Before the Scarlet Dawn (38 page)

On her bed, she curled up and wept in the cradle of her arms. A dam of emotion broke and poured out of her—all her pain, the dashed hopes, mistakes, loss, and fears. There was no going back to change the course of things. Even though she had found a sanctuary and people kind enough to accept her despite her past.

An hour later, there was a rap on the door. “Eliza. Open the door, my girl. Let me in. I need to speak to you . . . Please.”

Eliza rose up from the soft coverlet she lay upon, pushed the heavy spirals of her hair from off her forehead, and went to the door. Fiona stepped inside and set her candle down on the table. She looked over at the carpetbag and the heap of clothes sitting on the bed.

“What are you doing, my girl?” An urgency marked Fiona’s voice and expression.

“I cannot stay here.” Eliza shoved a dress into the bag.

“You are leaving because of those women? Ignore them.”

“Perhaps what they called me is true.”

“No. It was cruel. Do not leave on their account. I could not bear it. Think of Mr. Brennan and young Ethan.”

“I am thinking of you and them,” Eliza said. “I’ll not bring any more embarrassment to Mr. Brennan, and I’ll not have you clinging to the child in me that you once knew.” She tossed her horsehair brush into the bag. “You all deserve to be left alone, to live a peaceful life.”

Fiona stopped Eliza’s busy hands. “You know it will hurt me. But you will hurt Mr. Brennan and Ethan as well.”

Eliza shook her head.

“Mr. Brennan understands grace and mercy, and that we all have fallen short in our lives before God. He understands forgiveness. Do you not see the agonizing guilt he has lived with, that he could not save the lives of his wife and baby? Then you came along—he told me you were his saving grace. He does not expect perfection.”

With Fiona’s hands on her shoulders, Eliza looked into her eyes, her own filling with tears. She knew what Fiona said rang true. But she’d left out one thing. Eliza’s reputation had spread from Havendale through the countryside. She could not ask Mr. Brennan to sacrifice his own for her. She would not let him.

“I will not be the cause of Mr. Brennan’s good name being dragged through the mire, Fiona.” She turned away and closed the clasp on her bag.

The sound caused Fiona to moan. “I will tell him.” And she headed to the door.

Eliza grabbed her arm. “You will not. I have never ordered you to do anything in my life. But I will now. You will not tell him.”

Tears glistened in Fiona’s eyes, and her parted lips trembled.

“Forgive me for being abrupt. But you mustn’t say a word.”

“It will break his heart. You know that?”

Eliza hung her head. “I do. But he and Ethan shall forget me soon enough.”

“I doubt it, my girl. Moments ago, he told me that his heart ached for what just happened, and that he saw Mr. Langbourne speaking to you. He wanted to come upstairs and have a word, but I advised him to leave you be for a time. You need to go downstairs and speak to him.”

“I need to go somewhere where no one knows me,” Eliza said. “I have saved enough of my wages to live on for a short time until I find employment.”

“I cannot let you go . . . not without me.”

Grieved to see her old friend so upset, Eliza put her palms upon Fiona’s cheeks. “Then promise me you will say nothing to Mr. Brennan.”

Fiona nodded. “Oh, it seems wrong, but I will do as you ask.”

“Are you strong enough to do this?”

“I crossed the ocean, my girl, and walked all the way to Fairview to find you. If I can do that, I can do this.”

A full moon hung in the sky that night, and owls hooted to one another in the trees. By candlelight, Eliza penned a letter to Mr. Brennan.

Dear Sir,

By the time you read this letter, I will be gone. You have given me no cause to quit Fairview, and it grieves me to leave this place where I have found healing and peace, and a dear friendship with you and Ethan. I shall always be indebted to you for saving my life that day you found me, for giving me a position in your household, and for showing me God’s love is greater than my faults.

Please understand that as long as I live among people who know my past, I will bring shame and embarrassment to you. I shall find a place where no one knows me, and where I can begin anew. God willing, I shall someday find my way back to my darling Darcy. Until then, pray for me, and forgive me for leaving Fairview in this way. I had not the courage to tell you face to face.

With gratitude,

Eliza

She folded the letter, dripped the sealing wax upon it, pressed the wax firmly, and inscribed his name on the front.

Then she stood up in the gown she had worn the day she set foot back on English soil. After she drew on her cloak, she picked up her bag and closed the door to her room. She went down the servants’ stairs and slipped out a side door. Before the scarlet dawn could break, she reached the end of the lane and looked back at Fairview with a heavy heart. All the windows were dark. But the moon streaked the glass and glazed the facade.

She turned away and walked on. Before her stretched a road dimly lit by moonlight. Crickets chirped in the weeds alongside it, and the stillness frightened her. Had she made the right decision? Or had she sentenced herself to a life of dire poverty?

When Mr. Brennan rose from a restless night, he went downstairs to his study and drew back the curtains. Sunlight dazzled his eyes, and he paused to admire the green fields and the budding trees. After a moment’s pause, he noted his house seemed unusually quiet. Not a creak on the floor above. No smell of coffee wafted in the morning air. Not a hint of what would be served for breakfast. He had hoped for a large one— eggs and English sausages, creamy porridge, and biscuits.

Roscoe mewed and weaved around Brennan’s legs. “Ah, you are hungry too. It appears everyone is still asleep. Not even a mouse for you to catch.” He crossed the room and went out into the foyer. He called Fiona. No one answered. Then he strode back to the kitchen and saw that the coals in the hearth were gray, cold ash.

A frown creased his brow, and he left to go up the stairs. Down the corridor, past his room, to a shorter flight of stairs he went. A slow trickle of dread stirred within him as he climbed.

He rapped on Fiona’s door first, opened it, and looked inside to an empty room. His anxiety grew stronger. Raising his fist, he knocked on Eliza’s door twice. And when no one answered, he turned the door handle and stepped in. The curtains over the windows fluttered, and a breeze blew through the open window. He flung open the doors to her armoire. Empty. He went to her dressing table. Her brush and comb—missing.

And there lay Eliza’s letter.

This time dread reached a breaking point. He snatched up the letter in his hands and stared at it. Had he been wrong about her? His pulse pounded as he broke the seal and unfolded the pages. It had been years since he last cried, when Emily died with their baby girl. His hands shook as he read Eliza’s letter, and that old, familiar pain of loss twisted inside him.

After he finished reading—once he had comprehended her words—he pressed his fist against his eyes and shoved the letter into his pocket. He paced the floor and then fell to his knees. His locked fingers turned white.

“Help me, God. Show me what to do. Must I be deprived of her as well? She has become a daughter to me, a sister, a close friend. I am too old to ask for her love, and I would not, for she is wedded. But the husband who should care for her is not here. Allow me to take care of Eliza. I pledge I shall do right, Lord God.”

He got to his feet and dragged himself to her window. And as he pulled down the latch, he spotted Fiona out on the lane. She trudged along at an anxious pace with her hands clasped at her breast. She stopped, turned full circle, and seemed confused.

Bewildered, Brennan hurried away from the window. Through shadow and light, he rushed downstairs and out his front door. Moving at a sprint, he called out to Fiona. She looked toward him, pale and terrified, and stood stark still, her hands still clutching the edge of her cloak.

“Where is Eliza? And why are you out here?”

Worry filled her eyes. “Oh, Mr. Brennan.” The words caught in her throat, and she began to weep.

“What has happened? She is not in her room, and I cannot find her inside the house.”

“She made me promise not to tell you, sir. She told me she could not allow your good name to be dragged through the mire or to see you humiliated. I was certain she would change her mind. Bear it with all forgiveness, if you can.”

“Forgiveness for not telling me, yes. But bearing it, I cannot do if you are about to tell me she has gone.”

On the last word, Fiona went silent and gazed at Brennan with sorrow. He turned away. How could Eliza have done this? She had to have known he’d not allow any word against her to stand.

Fiona moved up to him. “I begged her not to go, sir, but she could not be persuaded.”

He nodded. “She has a strong will, I know.”

“She agreed to take me with her, but when I woke at daybreak, the time we had set to steal away, I found a letter slipped under my door from her. I panicked and went down the road as far as I could. Then I grew afraid I might lose my way and came back to get your help.”

Brennan stared forward. “She left me a letter as well.”

“She’s out there alone, sir.”

Distraught, Brennan wrung his hands. “Foolish Eliza,” he muttered. “Foolish, foolish Eliza.”

Fiona’s face flooded with desperation. “What shall we do, sir?”

The fear in his heart tugged harder. He imagined her treading down a road alone with little money to sustain her for long. “Where did she say she would go?”

“To a place where no one knows her, and then she hopes to sail back to Maryland, to Darcy. I can assure you, sir, Hayward Morgan has seen to it that she will not see the child. He will let her live in poverty and shame, even prison, if she should make any attempt.”

Silver layers of sunlight entered the forest nearby, and then sunk from the heavens. A southern wind rose, rustled limb and vine, and whipped across the fields into the lane. “I will saddle my horse. I put my son in your charge, Fiona, until I’ve returned with Eliza.”

Brennan rushed to the stable and pulled his horse out of its stall to saddle him. Shoving his boot into the stirrup, he swung up onto the horse’s back, held him with a firm grip on the reins, nudged him with his knees, and galloped off at a violent pace to find a wayward soul.

36

W
hen the sky threatened rain, Eliza drew the hood of her cloak over her dark hair and trudged on. Not a soul confronted her along the way, for the road remained desolate for miles. Thirsty, she paused upon the bank of a stream that purled down a slope. She sat in the moss, removed her glove, and dipped her hand into the cold water. It tasted sweet and reminded her of her river so far away and the child left behind.

“I am tired, Lord. But I must find my way.” She gazed up at the clusters of leaves above her. She thought about her father. What he would tell her to do, and what he would think, to see her sitting beside a stream, all alone?