Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The fact that her father was here, that he had a boat docked at the shore, it had to be a sign that Edith was making the right decision. Didn’t it?
She hadn’t known what she had been planning to do when she stormed out of the cave. She’d just had to escape the crushing weight of her failure. If her father hadn’t been there, would she have let Thomasin talk her back down? There was no point in wondering.
The quest was over. She hadn’t been worthy enough to find Excalibur. Edith had sabotaged her grandmother’s chances of fulfilling her own dream to go on the quest, and this was Edith’s punishment. She did not deserve to succeed, not without her grandmother.
But what about Thomasin? The question haunted her as she boarded the modest ship, the wooden ramp swaying beneath her.
It hurt how much she loved Thomasin. But the quest was done, and she hadn’t even been able to find the treasure for Thomasin.
Edith couldn’t make her whole life an adventure, and Thomasin would no doubt get bored with her.
She was a legendary criminal. She wouldn’t be content with a quiet little life with Edith.
There was nothing to stop Thomasin from changing her mind once she realized that it was the quest she loved, not Edith.
So she was doing the right thing. She was stopping this before the hurt could get any bigger. The love between her and Thomasin was dangerous. But with her family, Edith risked nothing. She would have her boring life with people who would never stop loving her. Even if they didn’t always show it.
Without Edith to hold her back, Thomasin would thrive again. She could go back to London and take the syndicate back from Worthing. She could have everything she wanted and never be bored.
This was best for everyone.
So why did Edith’s heart feel like it was caving in on itself?
Her father showed her to a small bedroom below deck where she could change into something more appropriate, more ladylike.
It was just a cot with a trunk at the foot, a water basin, a desk, and no windows, which made the gentle rocking of the boat more noticeable.
Edith’s stomach clenched at the unsteady feel of the wooden slats beneath her feet.
She felt like her whole world was rocking uncontrollably, and she might be pitched off the side any second.
Though it hurt to look at now, Edith still took out her grandmother’s urn and set it on the desk.
She couldn’t bear to leave it in her satchel, which she’d dumped unceremoniously on the floor.
Next, her adventuring outfit was shed, left in a heap on the ground.
Edith wanted to tear it up and burn it to ash.
It was embarrassing. A physical reminder of her foolishness, of the naive idea that she could be more than what she was.
She crumpled the outfit into a ball and shoved it under the bed.
At the basin, she dipped a cloth into the lukewarm water.
Her fingernails dug into her flesh as she scraped the grime from her skin.
The water quickly turned brown and murky.
When she dragged the cloth across her face, it came away streaked with dirt.
Edith tossed the cloth back into the basin, deeming herself clean enough.
There was a fresh chemise, petticoat, bodice, and skirt hanging from the door.
Last she saw the garments, they had been hanging in her closet at home.
She slipped on the chemise, then stepped into the petticoat.
The skirt was thick and heavy. She buttoned up the bodice over the chemise.
It was made of petal-soft velvet. The feel of that velvet as Edith pushed her arms through the sleeves made her nauseous.
All she could see, all she could feel, were those stolen curtains.
Her back arching against the fabric as she lay upon them, Thomasin hovering above her. Edith’s heels digging in for purchase. Her fingers clawing, clutching fistfuls of velvet.
There was a soft rap on the door, then her father’s voice. “Are you decent?”
She must have been standing there, dumbstruck and half dressed, for longer than she thought.
Edith cleared her throat, her mind. “One minute!” She tucked the blouse into her skirt, closed the clasp at the base of her neck with clumsy fingers, then threw herself onto the stool before the desk.
There was a mirror on the wall, and Edith watched her father enter the room in the reflection. He swung his arms out wide.
“You look so much better. Much more yourself. You’ll have to thank your mother when we get home. She made sure to send your favorite clothes along.”
If she weren’t feeling so resigned, she would have laughed at that. She hated these clothes, hardly ever wore them. In slipping back into her old life, Edith had never felt less like herself.
“Thank you, Father,” was all she said.
He came up behind her and gripped her shoulder. “I’m proud of you, Edith. You made the right decision.”
“Thank you,” she said again, unable to look away from her own eyes staring back at her in the mirror.
Her father watched her with a peculiar look, as if waiting for her to speak.
It took Edith a moment to realize what he wanted from her.
“I’m sorry I ran away. It was disgraceful of me,” she said hollowly.
His posture relaxed, and he gave her shoulder a squeeze. With a satisfied smile, he said, “The waves are too choppy right now. We’ll leave in the morning.”
Edith nodded, tried to smile, and failed.
“You must be exhausted,” her father said with a hint of distaste. “I’ll leave you to your rest.”
“Thank you,” she said again, feeling a lot like a parrot or a show pony.
He tilted his head and smiled in a way that was both pitying and indulgent. Edith couldn’t meet his eyes. He squeezed her shoulder again. Just as he was turning to leave, his eyes caught on something. Edith followed his line of sight and froze.
“Good Lord, are those—”
Edith reached, but he was faster. His hands snatched out and took her grandmother’s urn.
“You haven’t had these with you the whole time, have you?
” The shock and scorn etched into every line of his wrinkled face had Edith shrinking down into her chair.
“When they disappeared from my mantle, I figured you’d hidden them away somewhere like a sentimental, spoiled little girl.
But I never thought you’d be so selfish as to steal them away across the country.
They could’ve been destroyed, Edith! I’m shocked you didn’t lose them! ”
“I would never let anything bad happen to them,” Edith said in a small voice, while in her head all she could think was, As if you care.
As if you cared about Grandmother at all.
She might have been your mother, but I loved her with my whole heart.
More than you ever did. And perhaps it wasn’t fair to compare love.
He had loved his mother in his own way. He did grieve her.
But Edith didn’t care if it was fair or not. She was petulant and angry and …
Her father clutched the ashes to his chest and stormed from the room after one final scoff. It took her a moment to comprehend what had just happened. Her father had taken the ashes from her.
In that moment, the wrongness of it all crashed into her with alarming clarity.
Her father did not deserve to be the keeper of Edith’s grandmother’s memory.
Her ashes did not belong on a mantle under a veil of dust. Where her father would gesture to them and say to his guests, Ah yes, my mother. An eccentric, foolish woman.
Edith stood abruptly from her chair. She strode over and pressed her ear to the door.
When she didn’t hear anything on the other side, she flung it open.
Edith might have made a mess of everything else in her life, but she would not stand for her grandmother’s remains to be treated in such a manner.
As she crept from the room, she could hear her father’s footsteps already above deck.
She hadn’t seen anyone else on the small vessel, and so she threw caution to the wind.
There were only a few rooms and closets below deck, and she searched through every one of them.
The urn was nowhere to be found, and there was only one door left below deck.
It was locked. Edith crouched in front of the doorknob and pulled two pins from her hair.
She slid one into the keyhole, trying to remember what Thomasin had taught her.
But Edith hadn’t been paying much attention to the instruction.
She mostly recalled the way Thomasin had pressed up behind her.
The way her strong arms had wrapped around Edith.
Thomasin’s fingers tracing along her knuckles, and how much larger her hands were than Edith’s own.
But still somehow so graceful and dexterous.
She had guided Edith’s fingers through the motions of picking a lock with all the fluidity and nimble artfulness of a piano player.
Then Edith’s mind conjured other memories of Thomasin’s talented fingers, and she blushed so hard she thought she might faint.
With a shake of her head, she forced herself back on task.
They had practiced on the door of the inn they last stayed at.
By the end of their stay, Edith had been picking the lock all on her own.
This lock wasn’t so different. She felt her pin meet resistance, and she twisted it, letting it find the grooves within the keyhole.
At an angle, she eased in the second delicate pin.
She adjusted that angle until she heard a soft click.
Holding her breath, she turned the knob.
The lock gave way, and triumph bloomed in her chest. She snuck into the room.
Gray, late evening light filtered in through a porthole on the far wall.
Beneath it was an imposing dark walnut desk.