“My mother died when I was very young,” Maggie said cautiously, unable quite to meet Jenny’s gaze. “My father did his best, but his best was never enough. We lived well—like genteel folk—and I had an easy life. But I felt the loss of my mother every day.”
Jenny leaned forward, her brow furrowed. “I knew you had lost your mother. But you say you were genteel folk? How came you to be a governess? Is your father dead?”
“Dead? No, I think not,” Maggie replied with a thin laugh. “He has run off, I imagine—that would be the sensible thing. He was in debt, you see. He owed his soul to a monster—and that monster turned his eyes upon me.”
Jenny’s eyes widened; Maggie could almost see the gooseflesh rise on her arms.
“What on earth do you mean?” Jenny whispered.
Maggie sank down beside her again with a weary sigh.
“I have not been honest, Jenny,” she murmured. “Not about who I am, nor why I am here. And I fear my deception may have brought danger to this house. I dread that, once you know the truth, our friendship will be lost.”
Jenny reached out, taking Maggie’s hand.
“You and I are friends,” she said firmly. “We shallalwaysbe friends. Now, for goodness’ sake, tell me this terrible story before you burst.”
Maggie drew another deep breath. “Then I shall start at the beginning.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Well,” Jenny managed, when Maggie had finished speaking. “That is… quite a story. And you are certain—of what you saw?”
Maggie gave a wry little laugh. “Of course I am certain. It haunts me still. I see that scene in my dreams. I left London as soon as I possibly could. I had hardly any savings—only enough to pay for lodging in some dingy little inn while I searched for a position, any position. I believe my father left the city soon after. He did not even try to find me.”
Jenny gave an incredulous snort. “I cannot imagine it. My own father would never abandon me so.” She stopped short, colouring. “I am sorry—I did not mean to be unkind. None of this is your fault. But as to what you saw—are you certain of it? Was it truly…”
Jenny trailed off, loath to speak the dreadful word.
“Murder?” Maggie finished for her quietly. “Yes. I know what I saw. I do not believe for a moment that Lord Bramwell pursues me so relentlessly out of any fondness. He was content enough to marry me—an arrangement that would have silenced me neatly—but once I fled, whatever desire he possessed turned to hatred. If he finds me, I am certain he will kill me.”
Jenny shivered. It might have been the chill, but Maggie doubted it. Her story was enough to freeze the blood. Now that she had spoken it aloud, the truth pressed on her chest like a weight.
“I have decided that I must leave,” Maggie said at last, the words escaping on a breath. “It was selfish—and utterly foolish—to imagine I could remain. The longer I stay, the more danger I bring upon all of you.”
Jenny’s eyes widened, and she leapt to her feet, grabbing Maggie’s arms and pulling her close.
“Absolutely not,” she whispered fiercely. “If you leave this place, you will be unprotected—alone, and in danger. I cannot permit it.”
Maggie tried to laugh, but the sound caught in her throat, as if she were choking. “I shall be perfectly safe. If I am cautious, if I keep my head down, all will be well.”
Jenny did not move. For a long moment she only studied Maggie, her brow drawn in concern.
“You do not believe that,” she said at last. “You do not believe you will escape him. Have you money to leave the country? Anywhere to go?”
“I thought I might hide as a governess again, but with each passing day, I feel his shadow drawing nearer,” Maggie replied, her voice gone hoarse. “I should have gone to the authorities, but I knew he would kill Papa. Papa would not come with me—not with his debts and his reputation—and I had no time.”
“A man like Lord Bramwell would have friends in every high place,” Jenny said bitterly. “There are few corners of England he could not reach.”
Maggie opened her mouth to answer—perhaps to agree—but then she frowned, glancing toward the lawn.
“Where is Emma?” she murmured.
Jenny looked up sharply. “She went to pick flowers by the wood, did she not?”
Before Maggie could reply, a small, frightened voice drifted across the garden.
“Maggie! Jenny!”
