Chapter 30 BLOOD TIES
Chapter 30
B LOOD T IES
Eleven a.m. and gloomy. Lord Steven Pemberton stands alone on the path that runs along the river Thames. He wears the same scarf as the day before, neatly knotted at his neck. He holds a cup of coffee in his hand and is watching a man waving a metal detector over the small beach down along the shore.
“Lord Pemberton?” The formality makes Charli feel awkward. “Is that what I call you?”
He twists to her. “Steven. Please call me Steven.” He shakes her hand. He’s so much warmer now. “I’m sorry about the weather.”
She glances up at the clouds. “I was told this was the norm.”
He has the smile of a politician, one that’s difficult to decipher. “It is. And it’s quite normal to apologize as well.”
Charli thinks he’s made a joke, but she’s not sure. “That’s funny.” There’s a fading question mark in there somewhere.
He turns back to the river and nods toward the man with the metal detector. “You wouldn’t believe what the mud larkers find down there. You’d think they would have picked it dry by now, but the river keeps turning stuff up.”
“Turns what up?” Charli asks, stepping to get a better look at the man focused on his task down on the beach.
“Artifacts from centuries of life here. Pottery, wine jugs ... murder weapons. Now they require permits, but in the old days, anyone could go rummaging along the shore. My son and I once found a Roman coin near the bridge over there.”
Charli follows his finger to the arched bridge that crosses over the Thames. “You have a son?”
“A son and a daughter, yes. Nineteen and twenty-one, both attending school in Oxford. How about you, Charli? Do you have children?”
“No, it’s just me.”
Only then does he take a peek at her naked ring finger. “You’re still young, though.”
“I’d like to think so. Actually, I wasn’t sure I ever wanted kids, but I’m changing.”
He smiles warmly, easing her nerves. “They are the delight of my life. Anyhow ... you seem quite interested in speaking to me. I have indeed received your communiqué, and I must say that you’ve caught me off guard. Are you sure that we are related?”
Charli crosses her arms and looks up into his green eyes. “Miles Pemberton, the man convicted of murdering Lillian Turner, was my third great-grandfather. That, I know. But my family didn’t know him as Miles. We knew him as Samuel.”
He pinches his chin. “How do you know they are one and the same?”
“I have pictures. Well, one picture from his life in the States, with the family he started there. Where I came from. And I have this ...”
She reaches into her bag and first hands him the picture of Miles and Lillian. He takes it delicately and studies it. For a moment his eyes widen as he shuffles his feet. What had he seen?
“I found this picture hidden behind this one with his American family.” She hands him the photo of Miles and his American wife, Margaret, and their two children. As he looks, she says, “A man at the London Archives pointed out that the tie in the first photo is a Winchester College tie, so I visited the college archivist and found more pictures.”
“Quite the researcher, aren’t you?” He looks one more time at the photograph of the older Miles, then hands them back to her.
“I’m new to genealogy, but ...” Where does she even begin? “As you can imagine, I’m intrigued. It seems that he escaped prison, somehow made his way to Boston, and created an entirely new family tree under the name Hall.”
Lord Pemberton looks up toward the dark clouds. “It’s been a question passed down through my family for a long time.”
Charli’s heart kicks. “So you’re familiar with what happened ... I mean, you ... you know about the murder?”
“Of course I know about the murder.”
“I just ... it was a long time ago.”
He chuckles. “I don’t know that family murders are forgotten that easily.”
“Fair point.”
“And here you go, digging it back up as if it were yesterday.”
“Yeah, it’s becoming an obsession, getting to the truth.”
“I can imagine.”
“Look, Lord Pemb—I mean, Steven. There’s more to it than me stumbling upon a photo. It’s a long story, but I’ve become fascinated with transgenerational memories, both genetically speaking, and something perhaps even more ... how do I even say it? Something more powerful than genetics. My family has been struggling a lot since Miles’s generation. Suicides, early deaths, cancer, depression, and almost unfathomable bad luck. I’ve experienced it myself. Ever since I learned this idea of how transgenerational memories can affect us, I’ve been trying to get to the bottom of where it all started.”
She wonders whether he’s about to turn and walk away, referring to her later as his balmy American cousin.
“I know what I’m saying is hard to believe but—”
“I don’t think it’s hard to believe at all,” he says.
“Wait, really?”
Steven draws a breath, as if he’s not sure whether he wants to unlock this door.
“Forgive me, but I must ask you ... are you wearing any kind of recording device?”
“What?” Charli says in surprise. “No, I’m not recording.”
He chews on her response, possibly considering a search. After a moment he nods, as if he’s okay with believing her. “I come from a long line of struggle. And it has everything to do with that day in 1881. Or at least I believe so.”
“Are you for real right now?” Charli takes a quick inventory of what is happening. She’s tracked down a relative, who happens to be in the House of Lords, and he’s been thinking the same thoughts?
“I’m certainly for real. I suppose I’m a bit of a history junkie myself, and I’ve always wondered about the truth. All of us have. What happened to Miles after his escape?” He bites his lower lip. “Here you are, bringing the answer. What other details do you have?”
“Barely anything. It was such a long time ago. I’m afraid my cold case–solving skills could use some developing, and no one in my family has much to tell. He had two children, died in Boston in 1925, when he was sixty-two.”
With a stifled smile, he reaches for something in his jacket pocket. As he’s about to draw it out, his hand stops, and he lets his jacket close again.
“Do you know something that I don’t?” Charli asks.
He hesitates, spinning his cup of coffee in his hand like it’s a wineglass. “I’m not looking to drag up history, Charli. As far as legally so. In other words, what I’m going to tell you is not something I’ll repeat again, but ... but I feel that I owe you something for bringing to me this truth.”
Charli loses her breath in anticipation. She hangs on his words.
“I don’t believe Miles Pemberton was a murderer. I believe there was some kind of cover-up.”
“Why do you say that?”
“While my father was dying, he called me to his bed. He told me that our family carried a dark secret and that I had to lead the best life I could if I was ever to escape it.”
Steven reaches into his jacket pocket again and pulls out an antique silver hair brooch, shaped like a flower with an emerald in the center ...
Wait, Charli’s seen it before.
When it hits her, she gasps. “That’s the same one that’s in the photo.”
“I think so. His father had given it to him, saying to always keep it as a reminder that he has a responsibility in this life. He told me that what was written in the papers wasn’t true.”
Charli feels validated. “Miles didn’t kill her, did he?”
Steven shakes his head. Not a word spoken.
She takes the brooch and runs her fingers along it, feeling the hum of the tragic memories associated with it. “I was right,” she whispers to herself.
“You may keep it, as I think it’s served its purpose now. Perhaps it’s meant to fall into your hands.”
Charli finds a certain pain welling in his eyes. “But what happened then?”
“Miles’s brother, Edward, was my grandfather a few generations back. He, of course, once carried my position in the Lords. As you may know, he was shot by Lillian’s brother but survived. Lillian’s brother was killed in the gunfight. On his deathbed, Edward told the story of what had transpired that day and confessed to his son that he’d killed Lillian.”
He sighs. “He said that in the years after being shot, he’d found God and sought forgiveness. He’d been responsible for Lillian’s death and felt responsible for her brother’s as well. He made his son promise that he would live a life that could redeem their family name. This has been a tradition all the way to me. My father gave me the brooch upon my graduation from Oxford and made me swear to live the life of two good men to make up for what our ancestor had done. The brooch became a powerful symbol in our family that I believe freed us from following in the footsteps of the bad men who came before us.”
Steven looks up, as if searching for the heavens. “I have done my best to fulfill my oath to my father, but I do not want my children to know what happened. I don’t want them to feel a murderer’s blood inside of them. This is what kept me up last night, after you found me. I woke and stared for a long time at the picture of my son and daughter, wondering if I must pass this burden on to them or if I could end it with me. Perhaps it’s time to let go. Perhaps you and I can finally set to rest this awful crime.”
A sense of pride rises in her, knowing that she’s found such a good man in her family tree. And she can’t believe what he’s saying. “So it was his own brother? Why would he do that?”
Steven presses his lips together in thought. “The details have faded as the story has been passed down, but I do believe his father, James, was a bad man. Abusive and angry. The story as it came to me is that James did not approve of Miles’s courtship with an innkeeper’s daughter. Miles refused to end the relationship, and on the day of the murder traveled to Elmhurst with Lillian to meet face-to-face with James on the subject. An argument ensued, and Miles and James began to fight. At some point, Edward attempted to break up the fight with a gun. Lillian got in the way, and he shot her in cold blood. Only later in his life did he realize the wrong that he’d done. I do believe his brush with death, and the good Lord himself, turned his heart.”
“Wait, but ... how did Miles get blamed?”
Steven nods, as if he knew the question was coming.
“It was James’s design. He must have had a bad leg, as he walked with a cane. My father spoke of a gold lion’s head as the handle. I’ve seen pictures of it since. James struck Miles with it, leaving him unconscious. He apparently had been forced to decide between his two sons in that moment, and he chose Edward. They devised a story that would send Miles to the gallows and allow Edward to take his place as the rightful heir to the estate and to the House of Lords. The only part that backfired was Miles’s escape from prison. They always guessed it was Miles’s grandmother who helped him, but nothing was ever proven.”
Charli hasn’t moved a muscle. She finally takes in a breath as she processes the information. She feels the betrayal that Miles must have felt when he realized what was happening. What a terrible, terrible thing that was done to him.
She finally looks back to Steven. “You’re a good man,” she says. “I appreciate you sharing this with me. It means everything. And, yes, I want what happened to go away. We’ve all suffered enough.”
Steven nods. “I hope you’ll agree that this crime does not need to be dredged back up, and I will not join you on some mission to clear Miles’s name. We are a public family, and I have no interest in drawing the media further into our lives. They might even try to remove me from the Lords. But I felt compelled to tell you the truth, as I am ready for it to end. We, too, have struggled as a family, and life has been trying. I don’t want to bring any more of that in. My children deserve to live without such a burden.”
“I understand,” Charli says. He’s taken a big step, bringing her this brooch.
“Tell who you need to tell, family and such, I suppose. But keep the circle small. Absolutely no media, no books. I will deny we ever spoke.” He takes a step back. “I must go, Charli. You now know as much as I.”
“Understood.”
He locks eyes with her, and she sees a man she admires very much. “You’ve satisfied a great curiosity in my life,” he says. “Thank you for that. How terribly awful to be punished for a crime he didn’t commit. I do hope he was able to find happiness again.”
“I hope so too.” Something else is already on her mind, though. “One last thing.”
He stops. “Yes?”
“I’d like to visit Edward’s grave, and perhaps James’s too. For some closure. Do you know where they’re buried?”
“I do. Everyone in our family has been buried in the West Hill Cemetery. The one up high on the hill near the hospital in Winchester. They’re not hard to find, a whole cluster of Pembertons.”
“Thank you. Thanks for everything. It’s nice to meet you, Steven. If you ever find yourself in Boston, you have my contact info.”
“Indeed I do.” He looks at her one last time. “Farewell, Charli.”
Charli sits by the window near the front of the train. The world outside passes by in a blur. The inspector is punching tickets. Across the aisle, a mother nurses her child.
Connected to the train’s Wi-Fi, Charli scans photos of her family: of Miles and Edward and James. She can’t believe she’s finally gotten the truth, but even more, she can’t believe what Edward and James did to Miles. What kind of people could do that?
Back in the British Newspaper Archives, she finds a grainy picture of James in a black suit and the top hat that seems glued to his head. She’s not seen this one before. It’s dated 1879, London. He sits on a wooden chair, one leg crossed over the other in a pose. He is scowling at the camera underneath the guise of his waxed mustache. He’s no happier than that first picture she saw of him in the Hampshire Archives office.
Charli reads the copy below. It refers to him as an outspoken peer from the Whig Party who pushed to take away power from the crown. She looks deep into his eyes, or what she can see of them. What made him so evil?
Then she notices that he’s holding on to something. Is that a ...? Charli uses the zoom feature on her computer, focusing in on what he holds in his left hand. It’s a mold or a small statue. Or a ...
It’s the lion-head cane that Steven mentioned. She sees it instantly as a weapon and imagines this awful man—this man who is a part of her—swinging it at his son. He comes to life in her mind, how he surely was even more abusive than Charli’s mother.
But why a cane? What happened to him?
“His leg,” she says out loud. Back in Costa Rica Herman had said that his leg hurt and that he could barely stand on it. So Herman was representing James—and, of course, the guy in the Messi uniform represented Miles, who was the cause of James’s rage.
Charli takes the idea in for a moment. If she had any last doubts about the constellation, how could she now? What Frances had helped her create in that room was exactly the dynamic that she discovered in coming to England.
What does it all mean? she wonders, unable to ever again question the validity of the constellation. She doesn’t understand the science of it, if it can be explained by science at all, but what happened in Costa Rica was no joke.
But being realistic, she thinks that life can’t be so easy as to restore an imbalance by solving a mystery. The hard work must be done to accompany it, and that’s what Frances must have meant when she’d said, You’re trying to right the wrongs to reach a point of healing, but the healing is already taking place by you being on the journey.
It’s not a chicken or egg kind of thing, Charli decides. The constellation therapy will do its part while Charli does her own work to break the cycle. How many generations of bad people had led to that day when Lillian was murdered? And to Georgina and then Charli? It surely didn’t start with James Pemberton. Like Georgina’s past had shaped her into someone cruel, so it surely went for James.
There is some sort of dark momentum flowing through her blood and in the morphic field of her family, and it will take more than restoring balance in their family’s constellation. It will take Charli standing up and taking action to make sure the momentum will not carry forward.
It ends with her.