Humility? Bah! “Don’t believe anything that comes from Miss Pelton’s mouth. She only says what she needs to get what she wants.”
“And what, pray tell, do you think she wants by apologizing?”
“To prove she’s not responsible for those men’s deaths.”
Mother frowned. After a quick glance around, she lowered her voice. “You believe Miss Pelton murdered those men? I confess, I don’t see it.”
“Not physically, but her words influenced someone else to do it for her.”
“Oh, my boy.” A mixture of pity and compassion colored her tone as she cupped his cheek. “You are too smart to believe that. She’s no more responsible for their deaths than Mother Goose was for your sticking a thumb into a hot pie to find a plum. Your decision was yours alone, just as this was Billy Poe’s.”
His thumb ached at the memory of that long-ago burn, but Mother’s words didn’t change how he felt about Miss Pelton’s responsibility. Those men might be alive if it weren’t for her. “She is culpable for her words and her actions, whether the results were intentional or not. Do you know the things she did to get those stories published?”
“I am not saying she is innocent of all things, but she is not guilty of murder. She has come to you today as a broken and repentant woman to make her apologies.”
“I don’t have time for apologies from a hypocrite.” It was safer that way. The less he respected her, the easier it was to squash any potential attraction. He’d built up his wall, and he intended to keep it intact.
“God is making her new. Allow her to say her piece, then go from there.”
“She deserves condemnation, not alleviation from guilt.”
Mother rested a hand on his arm and held his gaze. “Mercy, Abraham. It’s the gift ofnotgiving someone what they deserve. It is what Miss Pelton needs and what God requires of you. She is not escaping consequences by you listening to her or forgiving her. I am certain this experience has left an indelible scar on her soul, one she will never forget the pains of. Go speak to her.”
All right. He’d listen to her, but that was the only concession he’d make.
At his nod, Mother led him into the parlor, where Miss Pelton leaned over a stack of orange-leafed dime novels. Joy beamed from her countenance as she made large swoops and swirls with the pen in her hand before finishing off with a flourish.
So much for a remorseful Miss Pelton.
Once the last book was signed, Clara scooped up the pile and clutched it to her chest. “Thank you so much! I’ll treasure them forever. In fact, I’m going to hide them somewhere safe right now.” Clara turned to leave with her precious loot and spotted Abraham. “You’ll have to find your own copies to read now. I’ll not lend these out to anyone. Even you.”
“You needn’t worry about that, Pages. I have no interest in ever reading a Lydia Pelton book again.”
At his voice, Miss Pelton’s happy glow of a moment ago was snuffed out. Panic flickered across her face before she dipped her head and folded her hands like a somber funeral attendee. If she meant to convey shame and earn his pity, she failed. It was just as he told Mother. This visit was a ruse.
“Mrs. Pelton, Miss Madelyn, would you do me the honor of joining me in the kitchen for some cake?” Mother gestured toward the back of the house.
“Thank you, that would be delightful.” Mrs. Pelton gently pushed an obviously reluctant Miss Madelyn to exit the room.
Silence fell.
The remaining woman knew well how to play her game. Her solid dark-blue gown could pass as puritanical. Add how her shoulders sagged and her chin nearly touched her chest, and someone less knowledgeable of the underworld would be convinced that she felt remorse on a soul-deep level. She’d even tried to tame those wild curls into a tight bun, but they—like their owner—were rebellious and unruly. He almost wanted to go and pluck out however many dozens of pins she’d used, just to show her she could not hide her true self from him.
How was he supposed to show her mercy? And what did that require of him? If he gave Miss Pelton a thread of compassion, she’d unravel his whole neatly woven world.
CHAPTER17
UNWILLING TO REMAIN IN THEsame room with Miss Pelton any longer than necessary, Abraham stationed himself at the threshold, arms crossed and stance wide enough to brace himself against any manipulations or deceptions she lobbed at him.
“Say what you came to say. Then leave.”
Miss Pelton fisted a handful of her dress and drew a long breath before releasing them both. Though she stood to face him, her eyes remained fixed on the floor. “A few days ago, you told me a person’s character is defined by the things they do, say, and write. You also exhorted me to make wiser decisions, like I’m not someone to be trusted.”
Abraham opened his mouth to reply that she wasn’t but clamped down on the response. He’d not engage with her more than absolutely necessary. With the words sounding so practiced, this had to be artifice.
“It appears you were right about the nature of my character, and I was too blind to see it. While I may not have personally killed these men, my stories and my need for self-preservation have played a part in their deaths. Thank you for your persistence in finding Dupin. I’m sorry that I did not have the courage to admit my pseudonym. I have wasted valuable time and resources and can do nothing to repair the damage I have caused.” Her voice shook like she held back tears.
“I do not ask for forgiveness, for I do not deserve it, but I felt you should know that I have been convicted by the High Judge and am working on reforming. I am not the same woman you first met, and I’ll forever be grateful for your being a tool in God’s hand. If there is any way that I can help your investigation, please know that I am at your utter disposal.”
