Ray sighed. Humans were too predictable. It was their charm and their flaw. The wind rustled through the trees and sent a touch of chill up his spine. Ray turned. He’d been expecting company. But instead of flying out of the forest as she had done before, a petite white blond-haired woman with large, golden eyes stepped out of the shadows between trees.
“Tabitha, I presume?” Ray asked her. Father was rather predictable to send his spy. It was a risk to deny Father what he sought. He would find out one way or another. But he would do everything in his power to delay that inevitable conclusion. He owed Lady Thornton that much, at least.
“We meet face to face at last.” Tabitha bobbed her head. Even in human form, there was an owlish quality to her movements. The slight quirk of her head and the large unblinking eyes.
“You lied to protect me; why?” Ray asked. Father had a certain reputation. He showed no mercy to those who stood in his way. If he would exile his own son, what would he do if he discovered his supposed spy had misled him?
She chuckled and shook her head. “You really have been away from court.”
“Is that supposed to answer my question?”
Her smile only widened. “I haven’t gotten my full measure of you, Raethorn. I know you didn’t kill those girls. I also know you’re not telling your father about Lady Thornton, which is why he is sending me to keep an eye on her.”
He bit back the questions that sprung to his mind. How much does Father know? What does he want with her? To restore the heir to the throne or to remove an obstacle to his power? Father might be ruthless, but he had always been loyal to the king. If Lady Thornton was his descendant, he wouldn’t harm her, would he? Perhaps he would want to keep her a secret to maintain his regency...
“Do as you wish. You’ll find out soon enough just how dull the human realm can be.” Ray waved backward as he strolled away from her. Better to end this conversation before he let too much slip. She was Father’s spy, after all.
“I look forward to it,” she replied.
20
Catherine felt hollow. The reverend spoke, his voice a faint drone. Days and funeral preparations had passed her by in a blur. Lies she told were quickly accepted without question. And she felt as if she were standing outside herself, watching her life play out in front of her. Lydia sat in the front row of the chapel beside Catherine’s immobile body, sobbing and blowing her nose as the reverend spoke. Mr. Oakheart and their two children sat beside her, their eyes cast downward. Their small frames swallowed up by the black of mourning.
Wearing black, sitting here among Edward’s family, she felt like a fraud. Her soul should be cast to the deepest reaches of hell for what she had done. When Mrs. Morgan had discovered Edward’s body, the lies had come easy to Catherine’s lips. She felt the magic that tingled through her as their eyes glazed over, and they accepted her explanation of Edward’s death. She’d blamed it on wild dogs. The same ones Edward had been trying to rid the farms of.
Their marriage had been a sham from the start. She’d agreed to it to avoid going back to Elk Grove. But if she had known what she could do, what cruel fate Edward would meet at her hands, then perhaps it was better she was locked away. It would have been better had they never met. Had he married Miss Ashton as his sister intended. Poor Miss Ashton, for whom no one grieved because even now, no one knew she was dead. Her fault. And even knowing all the wicked deeds she had done, she couldn’t bring herself to tell the truth.
She was damaged, broken beyond repair, and anyone who got close to her would be doomed to a similar fate.
The service came to a close. Catherine stood and went through the motions to lead the procession of mourners. They congregated in the graveyard, where they would put Edward’s body to rest. The wound in the earth, the hole in the ground where they would lay his body. Fresh wet soil in a mound waiting to swallow him whole, to cover him as if he’d never been. Lydia’s wails overshadowed the reverend’s final invocations. Her children, with pale faces, clung to the hem of her skirt. A boy, perhaps four years old, and a girl of ten. It was her first time meeting them, she thought distantly.
Four men lowered his casket into the ground, and as much as she wanted to tear her eyes away from it, she refused to do so. She had to pay witness to what she had done.
“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.” The reverend grabbed a handful of dirt and then sprinkled it onto the casket.
Shovelful by shovelful, they filled in the hole. Catherine stood still—unfeeling, unblinking, praying that when she looked again, this would be a dream. She’d be back at her childhood home in her too-small bed and the sound of Mama and Papa’s argument coming up the stairs. But instead, the sun beat down upon her. It should have been raining, but there was not a cloud in the bright, blue sky.
When the last of the dirt was put upon the grave, the mourners filed away. What now? Where did she go from here? She should write to Mama and Papa to tell them what happened. But she didn’t have money for the post carriage to return home. She wanted to sink into the earth with him. To pay for what she did, but even in this, she was too much a coward.
“My lady?” The reverend said in a kind voice.
She nodded, and he led her to the front of the church where neighbors she’d met briefly a few nights before at the ball came by and gave their condolences. Their faces blurred together. No one mentioned the panic and fear of the ball. How Mrs. Rosewood’s spell had almost killed them all. Like most things that happened in Thornwood, they were quick to forget. With time would they forget Edward too? Would he become nothing but a hazy memory?
When she was at Elk Grove, she had wanted nothing more than to forget. Thinking now, it had been selfish. For him, she would carve this deed into her heart. She would never forget, just as she would never atone for what had been done. While Edward’s death was whispered about as a tragedy, no one remarked on Mrs. Rosewood’s disappearance. It was as if she had never existed. Her body was never found. Perhaps she had survived after Catherine stabbed her.
A man approached her with a bowler hat in hand, and balding head bowed. Mr. Wolfe, Edward’s estate manager.
“Lady Thornton, how are you faring?” Mr. Wolfe said.
No one had asked her,and she didn’t know how to answer. She didn’t deserve sympathy. The question threatened to undo her. As if the bindings that kept her in control would crumble. Her throat clenched, and tears pressed at the back of her eyes. She didn’t deserve the luxury of tears. Like a porcelain doll who was glued back together, but the cracks were still there. And if she gave in now, she would crumble, and she wasn’t sure anyone would be able to pick the pieces back up.
“I cannot say,” she said honestly.
Mr. Wofle gave her a sympathetic smile full of pity. She wanted to shout, to confess to him and everyone standing in that churchyard what she’d done. But even as guilty as she felt, the fear of Elk Grove loomed larger.
“I know now isn’t a good time, but when you are ready, I want you to speak with Lord Thornton’s attorney, Mr. Clark.”
Catherine’s head was buzzing, and a headache was pressing behind her eyes. She must not have heard him correctly. “Attorney?” Catherine asked as she shook her head, trying to clear the fuzz from her skull.
