Chapter Twenty-Seven

Marianne

Edinburgh— Wednesday 15th August 1877

I woke up on the floor, cradled in Rory's arms. For a blessed, wonderful, magical moment I lay there, drinking in the tender expression on his face, bathed in the warmth of the love that emanated from him, soothed by the gentle touch of his hand stroking my brow, and his embrace keeping me safe. Rory loved me. I loved him.

‘No!' I yanked myself free and struggled to my feet. A wave of nausea hit me, but I pushed him away, clutching at the chair instead. It all came flooding back to me then. I sank on to the chair, waving Rory away. ‘Sit down. Keep away from me.'

He did as I bid him, though he looked as sick as I felt. I poured the dregs of the coffee, aiming for my cup and only managing to get some of it in. It was cold and much stronger than I'd have made. I gulped it down. The harshness of it in my throat, hitting my stomach, steadied me.

Across from me, Rory's hands were shaking. He clasped them together on the table. His frown was so deep it drew his brows together. ‘So that's how Eliot gathered the evidence that was used against you...'

‘He used my own words against me. Like an idiot I trusted him.'

‘Oh, Marianne...'

I shrank back, though he'd made no move to reach for me. ‘Did you suspect him from the first? Or was it when you saw his name on my papers in the asylum?'

He cursed under his breath. His father's language, but he made the soft Gaelic sound vicious. Then he gave himself a shake and began to speak in a tone I recognised, drained of emotion, reined in tight. ‘Lord Westville and I—we've been very careful to make sure Eliot knows nothing of our suspicions, but, yes, we did suspect him from the first. He was the obvious candidate.

‘It's a great deal of money and he was left solely in charge and unsupervised, so it was easy for him to take advantage. Eliot's family have served the Westville family for many years. Lord Westville—your father—left him a token sum in his will, and a hell of a lot of responsibility. I reckon he resented the fact that you, who'd never even been acknowledged by his employer, had been given what he could have put to better use. So when the next Lord Westville, my client's father, showed no interest in you or the money, Eliot decided to appropriate it.'

‘By appropriating me.'

Rory winced, then nodded.

‘And when I refused to be appropriated...'

‘He came up with an alternative.' He turned green. Pushing back his chair, he strode for the scullery. There was silence, then a clattering. When he returned, his face was damp. ‘I'm sorry.'

‘Not as sorry as I am.' A cold rage had seized me. ‘I gave him the evidence of my own free will.'

‘And he contorted it and turned it against you. It's not your fault, Marianne. Men like that are utterly selfish. Once he got his hands on the capital, he thought of it as his own, to do with as he pleased.'

‘And provided I remained safely out of the way, and your client's father remained indifferent to my fate, he did just that. Did he attempt to find me after I escaped?'

‘I don't know. I doubt it.'

‘No, your right. I was even less of a threat to him, as an escaped lunatic, wasn't I?'

Rory flinched. ‘He knew you wouldn't want to be found.'

‘And by escaping, I'd saved him the expense of keeping me in the institution,' I said bitterly. ‘How unfortunate for him, that your Lord Westville's father died prematurely. I'm afraid he has still managed to spend some of the money or rather lose some of it, in poor investments. He's greedy, but he's not canny.'

‘I don't care! I'm not interested in the money. Why the devil would you think I'd want it after all the pain and suffering it has caused me?'

‘But this is about more than the money. I told you, I distinctly remember telling you that day in Greyfriars, that it was about putting things to rights. Giving you answers to the questions that you've been asking yourself for years. And making Eliot pay, Marianne. You want that, don't you?'

Eliot. Francis Eliot.

The name made me sick to my stomach. I stared at Rory, my head reeling. What I wanted, what I desperately wanted, was to be in his arms again. To wrap my body around him. To forget all of this, all that he'd told me, everything. To see that look on his face. Tenderness. Love.

No, it couldn't be love. Right from the very start Rory had been lying to me. More importantly, I had been lying to myself, telling myself we were meant to be together, finding reasons to justify my desire, fooling myself into thinking that he wanted it too. It was all a lie. I hadn't learned from my catastrophic mistake, and this time it hurt so much more. This time, even though I knew Rory must have been pretending, just as Francis must have been pretending, this time my own feelings persisted.

I had fallen in love with Rory. Too late, I saw it so clearly. Rory wasn't Francis. I had recovered from what I felt—from what I thought I felt—for Francis in an instant. As I looked at Rory across the table what I felt, to my horror, was a conviction that I would never get over him.

It's why I told him then, all of it. The sad story of a poor nobody who had been so easily wooed by a vile, twisted, money-grabbing lawyer. As soon as I began to speak, the dam burst and it all came flooding out. How flattered I had been to have such a personable, charming man pay attention to me. How naive I had been, imagining that Francis saw something no one else had in me. How clever he had been to see that I had never been loved. How manipulative I knew now he had been to endear himself to me.

‘I was convinced that he loved me. I sensed his desperate need of me from the first,' I said, forcing the words out, lacerating myself with them, and Rory too, set upon teaching us both a lesson we would not forget. ‘The clues were all there, but for once I failed to make a picture of them. "I couldn't believe it when I discovered you were not already married", he said to me. "You have no idea how much I need you. No idea how much I want you." Looking back, I can't recall that he ever told me he loved me. I thought he did.'

Rory listened, frozen in his chair, saying not a word.

‘I let him make love to me.' I continued, though the memory made me want to retch. ‘I wanted him to make love to me.' Had I? It had been nothing like the wanting I'd felt for Rory. And it had been disappointing, though I had not dared say so, even to myself. I had had nothing to compare it with. Now I did. Now I knew. Rory.

Oh, Rory.

Francis! I made myself recall his face. Francis, my betrayer. ‘I trusted him.' Here, I was on horribly solid ground. ‘I told him about my insights, I told him some of the pictures my mind made for me. He was so interested. Fascinated. I'd never told anyone before. Then when I declared I could not marry him, he took what I'd told him and he made his own version of it all. "If I can't have you, I'm going to make sure no one else can." Those were the words he threw at me that night. I had no idea what he meant. I had no notion. None! All the time I was locked up, when the doctors were telling me that I was mad, when I was trying to tell them, to explain, the one thing that almost drove me mad was not knowing why. What had I done to make him hate me so much. And now I know.'

I hadn't meant to cry, but when the tears came they flooded my eyes and streamed down my face. I scrubbed at them, but more came and with the tears the memories I thought long lost. ‘"I won't let you ruin me," Francis told me. And he said that I was ruined for any other decent man. He said that no other man would have me now. As if I cared. As if I would be so stupid as to ever want another man.'

Except I had indeed been so stupid and the evidence was sitting opposite me, looking at me as if his heart was breaking.

No! If anyone's heart was breaking, it was mine. My tears dried. I dabbed my face with my sodden handkerchief. ‘I would like you to leave now,' I said, my voice hoarse with crying.

‘I can't leave you like this, Marianne.'

Rory looked wretched. Well, and so he should! ‘There's no point in you remaining. You may return to your client and tell him that you've done what he paid you to do.'

‘It's not as simple as that. There's your inheritance to be considered. Think of all the good you could do with that money. You could open as many schools as you wish. You could give so many wee lassies an opportunity they'd never get otherwise. If you wanted to, you could even help Flora escape her sordid life.'

I hated that he understood me so well. I had allowed that. I had let him into my mind and my thoughts. And my heart. ‘Her name is Katy, not Flora,' I said.

He chose not to engage with this petty line of conversation. I wanted him to argue with me. I wanted him to get angry. I wanted him to be unreasonable. I wanted him to behave as Francis had, lobbing accusations and insults. Rory remained in his seat. He was hurt and he was angry, but not with me. ‘What made you change your mind about marrying him?' he asked. ‘It must have been something more than you waking up one morning and realising you didn't love him.'

‘Does it matter?'

‘Only to me, and you've made it pretty clear that I don't count.'

I should have been pleased to hear him say so. I didn't have to tell him, but I did. ‘After the first time. The only time we—he—I felt there was something wrong.' I closed my eyes, not wanting to recall, but my mind produced a vivid memory. ‘He was—he was jubilant.' And I had been—deflated? No, disappointed.

‘So you sensed, though you didn't know you knew, that he was leading you on?'

‘I wanted to believe that someone loved me. I had never been loved so I was ripe for the plucking.'

‘Ach, don't say that, Marianne.' He pushed his chair back, made to move towards me, but I warded him off. ‘Don't take the blame for what that man did to you, do you hear me?'

‘It was my fault! I knew, you've just pointed out that I must have known, and I didn't listen to the warning bells until afterwards. And then—and then I knew he would be the death of me.'

‘You thought he'd kill you?'

I shook my head. All those times I'd tried to explain, and no one had listened. What was the point of explaining again? Still, I wanted Rory to understand. Even though it didn't matter. ‘I thought that if I married him, it would kill me—inside.'

‘Your spirit? That he'd crush your spirit?'

Tears welled up again. I wished fervently now that I had not told him, that he had not understood. It didn't matter because he didn't love me, and even if he did, it didn't change anything. ‘I thought I'd saved myself,' I said, the words uttered of their own accord. ‘By refusing him. But I didn't.'

‘You did, though. You survived three years of incarceration. You escaped. And now look at you. You're a wonderful woman, Marianne.'

I wouldn't listen. I wouldn't believe him. I shook my head fiercely.

‘You knew,' Rory insisted. ‘Your instincts weren't wrong. You knew he was desperate to marry you. You knew that he needed you. Both of those were true. What you got wrong were his reasons. And now you're thinking that I'm like Eliot, aren't you, history repeating itself? I turned up out of the blue, and I pretended to be taken with you. Not because I was, but for my own reasons. You're thinking that I pretended that I wanted you, because it suited me to get to know you, to make sure that you were who I thought you were.'

‘You're a detective on a case!'

‘And what I was feeling for you—as a detective on a case—was morally wrong. I've known that. I've fought it. But I kept giving in to it, even though I knew I shouldn't.'

‘So that's why you were so sorry in Glasgow. Because you broke your own rule book.'

‘I wasn't sorry for what we did. I'll never forget what we shared together. I was only sorry that it could come to nothing.'

‘Because you'd eventually have to admit you'd been lying to me.'

‘I wasn't lying! Whatever you want to tell yourself, what happened between us it's something special. But we've no future together, I've known that from the first. You made it clear that you're not interested in marriage...'

‘As did you!'

‘I've never been interested in marrying anyone until...'

‘Until you met an heiress! Ah no, that was unworthy of me.'

‘It makes no difference,' Rory said, after a moment. ‘You don't believe a word I say now, and I completely understand why. As far as you're concerned I've been lying to you, and after what you've told me about Eliot...'

‘You're not Francis.' I hadn't meant to say so, but I couldn't help it.

However, he shook his head. ‘It makes no difference. You don't trust me, and why should you. Fact is, what I've just told you puts us poles apart. I'm a detective...'

‘And I am an escaped lunatic.'

‘You're a survivor, is what you are! You are...'

He broke off, shaking his head again. When he spoke next, the emotion was stripped from his voice. He sounded intensely weary. ‘You're a peeress in your own right. You've a title, a family, and a fortune. You don't have to have anything to do with Lord Westville if you don't want to. He's your kin, and he's sorry for how you've been treated, and he wants to make amends, but he's not the type to force his company on anyone. He's a cold fish, but he's a decent man. But whatever you do, Marianne, take the money. Not for yourself, but for what you can do for others.'

He picked up his hat, looking at it as if he had no idea what it was. ‘Where are you going?' I asked, panicking, speaking without thinking again. I wanted him to go, didn't I?

‘London. Lord Westville wants Eliot dealt with before he becomes suspicious. We want to make sure he doesn't make a bolt for it.'

‘Will he go to prison?'

Rory set down his hat again. ‘You want him to pay, don't you?'

‘You've asked me that already. I never thought it possible until today.' I thought of it then however, and my hands curled into fists. I imagined Francis locked up in a cell, as I had been. I imagined him, unkempt, dirty, dressed in rough clothes, doing menial work. ‘I don't want him to hang.'

‘Nor do I,' Rory agreed grimly. ‘It would be over too quickly.'

‘Will I have to speak against him in court?'

‘Possibly. If you want to.' More pieces slotted together to show me another picture. The way he had spoken of his own experience, his name dragged through the mud in the press. The shame and humiliation. Each time, it had been there—empathy. Understanding. Sympathy. No wonder he had wanted to protect me.

By lying. I hardened my heart. ‘I want to think about it. All of it.'

‘Of course you do. It's a lot to take in. There's no need to be making any decisions right now. I'm thinking,' Rory said, picking up his hat again, ‘that I'd best go.'

‘You're going to London now? Today? Do you intend to come back?'

‘I reckon Lord Westville will want to take it from here. I forgot, he said to tell you he would write.'

So this was goodbye. It was what I wanted, wasn't it? Rory had lied to me. He had betrayed me. He had made me fall in love with him. He'd made me believe that he had fallen in love with me. And he hadn't, he really hadn't, even though the way he was looking at me now, with such yearning, and even though I could sense it, he'd never said, I love you. Not aloud.

He was on his feet. I pushed past my chair and threw myself into his arms. It may all be a lie, but I loved him all the same. He pulled me so close, achingly close, and when he realised his mistake, when he would have released me, I put my arms around his neck and pressed myself tighter.

Hold me, hold me, hold me.

His arms went gently around me again. He burrowed his face in my hair.

I love you.

He didn't say the words.

I love you.

I didn't say the words. I turned my face up towards his. His lips met mine. Our kiss spoke. Longing. Such longing. Our lips clung. Then gently, he eased himself free of me.

‘If you ever need holding again,' he said, giving me a business card. ‘Just holding. Any time. Always. You only have to ask and I'll be there.'

I needed holding now.

‘Goodbye, Marianne. Take good care of yourself.'

The door closed behind him. I heard his footsteps on the stairs. I ran to the window and leaned out, watching him cross the Grassmarket in the direction of Victoria Street. I watched until he was just a speck, but he didn't once look back.

I had made a huge mistake. No, I had done the best and only thing possible. I collapsed on to the floor then. I didn't cry. I sat there, my back against the wall, my legs stretched out in front of me like a lifeless rag doll, like a wrongly incarcerated woman in her cell.

I didn't move until night fell. Then I crawled into my bed and lay wide awake, staring at the ceiling. I would reclaim my life. I would carry on as before. I'd been perfectly content before. I hadn't been unhappy. I loved Rory but it didn't matter if I did because no matter what I thought I felt, he couldn't possibly love me. If he did, he wouldn't have left.

My twisted logic was giving me a headache. I wanted to run. I had done it before. I could do it again. No, I would remain in Edinburgh. I'd remain in the city where he wasn't welcome. Not even by me.

I got up as the grey dawn gave way to a watery sun, weighted down by the knowledge that whether I wanted it to or not, my life would never be the same again. There were decisions to be made, life-changing decisions that didn't only affect me. This was the first day of my second new life. I had never been so miserable.