Shadows of Ladenbrooke Manor (9 page)

Her legs felt as if they might collapse under her, but she couldn’t allow her fear to cripple her now. If she did, Elliot might find out—

She moved faster.

He could never find out she’d had a baby.

“Mags!” he called out as she turned the corner up Moor Lane.

She ignored him, continuing to goad the pram forward even as she slid the black canopy toward her to hide Libby’s face.

Her indifference didn’t seem to deter Elliot. He was beside her in seconds, grinning down with his slick smile and all the cockiness that once seemed attractive. “Are you toying with me?”

She glanced back at the busy market street and saw Mrs. Bishop and several ladies from church watching her. Had they heard Elliot shout her name? They would wonder who he was. And why Maggie was trying to ignore him.

“This isn’t a game,” she whispered.

His gaze fell swiftly to the carriage, and his smile disappeared. “You have a kid?”

“My friend—” she started and then stumbled over her words before trying again. “He’s my friend’s baby,” she said with the slightest of shrugs, but her breath was shallow as she tried to calm her nerves. “I’m watching him this morning.”

He stepped closer, leaning down to whisper in her ear. “Meet me at the cavern tonight.”

She held her head a bit higher, trying to be confident. Aloof. “I’m no longer fond of caves.”

Stepping back, he studied her face with the dark-green eyes that once captivated her. “I’ve missed you,” he said slowly. “I thought you might have been missing me too.”

Behind him, Mrs. Bishop and two of her aunt’s friends huddled together, glancing toward her and Elliot. Maggie stepped away from him and pointed toward an alleyway between the shops on the opposite side of the street. “We can talk over there,” she said. By tonight, perhaps, the women would forget about her brief encounter with a French sailor.

He wrapped his fingers around the handle of the pram as if he would push it for her, but she quickly reclaimed it. “I’ll go first,” she said quietly but firmly. “Wait three or four minutes before following me.”

Her head high, she pushed Libby toward the alley, praying her daughter would fall asleep. No matter what happened, even if Libby demanded Maggie’s attention with her tears, she wouldn’t let Elliot see her.

The man didn’t wait like she’d asked. He followed her immediately into the alley, and she stepped in front of the pram, a barrier between him and Libby. Her initial shock over his return turned into anger. “Where have you been?” she demanded.

“Traveling the world,” he replied, nonchalant. “Norway. Russia. A week in the New York harbor. I brought you the prettiest bracelet—”

She balled her fingers into fists. While her life was falling apart, he’d been touring New York. “You should have written.”

“Darling, you know I’m not much for writing.”

She tucked her fists under her arms, hugging them close to her chest. “Don’t call me darling.”

His eyebrows climbed in a way she once thought clever, but it sickened her now.

“You told me you would return by Christmas. You told me . . .” Her voice trailed off. The promises he’d made didn’t matter anymore.

He grinned again. “You did miss me, didn’t you?”

She slumped back against the brick wall, her gaze on the narrow entrance of the alley behind him, the people passing by as they shopped. All it would take was one person to light the fuse.

Somehow she would have to convince Elliot that there was nothing left between them. And no reason for him to either stay or return. “I didn’t think you were coming back.”

He rested his hand over her head, against the wall. “I promised you I would.”

“More than a year ago . . .”

His face was inches from her, but she refused to look up at him. His clothes smelled like salt water and rotten fish, and she thought she might vomit, both from the stench and the thought of being close to him again. He was no longer a romantic pirate. He was the man who’d abandoned her and then laughed about it.

Her heart screamed a warning, urging her to flee.

Elliot eyed the pram again, as if he wanted to see the baby inside, and she knew well that he was not one to be deterred. If she managed to get around him, back out onto the market street, he would continue following her all the way home.

She glanced at her watch. “I must return to my friend’s house before she gets worried.”

“Meet me at the cave,” he repeated, his voice the same seductive tone that used to entangle her.

“I can’t.”

He cocked his head. “You’ve found someone else, haven’t you?”

“I have,” she said as she smoothed her hand over the canvas top of the pram. “Right after you left.”

His breath was on her ear as he backed her toward the carriage. “Just one last time,” he whispered. “Then I’ll leave for good.”

The pram shook when she bumped into it. Libby gurgled, but it was more of a song than a cry. Elliot ignored the child as he reached for Maggie’s hand, grasping it in his. Stunned, she looked at his hand and then back up at him with disgust.

Why had she given herself to this man? Instead of waiting for Elliot, she should have accepted Walter’s proposal the first time he’d asked.

She tried to pull her hand away from him. “Let me go.”

Instead of releasing her, he leered down, his eyes bloated with desire. “We have to say good-bye.”

Her stomach clenched at the thought, but perhaps if she agreed to meet him at the cave, he would leave her alone right now. She and Libby could hide in their flat until the
Illmité
left the harbor.

“One last time,” she said, the words bitter on her lips.

His smile returned as his fingers caressed her hand.

“Maggie?”

Her stomach clenched again, but this time it wasn’t because of Elliot’s touch. It was because her husband had stepped into the alleyway.

Walter’s eyes were focused on her as he walked up the alley. And his voice was steady—too steady. “Why are you here?”

She yanked her hand away from Elliot’s clutch. “I’m trying to get away from this man.”

Walter reached for Maggie’s trembling hand, and she clung to him. Then he met Elliot’s gaze. “Don’t touch her again.”

Elliot crossed his arms. “Who are you?”

Instead of answering him, Walter looked back at her. “Mrs. Bishop said this man was following you.”

Elliot leaned his shoulder against the wall, seeming to enjoy the drama unfolding before him. “Maggie asked me to meet her here.”

That much was true, but it didn’t sound right. She’d said those words to get rid of him.

Her mind whirled, and she couldn’t sort it all out with both men watching her. “I will explain—later.”

Elliot smirked. “It seems she has a lot to explain.”

“I’m Maggie’s husband,” Walter said as he stepped between her and Elliot.

Elliot’s eyes widened for a split second. Then they narrowed. He looked down at the pram, his arm crossed, before looking back at her. “Funny, you never mentioned you were married.”

“You never gave me the opportunity.”

Walter released her hand. “You know this man?”

“From a long time ago.”

“Not so long—” Elliot insisted.

She tugged at Walter’s elbow. “Can we please discuss this at home?”

Her husband ignored her, speaking to the man before him instead. “What’s your name?”

“Baron Bonheur,” he replied smugly. “But your wife calls me Elliot.”

Walter’s fist flung out so fast that Maggie gasped. Stunned. Blood streamed from Elliot’s lip, and Maggie thought he would surely beat Walter to a pulp, but instead he wiped off the blood with the back of his hand and snickered. Then he winked at her. “Don’t worry, Mags. I’ll come visit again, next time I’m in Clevedon.”

Maggie reached for Walter’s hand, holding it steady in hers so he wouldn’t hit Elliot a second time.

Elliot strutted back down the alley, whistling as if he hadn’t a care. Then she and Walter stood side by side in a dreadful silence. She owed him some sort of explanation, quickly, but she could think of no story to explain away Elliot.

Silently Walter stepped toward the pram and pushed back the canopy. Instead of reaching for Libby, he stared down into her face as if he’d never seen her before. As if she was a venomous snake or one of the blue sharks that trolled out in the channel. Then he backed away from the carriage, recoiling as if the girl he once thought to be his daughter might poison him.

When he looked back up at Maggie, she saw scorn flaring in his eyes. The shattering of his love into a million pieces.

Instead of anger, pain laced his voice. “You said his name.”

“What do you mean?”

He raked his fingers through his short hair. “In the maternity home, you asked for Elliot.”

She cringed. “I knew him a long time ago, before we married—”

Walter interrupted her. “Why didn’t you tell me about him?”

“I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“You knew him well,” he said, more to himself than to her.

She wasn’t certain how to respond. “I thought I loved him, but I didn’t.”

“Before we were married . . .” The anger in his eyes welled again with the realization. “You were expecting before our wedding.”

“No—”

This time he didn’t listen to her protest. “That’s why the baby came early.”

“The baby’s name is Libby.”

He ignored her. “You were never planning to tell me . . .”

She glanced back down at her beautiful girl, resigned to the truth. “It wouldn’t have done any good.”

“But it would be the truth, Maggie.”

She snorted. The man before her might be obsessed with gathering facts, uncovering the truth, but that didn’t mean the truth should always be unearthed. This was her story to tell, and she’d known already that the truth didn’t always make things better. Sometimes it destroyed things that were good.

With the same hand he’d punched Elliot, Walter slapped the handle of the carriage. And then Maggie watched with dismay as her husband walked away.

JUNE 1955, CLEVEDON, ENGLAND

G
ray clouds drifted slowly over the estuary as church bells rang out on the hill above Maggie’s bench. She and Walter didn’t go to church this morning. Instead they sat next to each other, trying to piece back together the fragments of their life.

She gently rocked the pram back and forth to keep her hands busy, trying to calm her heart. Not only had Mrs. Bishop told Walter about her meeting with Elliot, but she’d returned to the scene of the crime and perched herself at the end of the alleyway, listening to everything.

Thanks to Mrs. Bishop and her underlings, the news of Maggie rendezvousing with a French sailor struck Clevedon like the fierce winds of a winter storm. It was the tail of the storm that brought the worst sting though. The whispers about her bastard child.

Walter had only spoken to Maggie when absolutely necessary over the past three weeks. Aunt Priscilla now snubbed both Maggie and Libby. Uncle Timothy tilted his head in greeting when he saw Maggie at church last week, but he didn’t dote over Libby like he usually did. Her innocent daughter had become an outcast alongside her.

“We have to move,” Walter said, tired but resolute.

Maggie shifted on the bench, her eyes fixed on the calm harbor before them. “I tried to tell you.”

“But you didn’t tell me why we needed to leave.”

“If I told you the truth—” She swallowed. “I didn’t want you to hate Libby because of me.”

“You didn’t want to marry me. You needed a father for your child, and without knowing it, I volunteered.” When she looked over at him, she saw tears in his eyes. “After everything, why would you agree to meet that man again?”

“I wasn’t going to meet him. I only wanted him to leave Libby and me alone.”

He stared at the carriage. “I wish I could believe you.”

“Do you want a divorce?” she asked, barely a whisper.

“No—”

“Libby and I will leave Clevedon so you can stay.”

Walter shook his head. “I vowed to stay married. For better or worse.”

She released the handle and clutched her hands together. “No one expects you to—”

“I promised, Maggie, and I keep my promises.”

She glanced out at the bay, at a trawler in the distance, her foot tapping against the cement. She knew the world was big beyond their town, but she had no idea how big. She remembered a bit of London as a girl, the tall spires and the art shop her father had loved. The Frasers weren’t people who liked to travel, even after the war, so she never returned to London.

Walter plucked a stone off the pavement and hurled it toward the water. “I don’t know where we’ll go—”

“Perhaps we don’t have to know. Perhaps we can pack up the car and just drive.”

Walter didn’t move. “At some point we’ll have to stop driving.”

“I think we’ll know exactly when that is.”

Libby whimpered, and Maggie glanced over at her husband. She cried so infrequently that he used to jump when she made the slightest noise, rescue her like he was her prince, but he no longer seemed to hear her cries.

Maggie leaned over and lifted their daughter out of the carriage. Libby watched the boats rise and fall with the swell of the waves. She didn’t make much noise, but she observed everything.