Thomas luxuriated in the relief of having Ruth in his arms, and he became thoroughly caught up in kissing her the way he’d dreamt of doing all the time he’d been away. Then, like a stone being thrown into a still pond, his silent recounting of her reaction to seeing him and her frantic search for evidence that it was him assaulted him with ripples of concern and a growing fear. He pulled back and took her by the shoulders.
“Ruth,” he said sternly, “why did you doubt that it was me? Why did you need to see the scar? And my arm? Why would you need to see my arm?”
He saw her eyes fill with terror at the same moment he felt her slump within his grasp like a rag doll. He picked her up and carried her to the bed, where he sat beside her. He touched her face to make her look at him and he insisted, “You must tell me. What’s happened?”
“He’s here, Thomas,” she said, her voice quivering.
“What?” he demanded. “Who?”
“Lucius. He’s here.” She clung to him and wept, her whole body trembling. “He’s here, Thomas . . . pretending to be you.” Thomas could hardly breathe while he clung to her and listened to what could only be a nightmare unfolding. “By some horrible coincidence he discovered his resemblance to you . . . and he knew about your friendship with Teddy. The letter you received was fabricated . . . forged. You’d already been gone too long and I was so afraid, and then . . . he came. I knew within a minute that it wasn’t you, but . . . he threatened me to stay quiet, and—”
“Has he hurt you?” Thomas demanded, looking into her eyes to be certain she told him the truth.
“No,” she said firmly. “Not in the way I know you’re thinking. He’s not laid a hand on me. But he’s made it very clear that if I say anything to anyone he will do harm to your parents, or . . .” she sobbed, “the baby.”
“Heaven help us,” Thomas muttered. “So you must have believed I was dead.”
“I wondered. He implied that you were.”
“Well, it certainly explains what’s been happening to me.”
“What has been happening to you?” she asked sharply.
“Someone has been trying to kill me,” he said, and Ruth put a hand over her mouth. “Even as I say it I can’t believe it. I quickly realized something was wrong in regard to the situation with Teddy. He wasn’t there; no one had seen him. He’s supposedly in France. But things kept happening that put me in danger, and . . . I’ll tell you the details another time. I can only say it’s truly a miracle I made it here alive. Once I realized that someone wanted me dead, I knew that getting home would not be easy. That’s why I came in the middle of the night. I feared something might be amiss here, but I never would have dreamed . . .” He touched her face and hair. “And all this time you thought me dead.” Given what he now knew, a brand-new thought occurred to him. “But my parents—”
“Everyone else believes you’re alive and well and happily making changes in the management of the estate—especially with the finances.”
“No!” Thomas gasped, and he felt light-headed as the scheme all came together clearly in his head. “No, it can’t be!”
“I’ve been so afraid, Thomas. I’ve wondered if this nightmare would ever end.”
“I don’t understand how this could happen, Ruth. You told me that he and I look very much the same, but how can my own parents not know the difference? How can all of the servants, most of whom have known me my whole life, not know the difference?”
“Thomas,” she said and took his hand as if she were about to deliver bad news. He couldn’t imagine what might be any worse than what he’d already been told. “I think I know at least part of the reason for that, but I certainly do not have all of the answers, and I can’t begin to understand how it might have happened.”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“Lucius told me he is here because he rightfully deserves to be.”
Thomas scoffed. “Why would he ever believe that?”
“And he told me he was adopted, and the father who raised him treated him very poorly, which might perhaps explain why he’s such a cruel man.”
“Wait, Ruth. What are you trying to say?”
“Thomas,” she whimpered, and fresh tears slid down her cheeks, “I think he might be your twin brother.”
For a long moment Thomas was too stunned to move or even breathe, then he sprang from the bed and pushed his hands brutally through his hair. “No!” he muttered with clenched fists. “No, Ruth. No! It can’t be possible! My parents would have no reason to do something like that. They always wished they could have had more children. There was plenty of money and plenty of help. They never would have given away a child. Never!”
“I know that, Thomas,” Ruth said with compassion. “I do. And I know this is difficult for you to hear and a great deal for you to take in. I felt the same shock when I first realized the possibility, and I’ve had time to think it through . . . to consider . . . the facts.”
“Facts?” he countered. “You’re speculating.”
“Thomas.” Ruth stood and took hold of his upper arms. “I know this is upsetting; the entire situation is upsetting. But we must get to the truth. We must if we ever hope to put all of this right. Even if the truth might be difficult to hear . . . or understand.”
She led him back to the bed and urged him to sit beside her. His shock had subsided enough for him to be able to hear what she had to say, but he could feel a deep turmoil and confusion roiling inside him, just beneath the surface.
“These are the things I absolutely know to be true, Thomas. He looks exactly like you. Exactly. He’s been very cautious around everyone else, but when we’ve been alone, he’s talked freely. It seems he believes I will heed his threat to remain silent and he has no fear of my knowing exactly what he is up to. Apparently he crossed paths with someone who knew you well in the military. This man mistook him for you and started up a conversation about the uncanny resemblance. And apparently this man—whoever he is—was easily convinced to join forces with Lucius in this scheme for him to replace you and therefore take control of all your wealth. This man—I don’t know his name—knew a great deal about you; your preferences and personality. He even coached Lucius on your mannerisms and such.”
“Unbelievable,” Thomas muttered breathlessly, his heart sinking further into turmoil while his mind grew more confused with information that was beyond his ability to grasp.
“Because this man knew your friend Teddy as well, he knew that a letter requesting help on Teddy’s behalf was the perfect way to get you away from the estate so they could make the switch.”
“And while Lucius is here pretending to be me, one of my so-called friends from days gone by has betrayed me in the worst possible way. For all we know it was he who has been tracking me, trying to do away with me.”
“It’s possible,” Ruth said.
“Or there could be more than just the two men in on it,” Thomas speculated.
“Perhaps, but I’ve gotten the impression that . . . it’s just the two of them. He said something about secrets being better kept when shared between two comrades.”
“Or when the lives of loved ones are threatened,” he said, looking at his wife, wondering what she’d done to deserve being caught up in the middle of this horror.
She looked away and said, “There’s something else, Thomas. I understand why you believe that it’s impossible for you to have a twin. I know your parents well enough to believe exactly the same. But Thomas”—she looked at him again and tightened her hold on his hand—“what if they never knew?”
“How could that even be possible?” he demanded, barely able to breathe at the very idea.
The tears he saw in Ruth’s eyes frightened him, and he steeled himself to hear what else she might say. “After he came back . . . and he’d said what he did about . . . believing it was his right to take over the estate, I spent every waking moment trying to figure out how that could be possible. I couldn’t start asking questions or do or say anything even slightly suspicious. He watches me like a vulture when we’re in the same room, and he seems to remember everything everybody says. I didn’t want to put anyone in danger, so I kept my thoughts to myself, but . . . one morning your mother and I were talking privately, and . . . she told me she’d had that dream again. I have known about her recurring nightmare, but this was the first time she told me what she dreams about.”
Thomas knew exactly what she meant and suddenly found it difficult to breathe. He wondered why this—more than anything else—would threaten to suffocate him. Perhaps it was this combined with everything else he’d just been told. He put both hands over his chest and lowered his head, gasping for breath. He felt Ruth’s hands on his shoulders; he heard her asking if he was all right. But he could only focus on getting three words out of his mouth; three words his mother had used as a title to her recurring dream. It had always seemed strange to all of them, and his father had credited the dream to Yvette’s deep desire to have more children when it was medically impossible after Thomas’s birth had been so difficult. But now something eerie and unnatural was oozing from Thomas’s memories of hearing his mother recount the dream, and the title she’d given it. He finally managed to draw enough breath to mutter, “The missing child.”
He looked up at Ruth but kept his hands tightly pressed over his chest. “But . . . how . . .”
“I don’t know, exactly, but . . . your mother telling me about the dream seemed an answer to my prayers, even though I couldn’t begin to comprehend what it might mean. The next time we were completely alone, I steered the conversation gracefully toward her experience of giving birth to you. She talked about her pregnancy and childbirth the way I’ve heard many women do. Some of it was amazing; some of it painful. But I just let her reminisce . . . and I listened . . . and I said nothing to even hint at my suspicions; I asked no questions to initiate her response one way or the other.”
Thomas felt a growing horror as what he’d believed only minutes ago to be a complete impossibility was starting to feel possible, even if he couldn’t put all of the pieces together. But already he saw a certainty on Ruth’s face, and he didn’t even know what she was going to tell him of his mother’s innocent confessions.
“Thomas,” Ruth went on, “she spoke of how huge she felt during her pregnancy, of comparing the size of her belly to other women, and she knew it would be a very large baby. But after you were born she commented on how you were smaller than most babies. Both scenarios are the case with twins. Bertie told me as much with all her rambling about her midwife training. And I know what you must be thinking because I thought the same thing: How could a woman give birth to two babies and not know? Your mother says she can hardly remember anything after you were born until sometime the next day. She said she was given something for the pain the moment it was over. And of course your father would not have been in the room.”
“You’re implying, then,” Thomas said, surprised at the calm in his own voice, “that the doctor . . . and . . . or someone else assisting with the birth . . . took one of the babies away . . . without anyone else knowing.”
Thomas felt so heavy with shock he could barely see his wife as she said, “Yes, that’s what I believe. Of course I have no proof, but . . . it seems . . . the most logical explanation. If Lucius knows he was adopted, and someone believed him to be you . . . he figured it out.”
“How can we know for certain?” Thomas asked, still unconvinced, still not wanting to change what he’d believed to be true his entire life.
“I don’t know. Your mother told me that both the doctor and the maid who had assisted him are deceased. Perhaps the secret died with them.”
“Or perhaps not,” Thomas said, his mind drawn abruptly to the other side of this situation—however improbable it seemed. “What of the parents who adopted Lucius? Would they not have any idea where he’d come from?”
“Perhaps,” Ruth said. “But since you are here . . . Lucius cannot lay claim to anything that is yours; the truth can be told.”
“And how do you think that truth will affect my parents? To be told—to be shown—that one of their sons was stolen from them? If it is true, I need to know it’s true. If it is true, Ruth, he is my brother. And he is the father of your child.”
“Our child,” she corrected scoldingly. “Whatever the truth might be, it does not change what you promised me long before she was born. You are her father.”
“Does Lucius know?” Thomas asked, perhaps fearing that as much as anything else.
“No!” Ruth said vehemently. “Back when we were together, he was entirely certain that pregnancy could not occur from only one encounter; in fact, he scoffed at my fears, which made me all the more surprised to discover I was pregnant. I can assure you I have been a very good actress in regard to protecting our daughter. But then . . . he doesn’t actually know the date of her birth, although I doubt he kept track of how long it’s been since . . .”
He knew what she meant and he was glad she didn’t say it. Going back to the point he’d been making, he said again, “If it’s true, I need to know. I need to understand what happened and why. And under the circumstances I can’t very well ask my parents, although if what you say is true—and it surely must be—neither of them know.”
“Then how will you find out?” she asked as if she feared letting him out of her sight.
“From the people who raised him,” he said. “I don’t suppose you would know where or how to find them?” She looked as if she didn’t want to tell him, and he added, “I have to know, Ruth.”
“His father is dead, but . . . back when I believed he was in love with me . . . he spoke of his mother.”
“Then I must talk to her,” Thomas insisted. “But before I leave I will tell you everything you need to know to ensure that what’s rightfully ours remains ours. There are things no one except my father and I could ever know, and Lucius could never question Father about it without giving himself away. I will leave you with all of the leverage and protection you need, my darling, and I will return as soon as I can find this woman and speak with her. If you tell me where to find her, it will surely save a great deal of time.”
“But there’s someone out there trying to kill you,” Ruth protested.
“And I am a trained soldier. Now that I know what’s going on, I can take with me what I need to remain more easily hidden and protect myself. I’ll be fine. You must trust me.”
Ruth sighed and closed her eyes. “I know exactly where you can find her.”
“Then I must go,” he said, “before anyone sees me.” She looked panicked, and he took her face into his hands. “But not yet,” he said and kissed her with such consuming fervor that all of the drama surrounding them temporarily faded away.
Ruth looked into his eyes with a desire that mirrored his own. Oh, how he’d missed her! And how grateful he was to have come home to her in spite of all the forces conspiring against them!
“No, you mustn’t leave yet,” she said and initiated another all-consuming kiss.
* * *
Before Thomas left, Ruth attended to the wound on his thigh, which was already healing. Miraculously, it was not very serious. While she did so he told her more of what had happened, and she couldn’t ignore the long list of miracles that had brought him home to her.
Thomas cleaned up a little and put on fresh clothes, burning those he’d come home in, which he figured was the best way to not leave any clues the maids might find to indicate that someone other than the man they believed to be Thomas had been here.
Ruth felt terrified to let him go and told him so more than once, but he promised her he would be very careful, and she felt appeased by the evidence of all he had survived thus far. Surely God would not have kept him alive just to have something awful happen now. But she couldn’t disagree with his reasoning in needing to understand all that had happened and put things right.
Before he left, Thomas stood over Joy’s crib and watched her sleeping. He pressed a gentle hand over her wispy hair and whispered how very much he’d missed her. He held Ruth tightly for a long moment before he kissed her and told her how he loved her. And then he was gone.
Ruth attempted to get some sleep but found it impossible. She still felt afraid and uncertain, but knowing that Thomas was alive and well had given her new strength and great hope that all of this would soon be over. He had also left her armed with information that would preserve the estate and easily prove to his parents that Lucius was not who they believed him to be. She preferred, however, that Thomas would return quickly and be the one to put everything right. For now, she only had to pretend for a little while longer.
* * *
Thomas was grateful for his experience and training in the military that had aided him in being able to get home safely, and that now helped him as he went in search of the woman who had raised his supposed twin brother. Now that he was properly armed and had all he needed in his saddlebags, he felt more confident in being able to travel discreetly and with haste.
While he rode, Thomas mentally rehearsed all that had happened and everything Ruth had told him. He still felt very much in shock and completely horrified to think of this man living in his house and fooling even his own parents about his identity. The thought made him sick. On the other hand, learning of the possibility that he might have a brother was so overwhelming that it made his head hurt.
After less than a day’s travel—stopping in a wooded area to get some rest—Thomas slowed his horse as the little house that was his destination came into view. He approached with trepidation as a new thought occurred to him. If Lucius was indeed his twin brother, then it was only a tiny twist of fate that had left him to be raised with an abundance of love and wealth. What he was seeing before him could have been his own life. The woman he was seeking out might have become the only mother he would have ever known.
As he rode closer, it became regretfully evident that the house was in sorry shape. He could see a haphazardly patched roof, peeling paint, and a broken window with boards nailed across the opening. The entire structure was overgrown with weeds, with no flower or pleasing piece of foliage in sight. He wondered if the woman still lived here. What if she had died since Ruth had known of her whereabouts? Or what if she’d left? Would he ever find her? The thought frightened him. He didn’t know how to face his parents without having some answers to give them. He had prayed nearly every moment of his journey here to know how to put all of this right. He had much yet to figure out, but first and foremost he needed answers, and there was no one but the woman who had raised Lucius who might have them.
Thomas dismounted and tied his horse’s reins to a low-hanging branch. He looked around and knocked at the door three times without getting a response. He walked around the house, already feeling his disappointment settling in. But as he turned the corner he saw a woman some distance away, bent over and pulling weeds in what appeared to be a small vegetable garden. His heart quickened and he walked closer, calling “Hello” as he approached.
The woman turned, startled. He doubted she received many visitors out here. He then had several questions answered within the breadth of a second. “Lucius!” she gasped, and her eyes widened with unmistakable fear. Was the woman afraid of her own son?
“No,” he said and made no attempt to move closer, recalling how Ruth had reacted when she had believed he was Lucius. “I’m not Lucius.”
The woman stepped closer, and Thomas couldn’t help but notice the deep lines in her face and the life-worn look of her eyes. Her clothing was meager. Her gray hair was thin and haphazardly tied back from her face with a ribbon.
Thomas knew he should say something else; he should explain himself. But he was mesmerized with imagining how his life might have been. She startled him from his thoughts when she said, “I’ve wondered if this day would come.”
Thomas considered what that meant, not as surprised as he thought he would be. He found it remarkable how much he had adjusted to the idea so quickly. “Then you knew,” he said, “that he had a brother . . . a twin.”
“Yes, I knew,” she said, then added with kindness, “but it’s evident that you didn’t.”
“No, I didn’t . . . until yesterday.”
“You look a little pale, young man,” she said and put a gentle hand on his arm. “Why don’t we go inside and have a cup of tea?”
“That’s very kind, thank you,” he said, not only wanting to sit down and get out of the sun but also, more importantly, wanting to glean everything from this woman that he possibly could.
Inside, the house was dark and dingy and in as poor a condition as the outside. And yet it looked surprisingly clean, and he noticed a great many books. She asked him to sit down next to the table in the tiny kitchen. He did so, then noticed she was having trouble lighting the stove to heat the water in the kettle.
“Here, let me,” he said, coming to her side. He lit the stove and blew out the match, then found her staring at him. He didn’t even know her name, and she could have been his mother.
“It’s easy to see you’re not him,” she said.
“How is that? I’ve never met him personally, but I’m told we are identical.”
“There’s a kindness in your way that he never had; well, not since he was a boy. I daresay his father beat it out of him.”
Thomas winced inwardly, marveling at the fate that had left him to be raised by a kind and good man, while his brother had apparently endured unspeakable cruelty. It didn’t make him feel any less loathing for the criminal and heinous acts Lucius had committed; however, he certainly felt compassion while contemplating his brother’s unfortunate upbringing. Perhaps he could begin to understand why a man might grow up to be so cruel and selfish.
With the water in the kettle heating, the woman sat down, and Thomas sat across from her. Not knowing what to say, he was glad when she just started talking. “I don’t know how you found me, but I assume you came looking for answers, and I’m certain you have the right to know—although I’m not sure I know much. I can tell you that I gave everything I had to love that child. When I took him on as my own, I loved him with all the love a mother has to give. I tried. I know in my heart I tried. But I’d married a man who had hidden his true nature from me until he had me wed and bound to spend my life seeing to his needs. He insisted we needed a son, that he couldn’t do his work without a son at his side, that the family name had to be carried on. And after a couple of years it became evident I couldn’t give him a child. He told me he knew of a way for us to get a child but wouldn’t tell me how. I felt afraid of what he might do, knowing his lack of integrity. Months went by and I tried not to think about it. Then one night, with no warning, he went out to the pub—or so he told me—and didn’t come home until very late. And he had a baby with him. It was so newly born that it hadn’t even been bathed.” She shook her head and closed her eyes. “I was worried about whose child it was . . . who he belonged to. My husband informed me that the baby was a twin and the parents didn’t know they’d had more than one son because the mother had not been doing well during the delivery. He said the money we had put away couldn’t have bought us anything finer. He bragged of how our son had aristocratic blood and would grow up fine because of that, as if nothing else might have an influence on him for good or ill. But I’m absolutely certain he didn’t know where Lucius had come from; not the identity of the family, or where they lived. We never would have known how to find you, which I always thought was best, knowing my husband’s lack of scruples. I can only imagine what kind of scheming he might have gotten up to if he had known.”
The woman sighed heavily, and her eyes had a distant look. “And Lucius became very much like him.” She let out a smaller sigh that betrayed deep sadness. “I often wondered why my husband had been so keen on wanting a son, when it turned out the only kind of father he knew how to be was a cruel one. But that’s the way of things, I suppose. If a man wants a son in order to carry on his legacy or some such thing, my husband certainly accomplished that. Lucius turned out to be so much like his father, if not worse. I do believe it’s gone on for generations in that family. And I learned long ago there was no way to find any sense in my husband’s way of thinking.”
The water in the kettle started to boil, and she stood to gather the makings for tea. Thomas had been told that Lucius’s father was dead, but he still asked, “Your husband has died?”
“Yes, praise heaven. All of his drinking took him to an early grave. It’s the best thing that ever happened to me.”
She sat back down and poured tea into mismatched cups. “My name is Abigail, in case you’re wondering. We skipped past a proper introduction. I prefer to avoid the surname. It never brought me any good.”
“I’m Thomas,” he said and cradled the warm teacup in his hands.
Abigail sighed and continued her story without any prompting. “I think it was about the time Lucius became taller than me that I finally resigned myself to accept that no amount of love from me would ever undo the damage his father had done. I just did my cooking and housekeeping and kept out of their way as much as I could, glad when Lucius left to join the navy, and even more glad when my husband passed.”
“Do you ever see Lucius?” Thomas asked.
“He’s been home a handful of times since he became a man; not one visit has had any pleasantry, and I was always glad to see him leave.” She shook her head. “It’s a terrible way for a mother to feel, but that’s the truth of it.” Abigail looked up at Thomas. “And I suspect he must be causing some kind of trouble for you now. I can’t think of any other reason you’d come looking for me.”
Thomas took a sip of tea and cleared his throat. “He is currently living in my home and pretending to be me, and since he has apparently—by some sick twist of fate—become friends with someone I knew well during my military days, he has learned enough about me to pull it off. He has everyone fooled except my wife, who is terrified of the danger he might pose to my family.”
Abigail looked stunned, and again she shook her head. “I thought I’d heard it all. But it sounds like something he would do.” She reached across the table and put her aging hand over his. Her touch warmed him, and he took hold of her fingers. Noting how old she looked, Thomas wondered if she was truly much older than his own mother, or if the difficulty of her life had aged her. Perhaps both.
By the way she gazed at him, he felt certain she was sharing his thoughts. But she said, “I’m so sorry for what he’s put you and your family through. If there is anything I can do to help make it right . . .”
Thomas was more grateful for her offer and her kindness than he could say. At the moment he was more preoccupied with a different thought. “You could have been my mother. And I wonder how I might have turned out if I’d been raised by a father so heartless and cruel.”
Abigail leaned as far over the table as she could manage and still remain seated. “There is something you must know, my boy. And I know it to be true because my husband grumbled about it many a time, as if we’d been cheated out of something, even though—as far as I knew—he had no way of knowing where Lucius had come from. I could never understand such thinking. Never.” She shook her head.
“What must I know?” he asked.
“You were born first. By all religious traditions and the law, the birthright of your family is yours. I was told the doctor made certain of that.”
Thomas had not even wondered about such a thing, but now that he knew, he felt deeply comforted. It made a difference that he believed would fully sink in, given more time. But it also brought up another point. “So, the doctor was responsible. It was he who stole a child from my parents and sold it.”
Abigail sighed. “That’s how I understand it. I’m not even sure how my husband knew him, but he did. And he was told that only one other person knew the truth, and she’d been sorely threatened into secrecy.”
It was now Thomas who sighed. “As I understand it, the doctor and the maid who assisted him are both now deceased.”
“Then God will see justice met,” Abigail said and took a sip of her tea.
“And what of justice here in this world? There are no words to describe the hatred I feel for a man who I now realize is my brother. What he has done . . . what he is doing . . . is unconscionable. Yet who am I to judge how he must feel . . . knowing that he was stolen and sold to be raised with such cruelty in spite of all the love you tried to give him?”
“No amount of pain makes it right for a person to pass pain on to others.”
“I agree wholeheartedly. What he is doing is criminal, but my parents do not even know of his existence. I can prove my own identity easily enough. There are things I know that Lucius could never know, things that would immediately prove to my parents who I am. But . . . the complications; the . . . impact.”
“If I may offer an opinion . . . In spite of how difficult it might be to learn the truth, in the end I believe truth brings peace. If I were in your mother’s place, I would want to know. Perhaps a part of her already knows something’s not right.”
The missing child he thought. “Perhaps.”
Abigail insisted he stay for lunch, and Thomas insisted that he help her prepare it. By the time they’d eaten and cleaned up their meal, he felt instinctively at peace over saying, “Abigail, come home with me.”
She looked only a little surprised. “If you need me to help prove the truth of the situation, I’m happy to do all I can, but I—”
“I do need your help,” he said, “but I’m not asking you to come with me for that reason alone. I’m asking you to come and live in our home.” She put a hand over her heart and was apparently unable to speak. “What do you have here? Who? Do you have friends nearby? People who help care for you? Who would miss you? If that’s the case, just say so. I can help make certain your needs are met even if you choose to stay. But if you don’t want to stay . . . come with me.”
Abigail moved unsteadily to a chair and sat down. Thomas scooted a chair beside her and put an arm around her shoulders. “Talk to me, Abigail. Talk to me as if I’m your son.” She looked up at him in puzzled wonder. “Can I not in some small way be a son to you and help care for you? Please . . . tell me the truth about your situation here.”
Tears rose in her eyes before she looked down. “There is no one, nothing. My husband never allowed me to have friends . . . or go to church. I feel as if I’m just . . . biding my time until I leave this world. But,” she looked up at him, “how can I be a burden to you? How can you . . .”
“You would be no burden, I can assure you.”
“But . . . you hardly know me. How can you know I’m not going to be difficult and cause you trouble?”
“How do you know I’m as kind as you seem to believe? How is it you have trusted me enough to invite me into your home and tell me your darkest secrets?”
Her expression told him she had perceived his point, but he added for good measure, “Sometimes I believe God brings people together—even in the strangest ways—so they can enrich each other’s lives. But we have to be careful not to let such opportunities slip away.” He took her hand and kissed it. “My dear Abigail, come home with me. We will try our best to make things right with my brother, and after that you may work in the garden if you choose, or you may help in the kitchen if it suits you. I will give you your very own sitting room, and you may sit there all day with your feet up and read. We have so many books in our library that no one could read through them in a lifetime.” He saw her eyes light up, and he added with a touch of humor, “Or you may live out your days making a nuisance of yourself, and we will all politely ignore you and make sure you have plenty to eat, a comfortable room, and a warm bed in which to sleep.” He paused to give her a moment to take in his offer but added earnestly, “Come home with me. Don’t let me spend my life thinking of you here alone and wondering if you are all right.”
“If you’re certain,” she said, and the light in her eyes sparkled with the moisture of tears.
“Absolutely. If some time passes and you change your mind, we can make other arrangements; but it’s my wish to see that you’re cared for.”
“You surely got the best of whatever Lucius got the worst of.”
“And do you think our personalities have not been impacted by our upbringing?” he asked, surprised by how the words almost choked him. He knew there was grief bubbling inside of him, but he called forward all of his discipline to keep it in check for now.
Thomas left Abigail with the promise that he would return in the morning about nine o’clock with a carriage and they would take whatever belongings she wanted to bring along. He asked if he should acquire some trunks, but she said there was nothing she wanted to take that wouldn’t fit in the bag she already had. “I’ve read all the books I own more than once, and there’s little else of value.”
Thomas traveled away from Abigail’s home vigilantly, all his senses on high alert. He went to the closest village, where he got a room at an inn, using a false name. That night, alone in his room, Thomas wanted to cry like a child. But tears wouldn’t come. He only felt heavy with a numb shock that wouldn’t allow all his mind had learned to get anywhere near his ability to feel. He managed to get some sleep, deeply comforted by the thought of being able to help Abigail. Her life had been filled with pain and disappointment; she deserved something better. He hoped she could be happy at Brownlie Manor. He wondered how Ruth and the baby were doing but didn’t feel excessively worried about anything happening to them. He knew Lucius’s goal was to maintain his charade, and Ruth was giving him no reason to believe she wouldn’t protect his secret. But Thomas felt deeply worried about his parents. He wondered if they had any suspicions at all that the man living in their home and eating at their table was not the son they had raised. If they did, he hoped they would keep quiet about it. Either way, upon his return they were in for an enormous shock, and he feared what it might do to them—especially to his mother.
The following morning Thomas made a conscious decision not to shave. If Lucius was shaving every day—as Ruth had told him he was—then having the beginnings of a beard on his face would be an easy way to distinguish them from each other at a glance. The very thought of that necessity knotted his stomach.
While eating breakfast, Thomas again recounted his worries for his loved ones before considering again the danger he might be in. He’d been extremely careful, but it occurred to him that this mysterious friend of Lucius’s would know very well where Abigail lived. He felt a sudden urgency to get to her and rescue her right away, but he also felt the need to take some extra precautions.
It wasn’t yet eight-thirty when the hired carriage came to a halt in front of Abigail’s home and Thomas got out. He looked around, heeding his instincts, and went cautiously to the door. The loaded pistol he carried tucked into the back of his breeches beneath his coat was somewhat of a comfort. He prayed he would never have to use it.
Thomas knocked at the door and immediately called, “Abigail. It’s me, Thomas. I’m a bit early, but—”
“Come in,” he heard her call, and he opened the door and stepped inside. He saw her standing across the room with her back to him, and the hair at the back of his neck prickled. Before he could think how to ask if she was all right, she turned and shouted, “Run, Thomas! Run!”
Thomas heard a pistol cock behind him and wondered if it was too late to run. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he heard a man say in a voice that was indeed familiar. Albert Baldwin. Thomas quickly recounted memories of all the time they’d spent together defending each other’s lives regularly and sharing what he’d believed was sincere friendship. But Baldwin had not only sold him out to Lucius, he had been trying to kill him—or so it seemed.
Thomas met Abigail’s eyes and tried to silently assure her that everything would be all right. But she was staring wide-eyed and terrified at the man holding the gun. Thomas attempted to turn and face Baldwin, perhaps needing to see for himself that a man he’d once trusted with his life was indeed holding him at gunpoint. Or perhaps he hoped that if he could look him in the eye, he could convince him to stop this madness.
But Baldwin threatened hotly, “Don’t move! Don’t turn around!”
“I’m not moving,” Thomas said, keeping his hands high and clearly visible while trying to figure out how he might reach for the gun hidden beneath his coat without getting himself shot. “But let Abigail go. This has nothing to do with her.”
“No one is going anywhere,” Baldwin said. “Funny thing how I came here because her son asked me to take care of some business on his behalf, and I arrived yesterday to see a horse outside and wondered who might have come to pay her a visit. Imagine my astonishment—and my good fortune—to realize it was you. I have no idea how you walked out of those woods alive, because I saw you fall off the horse after I shot you, and I saw you dead on the ground.”
Thomas lifted his face slightly toward heaven and silently thanked God that Albert Baldwin didn’t know how to tell the difference between an unconscious man and a dead one. Thomas’s horrible bump on the head had apparently been a life-saving miracle.
“Obviously, I should have been more thorough,” Baldwin said. “Lucky for me, fate seems to be on my side.” He chuckled maliciously. “And I can make certain the job gets done this time.”
Knowing what he knew that Baldwin didn’t know, Thomas took advantage of the opportunity to get information he could have gotten from no one else. “So that was the plan, Baldwin? Betray an old friend because you stumbled upon a seemingly impossible secret? Kill me for the sake of profit?”
“Sorry, mate,” Baldwin said as if he’d just beat him at a hand of poker. “It was just too big of a temptation to pass up. But enough chatting. I must finish my business and be on my way.”
Thomas heard Baldwin move, if only from the rustle of his clothing. He saw Abigail’s expression become more terrified, and he knew that Baldwin was about to shoot him.
“Abigail, get down!” Thomas shouted at the same moment he dropped to the floor, reaching for his pistol. In the same second he heard a gunshot and wondered desperately if his preparations had worked in their favor—or against them. He heard Abigail cry out, followed by footsteps approaching him. He rolled abruptly onto his back, pointing the gun upward, only to groan with relief to see one of the police officers who had come with him in the carriage.
“Oh, praise heaven!” Thomas said as the officer held out a hand to help Thomas to his feet. It was then he saw the man on the floor who had clearly been shot by the other officer, who was standing near the door.
“He was about to shoot you in the back,” the police officer informed Thomas.
Abigail ran to Thomas as if they’d known each other a lifetime. “Oh, you’re all right,” she muttered through a surge of tears. “I feared he would kill you.”
“I’m fine,” he assured her before he looked at her face. “But you’re not!”
“Oh, I’ve had worse,” she insisted, touching the nasty bruise on her cheek.
“Did he do this to you?” Thomas asked, and she nodded.
Thomas turned as one of the officers asked him, “Do you know this man, Mr. Fitzbatten?”
The face of the man was heavily bearded, and the clothes and hair were scruffy, but Thomas unmistakably knew him. It was indeed Albert Baldwin. They had been part of the same regiment; they’d fought together, often side by side, for well over a year. And now this man had betrayed him in ways Thomas couldn’t even think about right now or he would surely lose any hope of composure. This so-called friend had been trying to kill him for weeks now, all the while conspiring with Lucius to do away with him and take all that was his. And now he had been intending to shoot Thomas in the back, using Abigail as bait—and hurting her in the process. Suddenly, Thomas felt so sick he had to rush outside and into the trees, where he lost his breakfast and heaved for several minutes after his stomach was empty. He followed the sound of running water and knelt beside a small stream, splashing water onto his face and rinsing out his mouth. He then bowed his head in prayer and thanked God for what he could see now was clear guidance that had led him to convince two police officers to accompany him. The local police were well aware of the reputation of Abigail’s son, but it had taken some time to convince them that he was not Lucius and that his intent was to help Abigail. They had finally given in to the logic that no man wanting to do someone harm would come to the police for help. And now the men who had come with him, waiting discreetly in the carriage until Thomas had entered the house, had saved his life, and perhaps Abigail’s, as well.
Having expressed his gratitude to God, Thomas hastened to return to the house to be certain of Abigail’s well-being. This had obviously been a traumatic morning for her. He walked through the open door of the house to find one officer examining Baldwin’s body, as if searching for evidence, and the other officer seated with Abigail, asking her questions and jotting down notes. Thomas listened as she explained how she had stepped outside earlier that morning to get some water from a pump near her back door when a man had come from behind the house and struck her in the face, knocking her briefly unconscious. She had awakened inside her home with her hands tied; and Baldwin had threatened her with dire consequences if she failed to behave normally when Mr. Fitzbatten arrived. Thomas was wondering how Baldwin had known he would be returning; however, he didn’t have long to wonder when Abigail explained that she’d been told that Thomas had been discreetly followed. The perpetrator had known that Thomas had hired a carriage and would be coming back here this morning. Obviously Thomas hadn’t been nearly as careful as he had thought.
“It is astonishing beyond belief,” Thomas said, alerting Abigail and the officer to his presence.
“It is indeed, sir,” the officer said. “Downright disturbing the things some people will do.”
Thomas didn’t envy the occupation of upholding the law. Serving as a soldier had exposed him to enough depravity to last three lifetimes. He couldn’t imagine being exposed to crime and its victims on a regular basis.
When the police told Abigail that she was free to go, the officers agreed that one of them would ride back into town in the carriage with Thomas and Abigail to acquire assistance, while the other remained with the body. Later, another officer would return to retrieve his partner as well as Baldwin’s body.
Thomas helped Abigail gather her things, which had been mostly packed the previous evening. Now that a man had been shot there after assaulting her, she was even more anxious and relieved to vacate her rotting and dilapidated home.
Before taking her things out to the carriage, Thomas paused to put his hand over Abigail’s and ask, “Are you certain you’re all right? I’m sure your head must be hurting, and you must have had quite a scare. I don’t want you to—”
“I’m fine, Thomas,” she said while contradictory tears brimmed in her eyes. “But I am very glad to be leaving this place.”
“Then let’s hurry along,” he said, suddenly anxious to get home and be certain his family was safe and well. Now that he’d gotten everything he’d come for—and more—he was anxious and ready to put all of this behind him.