“Yes, yes.” Nick waved Peabody away. Something was terribly wrong. His sixth sense sounded alarms as he shooed out Peabody.Very wrong. After locking the study door, he tore into the envelope.
Hamilton,Bermuda
To His Grace, the Duke of Dunbar,
I apologize, Your Grace, for not attending you in person. In consideration of your instructions, I am staying on Bermuda to gather all the pertinent facts as I know Your Grace would wish me to be thorough.
Nick expected nothing less of Hotchkins. He crossed to a leather chair and sat. A fire blazed in the hearth before him, but Nick shivered all the same.
I arrived in Hamilton and made discreet inquiries. William Manning died shortly after your departure from Bermuda.
So Manning died. He should have felt a sense of satisfaction, but he found no real pleasure in Manning’s death for it meant that Jem was alone and unprotected in her grief.
I admit to feeling some relief at the knowledge of Manning's death as Miss Manning could not have married Mr. Corbett while in mourning. My task would thus be easier to accomplish if she were not another man's wife.I proceeded to Sea Cliff in order to seek out Miss Manning. I bore Your Grace's letter confident that she would see reason, prepared should she not.
Nick made a mental note to give Hotchkins a bonus. The man had absolutely no reservations about kidnapping a woman for his employer.
I arrived to find the entire house in deep mourning, not unexpected given Manning's death. I inquired at the door after Miss Manning only to have the servant who answered burst into tears and run from me.
Why was his chest tight? A knot formed in his throat. The awful sense of dread felt earlier at the letter’s arrival, intensified. He carefully turned to the next page.
I waited on the step, unsure what to do, when an older woman came to the door. She introduced herself as the vicar’s wife, Mrs. Stanhope.
Nick's hands started shaking. He imagined Mrs. Stanhope’s plump form at the door of Sea Cliff.
Mrs. Stanhope, tears streaming down her face, asked what I wanted Miss Manning for, as Miss Manning was gone. When I asked the good lady where, Mrs. Stanhope sobbed in earnest. She asked why I wished to see Miss Manning?
Nick gulped in air and tried to catch his breath. He pressed one hand against his chest and felt his heart race beneath his palm.
I have a letter for her, I explained, holding out your envelope. Mrs. Stanhope swayed against the doorjamb, and I feared she would fall at my feet. “I cannot help you, sir. Jane Emily is gone”. She gave a great sob. “Poor lamb, she has thrown herself from the cliffs.”
“What do you mean?” I said.
“Grief, sir. Her father’s death did something to her mind. She’s gone. Dead. Poor lamb.”
Nick blinked at the words, quite sure he’d read them wrong. The paper crumpled as he gripped the pages tighter.
I decided to investigate, Your Grace. Miss Manning apparently took off suddenly during a luncheon with Augustus Corbett and ran towards the cliffs. He claims she was irrational during the meal, speaking of her father and blaming herself for his death. Mr. Corbett pursued her, but she disappeared. After a search of the area, Miss Manning could not be found. A group of men, led by a Mr. Tally O’Dell searched the area, but found nothing, only a scrap of cloth from Miss Manning’s dress.
Nick looked up from the page, imagining the rocky trails that surrounded Sea Cliff. The color of the dress, Jem wore that day. The arrogant smirk of Augie Corbett. He reached out to take the glass of whisky from the table next to him and watched as the glass fell from his trembling hands and the dark amber liquid spilled onto the floor. He tried to stand and couldn’t.
The consensus is, Your Grace, that Miss Manning threw herself from the cliffs in her grief over her father. I continue to investigate, as there is no body, but I believe, as does all of Hamilton, that Miss Manning is dead. My deepest sympathies, Your Grace.
A horrible sound, the sound of a soul dying, or a banshee being released, echoed through the study. Nick put his hands over his mouth in an effort to quell the horrific noise.
Peabody knocked urgently at the door. “Your Grace!” The doorknob rattled.
The letter fell from Nick's hands, that creamy wisp of paper that destroyed him. The note fluttered to the rug beneath his feet. If the captain had just turned the ship back to Bermuda as Nick begged him to do. If only Henry hadn't passed away so soon after Nick's arrival.If only.
He grabbed the decanter of whisky and brought it to his lips. Drinking deeply, he prayed that the liquor would blot out the awful words of the letter. He wished this were a nightmare, and he would awake with Jem in his arms. “I should never have left her on the beach. I should have taken her then.”
Nick slid to the floor, the decanter, now empty, slipping from his grasp. He pulled his knees to his chest, rocking back and forth like a terrified child who sought to comfort himself.
“This is my fault.”
The ghost of the gypsy hag, from that day in the woods so long ago, whispered in his ear.
“You will destroy the thing you love most, that is why you are damned. You will know unimaginable grief. Grief of your own making.”
