26. “Tailspin” - For You
“Tailspin” - For You
After the emotional trainwreck of my argument with Henry, I know I need to do something. I won’t survive thirty years of this cat-and-mouse game. Hell, I won’t survive another thirty days.
Leaving Wesbourne isn’t an option. I owe it to this country to stay and make a difference.
Following Adelaide’s advice and distracting myself with Beck provided a temporary reprieve, but his face isn’t the one that haunts me at night, no matter how badly I wish it were.
I need another way to escape Henry and the strange power he wields over me.
When the answer arrives, it’s so simple I’m irritated I haven’t thought of it before.
“Wasn’t there a collection of old ship logs in the archive room at the Society?” I ask Maisie. We’re sitting in my office going over my itinerary for the week.
She looks up from the planner in her lap, realizing I haven’t been paying attention to her overview of my upcoming events. My mind is far away. On the shores of Ireland, to be exact.
“They’re on the shelf next to the census records. I think. Or they might be filed under Nautical History. Probably that one. Yes, I can almost visualize them in my mind. They’re just right there”—her hands jut out in front of her like she’s bookending them on the shelf—“between Wesbourne at Sea—”
“Maisie. Maisie.” I finally get her attention. “That’s great. I just need to know they’re there.”
“In that case, yes, they are there.” Her eyes grow quizzical behind her glasses. “What do we need with ship logs?”
“I’m doing some research,” I say. “On Queen Helena’s mysterious lover.”
She rubs her hands together in glee. “I love mysteries. They’re my drug of choice.”
I cock an eyebrow at this but don’t even attempt to hide my smile. I’m in too good of a mood. If my plan works, I might end up being the luckiest girl in the world. “I just need to find a record of him leaving Ireland.”
“Why? Oh, are you writing a blog post on the story? I’m sure people would love to hear your side of things! It would—”
“This has nothing to do with my blog.”
“What then?”
I wasn’t intending to tell her, but I’m so eager to talk about this brilliant plan that the words tumble out before I can stop them. “If I can find evidence that proves Helena had an affair, I can prove my right to the throne.”
Maisie begins nodding in comprehension, but then her eyes cloud over. “But you’re already being crowned in less than two months. Why do you need to prove anything?”
“Because I’m not being crowned alone. And if I can prove I’m the rightful monarch, I can annul my marriage to Henry and be crowned by myself.”
“But . . . why?”
“That part’s irrelevant.”
“It seems like an awful lot of trouble to go to for something that’s irrelevant,” she says. “Did you guys have a fight?”
I almost laugh, but catch myself at the last second. “Let’s call it irreconcilable differences.”
“But you’re so good together!”
Now I allow myself a humorless chuckle. “Henry and I are a lot of things. ‘Good together’ is not one of them. Let’s get back to the subject at hand—the logbooks.”
Maisie frowns but says, “Do you know his name? Or the name of the ship? What about dates? Any idea when it was?” Her forehead wrinkles as she gets sucked into the project. “Wait. How do you know he came from Ireland, or sailed at all for that matter?”
I give her a condensed review of the letters Henry and I found. “We know she sent him money for the trip. We just need to confirm that he actually left.”
“So we’ll go to the Society and check all of the logs for a ship leaving Ireland in May of 1837,” she says. “It’s a brilliant plan.”
“Actually, I was planning to go alone.”
“Oh, come on! I’m the one who read the diary and told you about it. If it weren’t for me, you’d still be sitting at home being nothing but a mere duchess. The least you can let me do is tag along. Besides, you don’t even know where the logs are.”
I smile. “You just told me. In the nautical history section.”
She pulls the worst poker face I’ve ever seen. “I was wrong. I’m positive that’s not where they are after all.”
I should bring her along just for entertainment purposes. “Fine. You can come.”
Maisie jumps out of her chair and is poised to hug me, but stops when she sees the look on my face. “When do we leave?”
“Tonight. After dark.”
She frowns. “Why at night? They’ll be closed. Did you forget the hours already?” Her eyes widen as it dawns on her. “Ohhh, you’re planning to break in.”
“It’s not breaking in if you have a key.”
A knock sounds at my office door, and Maisie whirls around to answer it. Henry is standing on the other side. My heart sinks, after leaping for the sky.
“I’m sorry,” he says, looking at me. “I thought you were alone.”
“And I thought you were in Japan.” I throw Maisie a withering look. She assured me he was away on business.
“The trip fell through.”
“You’re just in time,” Maisie interrupts, clearly interpreting the tension in the room as something that needs diffusing. “Celia was just telling me everything you discovered about Helena and Philip.”
“Was she?” Henry’s face is stony.
I try to catch Maisie’s eye, but she is focused solely on him.
“And we’re breaking into the Historical Society tonight to see if we can find proof of Philip’s passage—”
“Maisie,” I cut her off. “Aren’t we going to be late for something?”
Her poker face has improved in the past few minutes, because she gives me a look of pure innocence. “No, I don’t think so.”
Henry, meanwhile, has yet to remove his gaze from me. It should be illegal to look at a woman that way, to make her feel so many things with just your eyes and not mean a single one of them. “I’ll come back another time,” he says.
“No, you have to stay!” Maisie insists. I’m going to strangle her. “Or at the very least come with us tonight. It seems only right.”
There is a question in his eyes. He’s probably waiting for my approval.
“I’m sure he already has plans.” I direct my answer to Maisie, but my focus remains on Henry.
“Actually, now that my plans got canceled, I’m a free man,” he says. It’s a test to see if I can be in the same room as him and still act like a civilized being.
“Then of course you must join us.” My smile feels sweet enough to cause cavities. I do an inner victory dance at the surprise that flashes across his face. Checkmate.
“Great. I’ll drive.”
I haven’t been to the Historical Society since I left my position there and retrieved my things from my office.
It looks different at night, foreboding and almost sinister, the bookcases in the archive room casting shadows twice their size and taunting us with the secrets they carry.
The familiar scent of dusty manuscripts, ink, aging leather, and Mrs. Grisholm’s lemon verbena cleaner ushers in a wave of nostalgia.
“I’ll grab the ship logs, and we can go through them at the table,” Maisie says, and darts off down one of the aisles.
I pull out a chair, but before I can sit, Henry tugs me in between two bookcases. I spin away from him and hiss, “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I wanted to apologize. That’s why I came to your office this morning.”
“In that case, we’ll be here all night.” I cross my arms. I’m still irritated that he came along, and as far as I’m concerned, he can participate by being silent and statue-like.
“I’m sorry for the way I ended things that night. And all of the times since then that I’ve made an asshole of myself and hurt you.”
I take great interest in my manicure, ensuring I haven’t chipped any polish. If I refuse to meet his eyes, maybe he’ll quit talking. The whole thing was weeks ago. I’ve nearly put it out of my mind.
“I was hoping we could at least be friends,” he says. From across the room, Maisie is talking, whether to herself or us, I can’t tell. We both ignore her. “Bloody hell, Celia. Can’t you at least say something?”
I drop my hand and shoot him a nasty look. “Friends? You want to be friends? You were the one who said our friendship was over.”
He sighs and runs his hand through his hair. “That was a long time ago.”
“Ten years, to be exact.” I resume my nail inspection, although I can’t even tell you what color they are. Tears brim right behind my eyelids, but I’ll die before I let them fall.
Henry’s timing is impeccable. Just when I’m learning how to breathe without him, to be able to go minutes without thinking of him, he rips the scab off and leaves me bleeding all over again.
“I know you have a right to hate me, but it’s killing me.”
“How do you think I feel?”
“C, I’m sorry.” His voice is thick with emotion. “Truly.”
My monotone belies the thunderstorm raging in my chest. “Don’t be. You did me a favor.”
I know my words have hit their mark, because a small groaning sigh escapes his lips, the kind of sound you make when disappointment and surprise get together to punch you in the chest. Shoving aside the regret I feel at hurting him, I remind myself that he has hurt me far worse and way more often.
“Sometimes there’s more to the story.”
“And sometimes the best stories are short and sweet,” I retort. “I would love it if, for just once, my life could be uncomplicated. Apparently, that’s too much to ask for.”
“No, it’s not. You deserve that.” He sighs again. “But it’s not always possible.”
Maisie approaches from around the corner, saving me from having to reply. “There you guys are! I’ve been looking everywhere. I found them!” She holds up a stack of dusty books. “Exactly where I said they’d be,” she adds.
We sit at the table and each take one of the ship logs from the stack. “It’ll be a lot easier if we check the date first. Philip had to sail in 1837,” I say. “If he left Ireland at all.”
“So, we’re looking for Philip Anderson leaving Ireland in 1837 and sailing to Wesbourne?” Henry has assumed a neutral tone, both of us having silently agreed to put our argument aside for the time being. Forever, if I’m lucky.