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“YOU CERTAINLY KNOW how to make a party memorable.”
Catherine entered the room without knocking and without asking permission. Clayton sat in one of the chairs in front of the fire, watching the flames dance in darkness. He chose to leave the rest of the lights in the room off, letting shadows be cast across everything. It matched his darkened mood.
“That wasn’t how I expected it to go,” he said, taking a sip of the brandy in his hand. It was his second glass, but he didn’t intend to drink it any slower than the first.
“Do you want to know what happened after you left?” she asked, taking a seat in the chair beside his.
“No.”
“Not curious about the damage you left in your wake?”
“I’m not the one that created a scene.”
“You were the reason for it.”
Clayton was well aware of his part in what had happened that night. The image of Rory’s face when she realized who he was would be burned into his mind forever. There would be no escaping it, not even in a daze of liquor.
“Why did you...do all of this?” his mother asked. It was the question he had been asking himself since he returned home.
“I’m not sure.” he answered, focusing on the flicker of the fire.
“That’s not a good enough answer.”
“I know, but it’s all I have.”
His mother wasn’t the type to be uncomfortable with silence. When he was a child, she had often used the silent treatment to get answers from her stubborn sons. He told himself that he was grown now and it wouldn’t work anymore, but as the minutes stretched on, he could feel his restraint getting weaker. Letting his gaze slide over to her, he saw she was sitting there patiently, waiting for him to tell her the turn. She wanted all the truths, and he had no choice but to give them to her.
“I was afraid to come home,” he finally said. “I was afraid to face this place and to face you.”
“I’m your mother. There is nothing to fear.”
“You only say that because you don’t know what I did.” His voice was cracking, and he hated himself for being so weak. No doubt he would be in tears by the end of his confession, only adding to the pitiful image he must be.
“Then tell me about it.”
Clayton took a long drink from his glass, trying to find the best way to start a very long and sad story, one that his mother was going to hate and he was going to hate telling. It was a very long moment of silence, but he knew he needed to get it over with.
“Why haven’t you asked me about what happened to Christian?” Clayton asked. “I’ve been home for days, and I expected that question first.”
“Your brother said he looked into it, and Christian died during the trip to Africa.”
“That’s it? One simple answer is all I get?”
“That’s the information he got from the ship’s captain and the other passengers.” Catherine took a shaky breath. “Is there more to the story?”
“I killed him.”
He heard her gasp, and it cut deeper than a knife. He closed his eyes, giving her time to let that sink in. He listened to her moving around the room, going to the cupboard and pouring herself a glass of brandy. If one heard something like that, they would need a stiff drink.
“Tell me what happened.” She finally sat down again, and her voice had returned to its normal sound.
“You don’t want to know the details.”
“I’m his mother, so I deserve to know what happened.”
Clayton had spent so much time trying to push the memories away, and now he was going to have to sort through them. He needed to put them in order, but right now they were jumbled in his mind. The first thing he remembered from that night was Christian nudging him awake. They were all chained up and being held in the hull of the ship. It was a tight space, but he had managed to fall asleep by leaning against the wall. It was dark, and there was a stench in the air that he still hadn’t grown used to.
“He wanted to escape. A storm was coming, and he knew that once the ship started to toss, the crew would be too busy with that to pay attention to us.”
Christian had managed to pick two pieces of wire from somewhere on the ship while they were being given their exercise. He had figured out how to use them to pick the locks on their shackles. If they released a lot of the men and boys, then they could try to overpower the crew during the storm together. It sounded like such a good plan.
“The first part went easily enough. We were able to get all the men in our hold free, so that was about two dozen of us. The storm had started, and it was worse than expected, creating chaos on the deck.”
“You weren’t frightened?”
“Of course I was. We all were, but Christian made it seem so achievable. He really knew how to talk to a crowd. We were all ready to fight to the death behind him.”
They had no weapons and no idea what they would do once they had captured the crew. None of them had any kind of sailing experience. They were all city dwellers pulled from the streets. Most were poor and had been found in the disreputable parts of London. A few, like Clayton and Christian, were wealthy and simply found in the wrong place at the wrong time. None of the others were titled, but that made little difference once they were all shackled together.
“We might have been able to pull it off if not for the storm. We thought it would be on our side, but it wasn’t. Unskilled and unaware, we were sliding all over the deck, and some fell off the side. Some of the crew was lost, but it was not enough to give us the upper hand.”
“Thomas said Christian fell overboard. Is that not what happened?”
“He did, but it wasn’t a simple mistake. He fell because I wouldn’t save him.”
This was the part where the memories began to get vivid. Enough to wake him up at night or keep him from sleeping at all.
“The captain must have guessed Christian was behind the uprising, because he was the only one of the crew that came for him. He was such a large man, and Christian hadn’t eaten for days. We were all so weak.”
The hard rain had made it difficult to see in the night, and ship had rocked back and forth with full force.
“He called out for help, and I tried to get to him. I saw the captain pushing him over the rail, and Christian reached out to me for help.”
Clayton’s voice cracked as the tears and shaking started. He tried to finish, but the words couldn’t get past the emotional reaction. He felt his mother’s hand on shoulder, and when he looked, she had moved from the seat to the floor beside him. Her eyes were shimmering with tears, and there were streaks down both her cheeks.
“It’s not your fault. Those were such terrible circumstances.”
“I froze. He called out to me and I stopped. I stood there and watched as he was pushed over. I didn’t even try to reach him.”
The feeling of being unable to move came rushing back to him. He remembered how scared he was and how everything was moving around him so quickly. Clayton could see Christian turning to him, yelling out his name, reaching out an arm, but then he disappeared over the side of the ship. Clayton wanted to move, he urged himself to, but he couldn’t. Something kept him rooted in that spot as his twin brother was swallowed up by the seas.
“I killed him because I didn’t save him.” Clayton was crying so hard, he dropped the glass on the floor, but it didn’t break. The only thing breaking was him. His mother wrapped him up in her arms and held him while he wept. He cried until his eyes hurt and he couldn’t breathe. He wept until his exhausted body collapsed, before he got a chance to hear what his mother was whispering in his ear.
Clayton woke up because he could feel somebody watching him. His head was still groggy from the night before. Looking at the empty glass on the floor beside his hand, Clayton knew he must have had too much to drink. There was the taste and feel of cotton in his mouth, and through the crustiness in his eyes, he saw his brother Thomas standing over him with a grumpy look on his face.
“Do you make it a habit to watch people while they sleep?” Clayton grumbled as he tried to sit up straight in the chair.
He was still wearing the same clothes he had on the night before, only now they were wrinkled and uncomfortable. He had no idea when he had fallen asleep; it must have slipped over him like fog over the hills. His memory about when he’d fallen asleep might have been weak, but his memory about what had happened was strong. He still felt so guilty about what had happened between him and Rory that he wished he was able to fill his glass one more time. Unfortunately, now it was daylight, and his brother would only get more upset if he tried to pour a drink.
"Do you make it a habit of falling asleep in public places? If you want privacy, there's a room upstairs that belongs to you. Next time, feel free to use it."
"I will try to remember that next time I visit," Clayton grumbled.
"You are leaving already?" Thomas asked.
"I plan to leave for London as soon as my things are packed."
"You just arrived."
“I’m not longer welcome.”
“Says who?”
“Mother. I confessed everything to her, and now she wants me to leave.”
“You told her about the mutiny and Christian’s death?”
Clayton’s gaze snapped to his brother’s face, which held no surprise in it. “You knew?”
“I knew that the mutiny failed and that Christian was gone. I didn’t know all of the details, but I could put the pieces together.”
“Why didn’t you say anything to me?”
“I was waiting for you to be ready to talk about it.”
“There is nothing to talk about. I let my brother die, making me the worst kind of person. You shouldn’t have brought me back here if you knew that.”
Clayton stood, but he wasn’t ready and wobbled on his feet. Thomas reached out to catch him, but Clayton shook him off.
“Why would you bring me here if you knew? Why would you make me face her?” Clayton stumbled away from Thomas. “You should have left me there.”
“I didn’t know you blamed yourself for what happened. I certainly don’t, and I don’t think our mother does.”
“Of course she does!” Clayton’s voice was so loud it echoed around the room.
Thomas’s gaze moved, catching something in the doorway. Clayton felt his stomach sink as he saw Catherine standing there, watching her two boys fight. Her face was pale, and there were dark circles under her eyes. She had a frown on her face, and her hair looked like it had been pulled back in a hurry. There were red rims to her eyes, and she had been crying enough to soak the handkerchiefs in her hands.
“I think I deserve to speak for myself. I don’t need you two fighting over my personal thoughts,” she said, her voice stern but broken. “I am heartbroken to know the details of Christian’s death, but I blame no one but the man who took him. He never should have been on that ship, and he never should have had to fight for his freedom.”
“Mother, you should sit,” said Thomas, tilting his head so that he could hear her better.
“No. if I sit, I might collapse. I need to finish saying something.” She came closer to Clayton. He tried to pull back, but the wall gave him nowhere to go. She approached him slowly and timidly, but her gaze never left his. She reached out for him, placing a hand on his cheek. Clayton closed his eyes as the touch ached with sympathy and forgiveness. Her anger he was ready for, but not this. Not this kind of love.
“You are my son, and I love you. I will always love you, and this will always be your home.”
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to stop the tears and ignore her words.
“Christian is gone, but you are not. You are here and you are deserving of a good life. Don’t waste it because of a mistake. He wouldn’t want that.”
“No, I don’t. I don’t deserve any of the life I had after Christian. I shouldn’t have lived when he didn’t.”
He felt his mother wrapping her arms around his waist and hugging him tight. Then he felt Thomas joining the hug, and he struggled with the feelings of comfort it gave him.
“You deserve to be loved.” His mother said, her face against his chest.
Those were the words that finally broke him. Clayton found himself returning the hugs of his small but loving family. He felt the relief of their acceptance, and the burden he had been carrying was gone. It felt like he was able to take his first deep breath in years. The tears dried up, and he felt like he had been given a second chance.
“Now go upstairs and unpack your bags,” his mother said, pulling the three of them apart.
“How did you know I packed them?”
“I’m your mother; I know a lot more than you think.”
“I’m still not sure I should stay. Perhaps I should go to London and meet you there.” Clayton needed to get as far from Rory as possible.
“Nonsense. You will stay here and clean up the mess you made. I taught my sons that much, at least.”
“She hates me.”
His mother shook her head. “She doesn’t hate you either, or she wouldn’t have been as devastated as she was last night. She’s just unsure about you. You need to prove to her that you are more than just your name.”
“How do I do that?”
“You are a smart and resourceful boy. I fully expect you to figure that out on your own.” She wiped a loose lock of hair form her face and turned to leave. “I would hurry too; the young lady seems to lack the patience to wait for you.”