He walked to his family plot, to a stately headstone unmarred by time or the elements, the carved words and symbol still painfully clear. Its rounded top had been engraved with the emblem of a bluebell, meaningsorrowful regret. The inscription read:
In Memory
Marina Seward Wilford
1790–1818
He stared at the headstone, but saw his wife instead. Her disdainful expression falling away at the last moment as fear gripped hard, her face elongated in shock and terror.
“I am sorry. Truly,” he whispered, guilt lancing between his ribs like a rusty blade.
Despite everything, he would never have wished such an end on anyone.
Wearing pelisse and bonnet, Rebecca walked across Swanford toward the churchyard. She had mixed feelings about seeingAll Saints Church again and the vicarage where she had grown up—and which always stirred bittersweet memories of happier times. Even so, she had not visited her parents’ graves since the previous Christmas some fifteen months ago, and felt she had neglected the duty too long.
As she walked up All Saints Street, she passed the Fenchurch residence, one of the larger houses in the village. Her childhood playmate had lived there and probably still did.
As if in answer, a voice greeted her over the stone wall that separated the narrow front garden from the street. “Welcome home, Rebecca. Didn’t know you were back.”
She looked over the waist-high wall and saw the round, rosy cheeks of her old friend. “Kitty! How good to see you.”
“Is it?” She seemed a bit piqued. “You know, I was sure I saw you in Bath a few weeks ago. I called out but you did not answer. Perhaps you did not hear me.”
Rebecca hoped her former friend could not see the warmth spreading up her neck. Shehadheard Kitty but pretended not to and kept walking. She’d been helping Joly carry parcels for Lady Fitzhoward at the time, and she had been embarrassed to be seen looking like a servant by someone from home.
“Bath?” Rebecca said. “I trust you enjoyed it.”
“I did, yes. My parents and I travel somewhere every year. I adore Bath. Brighton has the sea, but Bath has better shops, don’t you find?”
“I ... suppose so. And your parents are in good health, I trust?”
“Yes. Going along famously. If you’d come by a few minutes earlier you might have greeted them, but they’ve already left to call on friends.”
Kitty cocked her head to one side. “And how is John keeping? Still living in the Wilfords’ lodge? I almost never see him. Keeps himself to himself, apparently.”
“Yes, yes. Writing away.”
Kitty formed a closed-lip smile, which rounded her cheeks into red orbs. “Anything of his in the circulating library yet? I have a subscription, you see.”
“Not yet. Hopefully soon.”
“He’s been at it a long time, has he not? Oh well. He’s still young. Unlike the pair of us, ey?” Kitty reached over the wall and gave Rebecca a playful slap on the arm. “We’re nearly on the shelf!”
Kitty laughed, but Rebecca thought she saw a sheen of desperation in her eyes.
“Not quite yet,” Rebecca reassured her—and herself.
Kitty asked, “Have you seen Sir Frederick since you’ve been back?”
“Yes,” Rebecca replied then added quickly, “though only in passing. At the hotel.”
Kitty shivered theatrically. “We dine there now and again, but I would not want to sleep in that old place, would you?”
“I ... am, actually. It’s a long story. The spare room in the lodge was not ready for me. John did not receive my letter and has been doing some work in there, so ...”
“Does the abbey not give you nightmares?”
“It does, rather. In fact, one night I even thought I saw the ghost of the abbess.”
