Chapter 25

Maddy stood in the corner of the compartment car, the narrow corridor blocked by Nelson who’d found her as she was returning to her seat with a small bottle of iodine. Her face was hot, betraying any sense of calm she wanted to portray. Damn him, and herself, for allowing him to so easily unnerve her.

“What do you want?” she asked.

“I just wanted to be sure it was you. I had my suspicions of course, but I wasn’t certain until I’d spied your name in one of the books in Mr. da Silva’s little collection.”

Maddy swallowed her disgust at the idea that Nelson had been pawing at her books. He must have been the person who’d shelved her little poetry book in the wrong place.

“I didn’t realize you were working for the da Silvas,” he continued, his voice oozing that same condescending tone he’d thrown at her when they were younger. “Do they know they have a violent criminal in their midst?”

“I don’t need to speak to you,” she said, her fingers gripping the bottle so tightly she thought it could break under the pressure. “Now if you will excuse me?—”

She moved to get around him, but he stepped into her path. She cast a glance for a porter, but there were none. And she would not give Nelson the satisfaction of calling for help.

“They called for your head,” he said, his mouth twisting into a half-sneer. “You should have seen his parents, distraught after losing their only son.”

Maddy knew he was going to drag Malcolm’s death into this encounter—they had been best friends after all—but even she was taken aback by how quickly he’d wielded it over her head like a weapon.

“And I wonder how his poor parents would sleep at night knowing that their son was a violent, pathetic drunk grasping for my father’s money?” she said.

He blinked, as if he was taken aback.

“You hoyden,” he said. “I wonder how you sleep at night.”

“Don’t waste your time wondering about me,” she replied. “I’ve spent years thinking about that horrible night. I was allowed to defend myself.”

“You broke Malcolm’s heart,” he protested. “He was babbling on about losing you. If you had chosen me, none of this would have happened. I wouldn’t have tried to take liberties with you.”

Unable to help herself, she laughed at the sheer audacity of his declaration.

“What are you saying, Nelson? That you would have treated your prized sow with more respect?” A rush of memories—pleasant ones, found their way through fog of pain that had enveloped her when she’d thought about the past. Of Phillipa, taking her home to Everwell. Of Rimple and Elouise, both determined in their own way to help Maddy believe in her singular type of beauty. Of Gemma’s gentle presence. Jeremy Webber taking the time to box with her, gifting her plants from his hot house. Annie Chandler, who’d made her a beautiful birthday supper and offered her friendship. All these people in her life who’d surrounded her with patience, respect, and even love. And then there was Beau, who’d worshipped her. Who believed in her more than she believed in herself. Who loved her.

Maddy drew herself up, her grip loosening on the bottle of iodine, as she put her hands on her hips and looked down on Nelson.

“I don’t think you realize that your opinion doesn’t mean a sweet damn to me,” she said. “I’m no longer surrounded by people with such small opinions of themselves that they have to tear down someone else to feel important. It took too me far too long to realize that, but that is my fault.”

He blinked, sputtering a bit, before he countered with the only weapon he had left.

“You’ll care soon enough. Malcolm’s mother is dead,” he said. “But how eager his father might be to see you swing for that killing.”

Before Maddy had a chance to speak, another most welcome voice entered the conversation.

“If you say one more word to her,” Beau said, his voice sounding more threatening than she’d ever thought possible, “I am going to shove my boot so far up your backside it’s going to lodge in your throat so you can never speak another.”

Nelson’s eyes widened, and he cleared his throat, then turned to face Beau.

“Mr. da Silva,” he said. “Excuse me, but Miss Murray and I were having a private conversation.”

“You do not get the privilege of having a private conversation with her,” Beau replied. “And if I see you within half a mile of her, I promise you will very, very sorry indeed.”

Maddy saw Nelson’s anger bloom under his collar, chasing up the sides of his face. He looked between her and Beau, whose normally joyful expression had turned hard and told Nelson, without saying another word, that he was not to be trifled with. In response, Nelson straightened his hat, nodded to Maddy, then brushed past her and into the parlour car beyond. As the door closed behind him, Maddy heaved a huge sigh of relief.

“That is the last you’ll see of him,” he said, his expression still serious. “I promise you that.”

“Thank you,” she said.

“I know you didn’t need saving,” he said, “but given the events since we arrived on this journey, I at least needed to return the favour.”

His mouth quirked up in a smile, a movement that was followed with a wince.

It was dark by the time Maddy arrived home in the cab Beau had hired to take them to Everwell, before he left for his aunt and uncle’s residence. Rimple, Phillipa, and Elouise, along with the Everwell matriarchs Lady Em and Tilda, had come to greet her, and Beau excused himself without looking back. It stung, like the first time she’d accidentally tried to pull at a nettle without her gloves.

There were lots of kisses and hugs, and Maddy took in a deep big breath of the familiar scents of home. Elouise had decided to stay at Everwell while Dominic was away, and Maddy was thrilled to see her. It was good to be home again; and yet there was much to say, and so much more she could not. She was weary in both body and soul, and Phillipa eschewed the normal post-job review until Maddy, and the rest of the house, had a good night’s sleep. She climbed the stairs and found her room exactly as she’d left it. It was as if everything and nothing had happened, and she could no longer tell what was better.

The next morning, after the breakfast was cleared and Gemma had arrived to get the school day started for the girls, the remainder of the Scandalous Spinsters, along with Lady Em and Tilda, gathered in the parlour. Maddy sat on the settee, Rimple and Elouise on either side of her. Did they sense she needed their support this morning?

“The prodigal daughter returns at last,” Lady Em declared, raising her cup of coffee to cheer the ladies. “I am glad to see you. I trust all went well with Mr. da Silva.”

Maddy prayed a well-timed sip of coffee would mask the heat creeping into her cheeks or the threat of tears pricking behind her eyes.

“He didn’t return without a scratch, but it was only one,” she said, relaying the story of ruckus on the trip home. Even so, her assessment wasn’t entirely true. She’d clearly hurt him. But he would recover easily enough, wouldn’t he? Maddy sat for a moment, lost in her own thoughts, before the rattle of a nearby teacup drew her out of her woolgathering. She took measure of the ladies around the table who looked at her with unspoken curiosity.

“Your flowers are perfectly fine, by the way,” Rimple said, blessedly changing the subject. “We’ve managed the blight very well. Sylvie has been fussing over them so much we hardly missed you.”

Rimple’s comment, though it was no doubt kindly meant, startled Maddy. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d given even a passing thought to her blighted roses.

Whether it was the fatigue or the heart sickness or something completely different, Maddy was unable to school her features. A flush of heat ran into her face, probably turning it as red as ripening tomato. In response, Rimple put down her cup, and reached her arm across Maddy’s back and pulled her close.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I didn’t mean we didn’t miss you. Of course we did. I just didn’t want you to worry.”

Maddy turned and planted a light kiss on Rimple’s forehead. Her dearest friend could find the sunshine on the darkest day, and if she couldn’t find it, she’d go up into her little workshop and create it herself.

“No need to apologize,” she said. “I’m tired. Yesterday was a blur, and Beau is distraught from the news.”

As soon as she’d uttered his name, she took another swallow of coffee, if only to distract herself from the marked exchange of glances between Elouise and Phillipa, who carefully arched her brow.

Nothing good ever came from Phillipa arching her brow.

“I’m eager for the details,” Elouise said. “Dominic only gave us the smallest bits of information, and he won’t be home for a least another week.”

“I expect we’ll see it in the papers.” Tilda said. “It will be today’s headline.”

“Speaking of the papers,” Maddy said, eager to learn more of the business that had sent her on this journey, “has there been any retraction yet from Mrs. Turnbull?”

Maddy’s heart sank as she looked around the room, the answer to her question apparent without any of them yet to say a word.

“Why?” she pressed, anger creeping up the back of her neck. “We did the job as asked.”

Did she have her heart broken for nothing?

Phillipa cast a glance around the room, tension building. Had it been there all along, and she hadn’t seen it? Or was she so caught up in her own emotion she hadn’t noticed that something was wrong?

“A note came from Veronica Turnbull this morning,” Tilda said, setting down her teacup with a calm but deliberate clink that alerted Maddy that all was not well. “She has apparently received troubling news that makes her retraction of the original article not only impossible, but further verifies the NWL claim.”

The coffee churned in Maddy’s stomach, and for a moment she thought she was going to be sick.

Nelson’s words rang in her ears. You’ll care soon enough. He must have sent that letter the day he’d arrived at The Grove.

Phillipa reached across the table, taking Maddy by the hand, her lips pressed together and her head cocked slightly to the right in that way of hers when she had to say something unpleasant. Phillipa was a master of secrets, but even she wasn’t perfect. Everyone had a tell, Maddy had overheard Elouise say once.

“Someone has linked you to what happened all those years ago,” Phillipa said at last.

To what happened.

Murderess.

“He was there, Phillipa. Nelson Taylor. We had words.” She stood abruptly, rattling the tea table and nearly sending a few of the delicate teacups crashing to the floor. “I will leave before the end of the day. I’m already packed.”

She turned to bolt up the stairs, ignoring the pleas of her friends. But there was one voice above the rest she dared not disobey.

“Stop this at once!”

Lady Em’s voice cut through the others, silencing them all. Lady Em did not need volume. It was direct and laced with that aristocratic tone she purported to despise but still managed to use to great effect.

“You, Miss Murray, are not going anywhere,” said Lady Em in a tone so imperious that it stopped not only Maddy in tracks, but everyone else too—save Tilda, of course. “Except to put on your best visiting gown.”

“But staying here puts Everwell in danger,” she said, confused by Lady Em’s request.

“If they know we will break so easily, Miss Murray, we will open the door to more pressures, not less. So we will not break. Do you understand?”

Maddy had only seen Lady Em this angry once, and it had been directed squarely at Emily Coughlin, their next-door neighbour and generally awful self-important person who had once made quite public disparaging remarks to Tilda in Tilda’s own home.

Lady Em rose. “Ladies, wear your best. We are going to visit Veronica Turnbull.”