Chapter 27
Nessa stood on the precipice of the cliff, her toes just poking over the drop, her gaze set downwards so that she could fully take in the task ahead of her, while deciding if the inherent danger was worth the cost.
Before her spread the placid waters of the blue lake. The time had just reached midday, which saw the sun sitting high in the blue skies above. For once, there were no signs of a storm on the approach; the weather was warm, and even the wind felt gentle against her face.
Perhaps that was the final sign she needed.
Since arriving at Thornwyck Hall, her life had been one of impending doom and promised sorrow.
It was, in that way, much like the forever torrid and tempestuous weather, always on the verge of breaking and drowning both the world and everyone found within.
She had felt lost, unable to see the path she needed to walk, and always wondering if it might just be easier to give up and walk back the way she had come.
But Nessa looked down the face of the cliff. She took note of the gently lapping waters that kissed the base of the rocks. She saw her path clearly for perhaps the first time. And if the weather was any indication at all, her way forward was clear.
I have no choice in this. It is either turn and run, or charge ahead …
Nessa spared a final glance back the way she had come. In the far distance, she could just make out the castle on the horizon. But it was small and unimposing, and for once, it was not haunted by a sense of warning as if screaming at her to leave.
So, with no real choice, having come this far, Nessa began her descent.
Morag had explained with clarity how to reach the caves. While the face of the cliff was steep and treacherous, a narrow path wound steep down its side. Nessa found that path, and she crouched down and sat, wiggling her butt along the path one inch at a time.
The going was slow. The rocky ground hurt Nessa’s hands. More than once she slipped and had to steady herself, lest she fall from the path and into the waters below – likely, into the jagged rocks that burst from them like sharp teeth. But she did not give up.
How did my life come to this …
A part of Nessa wanted to complain and lament the life that was her own.
She was raised to believe that her father had abandoned her because he did not care.
She was sent to England to work as a companion, a world she did not know, and one that took months to feel comfortable in.
That, too, was ripped away from her, a firm reminder that her life would never be easy.
Here too, no matter how hard she tried, she was always forced to remember that she was different, that she did not belong, and that good intentions mattered not when the world seemed set against you.
As Nessa slowly shuffled herself down the path, she wondered what she hoped to find in these caves.
Proof, Morag claimed, or at least guessed at.
But even if that were true, what would she do with the proof?
By revealing who she was, she was also announcing herself as a liar – as she was giving credence to the notion that she was trying to manipulate Lord Thornwyck.
Her mind then fell on Lord Thornwyck.
Nessa hated that she had allowed herself to grow so close to him. How much easier things might be if she had not. But it was not done on purpose. It had not been sought. Sometimes, these things just happened, as natural as breathing, and just as necessary to see one live.
What would he do and say when he learned the truth? Nessa hoped that he would understand and even forgive her. If he was the man she believed, she knew that he would do. But if he did not, if he still blamed her … then I guess he is not that man.
That final thought was crushing, and Nessa pushed it from her mind because she had to believe in something, so why not Lord Thornwyck? Why not the only person in this world who treated her as if she truly belonged?
Finally, after at least ten minutes of shuffling, Nessa reached the base of the cliff.
The first thing she noticed was the tide.
While her feet touched wet sand, the water gently washed across her shoes.
Not too high. Nothing to worry about. But she stood perhaps five feet from where the rocks plunged into the sand, and Nessa wondered how long it would be until the same tide swept against them and cut off her escape.
Next, she turned and searched down the side of the cliffs, and she found the entrance to the caves immediately. It was a small opening, about the size of a doorway, facing the lake so that when the tide rose, it would rush inside and drown those found within.
She had to hurry.
Nessa stayed close to the base of the cliffs as she made for the caves. Even as she hurried, the tide came in further. Again, not aggressive, but enough so that she did not question if she might linger; time was of the essence.
She reached the cave’s entrance and paused. It was not deep, but it was dark, and the air was moist so the salt from the lake stung her nostrils. But the sun sat just right in the sky, so its position was perfect and its light shone into the cave.
“Well, here goes …”
Head bent, each step careful, Nessa crept into the cave.
The cliff’s base arched upwards, rising above the lake’s level.
It was about twice the length of her bedroom, and half as wide.
Nessa kept her hand on the wall, feeling its wetness, using it to guide her as she walked.
Sand lay beneath her feet; the sun touched the back wall, but it was not nearly so bright that she could see clearly.
I should have brought a lamp …
Once she was in the cave’s center, she turned and searched for … for something! She had no idea what she might find, and she began to worry that this was all for nought. But then her gaze fell on a rocky shelf that sat five feet high on the wall, and on that shelf was her answer.
The shelf was lined with dozens of glass jars, and in those glass jars were scrolls of parchment. Nessa’s heart raced as she collected the first one, and her hands trembled as she undid the lid and pulled out the parchment within.
It was old and stained yellow. The ink was faded and smudged. But she read the first line and gasped because Nessa understood immediately what she was reading.
Father, I know this letter must come as a shock to you, but please do not fear reading it …
The letter was written by Aisling, and it was addressed to their father. It was a short letter, asking only that her father respond and confirm that the letter had reached him – proof that he was alive, as Aisling believed.
Nessa opened the second jar, and then the third.
Each one was written by Aisling, and from the script, as well as the dates on each letter, Nessa deduced that Aisling made a habit of writing to her father every few months.
A quick calculation of how many jars there were showed that it appeared as if Aisling had been writing to her father for years.
The letters varied in content and questions. Some simply spoke of Aisling and what she was doing with her life; her teen years, the balls she attended, and one even mentioned Lord Thornwyck as a man whom she suspected would court her.
Others asked questions. Why her father had left when she was young. Why he had not reached out. And if they might ever meet, because Aisling was desperate to know him.
It broke Nessa’s heart to read those letters.
They reminded Nessa of her own childhood, always wondering about her father and what might have happened to him. Indeed, as a girl, she had so many questions of her own, but unlike Aisling, Nessa never had the chance to write to him and ask the questions that burned so bright.
Nessa could not say for how long she was in that cave. But after much time, she came upon the final glass jar. She assumed it would be much like the others, and she opened it, pulled out the parchment, and turned to catch the fading light.
And then her eyes widened, and she gasped in surprise.
My dearest Aisling,
It brings me no pleasure to write you this letter, but please know that I do it for your own good.
And as you will see, I have attached all the letters sent to me in the past. Yes, I received them.
Yes, I read them all. And yes, reading them has brought me joy because I am truly touched to know that you have lived a life of health and fulfillment. Know that to be true.
However, I ask that you cease writing to me at once.
No good can come from trying to know me, Aisling. Your life is your own, and to revisit the past will only bring pain. Since leaving your mother, I remarried, started a new life, and typically ruined that life also. Chaos and sorrow follow me where I go, and not to have known me is a blessing.
But know that none of this was your fault.
Sometimes, in this life, we are little more than leaves drifting in the wind, taken where life demands, settling for a time before moving on.
You mentioned the Earl of Thornwyck, and I pray that you find your place there, and that you do as I never could: that you make it one worth living.
You have so many questions, and I cannot possibly answer them. But if answers are what you seek, I will give you one small thread to pull at … and perhaps in so doing, I will erase another sin that I carry.
After leaving your mother, I moved to Ireland and married again, and I had a daughter – sadly, as is my way, I left them shortly after. Her name was Nessa Kavanagh, and should you wish to learn more about me, she is who you must seek. I am so sorry, Aisling, truly, for everything …