Chapter 22
Henry closed the door behind him, an uneasiness creeping down the back of his neck. “What sort of mystery?”
Thalia looked and sounded like his wife, still wearing the dress she had left the boathouse in, but there was something… off about her. Her cool gaze, for one thing. No hint of the laughter that had warmed his heart earlier. No warmth whatsoever.
“My own,” she replied, tucking her knees in, her posture defensive.
He took a few steps toward her but halted as she put her hand up to stop him. “I heard you were unwell. The physician should be here soon.”
“I do not need a physician,” she said. “I need to know why you did not just tell me about our deal?”
Henry’s heart lurched, as he searched her face, hardly daring to believe what the sudden coldness in her gaze might mean.
“You could have helped,” she continued. “Instead, you let me feel like a fool.”
“Thalia, I did not want to influence you; I wanted you to remember in your own time,” he said, coming closer.
She shook her head, putting her hand up again.
“All you had to say was that you wanted a bride in order to bolster society’s opinion of you, and that I needed to pay off my family’s debts.
Why did you not say that it was me who asked to be left alone?
Why did you let me question everything, confused as to why my husband would wish to be apart from me? ”
It is true. It is real. She has her memory back.
He ignored her gesture, too overwhelmed with relief… and some degree of apprehension not to be near her. He walked to her chair, sinking to his knees at her side, and raised his hand to touch her face, to be certain.
“You remember,” he murmured, an ache catching him in the chest as she pulled back from the light brush of his thumb across her cheek.
She turned her head away. “I found my diary.”
“So… you do not remember?” He glanced at the book on her lap.
“No, I do. Finding my diary gave me an almighty headache, so vicious I thought my skull was about to crack.” Her forehead creased as if recalling the pain vividly. “When the pain finally subsided, I had my memories back.”
Henry resisted the fierce urge to touch her face again, to hold her hands at least. “When did this happen?”
“In the boathouse.”
“Why did you not call for me? Why did you not shout so I might hear you?” he urged, his heart sore at the thought of her suffering alone. Worse, that something irreversible might have happened, and he would not have been there to help her.
She shook her head. “I did not have the capacity.” Shrugging, as if to rid herself of discomfort, she added, “But it is fine now. I am fine. Restored. It was just… a bit of a shock.”
“I am sorry, Thalia,” he said softly, unable to help himself as he reached for her hand. “I am sorry I was not there. I am sorry that I did not tell you about our arrangement. Truly, there was no malice in it. I feared I might skew your memory if I told you things as I remember them.”
She drew her hand out of his and crossed her arms, retreating further into the protection of the armchair. “It is fine,” she repeated. “I am myself again. Well… mostly.”
“Mostly?” He wished she would just melt into him again, as she had on the lake shore. Had she forgotten that? Had that been the cost of regaining her memories, losing the ones she had made between her accident and finding her diary?
She frowned toward the window, the late-afternoon sky turning golden as the hours ticked toward sunset. “I am missing one part of my memory still.”
“Which part?” He braced, certain he was about to have his suspicions confirmed.
“I cannot recall the night of the accident. Not a bit of it,” she replied after a pause. “I remember what came before, up to a point, but nothing more.”
Henry moved around until he was kneeling in front of her, urging her silently to look at him. “What do you remember?”
“I was reading in the library,” she replied in a strange, faraway voice, “and Mr. Baxter came into the room. He informed me that Frances had arrived, I thanked him, and then… there are snippets of me laughing with her there in the library, discussing a book we had both been reading. I remember waving her off from the porch, and then… nothing. There is a void between that moment and when I awoke after the fall.”
Frustration thrummed through Henry’s mind like the buzz of a wasp’s nest, for he knew that Baxter’s account of that evening ended shortly after Thalia’s.
The butler had fetched her customary cup of evening tea, and she had retired to her chambers.
How she had ended up in the North Tower remained a mystery.
“Do you remember the first accident you had?” he asked, following a trail that had cooled, for his friends had discovered nothing more about that night. “When you were on your way to see me.”
The words stuck in his throat, unable to add the rest of the sentence, To ask me to rescind the offer of marriage. It still stung that she had been an unwilling participant in their union. Indeed, if he had known just how averse she was, he doubted he would have married her at all. For her sake.
“Why should that matter?” Thalia asked, finally turning back to look at him.
“Do you?” he pressed. “It is of vital importance. You had gaps in your memory of that night, too; I would know if they have also been restored.”
She gave a small nod. “Y-Yes, I remember.”
“Tell me of it,” he urged.
A frown crinkled her brow and, for a moment, he thought she might not respond.
“Well… as you said, I was on my way to see you, to ask you to reconsider,” she said quietly. “There were… riders on the road. Mr. Oxlade tried to get us away from them, but they chased us. The carriage snapped a wheel and we were thrown.”
Henry nodded, for he knew most of that already. “And then? Do you remember anything about the riders?”
“There were three of them,” she said, closing her eyes. “I was upside down in the carriage, dazed and in some pain. They wrenched open the door and… I feared they were going to kill me.”
Reminding himself to stay calm, Henry nodded encouragingly; this was new information. Something that must have happened while the driver, Mr. Oxlade, was knocked out. After all, he had said that there was no one there when he regained consciousness. He had also said there were only two riders.
“I thought there were only two, but one must have been riding with another,” she continued, answering a question he had not asked yet. “They had blades. One had a pistol, but it looked very old. They wore masks. Is this really necessary?”
Her voice trembled, her eyes shining with fear. Henry wished he could tell her that it was no necessary, that she could cease the story now, but it was imperative that she continued.
“It is, Thalia,” he urged. “I need to know if these ‘accidents’ are connected.”
Her throat bobbed, her crossed arms tightening around herself.
It took every speck of courtesy he possessed not to reach forward and pull her into his arms, to hold her until she felt less afraid.
But, considering she had withdrawn from his touch, he figured an embrace from him was the last thing she wanted.
She gave a small, courageous nod. “The one with the pistol… He said he was there to collect my father’s debts.
I do not know how they knew I would be traveling that road, but…
they did know who I was.” She took a breath.
“He put the pistol to my head and told me that he and his men would not hesitate to harm me and my entire family if they did not receive the money by the next day. Then, he said he would hurt me now, to show my father that this was no empty threat.”
White-hot fury pulsed in Henry’s veins, a rush of feeling so intense that his senses seemed to sharpen, as if preparing for battle.
Someone had put a pistol to his wife’s head.
Someone had threatened his wife’s life. And though he did not consider himself to be a violent man, he wished to put a pistol to that someone’s head in return.
It took all of his discipline to remain calm, to keep gazing steadily at her, listening to her troubling story.
“I… asked if they could wait four days instead,” she continued.
“The man with the pistol—I remember seeing surprise on his face. They whispered among themselves for a moment; I do not know how long. When they were done, they asked what I meant. I knew what you had offered, Henry, knew it would be enough. I told them as much and, when I did, they… accepted my terms and withdrew.”
“What were the terms?”
She took a breath. “That they would be paid on my wedding day.”
“And your father did so?” Henry asked.
He had certainly given the hefty sum to Gibbs on that day. Baxter had settled the account on Henry’s behalf, taking the bank draft to London on the morning of the wedding, and Baxter had assured Henry that it had all been done.
Thalia shrugged. “As I have not seen them since and my family are still breathing, I must assume that he did.”
“Were they familiar to you at all?” he asked.
She shook her head. “As I said, they wore masks. But no, I did not recognize them… although I do think I saw two of them on the day of our wedding. In the distance. A warning, no doubt.” A tight smile formed upon her lips. “It was the most terrifying day of my life.”
Clenching and unclenching his fists to try and temper his useless anger, Henry tried to think back to the day of the wedding. Had he seen anyone strange at the church? He did not think so, but then again, he had not been looking for unsavory characters.
With her head bowed, Thalia added quietly, “My brother said that no one knows why I returned that night with my mind entirely changed about my marriage to you. That is why. I would not put anyone’s life in peril, least of all Dorothy or Kenneth’s, for the silly desire to marry for love instead of convenience. ”