Matilda was muttering apologies between gasps. “I’m sorry, I know you didn’t want to see me… Evelyn, I’m sorry—I had to come?—”
“Hush,” Evelyn said, kneeling beside her, grasping her ice-cold hands. “You’re here now.”
Matilda shivered violently. Robert stripped off his soaked coat and draped it over her shoulders just as the maid rushed in.
“Blankets. Now. And hot tea,” Evelyn ordered. “Quickly.”
The maid vanished. Evelyn turned back, tucking a limp strand of Matilda’s wet hair behind her ear. Her sister’s eyes darted between her and Robert, wild and pleading.
“What happened to you?” Evelyn whispered, but Matilda only shook her head, more tears spilling.
Robert stood nearby, silent, watchful, his jaw clenched. Matilda’s lips were tinged blue, her fingers trembling so violently that Evelyn could feel the minute tremors through her own hands. She hadn’t let go of her since the moment she’d grasped her, as though some part of Matilda feared she might vanish or be pulled away.
“I wanted to come sooner,” Matilda rasped. Her voice was hoarse, almost foreign. “I tried. Evelyn, Itried. But Laurence, he… he told me I couldn’t.”
Evelyn’s mouth opened, but she didn’t speak. The words clotted in her throat.
Matilda’s breath hitched. “At first, I didn’t understand. I thought I was simply… being too emotional, too weak. I’d write to you, and he’d promise to send them. But weeks passed. Months. He saidyounever replied. That you didn’t want to see me. That you’d said so. That you had thrown me away for what I did.”
“I did,” Evelyn whispered, ashamed. “I received some of your letters, Matilda, but I… I burned them. I didn’t even open the first one.” Her voice cracked. “I was so angry. So hurt. I didn’t want to see your name or hear it. I thought you’d chosen him. That you’d known who he truly was and still run off with him.”
Matilda shook her head desperately while her eyes were brimming with tears. “No. No, I didn’t know. I didn’t knowanything.”
The door opened, and the maid returned, her arms laden with thick woolen blankets, towels, and a silver tray bearing a steaming teapot and three delicate cups. She set it swiftly on the nearby table.
“Bring a fire to the guest chamber,” Evelyn instructed further. “And have dry clothes prepared. She’ll be staying here.”
The maid bobbed a curtsy and fled.
Evelyn rose, retrieved the thickest blanket, and gently wrapped it around her sister’s shoulders. Matilda’s eyes squeezed shut at the gesture, her lips trembling anew, but she said nothing. Evelyn poured tea with a measured hand, the faint clink of china filling the silence like nervous breath.
She handed Matilda the cup, steadying her hands when she nearly spilled it.
“Now,” Evelyn said, kneeling once again before her, voice low but firm, “tell me everything.”
Matilda stared into the tea for a long moment, as if searching for courage in the swirling steam.
Then, she spoke. “He is… not a good man, Evie.”
The words fell between them like a stone.
“I thought he was just… cruel, controlling. But it’s more than that. There are things… documents he hides, people who visit only at night, packages that arrive sealed and unmarked. And letters, always letters. Always written in someone else’s name.”
Evelyn’s skin prickled.
“I started copying them when he was away,” Matilda continued, her voice barely audible. “I didn’t understand half of what I was reading. But some of them, some mentioned your name. And Father’s. And… Robert’s.”
Evelyn’s eyes snapped to Robert, who stood just behind her, silent and still, but she felt the tension ripple through him like a pulled thread.
“What sort of letters?” she asked, her voice taut as a bowstring.
“I don’t know everything yet,” Matilda whispered. “But I think Laurence has been forging things. Names. Seals.”
Matilda’s eyes darted toward the flickering heart light, as if unsure how much more her mouth dared to speak.
Evelyn leaned in closer, still gripping her sister’s hands in hers. Her knuckles whitened beneath the weight of rising dread. Robert hadn’t moved from his place behind her. His presence was a constant wall of quiet strength. She could feel his tension as surely as if it were her own.
“There’s something else,” Matilda whispered, her voice thick with shame. “Mother told me.”
