‘Your letters were perfectly eloquent,’ snapped back Martha.
‘My letters?’ It had been impossible to write what she wanted to say in a letter, but Thea couldn’t think of anything she had said that would have even suggested to Martha that her feelings had changed. ‘What could possibly be in my letters that made you think–’
Martha cut her off by stepping closer, but her voice was suddenly small. ‘Thea, why are you doing this? I understand your position but if that is the case then you cannot expect me to be around you. I cannot bear it, really, I cannot.’ Her voice raised and she took a moment to compose herself. ‘You wished me to leave you to your family, you wished me to not see you, and you were abundantly clear. Please. You cannot expect to dance with me like you did not write to me and break my heart.’
Thea stared at her. She had no idea what to say. What words had she penned that Martha could have misconstrued? The rain was beginning to quicken, and she pulled them into the lee of a hedge.
‘What did I write, Martha?’
Martha crossed her arms over her chest, but her voice was a little calmer. ‘You wrote to me that you wished to give me up and concentrate on your new life. That you wished me to keep away from your house.’ Her face crinkled in confusion. ‘For god’s sake are you set on me reliving it?’
Thea put out a hand to try and dispel Martha’s rising anger. ‘Martha – when was this?’
‘Two years ago, maybe a little more. You must know, Thea, they are in your hand.’ A pucker in the brow. ‘Have you been drinking?’
‘No,’ said Thea, but then considered. ‘At least not that much.’ Her eyes ticked between Martha, the garden and the Thames, trying to think. ‘Martha if you have letters to that effect they are not in my hand. How many were there?’
Martha still looked like she didn’t believe it. ‘Two,’ she said harshly. ‘The first saying you must give me up, the second refusing a meeting after I had written back to you to request it.’
Thea shook her head. ‘I didn’t receive any such letter.’ They stared at one another for long seconds, each one clearly trying to think. ‘Why would you not just come?’ asked Thea. ‘If you have been back and avoiding me as you said, why did you not try to visit?’ If Martha was telling the truth, something did not add up.
Martha’s eyes were intense. ‘I did. I came to Whitehall when I knew George was at parliament.’
‘And?’ said Thea, when Martha paused for too long.
‘And I was sent away,’ she said weakly. ‘Your footman informed me of your message that it was too risky for us to see one another, and that you were sure I would understand, given the letters you had sent.’ Tears welled in her eyes. ‘The humiliation, Thea, being rejected by a footman and him clearly knowing it all.’
Thea’s mind raced. ‘That was not on my orders,’ she said, trying to remain calm. Martha gave a disbelieving laugh and turned away. ‘It wasn’t,’ said Thea, her volume rising now. Why did Martha not believe her?
‘And yet you had no trouble moving on,’ said Martha. She looked like she was about to say something else, and then swallowed instead.
‘You know I have a duty to George–’ said Thea, but Martha silenced her with a raised hand and stepped in closer.
‘If you must demand my last shred of dignity.’ She fished around inside her breeches and extracted a small drawstring purse. Its contents clinked, and Thea instantly recognised it as her dummy purse. Martha stared at her with an eyebrow raised and lips pressed into a thin line.
‘How do you have that?’ Thea was at a loss as to how Martha would be in possession of the purse she had given to a robber in an alleyway months before. Had Martha had her followed? Had she had her robbed? This conversation was so perplexing that she thought almost anything was possible.
‘I am sure you remember, Thea,’ said Martha. ‘Unless you were so drunk you can’t recall that night either. You gave it to me yourself. Right after you had kissed another girl down an alleyway.’
Thea felt her eyes widen with the shock. ‘That was you?’
‘Of course it was me,’ said Martha, but doubt had started to seep into her tone. ‘That day you had called at the house and Mrs Jenkins had sent you away. The fact that you came made me dare to hope. I disguised myself and came to your usual lecture to see if I could at least talk to you when you came out.’
‘And why didn’t you?’ asked Thea.
Martha stared at her. Her voice was flat. ‘Because before I could get to you, you were in an alleyway kissing someone else, and then when I rescued you from the robbers you looked right into my eyes and told me yourself that it was time to move on.’ Now she started to look concerned. ‘You were drunk that day. Please tell me this whole thing is not to do with drink. Or laudanum?’
Thea shook her head. ‘I had been drinking that night but only because of you. And when I talked about moving on, I was talking to myself.’ Thea’s voice raised in frustration. ‘I had visited your house and been sent away by your housekeeper, and then robbed twice in one day. I had a pistol pointed at me. I had waited for you for so long and thought about the fact that I could die and my children would be left and I knew it was time I had to stop pining for you and move on.’
Martha faltered. ‘But… I was there. You looked right at me.’
‘I stared at the terrifying face of a robber!’ Thea almost shouted. ‘You had a scarf over your face and a hat pulled down and you were in the shadow of the alley.’ Then a thought occurred to her. ‘Were you going to shoot me?’
Martha looked incredulous. ‘Of course I wasn’t going to shoot you.’ Then she paused. ‘I thought about shooting her though. God, Thea, when you kissed her…’
By now Thea was sure that things were very different than she had thought, but the full picture was still going to take a little piecing together. ‘That kiss was awful,’ she said gently, and then dared to take Martha’s hand. Martha didn’t pull away. ‘Because it wasn’t you.’
Martha’s eyes closed. ‘Please don’t, if you don’t mean it.’ She opened them again and the emotion was raw. ‘Please.’
