But, reader, I heard him. The rasped breathing, the subtle sob of a grown man in pain.
I hissed and spat at my father, clawing at his unrelenting chest as he paced past me and back towards Hanbury. He did not stop. He did not even look at me. All he did was command me to follow for my own good. Deep down my father must have known that threat wasn’t enough because he added something else.
For Teddy’s good. If he wanted Teddy to be safe, I had to obey.
Father took my greatest weakness and used it against me.
As I write this, morning has arrived. I have not slept. Instead, I have watched the gatehouse for signs of life. Teddy, you never relit the candle in your window. The door did not open. The curtains did not shift.
Are you well, my love?
I barely think about the painting I worked on. I do not even care where my father has put it. I care only for the real thing. I care only foryou.
Do you remember what you whispered to me before our life was turned upside down? Do you remember the life you promised me, the one of us together, away from anything and everyone? Because if you do, please, I crave it.
After breakfast, I will go to our place and leave my journal there for you to take. No doubt, Father will be watching me like a hawk, but there is one place he will never expect us to defile.
I find it almost poetic that father would take your portrait away, only for me to use another against him.
Teddy, my love. I hope you have found this, and I hope you are reading my words. And more than that, I hope you, too, will leave your journal for me, so I know you do not hate me. Whatever father did to you, whatever he said, it means nothing compared to what I am willing to do for you.
I love you, Teddy Jones.
I am sorry, Teddy Jones.
I will prove both to you in time
I suppose that is why I must be punished, for these sinful thoughts.
PART 5
Thursday
I find it almost poetic that father would take your portrait away, only for me to use another against him.
William read that line over and over, trying to break down the secret that hide amongst the words. “Use another against him.”Another what? Where did you hide the journal?His frantic mind swirled for the answer. William closed his eyes shut, trying to let the truth show itself in the dark.
“Take your portrait away… to use another against him…”
His eyes flew wide. “Another portrait,” William whispered, chest swelling with breath. It felt as though he’d reached some great height and was about to drop back down, his stomach slipping with spiked adrenaline. “They hid the journals in a portrait.”
And there was only one that was left up on Hanbury’s walls. Only one place to look.
Edward didn’t wake when William climbed from beneath the duvet, stood on shaking legs and took a moment to gather his composure.
The worry of Robert’s entry had sunk talons into his chest, piercing flesh and scoring bone, so deep that it rotted William from the inside out. But amongst that feeling was excitement. Like an archaeologist excavating an endless hole and finally coming across what they’d been looking for.
William was close to answers, and he knew it.
Robert might not have known what would become of Teddy’s painting that day, but William did. It waited in Hanbury’s attic, hidden away like a dirty secret. And at some point, Robert would’ve become a prisoner of his own parents. A punishment for, as Robert put it, his sins.
But how did it get to that? And when?
Love was many things. It was painful, joyous, freeing and imprisoning. But it was never a sin. Not in the sense that Robert’s parents would’ve believed. And William wished he could reach into the journal, snatch Robert from them, and tell that to him.
Life was unkind to those who went against the tide. That thought gave William the confidence he needed to get up and go looking for where Robert and Teddy had hid their journals.
William tried to wake Edward, but he was out cold. Heavy snoring was likely a side effect of the sheer amount of wine he drank. After a couple of nudges in his side, there was no stirring him.
