Chapter Thirty

“M ama, look, Papa’s cleared the supper things!”

Bella stared at the kitchen. The plates and bowls had been neatly stacked beside the range, and the table wiped clean.

There was no sign of her husband. He must have gone to his study to work on the garden design.

My dream. Nobody else’s.

She sighed and made her way to the parlor. She placed a log onto the fire, suppressing the ripple of fear as the flames swelled around it. Then she sank onto the sofa.

The children followed. Jonathan climbed onto the sofa beside her and took her hand.

“Don’t be sad, Mama,” he said. “You might leave us if you’re sad. I’ll work harder in school, then Mrs. Chantry won’t be so angry with me all the time.”

“What makes you think I’d leave?” Bella asked. “Has Mrs. Chantry said anything?”

The boy shook his head.

“What, then?”

He opened his mouth to reply, but Roberta gave him a push. “Jonathan’s playing the fool.”

“Mrs. Chantry’s said nothing,” Jonathan added.

“She told me you can’t read,” Bella said. “Is that true?”

He colored and lowered his gaze.

“There’s no shame in being unable to read at your age. You’re only…”

She hesitated—why couldn’t she recall how old her children were?

“I’m six, Mama.”

“Yes, of course.”

“He can read,” William said.

“Then why refuse to read in class?” Bella asked.

“Because I can’t read now ,” Jonathan said. “I’ve forgotten. At least—I know what the words look like, but when I try to read, I can’t see them.”

“Did you tell Mrs. Chantry this?”

“She thinks I’m playing the fool. I can read the sign outside the school, but I can’t read in class. Tommie says I’m going blind, and I might be dying. He said his Papa couldn’t read, then he got pains in his head, then one day he dropped dead and never woke up.”

“And you think that might be happening to you?”

Jonathan nodded. “My head hurts when I try to read. I’m frightened.”

“He cries in the night,” Roberta added.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Bella said, her heart aching at the distress in the boy’s voice. “Or your father? Didn’t you think we’d want to help?”

“Papa says I must grow up to be strong. He’d be angry if he knew. And you…” He shook his head. “I didn’t want to tell you.”

“If you can’t tell your mother, who can you tell?”

“But you’re not— Ouch! ” Jonathan cried out as Roberta kicked him in the shin.

“Bobby, don’t do that!” Bella said. She glanced about the parlor, and her gaze settled on a pile of books in the corner. She rose and picked one up. “Can you read the title?”

Jonathan narrowed his eyes.

“Lady’s”—he tilted his head to one side—“maid?”

“There!” she said. “You can read. Try the first page.”

She opened the book and handed it to him. He stared at the page and shook his head.

“The writing’s a little small,” Bella said. “Move the page closer.”

“That makes it worse.” He held the book at arm’s length. “It gets better when I do this, but the writing’s so small I can’t read it.”

Of course!

Why hadn’t Mrs. Chantry noticed? Was she such a poor teacher that she refused to see what before her?

Am I such a poor mother that I also refused to notice?

The boy closed the book and threw it on the floor. Then he flinched. “Don’t be angry with me, Mama!”

Bella drew him into her arms. “I could never be angry with you, Jonathan.”

“ Is he dying?” Roberta asked.

“No, Bobby. Your brother needs spectacles, that’s all.”

“How do you know that?” William asked.

“My papa was the same. He could read signs from afar, but he could never write letters without needing his spectacles…”

Bella’s voice trailed off as the image flashed before her—a man with deep-set blue eyes and a shock of thick black hair, looking at her over the top of wire-framed spectacles, a soft smile on his lips and love in his eyes.

My papa…

She closed her eyes and reached out with her mind. But a burst of flames obliterated the image, and she startled, the memory of her lungs burning and the thick stench of smoke in her nostrils.

“ Can Jonathan have spectacles, Mama?” William asked. “Won’t they cost money? Papa might refuse.”

Bella sighed. The housekeeping money Lawrence gave her was barely enough as it was.

“ I could ask Papa if you don’t want to,” Roberta said.

“No—I’ll ask him when he’s returned from the inn,” Bella said. Softened by ale and having enjoyed the company of doxies, he might be more disposed to be generous—especially with the prospect of the money he’d earn working for Mr. Trelawney.

If Mr. Trelawney existed.

She reclined on the sofa and rubbed her temples.

“Is your head hurting, Mama?” Jonathan asked. “Can’t you read either?”

“Don’t be silly!” Roberta said. “She just read to you.”

“I’m tired, that’s all,” Bella said. “Could you be quiet for a moment?”

The children rose and exited the parlor, and she leaned back and closed her eyes.

Moments later, a clatter of feet approached the parlor, and she heard Roberta’s excited voice.

“Mama! Look what I’ve found!”

She opened her eyes to see her daughter standing before her, her body vibrating with excitement. Then a hard object was pressed into her hands.

“Look!”

It was a brooch—an enormous ruby set in gold with delicate filigree work around the edges. She held the brooch up, and light reflected off the planes of the gem, which seemed to pulse with life—blood red with deeper tones in the center.

She’d never seen anything so magnificent. It must be worth a fortune!

She turned the brooch over in her hands, her gut twisting as she spotted the letters etched into the gold.

A.P.

What was the name of the doxy at the Royal Oak—that one she’d seen Lawrence with? Amelia, Sophie had said.

“Mama, what’s wrong?”

She glanced up to see three pairs of eyes watching her. “Where did you find this?”

“In Papa’s study,” Roberta said. “Hidden in his desk. But I know where the key is.”

“Roberta!” Bella cried. “It’s wrong to steal.”

“You think Papa stole it?”

“No—I meant you . You can’t go into his study without permission.”

“I was only looking for money for Jonathan’s spectacles. Why do you think Papa hid it? Is it a gift for you, Mama?”

“It can’t be,” William said. “Mama’s name doesn’t begin with A. It’s for someone else.”

The ruby winked malevolently at Bella, and she handed it back.

“Put this back where you found it, Roberta,” she said, “and don’t mention it again—not to your father, and certainly not to me.”

“We could sell it. It must be worth—”

“Just do it!” Bella said. “Why must you question everything?”

Roberta flung the brooch to the floor and ran from the parlor. William pulled a face and ran after his sister. Jonathan burst into tears.

Bella pulled the boy into her arms. “I’m sorry, sweetheart—I didn’t mean to shout at your sister. I know she was only trying to help. Please don’t worry. I’ll get your spectacles—whatever it takes.”

“W-will you ask Papa?”

“No,” Bella said, gritting her teeth. “I’ll find something else to sell.”

She lifted her hand to her necklace, fingering the thin gold chain. She had no recollection of it, but Lawrence said it had belonged to her since childhood.

She glanced about the parlor—at the items she had no memory of. Nothing in it belonged to her. Even her gown had belonged to Sophia. Only her petticoat was hers—she’d been wearing it when they fished her out of the river. But she could hardly sell that.

The necklace was the one link to her past. But no matter how much she’d willed her memory to return, it remained out of reach.

Maybe the past was best left buried.

She thought of her husband—and the doxy at the inn.

Sometimes it was best knowing nothing.