21. Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-one

‘I don’t like surprises.’ Phineas looked across at Rosanna, who sat opposite him in the cab they’d taken from Chelmsford station.

She smiled, but not with her eyes. ‘You’ll like this one,’ she said. ‘Trust me.’

Perhaps she was tired. Or maybe it was relief that this chapter of her life had closed. He knew from each transition of his own that sometimes, instead of elation, one only felt depleted. The small joy, the adjustment, perhaps even feelings of celebration would come later, but today, the gnawing emptiness and looming question of what next created a void.

And what next, indeed? His original plan remained within his grasp. He could still take the train south, then a boat, then another boat—and after that, he hadn’t decided if he’d take another boat or a train. He would be completely lost to the system by then and would reinvent himself with a new name on a passport. He would forge it himself using the skills he’d learnt in Newgate, as he’d done before.

Outside, green strips of farms and long rows of stone walls and thick hedgerows sped by. Arley’s estate had been close to this district, and with a mix of guilt and contentment, he thought of the duchess, Arley’s mother. She must also be grappling with a life upended, still searching for the next in line to claim the title. Was his former drinking friend and companion in sullen Christmases happy? Had love been worth the sacrifice?

Rosanna steadied herself as the carriage leant into a slightly rougher dip in the road, and the next thump of Phineas’s heart hurt a little more than any beat he’d felt before. Because the emptiness that gaped before him had nothing to do with resolution. It lay in knowing that Rosanna was free to return to her life. To petition for the separation and annulment that he and Lawrence had agreed on and that he wouldn’t contest.

But what if he did? What if he made his case, not to a court demanding the vows they made be upheld, but now, to her?

His wife on the opposite side of the carriage. So distant, even though their knees brushed as the carriage swayed. If he stretched, he could take her hand. He wouldn’t have to raise his voice. If he could find the words…

I know I’m not the life you wanted, but please… Could we be more? Maybe? Could we try?

Phineas jerked forwards as the vehicle pulled to a stop, then jolted back against the seat. Rosanna smiled again, that same stretched smile with only her lips. She looked out of the window. Phineas followed her gaze.

A rough wooden fence ran alongside the road. Behind it, a small stretch of lazy grass, clover, and wildflowers rippled with the breeze. A cow, ready for milking, lowered her head and ripped off a mouthful of pasture, then looked up to them, chewing methodically, as if in deep contemplation.

A woman in a pretty, practical floral dress and a white apron stepped out of a grey stone cottage. She paused, placed one hand on the doorframe, and used the other to shield her eyes from the light. A little older. A little thinner. But unmistakably—

‘How did you find her?’ he asked, his heart flooded with relief and fear.

‘Rookeries have their own whispers. Father made some quiet enquiries and passed around a few coins. Country cousins and friends who’ve moved to the city don’t talk readily to strangers, but they do trust one of their own. Eventually, he gathered enough information to piece together something worth chasing. He sent one of his friends, Seamus, who he’s known forever and trusts completely. She looks almost the same as the photo on the mantlepiece, save for the colour of her hair.’

‘No one else knows she’s here? She’s safe?’

‘As safe as a woman in Essex can be.’

Phineas swung the door open, then turned back. ‘I want to talk about what happens next. With us.’

‘We have plenty of time for talking,’ Rosanna replied as she fidgeted with her fingers, sliding one over the other. Then, catching herself, she stilled them in her skirts.

Again, that same painful thump beat against his ribs, but now it left a trace of hope. ‘You swear it?’

‘Go,’ she said. ‘Imogen has quite the tale for you.’

Phineas climbed down from the hack. As he approached the fence, he removed his bowler and spun it uselessly by the brim. Imogen moved to the edge of the shadows on the awning. ‘Charlie?’

His name, the one he’d had before London, rang foreign in his ears. ‘It’s Phineas now,’ he called.

She laughed. ‘I should have known. It suits you better.’ She crossed the yard. Chickens scuttled out of her path, then circled back behind her like small, feathered bodyguards. She swung the gate open. ‘I go by Mabel now. Would you like a cup of tea? Ale? Something to eat?’

He followed as though caught in a dream, his feet touching the ground but no sensation registering. All this time, Imogen had been living a simple life not far from London. All this time, she had been safe.

Once inside her cottage, she gestured for him to take a seat at the small wooden table. He lowered himself onto the bench.

‘What happened to you?’ he asked. ‘I waited by the bridge. I waited until morning. I thought he’d hurt you.’

‘You didn’t get my note?’ Imogen—no, Mabel now—set a heavy copper kettle on the stove. ‘I wrote to you, about three months after I ran. A card with no message except for my initial, to let you know I was safe. I didn’t dare try before then.’ She fed a few sticks into the flaming round belly of the fire. ‘You needn’t have worried. He wouldn’t let me go, but he also wouldn’t bother to chase me. He’d lost all my money. I was no use to him.’

Three months… By then he’d cut ties in Edinburgh and hopped from village to village with his new identity to piece together a string of new memories, both his own and in the minds of others. He’d changed his dress from tweeds to black, swapped his hat from a cap to bowler, and had found a position in the clerks’ office at Empire Savings and Loans.

‘I went to London to look for you. I’ve been looking for you for years.’ Anger, resentment, and a hefty dash of self-pity collided in his chest. So many damn feelings. Part of him wanted to rage, but after the past few weeks, he lacked the will. ‘Why run alone? Why didn’t you meet me on the bridge?’

She set a mug of tea before him, then settled into the seat opposite. ‘You wanted to save me, save anybody who came your way. I knew if I tried to explain that I wanted to move on alone, you wouldn’t listen, and I’d lose my resolve. I’d been reliant on one man since I said I do. I would have just been trading him for another, as well-meaning as you were. I had to save myself.’

Phineas twisted the gold band on his left hand. Imogen—no, not Imogen, Mabel—nodded at it. ‘She’s quite something, your wife.’

‘It’s not real. She was in trouble and I—’ He coughed over the words as they caught in his throat. ‘I wanted to help her. And I did.’ He slid the ring over his knuckle, not quite able to summon the willpower to take it off, even though there was no need for it anymore.

‘And because she doesn’t need saving anymore, it’s over? Is that it?’ she asked. ‘There’s a look on your face that I never saw when you were with me. And it’s a look I recognise from the farmer across the lane who keeps bringing me flowers. I don’t need his flowers, my garden is full of them. But still, he brings them.’

‘I was going to ask her to stay,’ he confessed. ‘I can’t find the right words.’

She took his mug to the sink along with her own and tipped out the dregs. Glanced at the clock, then out the window. ‘You had better find those words, and fast. Or you’re going to spend a good deal of time thinking about her leaving, and I think her memory will haunt you for longer than mine.’

His mouth went dry as he swung himself over the bench and pushed back from the table. He leant over the sink to peer out the window to where he’d left Rosanna in the cab. The view beyond opened to the small garden, the fence, and the road and paddocks beyond.

No cab.

No Rosanna.

Phineas grasped Imogen’s shoulders, kissed each cheek, and dragged her against his chest as she laughed. ‘Good luck with… With everything. I’ll send you papers so you can marry that farmer. If you want to.’

He burst from the cottage. For the first time since that day he’d walked away from his post and deserted, he was completely without a plan. Panic and terror gripped him, but underneath it all lay a groundswell of joy. He had something, someone to worry about. Someone to fight for. Someone to beg, to chase, to risk everything for. He didn’t bother with the gate, only gripped the rail and swung his legs over it to land firmly on the road. Little mounds of sticky mud gathered against two wide strips, where the departing cab had dug long lines into the mud. London wasn’t even a smudge on the horizon.

He’d better move fast.