Abby Grahame - Wentworth Hall

“I’ll be fine,” Lila assured her.

As soon as Maggie and Nora departed, Lila noticed a novel sitting on the dresser: Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens. Nora must have meant to bring it back up to the library but forgotten it. As long as she was heading for the library herself she might as well bring it up. Tucking the volume under her arm, she set out for her encounter with Jessica.

Maggie stood in Jessica’s room, wondering where to start looking. Crossing to the vanity, she pulled open all the drawers but discovered nothing. Pushing up the sides of the pink silk covers, she ran her hands between the mattress and the box spring along the entire bed, but with no success. Then, struck with a sudden inspiration, she tossed the pillows from the head to the center of the bed. “Voilà!” she murmured, seizing upon the red journal.

Stepping out into the hall, she held up the red journal to show Nora—who had busied herself dusting the tall, gilt picture frames—that she’d uncovered her prize. Nora smiled and nodded.

Back inside the room, Maggie fanned through the pages until, halfway through, the neat, tight handwriting stopped. She started by reading the last entry first:

Just weeks now until Teddy and I turn eighteen. Thank God! The first thing I intend to do when my inheritance comes through is to return to Johannesburg. I am so homesick and have had it with living here with the Darlingtons. Lila and Maggie remind me of all those titled brats. They are just the same sorts of snobs who plagued me while I was in London during my debutante season. They were just as concerned about their “names” and family lineage, mocking Teddy and me just because we aren’t descended from some musty old family covered in cobwebs. I’m proud that our father made his fortune on his own rather than inheriting it.

My mother, too, came from Dutch South Africans who farmed to make their fortune. How I wish I had known her better. I’m certain she would have loathed the stuffiness of English society. In that way I am truly her daughter.

After reading several earlier pages, Maggie sighed, shutting the notebook and laying the pillows back over it. They were certainly uninformative and disappointing, though they did explain Jessica’s haughty disdain. The bad reception she’d been given in London had set her against the English aristocracy, which the Darlingtons represented to her.

Nora had convinced her that Jessica was the author of the satires, but there wasn’t a word in the journal about Jessica having written them. And more importantly, no observations about the Darlingtons that indicated she’d uncovered any of their secrets. The only mention of the satires was one entry where Jessica confessed that she found the pieces hilarious and accurate, implying that the Darlingtons deserved the mockery they were getting. When Maggie read that, anger put red blotches into her cheeks, but it didn’t prove that Jessica had authored the newspaper pieces.

If it wasn’t Jessica, then who was it?

Lila wasn’t even close to the library when she heard Jessica’s laughter tinkling like chimes down the hallway. She realized that in the whole time Jessica had been at Wentworth Hall, Lila had never heard Jessica as much as giggle, not even once. What could be the cause of this merriment?

Upon entering the library, Lila came upon Jessica smiling flirtatiously at Ian, who sat on the other end of the leather couch regaling her with a tale of some sailing mishap. Lila was struck with a hard snap of jealousy. Why was Jessica standing so close to Ian? It certainly appeared that Jessica was enjoying his company— she was friendlier to him than she’d ever been to any of the Darlingtons.

“Lila!” Ian greeted her with a smile.

The lively shine in Jessica’s eyes dulled into annoyance. “Hello, Lila,” she said stiffly.

“What have you got there?” Ian inquired with a nod at the book tucked in Lila’s hand.

“Oliver Twist,” Lila reported.

“That’s one of my favorite books,” Ian revealed with enthusiasm. “How are you liking it?”

“I love it!” Lila fibbed, wanting to strike a common bond with him. “I came up here to read it. I had no idea anyone was in here.”

“Don’t let us stop you from reading,” Jessica said without warmth. Clearly her intent was to keep Lila from joining their conversation.

“Yes, don’t let us keep you from it,” Ian agreed. “When I was reading Oliver Twist, I was aggravated by any interruption to my progress. All I wanted to do was get on with the story. Do sit and read. I’ll keep my voice down. Can you concentrate if we keep talking?”

“Of course,” Lila said, settling into the hunter green leather high-backed chair across from the couch. She suddenly wanted to devour the novel as quickly as possible so that she would have some reason to talk to him. Besides that, her goal was to keep Jessica occupied and Ian was doing a better job of it than she ever could. “Continue telling Jessica your story and I’ll settle in here to read,” she said. “You won’t bother me.”

“Yes, do tell me the rest,” Jessica said brightly. “I’m dying to hear how this ends.”

Lila opened the book and immediately came upon a piece of lined paper folded in thirds. Curious, she undid it and saw it was a letter addressed to Maggie. Turning it revealed that it was from Michael. With darting eyes, she raced through it:

My Most Dear Maggie,

I write you today begging your forgiveness. I have been an insensitive fool and caused you great pain. I don’t know how I could have been so blind to have not realized that I am the father of darling little James. It angered me at first to think you had kept this from me. But now that my eyes have been opened, it fills me with remorse that you have had to go though so much on your own without my help or support. You are such a brave and strong person. You could have easily given our boy up for adoption but you chose instead to make sure he would be raised under your watchful eye as a member of your own family. This touches me deeply and fills me with the greatest respect for you.

One thing I do not regret is the night of love we shared that produced our son. Had I known he was conceived, I would have moved Heaven and Earth to make a life for us. Now that I do know, I humbly ask you for that chance. You would be giving up so much, but I would treat you like a queen in a way that no duke or earl could match. If you will accept me as your husband, I swear I will spend the rest of my days endeavoring to make you and little James the two happiest people on the planet. It’s true we have many obstacles, but I know we can set everything to right as long as we are together.

Love,

Michael

By the time she was reading the last lines, tears were welling in Lila’s eyes. Poor Maggie! Poor Michael! She felt ashamed that she had been so angry with her sister. Of course she hadn’t wanted Lila along on the trip to France. It made perfect sense now. She had gone abroad to conceal her pregnancy. What a lonely, frightening time she must have had. Their mother had been with her, but she was not exactly a warm, comforting presence. In fact, their mother’s disapproving coldness must have been more of a torment than a help to Maggie. No wonder her elder sister had become just a shell of herself.

What would become of them? They surely deserved more happiness than they were getting. How was it fair that they be denied happiness? Just because Michael didn’t have a title? Fat lot of good having a title was doing the Darlingtons these days!

“What’s going on, Lila?” Ian asked, looking at her with a puzzled, concerned expression. “You look so distressed. Are you to the part where Nancy gets murdered?”

He’d jolted Lila from her reverie and she looked up at him sharply. It took her a moment to understand what he’d said. “Oh, no, n-not yet,” she stammered. Seeing him reminded her of what he’d said the other day: that in America people were free to make their own fortunes. If Maggie went to America with Michael and the baby, could they also rise on their own merits? It seemed to her that they deserved the chance to at least try.

Despite all of his years working as a groom, Michael still took a certain solace in being around horses. He paused as he walked toward the stables to watch the horses grazing in the green pasture. Heads down, nibbling at the grass, they looked so calm and content. Michael sighed—oh, to be a horse. To not have to deal with the issues of being a human. To not have to worry about money, and society, and love… Michael sighed once again, shaking his head as if to shoo away his daydream, and continued walking toward the barn.

The familiar pungent smell of hay and horse sweat greeted his nostrils as he approached the stalls. He considered it a good thing that there was always so much work to be done around the barn. It kept his mind off troubling matters around the manor. He opened the creaky door to the tack room, where he was suddenly greeted by an unexpected sight.

“Lila! What are you doing here?”

Lila didn’t move from her sitting spot on top of an old tack box. She raised her head slowly to meet Michael’s eyes. “I have a plan,” she said in a more serious tone than Michael had ever heard her use before.

“A plan?” he asked as he entered the small, dusty room. He now wondered how much Lila knew, and how much she had pieced together after overhearing him and Maggie the night of the duke’s ball. Suddenly self-conscious, he strode forth and picked up a saddle off one of the racks, bracing it against his hip as he searched the line of bridles hung up on the wall to find the corresponding one.

Lila jumped up from her seat, shedding her air of contemplation and donning one of action. Snatching an equally grimy brown leather bridle off of the wall, she held it out for Michael. He paused before taking it, hand outstretched, yet hesitant to take it from her, as if there would be some unforeseen catch if he were to do so.

“What, may I ask, is this epic plan regarding?” he asked slowly, hand still wavering in the air.

Lila plopped the dusty bridle into his open hand. “You and Maggie. I have a way for you two to be together.”

His expression changed from one of tentative interest to one of exasperation. Exhaling loudly and spinning on his heel toward the door, he took a step forward but was blocked by a quick-moving Lila. She stood in the door frame, arms braced against the wood, making it clear she wouldn’t let him through until he heard her out.

“You shouldn’t be involved in this, Lila,” he said.

“Don’t be ridiculous. She’s my sister. And she loves you. The real kind of love that doesn’t go away when it’s no longer fun. Besides, my plan is quite good!” Lila insisted, shifting slightly to the left as Michael tried to duck under her arm. Blocking him, she added, “You knew the old version of my sister. She was adventurous, wild, and reckless. Someone like that doesn’t just change.”

Michael stepped back, his eyes squaring up Lila. “Whatever this plan is of yours, how do you know Maggie will go for it?”

“Haven’t you been listening? Because she loves you,” Lila said simply, allowing her arms to drop from the door frame. Michael brushed past her and into the barn aisle. Lila scurried after him. “I know my sister. What’s more, I know I can convince my sister to go along with this plan. But you have to be willing to do it.”