She managed a small laugh. “I ask myself that question nearly every day.”
He sobered again, his expression distant, as if the day’s events had opened a door to the past, allowing memories to stream in afresh. “I was not there the night my wife died. But Mrs. Towler was.”
He stared straight ahead as he spoke the words. “Mrs. Towler was the one who comforted Elizabeth in the end. Knowing that Elizabeth was not alone in her final hours—for that I will always be grateful.”
Cassandra remained quiet, sensing his need to share.
“I was only supposed to be gone for a few days, you know. I had traveled to Yorkshire, of all places. But the weather had changed and the roads to return home were impassable. I didn’t even know she’d been sick until I’d arrived back in Plymouth. By then it was too late. She was already gone. And now we’re here. And it seems like a version of it is happening all over again.”
His shell was falling away. With every word, with every memory he shared with her, their bond was deepening. She couldn’t care less about convention. He’d experienced loss. It was a different kind of loss than hers, but she could understand the pain.
She resisted the magnetic urge to draw nearer to him—to rest her hand on his arm in comfort. Instead, she tilted her head to the side and was about to speak when the door opened and Mrs. Helock appeared.
Cassandra straightened. She could only imagine what this must look like, Mr. Warrington and her engaged in hushed conversation.
But then again, perhaps it was exactly what it looked like.
Mrs. Helock swept in with a fresh candle and set it atop a table. “Thank you for staying with her, Mr. Warrington. I’ve arranged things in the kitchen for the time being. I’m happy to sit with her now.”
He nodded and looked down to Mrs. Towler’s still form. “Very well. I’ll be back to check on her soon.”
Mrs. Helock turned to Cassandra. “No need for you to remain either. I’ve got things quite in hand.”
“I don’t doubt it, Mrs. Helock. But you can’t stay here indefinitely by yourself. I will come by in a few hours and take your place so you can get some rest.”
At first Mrs. Helock’s eyes flashed with indignation. But then her expression softened to one Cassandra had never seen before. Was it sadness? Exhaustion? Defeat?
Cassandra did not wait for a response before she followed Mr. Warrington from the room to the small landing just outside.
They paused in the shadowed corridor, next to a bay window that framed the courtyard below as dusk was falling. As he turned to face her, he ran his hand down his face, scratched his fingers through his hair, then shook his head. “I’m sorry. I’ve said more than I ought. I’m afraid I put you in an awkward situation.”
“No, no. I—I’m glad you did. I’m glad to know more about you. About your family.”
He appeared almost nervous. “With everything happening I forgot to ask you how your day with Rachel was.”
“I think she enjoyed herself. It was good for her to be around other women closer to her age. She’s social by nature.”
“And you? How did you enjoy the day?”
She hesitated. “I hate to bring it up to you in light of what is happening.”
“A diversion, Miss Hale, would be very much appreciated.”
She retrieved the folded vellum from the pocket in her gown. “Something happened. That is, something was found, and I am not sure what to make of it.”
His brows drew together. “What is it?”
“Here.” She unfolded the paper and extended it, pointing to her name. “See? That’s me. It has to be. 1787. That is the year I was born.”
He turned the paper over. “This has been ripped out of the record book, hasn’t it?”
“It appears to have been.”
“Where did you find this?”
“Betsy came across it in the church vestry. At the bottom of a closed drawer of all places. She shouldn’t have been searching there, but her intentions were to help. Who would do this?”
He folded it and returned it to her. “Clearly someone who doesn’t want your identity confirmed.”
