Mrs. Mortimer tossed her head. “And you were all glad to part with them. Not one of you put up a fuss ... save for you.”She speared Eva with a malignant gaze. “This was your doing, was it not?”
It was strange to see the woman without her feathered hat or string of pearls, her hair frizzled about her shoulders, her skin paler than the moonlight without her thickly painted cosmetics. She looked like a bizarre sketch waiting to be painted.
“No, Mrs. Mortimer. You brought this on yourself.” Eva faced the reverend. “How could you let your sister get away with such fraud? You are a man of God.”
His head dipped slightly. “I had no idea what she was involved with,” he murmured.
“Of course you didn’t,” his sister snapped. “Your nose is stuck in your holy books from dawn till dusk.”
He jerked his face toward Mrs. Mortimer. “That is no crime.”
“Neither does it smack of the brotherly love and duty you preach on Sunday mornings. And where has all your talk gotten you? A tiny house in a nowhere town without a friend to call upon. You will die a lonely, bitter old man, Ebenezer. Quite a legacy for a vicar.”
The constable rattled his keys but made no move to gather Mrs. Mortimer into the wagon. Instead, his gaze shot to Mr. Blackwood as if this were a game of cricket to be observed.
Eva stared as well. The stoic reverend—the intense, commanding deliverer of brimstone and hellfire—aged in front of them like the turning of time’s pages. His blue eyes faded, a haunted mask carving lines on his face. He was speechless. Helpless. Hopeless? It appeared so, for his hands twisted together as if he were grappling with demons too formidable to conquer. Eva got the distinct impression that if one were to touch him ever so slightly, he’d shatter into a million pieces right there on the drive. She’d never seen the man so broken.
And the sight—quite surprisingly—broke her heart.
She immediately stepped up beside him and faced his sister.“You are wrong, Mrs. Mortimer. I call myself a friend of Mr. Blackwood. I daresay many others would as well.”
A sharp intake of air from the reverend cut a hole in the sudden quiet.
“You’re no saint, Miss Inman,” Mrs. Mortimer sneered. “And neither was your father. He knew all along what I was doing, caught me in the act the very first time I snatched that orphan boy off the streets—and he took my money to keep quiet about it. I can only say it was a good thing your father died when he did, for I’d have not allowed him to continue to bleed me.”
Eva’s hand flew to her throat, the truth of the woman’s words stealing her breath. He’d known!She’dbeen the source of her father’s unexplained revenue. No wonder he’d tried to warn her against the woman.
Eva’s knees weakened and were it not for Bram’s strong arm shoring her up as he stepped beside her, she’d have collapsed on the spot. Her father had taken money—for a vulnerable child, no less! What a betrayal. What a...
Her breath caught as a new revelation hit her sideways.
Her father hadn’t just been trying to give her a warning. That’s why he’d not allowed her to profess her secret. He’d been trying to breathe his own guilt through lungs that no longer worked. A cry strangled in her throat.
Oh,Papa!
“It is all right, Eva. I am here. I have you,” Bram whispered in her ear.
Or was it God speaking to her soul?
Either way, the words ignited a fire within her—a determination to seek justice and redemption where he had not. Slowly yet surely, strength seeped into the weak cracks of her soul. She pulled away from Bram as Mrs. Mortimer was loaded into the police wagon.
“My father’s actions do not define me, Mrs. Mortimer, nor will they absolve you of your sins. Justice will prevail. I shallsee to it.” Eva cast a glance around at the jutted jaws and eyes burning around her. “We all shall see to it.”
It was a solemn ride home. Understandable on Penny’s behalf. She was stretched out on the carriage seat, head leaning hard against Eva’s shoulder, the rhythmic sway of the coach having rocked her to sleep. A smile tugged at Bram’s lips. The girl looked so peaceful now, but when awake, she was a regular firebrand.
Directly across from him, Eva stared out at the night, silent as a gravestone. Were she not wearing gloves, no doubt her fingernails would be chewed to nubs. But even agitated, never had a woman captivated him more.
“Hey,” he said softly. “Do not be overly tough on yourself—or on your father. Mrs. Mortimer bears the weight of guilt in this matter.”
Her gaze shot to him, and even in the spare moonlight whispering through the window, sparks flared in her pale blue eyes. “My father should have gone to the authorities. He never should have taken that woman’s money.”
“And tell me, how was that budget once you took over the reins of the family estate?”
She looked away, backbone rigid, shoulders set. The next rut in the road could snap her in half. She had every right to feel betrayed, yet he’d learned long ago that though truth might be absolute, discerning the right course of action when living that truth was often anything but obvious. Like guiding stars, the light offered direction but did not clear the path one had to walk.
“Eva.” He rested a light touch on her knee, as if the contact might lessen some of her anguish. “Your father loved you and your sister. He would have done anything to provide for his daughters and save the family estate, and by the looks of it, hedid. I am not saying it was right. I merely suggest his intentions were not solely self-serving. He was a man caught in a desperate situation, willing to sacrifice his integrity to ensure the well-being of his family. It is easy to judge from the outside, but we can never truly understand the burdens others carry or the choices they feel forced to make. We are all fallen creatures.”
She stared at his hand for a long while. Good. Hopefully he’d offered some sort of comfort to her tortured thoughts.
