He didn’t need to look into the room to know Jemima lay on her back on the only piece of furniture in the room. Her arms folded in peace across her chest, silent and motionless in death’s firm hold.
The image of Jemima lying so cold and alone would remain with her for the rest of her days. Eliza thought as she accepted the large goblet of brandy Edward placed in her hand in the warmth of the study. She didn’t usually drink the stuff, but she needed something to hold.
It was several moments before she became aware of Peter slouched half-drunk on the chaise beside her. A bottle of what she presumed to be brandy held loosely in his hand.
Eliza studied him for several minutes before slapping her drink on the table beside her and rising to snatch the brandy off him. She stood back and watched as Peter jerked out of his alcoholic stupor and sat bolt upright, grumbled a protest at her abrupt removal of his emotional anaesthetic.
“What do you think you are doing?” She stood over him, holding the bottle aloft. Briefly she considered hitting him with it, before deciding on a better idea. Eyeing the offending object with distaste, she pushed Peter roughly backwards until he landed on the chaise with a thump and with a snarl, stalked towards the window, lifted it and threw the bottle and contents outside. Peter cursed fluidly as she slammed the window back down and stalked back towards him.
Her temper flared as she took in his bloodshot eyes, the ruffled unkempt hair, his once pristine shirt liberally stained with alcohol and vomit. He looked a mess, but the dark emotions deep in the shadows of his tormented eyes chilled her to the bone.
“There is one thing Jemima hated.” She muttered, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and pulling it tight, drawing him forwards until they were nose-to-nose. “It was a drunkard. If I see you with another bottle in your hand, I’ll beat you over your stupid head with it.” Her voice trembled with the strength of her anger.
“What the hell are you trying to do? Do you really think you will succeed in drinking yourself into an early grave too?” Her voice rose in temper but she didn’t care. She was aware of Edward and Dominic standing close by, watching intently but making no move to intervene. They had the sense to stand back and let her have at him.
Both men knew that Eliza needed to vent her fury and if anyone in the house was going to get Peter to stop drinking, it was going to be her. Peter would never do anything to harm Jemima’s sister. If she said to stop drinking, Peter would undoubtedly, at some point, stop.
“I love her.” Peter’s voice was hoarse with grief and bitter regret.
“I know. I do too, but drinking yourself to death isn’t going to bring her back. She has gone Peter.” Eliza’s voice trembled but she refused to allow the tears to fall. “If you really care about her, you need to sober up and help us sort out her funeral. When she is buried, you have an estate that needs your attention and people living and working there that depend on you for their livelihood. You cannot fail them.”
“Like I failed Jemima?” Peter’s voice was harsh and cynical as the horrifying memory of his last look at her alive swam in his mind before he could quash it down.
“You – didn’t – fail – Jemima.” She bit out each word through clenched teeth. “Nobody did. If you really want to be harsh about it, Jemima could have done more to protect herself. Instead, we sat there in Derby like ducks waiting to be picked off by a merciless hunter. It was only a matter of time before Scraggan found us. Luckily for me, Edward found me and saved me before Scraggan got me. Jemima wasn’t so lucky. There was nothing you could have done. Beating yourself up about it is going to get you nowhere.” She declared flatly, releasing her hold on his shirt and pushing away.
“She should have come to me.” Peter gasped through the heavy weight in his chest. “I would have helped her.”
“I know, but don’t you see? She was trying to protect you. By staying in Derby, she was as close to you as she dared be without actually seeking your help and putting you at risk.” If she understood anything about the last few weeks it was her sister’s logic in the face of adversity. Indeed, she had witnessed Edward bravely facing death in an effort to protect her. Jemima had clearly been trying to prevent Peter from facing the same by staying away from him.
As she turned towards the fireplace, she felt an unusual sense of calm wash over her. Her anger made her feel purposeful, as if she was in command of herself, if not the situation around her. She stood and stared down at the fire flickering brightly in the grate for several moments before turning towards Dominic.
“I should like to remove her to Padstow. She should be buried beside father.”
“I’m sorry Eliza, it isn’t possible.” Dominic replied, regret lacing his voice. “It’s too dangerous with Scraggan’s men in the area. If we could get her there, they probably wouldn’t give us the opportunity to bury her in peace.”
“We owe her the dignity of a peaceful burial, without the threat of Scraggan disturbing proceedings.” Edward added. He didn’t mention Havistock was only a few hours away from his own estate, Eliza’s future home. Having Jemima buried at Havistock meant that Eliza could at least visit her sister’s grave whenever she chose to.
“I have already arranged for the funeral to be held in two days.” Dominic announced flatly in a voice that brooked no argument.
“Eliza, if I might have a word with you?” Edward moved towards the door connecting the study to the library and waited.
Thinking he might want to discuss details of the service, Eliza followed him. She watched as he sat on the long chaise before the roaring fire and turned, clearly expecting her to join him. She did as she was bade and perched cautiously on the edge of the seat, studying the starkness on his face in concern.
She briefly wondered if she could handle any more bad news and if the look on his face was any indication, she wasn’t going to like what he had to say. Her stomach began to knot as Edward let the silence settled between them for several moments.
“I have been trying to find the right time to speak with you but no time seems like the right time now.” His eyes met and held hers. “I contemplated leaving it until the funeral was over, but think that it would be best if it was all dealt with together.”
Eliza frowned and waited, her stomach coiled in a tight knot of nerves.
“I spoke to Jemima before she was led back to the cell as you know.”
Eliza stared at him, silently waiting.
“She asked me to give you these.” He held out a folded sheaf of parchment. He couldn’t tell her the entire conversation and upset her further.
She sucked in a breath as she studied the single word on the top sheet, written in Jemima’s scrawling script.
“Do you want me to stay while you read it, or would you prefer to read it alone?”