Chapter 29

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

“ Y our Grace!” a voice cried. “The constables. They’re here.”

Margaret looked around as she stumbled out of the Dowager House, clutching as tightly onto Theodore’s hand as she possibly could.

The brightness of the day was shocking now, after the darkness of the cellar. The world had turned white with snow, though the blizzard had softened, so it now looked like clumps of cotton were falling gently from the sky.

Margaret stumbled across the clean blanket of white with Theodore beside her, as three constables, all dressed in a military-style uniform, jumped off their horses. They followed a very tall man who Margaret recognized at once.

It was the figure who had been watching her from the gardens of the estate.

“Thank you, Leonard.” Theodore nodded. For the first time, Margaret heard Theodore’s attempt to keep his voice level. It was difficult for him, but he managed it all the same as he wrapped an arm around her and she willingly bundled herself into his chest. “You no longer need to watch my wife. I’ll keep her safe. Please, go with the constables. There is a man unconscious down there who will also need to be arrested.”

Leonard nodded and hastened to the house.

Margaret looked up at Theodore. The discovery that he had sent a man to watch her was a huge revelation. It appeared that even when he had walked out on her, he wished to keep her safe.

He does care after all.

“Sir,” Theodore called to the last constable who had descended from his horse. This one was clearly the most senior, judging by the pins on his uniform. He moved toward Theodore and bowed. “My mother is down in the wine cellar. She abducted my wife and arranged for her assault.”

Theodore showed Margaret’s wrists and head to the constable.

“This is awful,” the constable muttered in a querulous voice. “Why would she do such a thing?”

“Madness,” Margaret muttered. “In her own twisted way, she believed she was saving me.”

The constable nodded, though his expression showed he did not understand this statement very much.

“There is something else you should know.” Theodore looked sick. His lips opened, then he closed them again. Margaret laid a hand on his chest, over the edge of his waistcoat. As he looked at her, she nodded, urging him on. “My mother just confessed to starting the fire that killed my father.”

The constable stepped back, as if he had been struck by the words.

“My God!” he spluttered. “Well… we can of course arrest her for this, but you know what this means, Your Grace? It would mean your mother facing a trial of murder?”

“It’s time old ghosts were laid to rest,” Theodore whispered. He looked at Margaret, a questioning look in his eyes. She realized after a few seconds that he was checking with her.

As the constable followed the others into the house, she nodded at him.

“You are right to report it,” she assured him. “Your mother needs help. She will not get that unless the truth comes out.”

Theodore looked in pain, wincing.

“They’ll send her to Bedlam for this.”

Margaret embraced him tightly. To her amazement, he buried her head in his shoulder. She held on, the two of them taking comfort in one another, and neither one of them breaking apart until they heard voices.

Catherine was dragged out a few minutes later. She looked lost, stumbling across the snow, scarcely able to keep standing. She probably would have slipped in the ice had it not been for the two constables on either side of her, keeping her up.

Behind her, Leonard and the last constable were dragging an unconscious Johnson.

“There was another man,” Margaret whispered to Theodore. “Another who took me from the carriage.”

“We’ll find him,” Theodore assured her.

“No… no.” Catherine suddenly cried out as one of the constables tried to get her onto the back of a horse. “You cannot arrest me. I have done nothing wrong. Nothing!”

“Did you start the fire that killed your husband?” one of the men asked as he took her waist and practically threw her into the saddle.

“I…” She didn’t deny it.

“Did you abduct your daughter-in-law?” the man pushed on.

“It was all for the best. I had to do it all. Don’t you see? God will not exorcise these demons, so I must be the one to do it!” Her screech made two of the constables back away from her, exchanging wary glances.

“I’ll be back,” Theodore whispered to Margaret. “Stay here, Maggie. Please?”

She nodded, leaning against the wall of the house as Theodore moved off. He must have whispered to the constables to treat her gentle, for one of the constables was much softer now as he reached up to tie Catherine’s hands together.

“Demon!” Catherine spat. “I know what you are! Even if the world will never see the real you, I see it. I see you, Theodore!”

“No, you don’t.” Theodore abruptly raised his voice. “It was I who lived with the demon, Catherine. Not you.” His look was chilling.

Catherine fell silent as Theodore walked back toward Margaret. Then the constables led her away and her screaming began again.

Margaret ignored it all as Theodore moved toward her and took her hand, turning it over to kiss the back.

“Ignore her,” Margaret pleaded.

“Demon! Devil’s spawn!”

“Ignore her,” she pleaded again.

“I intend never to think of her again,” Theodore promised.

“Come into the house.” Theodore had kept his arms around Margaret during their whole walk back to the house. They were both wet through now, thanks to trudging through the snow for so long.

When they reached the house, Mrs. Lancaster stood in the doorway. She must have seen them from a window, or seen the constables riding by, for she looked most anxious, clutching to the neckline of her gown with trembling hands.

“Your Grace!” she declared in surprise when she saw Theodore. “What has happened? Oh my…” She trailed off when she saw the blood on Margaret’s wrists.

“My mother,” Theodore said by way of explanation.

Mrs. Lancaster nodded. She had seen time and time again what Catherine was like as Theodore grew up. She had offered him a refuge, a place to go in the kitchens when he wished to escape Catherine. Now, was no different.

“I shall have the fire set in your room at once. Hot drinks will be brought, brandy, too. Are you both hungry?”

“Yes, please bring soup or stew. Something Maggie will find easier to keep down. She has been through a shock.” Theodore led her into the house, aware that Margaret was looking up at him. She said nothing but found his hand and squeezed tight.

Is that a thank you?

He held onto tightly back.

He led her to his room. A few minutes later, tea had been brought and a fire had been made up. As they waited for the stew to come, Theodore knelt before Maggie, with a box open at his feet. He took cotton wool and turpentine from the box, to clean the wounds on Maggie’s wrists.

“You’re very gentle,” Maggie observed as the door closed behind Mrs. Lancaster and they were left alone.

Theodore hesitated, just for a second, before he continued on with his cleaning.

“I do not think anyone has ever described me as such before,” he whispered.

“What she did…” Margaret closed her eyes, hissing a little at the pain in her right wrist. He soon dropped the cotton wool and bound her wound in linen. “I’m so sorry for you.”

“Don’t be,” he pleaded, his voice very serious. “It was not your doing.”

“I can be sorry for it all the same. What you went through… was it… persistent? Your whole childhood?”

“Are you sure you want to know?” he asked, not quite looking her in the eye as he turned his attention to her other wrist.

This is the moment, isn’t it? This is the moment to be courageous and tell her things that I thought I’d never tell anyone.

“I do.” Margaret laid a hand over his. She stilled his movements, urging him to look up and into her eyes again. “Please, Theo. Tell me.”

He sat back on his haunches, though he didn’t release her.

“I can remember trying to earn my mother’s good opinion when I was very little. I also remember getting wooden horses thrown at my head, books, too, anything really.” He spoke slowly, nervous about how much to tell her. “It quickly became apparent that she didn’t love me. Not in the slightest. She couldn’t even tolerate me.”

Maggie stared back at him. There was no judgement in her gaze, only patience as she waited for him to go on.

“I spent more and more time in the kitchens with Mrs. Lancaster and the staff. They were kind.” Theodore felt his spine stiffen, remembering what came next. “When my father discovered I cared more for the staff, he was outraged. He said a duke’s son should not be below stairs. That’s when he started to hit me. He said it would drum some sense into me.”

Maggie raised her other hand and covered her mouth in horror. She didn’t ask him to stop though.

“My father was not a good man, Maggie. I’ve never pretended he was. After his death, I discovered the dodgy dealings he was involved with. To hold onto his money and wealth, he became a criminal. A fraudster.” He shook his head, still remembering how just at the age of fifteen, he had pored over his father’s account books and realized the truth. “I have tried to distance myself from his memory ever since.

“As my father hit me, cheated on my mother, treated her with disdain and cruelty, her own brutal nature became worse.” He looked down at the way he and Maggie were holding hands. He couldn’t remember anyone clutching onto his palm so much before.

She’s not running away from me. She’s staying… right here.

“That’s when she started calling me a demon, the spawn of my devil father. If she wasn’t hurting me in this house, then she was taking me to the cellar in the Dowager House. I learned at the age of nine how to stay silent. How she wouldn’t smile victoriously if I didn’t show her she hurt me.”

“Theo…” Maggie’s voice broke. “You should never have had to learn such a lesson.”

“Yet, it happened.” He nodded slowly. “I learned to deal with it. I threw myself into my books, escaped to the garden whenever I could, just to escape her.”

Maggie nodded. He half wondered if she now understood why he had a greater love for this garden than he did the house.

“After the fire, I became duke. I was still young. It would take me another couple of years to figure out what my father was. In that time, Catherine still had control of the house. She had control… of me.” The words were hard to say aloud.

Theodore needed a break. He stood, loosening his grasp of Margaret’s hand and moving toward the tea tray. He poured out two cups then returned to Maggie, passing one to her. Their fingers brushed together.

“You were just a boy,” Maggie said softly. “It’s not about control. She was your mother. She should have taken care of you.”

“You and I both know that parents do not always show the parental love and care that is expected, don’t we?” Theodore asked with a sigh.

Maggie nodded, as clearly, they both thought of her own father and what James hadn’t done for his daughters.

“I swear, if I ever have a child of my own, I would not be that sort of father, Maggie. I couldn’t do it.” He shook his head, vehemently. “I couldn’t let madness infect the child the way that it infected my mother. Or the way addiction has warped your father.”

“Calm yourself.” Her hand reached out and rested on the center of his chest. He laid his fingers over it. She touched him so easily. She was not afraid of him, and he loved that. It made him want to forget running and just stay here with her. “I know you are not that sort of man, Theo. I know who you are at heart.”

“How can you when even I don’t know who I really am?” Theodore shook his head. “I’ve hidden from what I feel for so long.”

“Because the real you has come through anyway.” Maggie leaned forward. “I’ve seen you smile and laugh at breakfast with me. I remember your arms catching me the day I fell. The concern in your eyes when I hadn’t eaten. I remember how caring you were when I was being asked to dance by a man I wanted nowhere near me. You have protected me, time and time again.” She smiled, fully. “That shows my exactly what sort of man you are.”

I do not seem like a demon to her eyes.

He took her hand from his chest and turned it over, kissing her palm.

“What happened? The night of the fire?” she whispered after a minute of silence.

He took a shaky sip of tea, preparing himself for this conversation.

“I remember it. All too well, do I remember it.” He hung his head forward. “Looking back, it’s a wonder I didn’t see from the onset that it was all to kill me as well as my father, but I couldn’t see it.” He frowned, angry at himself for his blindness.

“Maybe you just didn’t want to see it, Theo. You were a boy. How were you supposed to cope with such a horror? Your mind dealt with it the only way it could, by shutting down such a thought.”

“Yes, perhaps so.” He nodded, forcing himself to look up at her as he realized how right she could be. “I had been with Mrs. Lancaster. I knew my father would be furious, but I had spent the evening with the staff. They had left me play a card game with them when I came back to my chamber and opened the door…”

He broke off, remembering the sight before him. “The fire started in my chamber.”