Love's Rescue (27 page)

“Charlie? You told Charlie?” The veins bulged on his forehead. His cheek ticked, but she ignored the warning.

“I gave him the diary.”

The blow snapped her head around and spun her backwards. She slammed against the wall. Pain shot down her spine and robbed the strength from her legs. She slid to the floor and into darkness.

S
hadowy images and muffled sounds drifted in and out of Elizabeth’s consciousness. Whether dream or reality she did not know. Heaviness pressed upon her. Even her eyes could not open. Pain knifed marrow from bone and soul from body. Death beckoned, promising the peace that life could not bring.

Rourke.

His name tugged her back toward the pain.

She looked for him in this land of shadows, but he was always just beyond sight. She tried to call to him. Her mouth moved. Her lips opened, but no sound came out.

Rourke.

There he was, just above her. He grasped for her hand, but she slipped away, falling, falling. She clung to the last bit of canvas. The abyss beckoned. The black ocean tugged. He called out for her, stretched forth his arm. She could see his hand, could nearly reach his fingers, but the distance was too great.

Don’t leave me.

He looked back. Just once. Then he was gone.

Forever. Somehow she knew that he would never return. That
knowledge weighed upon her. The pain and emptiness were too much to endure.

She let go. The waters closed over her, yet she gasped for breath.

A murmur of voices broke through the shadows, pulling her back from the depths.

A woman’s frantic cry. “Will she end up like her brother?”

A man’s hushed reply. “It’s too early to know.”

Though the murmuring continued, she slipped away again, this time to the shore. Her toes dug into the narrow fringe of glistening white sand. The turquoise sea stretched before her, endless as the sky. If only she could get to the other side. Then she would find Rourke. He’d been here, nearly within her grasp moments before, but now he was gone. She searched the horizon for his ship. She called out his name. She reached out her arms and wept for their emptiness.

“Lizzie, my Lizzie,” a man wept. “Can you ever forgive me? Please open your eyes. Please give me a chance to beg your forgiveness. The fault is all mine. I was wrong, so wrong, in so many ways.” Sobs muffled his words until the last. “Please, God, don’t make her suffer for my sins.”

Not Rourke.

Father. His agony pleaded with her, yet she recoiled. Ran. As fast as she could along the shore, where the glassy waves lapped against her toes.

Again she looked for Rourke. Again she reached out.

Return to me.

Yet the horizon remained empty.

With a shudder, Elizabeth awoke. Her eyelids flew open, and she immediately closed them against the blinding light.

“Good afternoon, Lizzie.”

“Charlie?” His name rasped against her dry throat.

“At least you know who I am. I don’t suppose you’re ready to play chess, though.”

She cautiously opened her eyes a fraction. “Bright.” And closed them again.

“I’m sorry.”

She heard a thumping sound, then sensed diminished light. This time she lifted her eyelids a bit at a time.

“I wanted to study,” he said. Again that thumping sound. “Seeing as you’ve been sleeping for four days now, I saw no reason to keep the room dark.”

“Four days?”

“The doctor didn’t know if you’d ever wake up.”

She let her lids close, but the turquoise sea was gone. Only the pain remained. Her head hurt. The tiniest movement sapped her strength. Her throat was parched. She forced her eyelids open again. “Water?”

“Even better.” Charlie appeared at the bedside, towering over her. The thumping stopped. “Cook sent up a pot of tea twenty minutes ago. Earl Grey. Your favorite.” He lowered himself into a bedside chair and set aside crutches.

“You can walk,” she gasped.

He looked abashed. “I’ve been practicing for weeks. Months, actually. Father had one of the Army engineers at the fort make the leg braces and crutches in August, but they take some getting used to. I took a lot of spills before I got it right.”

“But . . . the wheelchair?”

He lowered his gaze. “I didn’t want to fall in front of people. Father helped me practice at night, and Rourke would help when he came to play chess.”

At the mention of Rourke’s name, her throat constricted.

Charlie continued. “Once you arrived, I told Father I couldn’t learn to use them. It was easier to stay in my room.” He gave her a sheepish look. “I might have been a little angry at you too. I wanted to make you feel awful for what happened.”

“I am sorry.”

“It’s not really your fault. Rourke tried to make me see that, but I didn’t understand until I saw how courageous you were.”

“Me?” She rubbed her throat.

“Sorry.” He poured tea into a teacup. “By helping Anabelle to freedom. That’s when I realized you weren’t totally selfish.”

“But I was.”

“When it mattered, you acted unselfishly. I figured if you could do that, I could accept that I’m crippled and stop worrying what people say.” He held out the cup. “Here.”

She winced at his words. He had to accept so much, and no matter what Rourke said, it was her fault. She attempted to take the teacup from him, but the handle slipped from her fingers, and the brown liquid spilled all over the coverlet. “I’m sorry.” Tears rose. “I made a mess of everything.”

He blotted at the spill with a cloth. “My fault. I should have known better. Here, let me hold the cup for you.”

With great care and patience he eased the liquid to her lips, asking after every sip if she wanted more.

Elizabeth marveled at his gentle spirit. “You’re a lot like Mother.”

“I miss her. Father spent time with me every day, but it wasn’t the same. And now he’s gone.”

“Gone?” Memories tumbled through her head. Anger darkening his expression. Fury. The blow. She touched a hand to her cheek. It didn’t hurt.

“It’s healing,” Charlie confirmed, “but it’s a nasty green and purple color.”

She did not care how she looked. Rourke would never return. And he wasn’t the only one missing. “What do you mean that Father is gone?” Anger rose again. Before she had recovered, he left. “Where did he go? To fetch Mr. Finch?”

“He left on business.”

“What business? That doesn’t make sense. Attorneys don’t need to travel.”

Charlie shrugged. “He didn’t say, just that it was urgent.”

She squeezed her eyelids shut. He had gone after Mr. Finch. Or Rourke. Her eyes flew open. “Rourke? Was he caught?”

“No. They should be at Harbour Island by now.”

Elizabeth breathed out, both relieved and devastated. “He will never return.”

Charlie squeezed her hand. “You have to hope.”

But she knew the cost of Anabelle’s freedom. Rourke had to pay. She had to pay.

“Tom Worthington stopped by after Father left,” Charlie said. “He told me everything that happened, what you did to help our half sister.”

“So you do know about Anabelle.”

“You left me Mother’s diary. Of course I know. It wasn’t difficult to figure out, and Father confirmed it.”

“He did?” That did not sound like Father.

“There’s no reason to keep it secret now.”

Anger warred with relief. No more secrets, but it had cost her everything. “Do you hate him?”

A frown creased his brow. “He was always good to me. I suppose I was angry with him at first, but Mother found a way to forgive him, so I figure I should too.”

That was too simple. Elizabeth could not set aside so easily the pain his actions had caused. “I can’t. He destroyed everything I loved.”

“Everything? You’re alive. You still have your family.”

Her conscience pricked. “I do love you, Charlie.” But everything else was gone. Rourke. Anabelle. The loving father she’d thought she had. Elizabeth squeezed her eyes shut against the pain.

“He loves you,” Charlie said.

He might mean Father, but she chose to believe he was referring to Rourke. Father had struck her when she didn’t bend to his will. That was not love.
Love does right even
when it hurts.
Father had not done right. Not at all. He had run off while she hovered between life and death. Didn’t he even have the courage to face her?

“Charles Benjamin the Second!” That burst of matronly energy could only belong to Aunt Virginia. “You were supposed to ring for me the moment your sister awakened. That’s why I left the bell here.”

She bustled into the room and proceeded to demonstrate, making Elizabeth cover her ears.

“Now, how are you, dear?” Aunt rounded the bed and tugged at the coverlet until she noticed the tea stain. “What did you do, Charles? Spill the entire pot on your sister? Call for Florie to clean up this mess, and have her bring up some hot broth for your sister. Go on now.” She waved him away.

Charlie gave Elizabeth an apologetic look and picked up his crutches.

“You ought to have bell pulls in every room to summon the servants,” Aunt stated. “When your father returns, I’ll see he installs them.”

Charlie rolled his eyes, which in the past would have made
Elizabeth laugh, but the thought of facing Father soured any amusement.

Even before Charlie had made his way from the room, Aunt fluffed the pillows and resituated the bolster so Elizabeth sat more comfortably.

“Now, dear, do you feel well enough to hear what has gone on the last few days?”

Elizabeth leaned her head back. Whether or not she wanted to hear, Aunt would tell her.

As expected, Aunt did not wait for her answer. “You will be relieved to hear that Mr. Finch has left the island. Bound for New Orleans, I understand. He took the first packet Sunday morning, before your father could find him.”

As she suspected, Father intended to change Finch’s mind.

Aunt did not notice her discomfort. “That was fortunate for both men. If your father had found him, he would have wrung his neck. I told him that we discovered Mr. Finch had taken your father’s copy of the bill of sale. Before you’d danced your first cotillion, I’d talked the boardinghouse owner into checking Mr. Finch’s room. It was in the wardrobe. The man didn’t even have the intelligence to hide it.”

Elizabeth had no difficulty believing that. Finch’s ambitions outweighed his sense.

Aunt sighed. “I fear, dearest Elizabeth, that Mr. Finch was using that bill of sale to blackmail your father.”

“He said that?”

“Your father admitted everything. Apparently that bill was his only proof of ownership other than writing to Charleston, since the ship’s papers were lost in the wreck. Apparently he violated some sort of rule about conflicting interests, and Mr. Finch took advantage. He needed your inheritance, you see.
Inquiries revealed that he owed a tremendous sum around town, especially at the gaming tables.”

“Then Finch really did take the papers from your trunk.”

“Not quite as directly as that. Since I gave my keys to Captain Poppinclerk, I suspect he was the one who rummaged through my trunk and found the papers. He then must have given—or sold—them to Mr. Finch.”

“But why?”

Aunt harrumphed. “Something about carrying a grudge against your father for driving him out of the wrecking business by getting his license revoked. He must have figured Mr. Finch would use the papers to sully your father’s reputation. No doubt he would have, given the opportunity.”

Elizabeth’s head ached trying to understand it all. “It doesn’t matter much anymore, does it? He is gone.”

“Praise God for that blessing. If you hadn’t come to me with that idea to test Mr. Finch, we might have made a terrible mistake. I have sent a letter to Jonathan to investigate the man’s background more thoroughly.”

“But I thought you had. Father always touted his pedigree.”

“I’m ashamed to admit we took Mr. Finch at his word.” She sighed. “I am humiliated by how he deceived us. He might have taken the family for a great deal of money.”

Elizabeth recalled her father’s assertions of financial distress. “I fear that even with Mr. Finch gone, we are destitute.”

Aunt Virginia jerked back. “Destitute? Whatever would make you say that?”

“Other than Charlie, of course. He has Mother’s inheritance.” She rubbed her aching temple. “A few days ago, Father told me his savings were gone. That’s why he insisted I marry Mr. Finch. We needed the inheritance for Charlie’s care.”