Chapter 29 THE PEER
Chapter 29
T HE P EER
Charli enters through a set of giant wooden doors and passes through a security checkpoint, which includes stepping through an x-ray machine and having her photo taken. Now with a pass hanging on a lanyard from her neck, she walks onto the fancy tile floors of the main lobby. As far as lobbies go, this one deserves all the awards. The vaulted ceiling is as high as that of Winchester Cathedral. An enormous chandelier glows with yellow lights in the center. Statues of what look like past kings and queens stare down at her. Beyond them, mosaics line the walls.
Feeling out of place with her so-very-American accent, she approaches the information desk and finds a man with uneven sideburns, looking up at her. “How may I help you?”
“I was hoping to have a note delivered to a peer? I was told that was possible.” Charli waits for him to laugh at her.
“Yes, sure.”
Charli can’t believe her luck. “Great. Do you know if Lord Steven Pemberton is here today?”
“I do believe I saw him this morning, yes.”
Charli’s jaw falls like an anvil. “Really? May I borrow something to leave a message for him?” If she’s going to keep playing detective, she’d better start traveling with a notebook and pen.
She writes out a quick note in her best cursive, briefly stating that she is a relative from the United States and would love to say hi. To hook him like a good writer, she finishes with, Did your family ever wonder what happened to Miles Pemberton, who I think would be your great-uncle a few generations back?
As she hands it over, she asks, “How long do you think it’ll take?”
“I’ll notify you of his response within thirty minutes or so. Depends on if he’s in chambers.”
Charli sits on a chair with a green velvet cushion and decides that she is the most underdressed person in the building. Before her, constituents shake hands with their representatives; tourists eyeball the impressive architecture; two visitor assistants laugh almost uncontrollably over something one has said.
Eventually, she locks her eyes on the doors through which he could come out and imagines what it would be like to see him in person. It’s probably a good time to work out what she is going to say to him. Hello, Lord cousin Pemberton, are you familiar with the murder your uncle several times back committed? Well, he didn’t do it! How do I know? Because he loved her. How do I know that? Because ... because I feel it in me, that love.
It takes every bit of thirty minutes for the visitor assistant with the distracted barber who forgot to line up his sideburns to return with an answer. He seems to realize only now what she’s wearing, and he does a double take at her sweats. She’d be offended, but she was busting his chops for ... well, having uneven chops!
She bites back another smile and says, “Any luck?”
“I’m sorry, he’s unavailable.”
“What does that mean?”
“He must have meetings. I’m not sure. There was a decline from his office.”
“A decline. Hmm.” So much for green lights. She recalls what the police officer outside had said. “Could I at least go to the public gallery?”
He nods. “I can escort you. And I’m sure you wouldn’t, but please do not attempt to contact him while he’s in chambers.”
“I wouldn’t dare,” she says, but in truth, she would. If that’s her only option.
He gestures for her to follow him. “The House of Commons usually has a queue, but you’ll have no trouble getting into the House of Lords. I can’t say that he’ll be in attendance—maybe only ten to twenty percent usually are at any given time, but you might get lucky.”
Charli follows him through a set of doors, down a hall, and up a flight of stairs. He walks her into the public gallery, where a group of everyday people sit on benches looking down over the proceedings. Heads turn as she quietly takes a seat and looks down from her place on the balcony to find Parliament in session.
She’s seen pictures, but it’s an impressive sight to behold in person. The ceiling is as elaborate as was the lobby. A structure resembling a church altar stands against the back wall, its polished gold sparkling under the bright lights from the pendants swinging above. Men and women dressed in their finest business suits sit on red benches, all facing two men in wigs who reside at a large square desk in the center. Charli needs to brush up on her British politics, but she imagines the members sit with their respective parties.
Also at the square desk are two podiums, one on either side. A man with a red tie is making an impassioned speech. He’s an advocate for whatever bill or policy is under debate. He smacks down his fist. “We must act now before it’s too late.”
Charli bounces her eyes from one member to the next, hoping to recognize Lord Pemberton. She’s studied his picture enough by now. As she starts to lose hope, she acknowledges that there’s no way she’s going to grab his attention. She’d have to nearly yell, and then everyone in the chambers would look her way. She’d probably be dragged out in cuffs.
Her mind is wandering ten minutes later when a door in the corner opens. She watches with hesitant anticipation as a petite woman in a black suit shuffles in, followed by a man in gray who is straightening his collar. As she’s about to give up and the door is closing, a hand appears to catch it.
It’s him.
Lord Steven Pemberton follows the other two into the chamber. His facial angles are sharp enough to cut something. He has curly hair the color of gunmetal. He takes a seat, crosses his arms, and listens quietly.
Did he really see my note? she wonders. If so, is he intentionally avoiding her? Surely, he’s heard by now that she’s hunting him down.
Charli watches him as Big Ben chimes another passing hour. He claps, he stands, he nods, he takes notes. She hopes she can catch his eye, but he never once lifts his gaze upward to the balcony.
An hour later, he stands to leave. She seizes the opportunity and hopes to find him in the hallways. But a man in blue and green is there on the other side of the door and escorts her back to the lobby.
On the edge of giving up, she exits and wanders around the building. Perhaps he’s taking a lunch or smoke break. She notices a car park directly across Abingdon Street. Is that where the members park? Or perhaps they take the Tube.
Deciding that it’s a good opportunity to change, she hops a taxi back to her hotel. After a shower, she folds her hair into a towel and sits back on the bed, phone in hand. It’s time to call Noah.
His voice comes over on voice mail, and it’s like a balm for her heart.
“Noah, it’s me. I ... I’d like to talk to you. I have so much to say, and I ... I’m sorry. Would you call me? Can I come see you? I could come in the morning.”
She sets down the phone and brings her attention back to Lord Pemberton. Even if she can get him to talk to her, it feels like a long shot that he would have any additional information. But she’s in a leave-no-stone-unturned kind of mind.
Back at the Palace of Westminster, it’s four thirty, and she thinks she’s figured out which door the members use. While leaning inconspicuously against an iron fence across the street, she watches the door open and close. At five fifteen, people pour out. She crosses the street and stops by a tree growing out of the sidewalk. She pretends to use her tube of lipstick as a vape pen.
The rush slows, and the door snaps shut. She’s frustrated and doesn’t know what to do but hangs around a few more minutes, scrolling through her phone, chatting with Viv and her father and the dog sitter, smiling when she sees new pictures of Tiny.
The door opens and closes several more times, but it’s never him.
Until it is. Lord Pemberton jaunts out the door while tightening his scarf. By now Charli’s given up on stealth and goes straight for him.
“Lord Pemberton!”
He looks over with alarm.
“Yes?”
Charli reaches him and sticks out a hand. He doesn’t shake it. Instead, he looks like he’s about to lift his arms in defense.
“I’ve been trying to reach you. I’m a relative from Boston, and ...”
He raises a hand, suddenly looking terrified. “I’m sorry, I must go.”
“I’m not a scary person. I’m just ... I’m into genealogy.” Her statement comes off more as a question.
“I must go,” he says again, and rushes past her with almost comical speed.
No, she’s not losing this opportunity. Catching up with him, she says, “Just a moment of your time. I’m ... I don’t even know how to explain, but I’m investigating something that happened in our family. A murder in Winchester.”
He stops.
She knows that he knows exactly to what she’s referring.
This is her chance. “I have reason to think it didn’t happen the way it was written in the paper,” Charli says, approaching cautiously. “I’m talking about Miles Pemberton ... your direct relative. I think he would be your third great-uncle. This means a lot to me, trying to find the truth, and I’d so appreciate it if you’d sit down with me for a few minutes. Or we can keep walking. I have some questions, and I’d love to explain more of why I’m here.”
She guesses he’s going to come around and be nice, but he cuts a mean look at her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, and you’re making me quite uncomfortable. I’ll ask you to walk away now.”
Charli looks at him with pleading eyes, but he doesn’t seem to care.
“Sir, you know what I’m talking about. We are family. I just want to ...”
She sees a war he’s fighting in his head, and if any part of her is a detective, that part of her is screaming at her, telling her to get the truth out of him.
“What do you know?” she asks.
He spins around and raises his hands in the air, palms up. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. I must go.”
Charli looks at him now with more anger than anything else. “Why have you been ignoring me?”
“I don’t know who you are, young lady.”
“I’m a woman from Boston who is related to you and asking for your help.”
“I’m afraid I have nothing to offer you. Now, excuse me.”
He pivots and speed walks across the street toward the Tube station. Once he disappears, Charli sighs. What could he possibly know anyway? It was almost one hundred and fifty years ago. It was a silly hunch.
“It felt like he did know something,” Charli says to her dad as she faces a plate of Indian food. Not simply Indian food—the finest Indian food she’s ever tasted. She’s halfway through a plate of saag aloo , and her mouth is on fire, but in the best of ways. “I don’t know. I could be reading into it too much.”
“I think your gut has proven to be right lately. Don’t ignore it.”
“Yeah, well, what am I going to do? Take him hostage? Tickle him until he confesses that he knows what happened?”
“Please don’t do that.”
His lightheartedness summons a slight smile, as she can sense the lightness in him, perhaps hiding behind a veil. “Dad, can I talk to you for a minute? Like really talk to you.”
“You know you can, Charli.”
Does she? She’s been holding back for years. “I think I’ve been harboring some resentment toward you. About you always being gone when I was younger. And how Mom treated me.”
“Charli—”
“No, Dad, let me finish. Do you remember when I came down hard on you about not protecting me? When I blamed you for how Mom treated me? Back in high school?”
She knows he remembers because she’d never been so ugly to him, but she waits for his response.
“I do.”
She pauses to get it right. “I’m sorry for saying that. It’s not true. You were out there making a living and supporting us, fighting through your own grief after losing my brother. You didn’t know what Mom was doing. You were trying so hard to be a good husband and a good dad. And I know you loved me. It was all her, and I’m realizing that. And before you say anything, I realize that I’ve been stuck since then, believing all the stuff she told me. Believing that you guys would have thrown me away if you—”
“You know that’s not true,” he says, his voice cracking.
“Yes. Especially in your case. And with Mom, I’m not going to give her excuses, but she has them. She comes from a long line of troubled people, and I believe with all of me that trauma travels through the generations in a multitude of ways. There’s been a momentum of bad building in our family since Lord James Pemberton and possibly before that. There’s no way to know when it started. But I know where it stops.”
He lets her finish.
She drops a fist onto her leg. “With me. I’m not going to let my experience with her dictate the rest of my life. What I’m going to do is hold on to all the love you’ve shown me and move on. Daddy, I haven’t even let myself be in a relationship because I thought that I wasn’t good enough. I didn’t want people to find me out. It’s so stupid. What am I hiding from? I’m human.”
“Aren’t we all?”
“And that’s what I really wanted to say. Something happened to you. I remember you being so bright and full of life years ago, and you’re letting life beat you. I didn’t tell you this, but one of the main reasons I came here was that I had this wild hope that I could somehow turn you around. Somehow keep you from ... giving up or hurting yourself. And you don’t need to tell me what was going on with you or tell me if I was right, that you were thinking about it. I want you to tell me that you’ll join me in trying to climb out of this hole together. What do you say?”
The following silence isn’t so scary.
“Yeah,” he finally says. “I can do that. I can definitely do that.”
She smiles into the phone.
“Sounds like this adventure was all worth it, huh? I’m hearing some fire in you.”
“Yes, for sure. You know, it’s funny. I came here following Frances’s instructions. I got to the truth. Not sure I set the truth free, but I think I’ve at least found it. Is that why I feel so much better? Or is it because ... just because I’m finally growing up. Either way, coming here has changed me.”
“I can hear it, Charli, and I’m so proud of you. I’m not sure it matters how we exactly change, as long as we do. And I’m sitting here hearing you, and it’s putting a smile on this old face. You make me want to fight too. I’ve told you that before.”
Is that some fight she hears in his voice? “The only piece that doesn’t make sense is why I had to finally fall in love—really fall in love—with someone who lives so far away. That doesn’t feel right.”
“You’re young, Charli. Love can come around again.”
“Can it, Dad? Do you believe it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Yeah.” At least he’s being real with her.
“Look, Charli. Please know that you’re my everything. You’re what keeps me going. And I love the way you’re talking now. If anyone can lead this family out of the darkness, it’s you.”
His encouragement fills her up and makes her believe that he’s right.
It’s Saturday morning—twenty-four hours before her flight, and Noah still hasn’t returned her call. There’s a difference in her mindset today, though. Who could blame him? She messed up, and if he truly feels about her the way he says, then he’s hurting inside. It’s her turn to be brave. That’s why she will not leave this country without telling him to his face that she loves him.
A cab takes her to the train station, where she buys a ticket back to Winchester. She’s got about ten minutes before departure and goes to grab a croissant while she’s waiting on the boarding announcement. Attempting to slow her speedy mind, she puts on her headset and plays Taylor Swift’s newest album. When they flash the track number, she heads that way and climbs aboard a car toward the front.
She’s casually checking her emails, scrolling for no reason, when a new one appears and makes her choke on her pastry.
He’s written to her.
Lord Pemberton has written her.
She focuses and reads his note.
Miss Thurman,
I apologize for my hesitation in speaking with you yesterday. Your communication has caught me quite off guard. Upon further consideration, I’m willing to sit down with you and discuss this matter. Please let me know when you are available.
Steven Pemberton
Never has Charli moved so quickly in her life. She springs from her seat, races down the aisle, and leaps down to the platform just in time.