Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

"Impossible," Louisa breathed. She swayed slightly as a sudden wave of dizziness washed over her. Her cheerful, cheeky Will wasn't dead. It was inconceivable.

"I'm terribly sorry. I had no idea you didn't know. It happened so long ago, you know. But for you …"

"It can't be true. They threw him into prison?"

"Dorchester."

"But he wasn't a criminal!" Louisa stood up.

Celeste grimaced. "I'm sure he wasn't. Someone like Will could never be, for sure. But …" she sighed. "My father had him arrested for burglary and robbery. Apparently, there was evidence. It was the word of a poor boy against that of a lord. I'd like to believe that my father was a good man at heart, and that he always tried to do his best according to his conscience, but sometimes he was unnecessarily hard and stubborn. He truly believed that Will had broken into the house and that he had been caught red-handed. "

"A prisoner. Transported." Dead. A sob rose inside her, but never found its way out. Instead, she kept staring at Celeste with burning eyes. "They never told me."

They wouldn't have, of course.

She'd been packed up and sent back to London. She'd written letters. He'd never answered.

She was told to forget him. She knew they had no future together. A baker and a gentleman's daughter, an heiress. It was an impossibility. It could never be.

The pain of losing him had been immense. Where her heart had been now lay a gaping hole.

"Promise you'll wait for me!" he'd cried.

She had done so. She'd waited. Oh, how she'd waited! Until one day, she decided to stop waiting and yielded to her parents' insistence that she had a Season.

And then the suitors came.

Celeste placed her hand on Louisa's arm. "I am so sorry to be the bearer of this terrible news. Let us walk back to the village together." She continued talking the entire way, but Louisa's mind was numb, and she took in nothing more.

"Thank you, Celeste." Louisa ran her tongue over her dry lips. She gripped both her hands. Her own were ice cold.

Celeste looked at her with concern. "You've gone completely white, Louisa. I'm worried. Please take care of yourself."

Louisa nodded mechanically .

"Do call on me tomorrow, at the vicarage. Will you?" she pressed.

Louisa nodded again.

They parted at the entrance to the village, with Celeste impressing on her once more the promise that she would call on her. Louisa made her way back to her cottage.

Robert was repairing one of the rickety chairs when she arrived. He put down his hammer.

"I'm tired. I'm going to bed," she announced, crawling into the rickety bed with the lumpy mattress and pulling the blanket over her head.

"I'll be away all day tomorrow. There's important business to do."

Louisa didn't have the energy to ask if he was selling produce at the market in Dorchester again, or whether it was some kind of other business altogether. It occurred to her he probably wasn't selling any produce at all. There was no need, was there?

Was there any need at all for them to keep up this sham of a charade?

She should tell him it was no longer necessary to do so. It was no longer necessary to pretend. But she was too exhausted to address the matter.

"I'm staying here," she said through the blanket.

"Very well. As you wish." He paused. "I have something to discuss with you. But since you're tired, we can have our talk when I get back."

"Yes, yes."

The last thing she wanted to do now was argue with Robert. She knew she needed to confront him about his identity as Lord Frippery Fop, confound the man, but she felt a profound indifference now.

For now, all she wanted was to be left alone.

The next morning, she awoke early to find Robert already gone with the donkey and the cart. Truth be told, she cared little for what he did. She was glad he was gone, for what she needed to do now with great urgency was to go to the bakery and talk to Wilbur.

She dressed quickly, washed her face with cold water, and choked down the hard bread and apple that Robert had left for her.

She tied her hair back, put on a bonnet, and wrapped her shawl around her shoulders. The early morning hours were chilly, and one could feel summer slowly drawing to a close.

Louisa walked briskly to the village bakery.

Drawing in a big breath, she pushed the door open with a jingle and stepped into the shop. The warm, comforting smell of bread engulfed her. She smiled wanly at the woman who stood behind the counter. Mary.

"Good morning, missus." Mary wiped her hands on her apron and smiled as she recognised Louisa. "You're back again. Wilbur told me he met you at the market the other day, Miss Highworth." Her demeanour was more deferential than the day before. The name Highworth was apparently still remembered here.

"Is he here?"

Mary nodded. "One moment." She stepped out of the room into the adjoining baking room and returned with Wilbur, his face flushed and sweating from the heat of the oven. His face lit up when he saw her.

"Miss Louisa. Good to see you again."

"My name is Louisa Jones now, Wilbur. I'm married, remember?"

"Aye, I believe you said that earlier." He weighed his head back and forth. "Haven't had the pleasure of meeting Mr Jones, though." He frowned. "You're staying at Meryfell Hall, Louisa?"

"No. We don't live at Meryfell Hall."

"Strange." He frowned. "The entire town's been wondering, but the new owner remains elusive. After meeting you, I was sure it must be you who's staying there. The house has been bought, you see, and is being extensively renovated. I must say I'm glad, because Lord Milford, the new one—George, I mean—has not been good for this estate."

"Yes, I heard. But it's not by us, I'm afraid."

"Come," Mary moved to a table where she set down a cup of tea and a plate with pastries. "Wilbur's childhood friends get nothing but the best."

Louisa sat down and gratefully took a cup. It was her first proper cup of tea in goodness, how long? Since she'd left London. What felt like another lifetime.

She turned to Wilbur. "I confess I was labouring under a misapprehension when I sought you out yesterday. I thought you were Will, you see."

Wilbur stared. "Will? But Will is d?—"

"I suppose it's a simple mistake to make since I haven't seen you for nearly eleven years," Louisa rushed on. She didn't want him to say that terrible word.

"Yes, eleven years is a long time. I hardly recognised you myself."

"People change very much over time," Mary put in, rubbing her stomach.

"But Will—" He shook his head. "Who knows what he would have looked like now? Poor sod."

Louisa's fingers cramped around the pastry she was holding. "I heard he was arrested and transported for burglary and theft. They say he d-didn't survive."

Wilbur sighed and shook his head. "It was terribly tragic. It shook us all to the core. At first, I couldn't believe that Will was guilty of such a crime. We knew he had a tendency for mischief and always got himself in a scrape, but outright theft? I don't know." He shook his head. "I still can't believe he had it in him. But he was caught red-handed, wasn't he? With the loot in his hands, they say. The evidence was damning, and Lord Milford had him convicted. The old vicar tried everything he could, and so did Mr Brooks. He avoided the death penalty and was sentenced to transportation instead. Which turned out to be the same, in the end, because the poor sod didn't last a month in the hulks. What an ill-starred wight that boy turned out to be. You really didn't know about any of this?"

The dread that had lodged in her stomach since she'd talked to Celeste turned into a cold lump of sick anguish—and guilt. Wilbur had just confirmed what she had said. There couldn't be any mistake. "No," she whispered. "I didn't know. I didn't know any of this." Her fingers trembled as she dropped her crumbled pastry. "I was taken back to London, and all communication was cut off. I'd sent letters, even to Mr Brooks. Did none of them arrive?"

Wilbur shrugged. "I wouldn't know. I haven't seen any of them for sure. All I know is that Mr Brooks was in shock for a long time; he'd vouched for the boy's honesty. He would've taken him on as an apprentice alongside me, but he always said that Will was a gentleman's son and that he'd be better off studying as the old vicar wanted. He blamed himself, saying that he should have just given him the apprenticeship anyway—because Will wanted it—and kept him so busy with work he wouldn't have had the chance to think of anything foolish like breaking in and robbing the manor."

He shook his head, as if still in disbelief. "Life for a baker's apprentice is quite hard, you know. I didn't have a minute of free time to run around like Will did. I confess I was always a tad jealous of that." He smiled vaguely, then he sobered. "I always thought the law was too harsh. Even if he was guilty, the sentence they gave Will was too hard. The Bloody Code, they call it. You can be hanged for any trivial offence in this beautiful country of ours. And they sentenced Will to be transported to the Colonies." He heaved a sigh. "In the end, it didn't make any difference because he died anyway."

Louisa slumped in her chair. Then she sat up straight as an idea occurred to her. "I need your help with something, Wilbur. Do you think you could do that?"

He exchanged a glance with Mary. "What kind of help do you need, miss? "

She licked her lips. "I need to go to Dorchester. I need to go to the prison there and find out exactly what happened to Will. Would you accompany me?"

He shook his head. "I don't think that will be helpful at all, miss. It was so long ago, see."

"There must be some sort of record left. Or a guard I could talk to. I didn't know any of this had happened." She swallowed. "We were good friends. I should get to the bottom of this. I must do this for Will. Please?"

They were silent for a while, then Mary spoke. "You should do it, Wilbur. You used to be friends, after all, you and Will. And with Miss Louisa here, too." Turning to Louisa, she said, "I remember Mr Brooks saying that he was charmed every time you used to drop by, waiting for Will, eating his bread. Said Miss Highworth appreciates the taste of good bread. Honestly, Louisa, if I may say so, I do not think you will accomplish anything by going to Dorchester gaol. But I think you should support her and accompany her, Wilbur."

He stood up and took off his apron. "Very well. Let's do it for old times' sake. Let's do it for Will. I have a cart in the back. If you'll follow me, Louisa."