She loved him, but it would end. She loved him, and she’d learned to pull her confidence about her like a cloak. She loved him, and he had brought her to Jane and Laney, her sisters in marriage annulment, and it was for them that she did this—for all the women who had been given no choice.
She patted his hand. “Don’t worry,” she said cheerily. “I won’t fail us.”
His fingers convulsed around hers. She made herself smile at him as brightly as she could, and he almost flinched at the sight.
She’d misjudged it, unfortunately. Too bright, then.
She pulled away and started off down the road.
Miles wasn’t there; he was the one who had made it all go to hell. Miles wasn’t there, and she had discovered that she was stronger than he’d thought. Miles wasn’t there, and…
And Camilla was walking up the path. She felt a little out of sorts, almost as if she were observing herself from a distance. The brick-and-ivy walls of the rectory seemed impossibly far away, even when she was standing on the stoop.
She didn’t knock; only someone who did not belong would knock. She opened the door to the rectory and walked in. She kept walking, down the hall, past the parlor and into the rector’s office. She knew what she was looking for; she knew where the record books were kept. She kept going forward, reading spine after spine. Her heart beat heavily in her chest; her fingers tapped in time with that rhythm as she went. Not this one, not this next one—
“Camilla?” The voice came from behind her.
She whirled around. Damn it. Why? Why did she have to jump like a scolded child? She reached for her rationality, her confidence.
“Kitty?” Her voice trembled. God damn it; she had practiced. Why hadn’t it been easy, the way she had practiced?
It was something in the air, something in the place where she stood. It sapped all pretense at confidence.
Kitty took a step forward, frowning at Camilla. “Camilla.” She, too, was trembling. “Camilla, Camilla. You’re back. You’re back. I thought I’d never see you again.”
“Here I am.” Camilla managed to sound bright and cheery, which was a good first start. She reached for some useful truths that would form a false impression. “It’s funny. You seem to be upset. The rector—”
“I had to,” Kitty said, bursting into tears. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry I ever called you Half-Price anything. But he did it to me before you arrived and I was just so grateful that it wasn’t me anymore that…” She choked. “That I went along with it? And once I did, there was no turning back. He ordered me to lock you in, to put the keys in your pocket. And he offered to give me money, and my girl, my girl, she needs it so much, my sister has her—” Kitty wiped away tears. “My sister has her, and she’s kind enough, but you know how it is—she’s going to think of herself as Half-Price Ellie if I don’t do something about it, and she’s only three.”
Camilla should be angry. Kitty had just admitted to lying, to creating that horrific scene that had trapped her. Camilla would have been enraged a few weeks ago.
Instead, she reached out and took Kitty’s hands impulsively. “None of us have to be Half-Price anything anymore, you hear?”
Kitty just shook her head.
“I didn’t know you had a daughter.”
“He said—if I didn’t tell anyone—” Kitty hiccuped.
“Oh, Kitty. What happened to me here was terrible. I doubted myself. I doubted reality—there were nights I wondered if I had maybe put the keys in my own pocket. I doubted my own senses.”
“You can’t forgive me.” Kitty bowed her head. “I didn’t expect it, honestly. Truly. I didn’t.”
Camilla squeezed her hand. “No, that’s not what I’m saying. I am telling you that more than anyone in the world, I know what you’ve been through. You’re not the one in need of forgiveness.”
“I prayed to God for the chance to make things right with you,” Kitty whispered. “But what can I do?”
“You can change everything now,” Camilla told her. “Come with me. If you want to make things right, come with me and we’ll tell the truth. We’ll find you work.”
Kitty sniffled. “Who is we?”
“Me and Adrian. I mean, Mr. Hunter.” Camilla’s hand landed on the book of records that she needed; she opened it and looked through it, flipping until she came to the right date. There. She had it. Now she just needed his personal accounts. “You want to make it right. Would you be willing to swear that he had you lock us in? That he asked you to tell untruths?”
There was a moment’s pause. Then… “Yes,” Kitty said.
Camilla nodded.
“Come. Pack your things and meet me across the way. There isn’t a lot of time.”
Kitty smiled ruefully. “Don’t worry. I haven’t many things.”
Chapter Eighteen
Over the last few days, Theresa had learned a great deal that she hadn’t ever expected to know.
She and Benedict had pooled their allowances and managed to hire an investigator of dubious origins who had gone to the place where Camilla had been married in order to obtain information about the couple. He’d come back with a description of a woman who could have been their sister—“plump, dark-haired, eager to smile, chatty”—and the man she’d married—“a valet of African ancestry.”
They had wed under circumstances that the man had been unable to determine precisely, but which sounded extremely suspicious.
After that success, Theresa had run into problems. Where the newly married couple had gone, nobody had been able to say.
Maybe south. Maybe north. But after the first night—when a Camilla Winters had taken rooms in a nearby inn—the man they’d hired had been unable to find hide nor hair of her in inn registries in all directions. The trail had disappeared.
That was, up until yesterday, when by chance, Benedict had spotted a note in a newspaper about trading, of all things.
Contact Captain G. Hunter, in his office by the Catherine docks with regards to sale of good quality telegraph cable, or make inquiry with Mr. A. Hunter in Harvil, Bristol county.
Hunter was a common name. There was no reason that a valet should be associated with these Hunters, but it was something to do while they waited for their investigator to widen his search of inns. They’d scrambled to make an appointment; here they were.
The office they’d been directed to was small, the sort taken temporarily by traders who arrived in town for a few weeks in order to sell their wares. They waited in the hall, listening to two men argue, then laugh, then agree to terms.
Captain G. Hunter was, by the sounds of it, an American. Well. Theresa supposed there were worse things in the world.
The door opened; one man left. A woman ushered them in.
The man who sat at the desk watched as they entered, then frowned at the two of them. He had brown, piercing eyes. His skin was a dark brown; his hair was short and curly.
Theresa shoved her hands deeper into her muff.
“Captain Grayson Hunter.” He didn’t stand. “You’re Mr. and Mrs. Worth?” He sounded dubious.
She would need all of her dignity for this. Theresa raised her chin. “I am Lady Theresa Worth. This is my younger brother, Benedict Worth.”
Captain Hunter’s eyes touched on Theresa’s hat, then her muff, as if sizing up her wealth. He glanced at Benedict’s cuffs. Then he leaned back in his chair, one arm over the edge. Piercing eyes indeed. “You’re here to answer my advertisement about telegraph cable?” His accent was definitely American.
“Um.” Benedict looked at Theresa, a clear sign that meant I’m bad at lying, you go ahead.
Captain Hunter looked up at the ceiling in entreaty and shook his head before looking at the two of them. “I’m sorry, I know that actual adults look younger and younger to me every year—but are the two of you even of age?”
Theresa’s hands clenched together in her muff. “We’re not children. I’m—”
“Old enough to sign a c
ontract?”
“That’s not my fault! I’m older than I appear.”
“You must be all of thirteen years old, then.”
He was mocking her. Theresa felt her cheeks heat. “I’m fifteen. Two months ago. And I don’t wish to sign a contract. I wish to speak to you about one Adrian Hunter.”
“Oh.” He let out an amused huff. “Has my brother offended you somehow?” He leaned forward, and his voice seemed almost a mockery. “Was it by existing?”
“I don’t know if he’s offended me!” Theresa shot back. “He could have! That’s why I’m here. Do you have any idea what he’s been doing these last few weeks?”
Something in her voice made him stop. He glanced to his side, at a stack of papers, and then pressed his lips together. “And here I thought he was back at Harvil, seeing to the china plates. Suppose you tell me.”