Chapter Twenty-Six

Rory

Edinburgh— Wednesday 15th August 1877

I 'd already decided there was no future for us, of my own accord. When I read the telegram from Lord Westville, that confirmed it. When I came here, I knew it. But seeing Marianne's face when she realised she'd been my quarry all along—that was when it really sank in. That was when I realised that right up until that point, I'd still been hoping there was a way for us to be together, fool that I was!

‘Who sent you?' she asked me, whey-faced, her lovely eyes wide with fear, her hands gripped tightly together, knuckles white.

‘It's not bad news,' I said hastily, appalled by the notion that must be crossing her mind, that I'd been sent to lock her up again. ‘I promise, you're not in any danger.'

‘You promise!'

The look she gave me then. She'd trusted me, and as far as she was concerned, I had been lying to her all along. I drew up a chair and sat down opposite her. I was really struggling not to tell her what I was feeling. I mean, really struggling. As if that would make things any easier. More like a bloody sight worse.

I'd been awake all night trying to work out the least painful way to explain, but I decided that the best thing was simply to get it over with. So I told her, about my meeting with Lord Westville and about the woman he had employed me to find. ‘She'd be a distant cousin of his—of my client's I mean,' I said, trying to keep my voice level. Trying, too, to keep my own feelings in check, for I didn't want her sensing them, and I didn't want what I was feeling getting in the way of what I was telling her. This wasn't about me. Or us. It was about Marianne.

She had herself in check again, holding herself painfully rigid. ‘He had no idea she existed, this distant cousin, is that what you are telling me?'

‘None at all. I was sceptical when he told me at first, but what he told me of his own father convinced me.' I waited, giving her plenty time to sort through what I'd told her before moving on. I'd never seen her so tightly wound.

‘So your Lord Westville's father knew of her, but he had no interest in her fate. And her father had no interest in making her acquaintance, even after he had paid someone else to go to the trouble of raising her. Am I correct?'

That cold tone. Those measured words. I wanted to tell her she had it wrong. I wanted to tell her that her father had cared, but I didn't know what he'd felt, and it wasn't my place to make her guesses or suppositions for her. ‘Yes, but my Lord Westville, as you call him, employed me to find her.'

‘And how did you set about doing that?'

I told her all of it. Asylum to asylum. Then Nurse Crawford. My voice cracked a couple of times. Marianne was retreating further and further into her shell before my very eyes. I swear, it was like she was turning to stone. ‘That led me to Mrs White at the employment agency in Edinburgh. I pretended that I was looking to employ a children's nurse hoping to find more information, but I was given short shrift. She was clearly protecting you.'

‘I owe Mrs White more than I can put into words.'

‘It wasn't difficult though, to find you in this city without her help. There was the name you'd assumed. And as you've told me yourself, you're good at what you do.'

‘As are you, clearly, Detective Sutherland,' she said coldly.

‘Marianne, do you understand the implications of what I've told you so far? Your real name is Lady Mary Anne Westville. You're the legitimate daughter of a marquess.'

‘You have discovered that I am also an escaped lunatic.'

‘There's nothing wrong with your mind! You must know that I've never for one minute thought that you were locked up for genuine reasons. I think that you're the strongest, bravest woman I could ever wish to meet. Even before I set eyes on you, I was in awe of you. To have come through what they did to you, to keep your mind perfectly sane, to have the confidence and belief in yourself—Marianne, I swear to god, that's what I think, and more. You're an amazing woman. I told you that before, and I meant it. I still mean it.'

I could see her throat working. I could feel tears smarting in my own eyes, but I held her gaze. I wasn't ashamed of what I was feeling. I wanted her to know that. Finally, she gave a little nod, picked her cup up and found it empty.

‘Shall I make another pot?'

‘Please.'

I was glad of it, something to do for her and a breather for both of us. I'd always known this would be difficult, but watching her was proving an agony. And there was a lot more to come. ‘Do you want me to get you something stronger?' I asked, setting the fresh cup down. ‘I could nip across to the White Hart.'

She shook her head. She lifted the cup, her hands shaking, and took several sips. ‘You know that if it ever came out that I was committed to an asylum...'

‘That you were wrongly held against your will...'

‘Does he know, this man who has employed you to find me?'

‘He knows the bones of it.'

‘And what did he...?' Her mouth wobbled, and she took another sip of her coffee. ‘It doesn't matter. I am not interested in meeting him, any more than he will be interested in meeting me.'

‘You're wrong, Marianne. He's your family, and...'

‘My mother died giving birth. My father gave me away. His heir was so indifferent he never even mentioned my existence. I was not wanted, Rory. The message could not be clearer.'

I wanted to argue with her, but it would be a distraction, and I wasn't at all sure of my employer's feelings. The Marquess was set on justice, for getting Marianne her inheritance and making Eliot pay for what he'd done to her, but of his intentions regarding the woman who was his kin, he'd said nothing since I'd told him she was alive. Why should he? As far as he was concerned, to me, Marianne was merely a case to be solved. If he ever knew—I shuddered. He wouldn't, and it was beside the point.

‘Lord Westville, your cousin, is on your side,' I said, which was true enough. And what's more, he was going out of his way to get her legacy for her, which must mean something.

But Marianne's lip curled. ‘Lord Westville, my cousin! Mrs Oliphant will be delighted to discover that she has a marquess's daughter for a governess, don't you think? Lady Mary Anne Westville! That's not me. I have a name, I chose it myself, and I intend to keep it. Are you finished with your revelations, Rory? Now I come to think of it, why did you save them for now?'

It was the question I'd been dreading. I had resolved to stick to the facts, but I couldn't help but tell her something closer to the truth. ‘I was tasked with finding you, but as to telling you—it was complicated. I was told to say nothing until what I referred to as the final piece of the puzzle was resolved, but it wasn't only that. There was so much I knew of your heritage that was likely to come as a huge shock to you, and from the first time we spoke, I felt...'

‘Don't!' She jumped to her feet and hurried over to the window, throwing it open. ‘Please don't, Rory. We—I—whatever you are feeling, I don't want to know.' She turned back around, but kept her distance, her hands clasped at her breast, her eyes pleading. ‘You were right, what you said when we—after we—you were right. It was a mistake.'

‘I didn't say that.'

‘You said you were sorry.'

‘I was, but not...'

‘Please! We have been foolish and irresponsible, and it is as much my fault as yours. It was I who insisted that I was meant to help you. I who inflicted my company on you.'

‘Inflicted! I clutched at any excuse to spend time with you.'

‘Even though you knew me for an escaped lunatic.'

I opened my mouth to chastise her again, then I closed it. Her eyes were bright with tears, but her mouth was trembling in an attempt at a smile. ‘Your sense of humour is part of your charm,' I said. ‘One of the many reasons I was drawn to you.'

‘Oh, Rory.'

She turned her back on me again, but not before I caught a glimpse of my own feelings reflected in her face. Or thought I did. And I tried to tell myself it didn't matter, but it did. It did my heart good, even if it changed nothing. Then she turned around, and it was clear that she had herself back in check, and that brought me back down to earth.

‘You could have told me before now.' Her tone was businesslike. ‘As I recall there were several occasions when you were on the brink of telling me the truth, but you changed your mind. Why?'

‘I didn't have the full story and I was told to wait until I had it.' The facts, but not the truth. I couldn't leave it at that. ‘I was to keep an eye on you, make sure you didn't come to any harm, and I was very happy to do that, because it was what I wanted, to spend time with you.'

‘So you lied?'

‘I have never lied to you. I've not been completely honest with you, but I've never lied.'

‘Did you think I needed protecting, Rory, was that it? Did you think that I wasn't strong enough to deal with what you had to tell me?'

‘You're strong, all right, but that place still haunts you, and no wonder. Then there was the fact that you had built a new life for yourself...'

‘One I'm perfectly happy with.'

‘That too. And I can relate to that. So I decided to wait until I was in possession of all the facts. After Glasgow though, I'd decided to tell you anyway. It just so happened that when I got back to my digs, I had a telegram telling me to go ahead.'

Marianne narrowed he eyes at me. ‘What else do you have to tell me?'

For a wee tiny moment, I wanted to end it there. I'd already put us both through the wringer, but we weren't even halfway done. I fingered the telegram in my pocket.

Legal matters resolved. Inform my cousin of her good fortune. Then return immediately to London to address the matter of retribution regarding Eliot.

Twenty-three words, ten of them instructing me to turn Marianne's world upside down. And the other thirteen forcing me to part from her, even though I'd already decided I needed to do that. Twenty-three in total. I'd choose my own with care.

‘Rory?'

First things first. ‘Your father didn't raise you, Marianne, but he did make provision for you.'

‘The allowance that was paid to my foster parents, and then to me.'

‘It was much more than that.' I took a breath. ‘He left you a fortune.'

‘What do you mean, a fortune?'

Keep it simple, I reminded myself. Stick to the facts. I told her the sum that Lord Westville had given me. She had the same reaction that I'd had. Her jaw dropped.

‘Exactly.' For the first time, I hesitated.

Needless to say, she pounced. ‘What?'

‘There were conditions attached.' I told her, sticking to the facts again. Marianne turned paler and paler before my eyes. ‘Do you understand what I'm telling you?' I asked, when the silence became unbearable.

‘The man you tell me is my father left me a fortune, but though he had never met me, he believed me incapable of administering it, or perhaps he thought I'd fritter it away over the next hundred years, which is what it would take, given the huge sums involved. For whatever reason, he decided that I needed a sensible male to look after it for me. A husband, in other words. Do I have that right?'

‘You do. And until you married, a trustee.'

‘When did he die, Rory? The man you tell me is my father?'

‘About seven years ago.'

I hadn't thought she could turn any paler, but she looked like a ghost now. There was something wrong. Something I didn't understand.

‘And the name of my trustee?' Her voice wasn't much more than a whisper.

A horrible premonition took hold of me. ‘Francis Eliot.'

I leapt to my feet, thinking she was about to fall off her chair, but she shrank from me. ‘Don't touch me!'

It was a kick in the teeth, that look, those words, but I bit back everything I was feeling, and made myself sit back down, let her be, trying desperately to keep a rein on myself.

‘Francis Eliot was the man who had me committed. I presume you knew that, Rory?'

I nodded, afraid to speak. I felt almost as sick as she looked.

‘But what you didn't know—ah, but I can see you have now put two and two together. Francis Eliot was the man that I...' She broke off, pushed her chair back but changed her mind about getting up. ‘Francis Eliot was the man who wanted to marry me. So you were right all along, Rory. It really was all about the money.'

The last vestiges of colour drained from her face. I was on my feet as she began to topple sideways.