me.” She knew that if anyone in the house wasn’t inclined to tiptoe around her, it would be Eliza.
“What do you remember?” Eliza asked cautiously, not wanting to bring unnecessary distress to her elder sibling.
“Not much. I have vague snatches of something sinister, but it vanishes before I can make sense of it. It’s all so very odd,” she frowned and stared at her knees. She had the distinct recollection of resting her head on them wearily, but couldn’t remember anything about her surroundings.
“Maybe we should update you later,” Eliza replied cautiously, picking up the brush and absently brushing Jemima’s already brushed hair.
“No, Eliza, now.” Jemima turned and placed her hands on Eliza’s, tugging them until her sister sat on the floor beside the tub facing her.
Eliza knew that Jemima wouldn’t give in until she had what she wanted. With a deep sigh, she stared at the wall thoughtfully for several moments.
“You were -” Eliza paused, and considered her words carefully, “we were told you had been hanged.” She sensed the tension in Jemima who simply sat and stared hard at her, clearly nonplussed.
“Where?”
“At Derby Gaol, where you were being held in the condemned cell until your execution this morning,” Eliza whispered, tears pooling in her eyes at the memory of Jemima’s arrival in the house mere hours ago.
It seemed such a long time now, and so many things had happened since that it was almost impossible to keep up with the emotions sweeping through her. “You were caught standing beside the dead bodies of the Mayor of Derby and his wife, with a knife and his pouch of coins in your hand.”
“I didn’t do it,” Jemima immediately protested, knowing with certainty that it was the absolute truth.
“We know. You were set up by Scraggan,” Eliza replied, her eyes remorseful as she studied the pale, gaunt face of her beloved elder sibling. Today had brought so many twists and surprises that she wasn’t sure what to make of it, but she was so very glad about the latest turn of events.
“Scraggan.”
Memory came flooding back, and Jemima had a sudden image of a grey haired, wiry man with black eyes and a scar across his chin. A smuggler.
“Peter,” Jemima whispered, thinking back to the moment when she had stepped out of that icy room, into the long corridor.
“He was there.”
“At the hanging?” Jemima gasped, putting her hand to her throat in horror. Only then did she think to feel the flesh around her neck, frowning at the unbruised skin beneath her fingertips.
Suddenly memories began to unfurl, and she stared into space as the scene of the night before replayed in her mind: Peter’s pleas for her to help herself, and her own heartbreak at having to leave him, knowing what lay in store for her.
She sucked in a sob and stared in horror at her sister.
“You remember.” Eliza didn’t need Jemima to confirm it. The trauma of the memories were clearly written on her face.
“I wasn’t hanged, was I?” She turned beseeching eyes upon Eliza, frantically searching the amber depths so similar to her own for the truth.
Eliza shook her head slowly, a deep frown marring her brow. “No, clearly you weren’t, but we were told you had been hanged. When the men brought you back here, your body was as lifeless as one of the departed. We all believed you had been hanged. You looked so deathly pale.”
Jemima was absently aware of a young maid topping up the water to make it warm again, but was lost to everything except the horrible memory of her final moments in Mr Simpson’s office.
“So why am I still alive?” Jemima frowned, and sat patiently as Eliza picked up the brush and began to comb her hair again. Clearly she felt better having something to do with her hands.
“We don’t know, but I get the distinct impression that Sir Dunnicliffe does,” Eliza replied, staring distractedly at the long, now silken, tresses in her hand. “It seems a little too convenient that he arrived here mere hours after you – your body.”
“Sir Dunnicliffe?” Jemima frowned, searching her memory but finding no trace of anyone of that name.
“When we found out where you were and what was going to happen to you, Dominic sent word to one of his contacts at the War Office, who in turn sent Sir Dunnicliffe to assist. When we got back to Havistock Hall,” Eliza glanced at her sister, “where you are now, Peter, Edward, Sebastian and Dominic immediately left again to try and get you out of the gaol.”
“Got back? From where?” Jemima asked, her brow puckered in confusion.
“I was going back to Padstow to check our secret hiding place. When you vanished from your job, I didn’t know if Scraggan had seen you and you had run to keep me safe. Edward, Peter, Sebastian and Dominic all escorted me,” Eliza replied, leaving the pertinent facts for a later date. “We were nearly there when we got news of your being in Derby Gaol. As soon as the men found out, we came rushing back to Leicestershire to help you.”
“I remember,” Jemima whispered, tears forming in her eyes at the memory of the raw pain on Peter’s face moments before she left the office. She turned solemn eyes to Eliza. “I gave Edward the papers.”