“I will miss ye,” Moxham said to Alex the next afternoon as he held Cobalt by the reins. “I just finished visiting Margaret at the castle. From what she’s heard, very few servants are allowed into George’s room, but they say his fever is raging.”
Alex closed his eyes, and the painful memories of a few days past flooded his thoughts. He opened his eyes and nodded at Moxham, who drew a rallying breath. “As for some good news, Margaret heard of a position in town, and I have decided to sign on as a clerk. Until she can be sure she’ll secure the position, she will remain at the castle.” A true smile then lit up his countenance. “If all goes according to plan, we’ll be married in three weeks. We owe our happiness to ye.”
“I am overjoyed to hear it.” Alex clapped his hand on the man’s shoulder. “I do regret I can’t stay for the wedding.” He thumbed the few coins in his pocket. “But the faster I get to London, the faster I’ll find some kind of work.”
Moxham nodded. “I understand.”
Cartwright had been furious when Alex had severed all ties, as expected, but Alex’s conscience was now clear, though his savings would not last forever. Maybe there was some way in London to expose the plight of the miners all over the country. Lord Ashley might even listen to him again. For now, though, he knew he needed to get to Town and find some kind of employment.
“I’ll grab the rest of my things,” Alex said, trying to hide the sadness in his eyes by turning. “Consider Cobalt my wedding present.”
“I couldn’t take him, Jenkins.” Moxham shook his head.
“I insist,” Alex replied. “He can’t ride the train with me to London.” He chuckled. “And now that you can read, look for my letters.”
“I’ll be glad to receive them.” Moxham cleared his throat, holding back his emotions as he clasped Alex’s bicep. “Thank ye, Jenkins, for everything. Truly.”
Alex stared at him for a long moment and then turned to walk up the flight of stairs that led to his room as Moxham urged Cobalt down the street to his rented stable. He would miss his friend of so many years. Once inside the meager apartment, Alex withdrew a small box from under his bed that he’d taken from his house when he’d run away all those years ago. It contained no money then, nor did it now, but the box had kept his one possession safe.
He lifted the lid and glanced inside, then raised the small stone out of the box, turning it over in his hand. The deep red encased in silver glinted in the filtered light, the color of blood. All these years, he could have sold it for a pretty price.
It matched Charlotte’s stone perfectly, and it wasn’t until Alex had seen her fiddle with her necklace a few weeks ago that he’d realized there were two gems, not one. He guessed the stones had been couched on either side of the hilt of a sword from the ruins.
He clutched the stone tightly in his hand. He had one last thing he must do to fully absolve his guilt.
This stone had come from Charlotte’s land, and therefore, it belonged to her.
***
The same evening, just after supper, Charlotte sat across from George as the sun set in the West. She had started to nod off when she heard a raspy voice.
“Water,” he breathed.
“George!” she cried. She stood and raced out the door until she found a maid. “We need more fresh water.” She came close to her brother and held his hand. “It is coming.” She sighed, a small spark of joy swelling within her. “How do you feel?” She laid the back of her hand on his head, and for the first time in several days, it didn’t feel like a fire. She uttered a silent prayer of thanks to her Maker.
George’s eyes lost focus and then seemed to find a point across the room. “I am so tired, and my head aches.” He winced and went silent for a few seconds. “I . . . remember some things, though I wonder if it was a bad dream.” He glanced away, and she patted his hand.
“There will be time to talk about it all, but you were so very noble.”
“He is alive, then?” George turned back toward her.
“You mean Alex?” It was remarkable that her brother had such presence of mind so soon. Charlotte wished she knew Alex’s whereabouts but tried to put her brother at ease. “He is far away from here, and he is well.” I hope. She longed to see him more than ever, to know for herself that he was indeed well.
George closed his eyes again and seemed, for the first time in days, full of peace. The maid opened the door and replaced the water, and then Charlotte sent her to tell the rest of her family the good news.
Within the hour her mother, Joseph, and Walter had gathered around George, smiling and attempting to talk with him.
Finally, after everyone else had rejoiced, Christopher appeared in the doorway, as solemn as a statue. “I think it best we don’t tire him too much,” he said.
“Yes, quite right,” Mother said, shooing the other boys out of the room and following them out.
Christopher turned to Charlotte, pain hanging in his eyes, his face ashen gray and drawn. “I’ll watch over him now.”
Charlotte wanted to protest, but something in Christopher’s eyes said that he needed to be near his brother.
With a weary nod, Charlotte lifted herself from the chair, feeling as though she’d become a permanent fixture among the furniture. “I’ll be back first thing in the morning,” she told them.
The sun had just dipped below the trees, and her bedchamber glowed with the last of the day’s light through the balcony window. For the first time since the accident, she intended to sleep in her own room. She sat at her writing desk, ripped up the old letters, and withdrew a new piece of paper.
Summoning her courage, she dipped her quill into the inkwell and commenced her letter to Harris. Without incriminating Christopher, she explained that she hadn’t been completely honest in all that had happened these past weeks. She told him she thought he deserved someone better and more whole than herself, someone who wasn’t mourning over her family and who could give him her whole heart. She made sure to make the letter as diplomatic, honest, and vague as possible to protect all parties and still be clear. With every word, her heart tightened, and she realized too fully the choice she was making. She would be alone and near the memories of all that had happened instead of marrying Alex and escaping her past. She was acting for herself, but that did not make this easier.
Before all thoughts of her future consumed her, Charlotte signed, blotted, and sealed the letter. Thoroughly exhausted, she called for a maid and gave her the letter to post, then made her way to bed. She punched up the pillow, managed some calming breaths, then reached up and absently adjusted her necklace.
It was the only thing she had left that reminded her of Alex, and if she couldn’t have him, she ought to at least have a way to remember him.