Page 85 of Evidence of Evil
“From the day I first entered her house, there were no more men. I was well fed and got well. When I had my baby, Constance helped me find good people to adopt him. The rest you know. I worked at various rag schools and church schools, where I was given character references that enabled me to apply for the post with you. And that is everything, Humphrey. This time, it is everything.”
He wanted to shout at her for not telling him at the beginning. And yet if she had, would he not have sent her away? He would never have married her.
Resentment and anger mingled with his pity. It allhurt.
“Is it over?” she whispered. “Should I go?”
Something jolted through him. He actually lifted his head to look at her in alarm. “Go where?”
She shrugged hopelessly. “To Constance, I suppose. Begin again. But you must make the children understand I still love them. And make up some story for the neighbors—tell them I am traveling or something…”
“No,” he said, unreasonably revolted. “How can I condemn your lies and tell more of my own?”
Alarm crossed her face. “It would not be kind to the children to tell everyone the truth about me.”
“Damn it, that is no one’s business but yours and mine.” He searched her eyes, wondering if he looked as frightened as he felt. “Do you want to leave? Have you had enough of my temper and bluster?”
Wordlessly, she shook her head.
“Then it wasn’t lies?” he blurted.
Her eyes narrowed with incomprehension, then widened impossibly. Tears gathered in the corners and his own throat closed up. “That I love you? Oh, Humph, how could I lie about that? How could I bear…?” She threw her head back with a gasp. “You think because I endured other men for money, I did the same with you? Oh God, Idohave to go…”
She jerked away, and perversely, he tightened his arms around her. “No! I need time, Elizabeth, to be comfortable again, but I…I couldn’t bear you to go. The children love you.”
He could not say aloud that he did too. Not yet. He didn’t know if the words were true. He didn’t even know if her revelations had changed his feelings, though it seemed he didn’t want them to.
Abruptly, a sharp crack sounded, like a firework, or a gun in the distance. He greeted it with relief, an excuse to rise, to walk away from her to the window and gather himself away from his need to touch her.
“What the devil was that?” He pulled back the curtain. His study window at the side of the house looked up the hill toward the Grange. Another bang sounded, but what really scared him was the glow in the sky. “Fire! Dear God, it must be Sarah’s cottage!”
Seizing his coat on the way, he strode from the room. “Rouse the men to help!” he threw over his shoulder at Elizabeth.
From the front door, he began to run, taking the quick path to the road before he recognized that if he arrived exhausted, he would be unfit to help Sarah. So he forced himself to slow to a brisk walk.
He had a soft spot for grumpy old Sarah. She reminded him of himself, and he had always thought her heart was good. She had been devastated when her husband died. As Maule would be devastated without Elizabeth.
Abruptly, his throat closed up again. And as if he had conjured her from his thoughts, her hand slipped into his. He blinked down at her.
“We can help together,” she said breathlessly. “I’ve wakened the grooms, and they’ll rouse the others. They won’t be far behind us.”
Thank you. He found he couldn’t speak, but he curled his fingers around her hand in gratitude. Gratitude and love.
“I love you,” he whispered. “I always will.”
Her head pushed against his arm. She emitted something like a sob and then straightened with a jerk. “It isn’t Sarah’s house that’s burning!”
Chapter Eighteen
As Constance landedon the ground, agony shot through her ankle. She couldn’t even breathe to cry out, for the force of the fall had winded her. And yet she was aware that despite the speed and violence with which Solomon had pushed her, he had done his best to save her from the worst of the fall, twisting so that at least he did not land on top of her.
Stupefied, it took her an instant to realize what she had seen and heard. A glass lantern, fat and bulbous, flying through the air and breaking amongst the traces, the lick of fire. The scream of poor Betsy with a chunk out of her ear, the crack of gunshots.
Laing had followed them, moving quickly behind the hedges, thrown the lantern to stop them and no doubt destroy the evidence, and shot at them. Who had he hit, apart from the horse?
Solomon rolled away from her, bounding to his feet, so surely he was unharmed. He had a pocketknife in his hand with which he cut the screaming horse free of her harness and the burning gig. Old Betsy clattered away, and yet she didn’t get far before she stopped and whinnied piteously.
Ignoring the pain, Constance sat up to see Solomon running back toward her. A figure hurtled past her from the hedge, all but jumping over her before he crashed into Solomon and brought him to the ground.
