“You’ll mend,” she said, forcing calm into her tone. “Your ribs bent but did not break. They will be painful, but you’ll mend.”
He tried to sit up, grimaced, and abandoned the attempt.
“Was anyone hurt?”
“No. Only you.”
He closed his eyes again, as though the answer brought both relief and shame.
“I don’t remember leaving the theater. My last recollection is the cast taking their bows.”
Adeline licked her lips.
This is the crossroads. This is the chance to tell him everything. Tell him the truth and be free of the lie forever, for better or worse.
“What happened?” Winston asked, his eyes pleading, seeking an answer.
“It was my fault,” she said quickly. “I was uncomfortable in the crowds and hurrying. I didn’t realize how close to the road I was and stepped into the path of a carriage. You saved me,” she said, hoping that her lie would land better if delivered quickly.
“You were frightened. Yes, I think I remember that. Something about…your fiancé?” Winston asked.
Adeline felt shame at the relief that surged in her at Winston innocently reinforcing her story.
“Since we came to London, I was afraid of meeting him. He is not very nice. I’m sorry that I caused this.”
Tears welled in her eyes, and she tried to hide her face. But, despite the pain, Winston lifted himself from the bed and turned her face to his.
“Don’t. If you say you’re to blame, I’ll have to argue, and I’m in no condition for it.”
Despite herself, a small, uneven laugh escaped her. The sound felt wrong in the solemn air, but eased the tightness in her chest. Silence settled again, quieter this time. Winston’s gaze lingered on her face, and she saw the question form before he spoke it. Adeline burned to ask him about his dream. About Sarah and the mere.
But I have no right to ask if I am not being equally as honest as he.
“Did I talk in my sleep?” Winston asked, unexpectedly. “I feel like I spoke aloud but cannot remember what I said.”
She hesitated, then nodded. “You called for me. Then for Sarah.”
He looked past her toward the shuttered window.
“Yes, she is never far from my thoughts.”
“You said she…” Adeline began, then faltered. “You said she should not take Louisa into the mere.”
He was quiet for a long moment. “Did I?”
She waited. When he finally spoke, his voice was measured but distant, as if he were speaking through another man’s memory.
“Sarah drowned herself in the mere behind Greystone. The servants found her shawl tangled in the reeds. Then her body. She’d left a note for no one, only the wordenoughon a torn page.”
Adeline’s breath caught. “I’m sorry.”
“She never wanted the life my father and hers arranged for her,” he said. “We married because it suited the family. Not because it was what we wanted. She was clever, spirited…but not free. I thought she’d learn to love Louisa in time. She never did. Said the child reminded her of her cage.”
Adeline felt as though she had been struck. It was shocking to hear that Louisa’s mother had not loved her.
How can that be?
She thought of her own mother. Of embraces and kisses. Smiles and eyes that seemed to shine when they looked upon her. Tears came unbidden.
