The headmistress held up her hand. “I shall write, and you will see her whenever you are ready.”
“Thank you,” Annabel said but all she could think of were the lines of poetry from Sir Walter Scott, about the webs we weave when we deceive. They seemed particularly apt.
On the way home from the college at the end of the day, Mr. and Mrs. Bastin talked about how wonderful it would be for her in York, surrounded by such a big family, and promised to bring Alice to visit her should they ever find themselves in that part of the country. Their kindness almost brought tears to her eyes again, and she had to work even harder to stave them off when her mind wandered to Henry. He’d left for Sevenoaks days ago, and she’d likely never see him again. She felt his loss even more keenly when they arrived at the Bastin’s red-brick mansion. Then, she was glad of her decision. She’d rather leave Henry behind than wait for him to return.
*
The following morning,Annabel said her final farewell to the family before they left for the ladies’ college. She almost broke down in tears when she hugged little Alice goodbye, but she steeled herself, not wanting to upset the child. She lingered in her room awhile after they’d gone and then some in Alice’s room. It broke her heart to leave this house where she’d been so happy. Had she doomed herself to a life of loneliness and goodbyes by running away?
One of the Bastin’s coachmen drove her to the train station. They, like her family, were wealthy enough to keep more than one coach. Even with train travel and hansom cabs readily available, the rich still enjoyed the privacy and convenience of riding in and owning their carriages, especially in the countryside where train stations might be a long walk from their grand estates.
Annabel’s father never kept a country home. He was too busy working. During the Season, they rented in Park Lane. And they spent the remainder of the year at their sprawling mansion in Bristol. But she’d never been happier than she had been at the Bastin’s country estate. It was such a beautiful and relaxing place, and she’d miss the security and peace that came from being in a nonjudgmental space where reading and expressing one’s ideas was encouraged. Now her life was in total upheaval again. And she couldn’t even think about Henry without wanting to cry. Her only consolation was that Nate had promised to reunite her with Stella. If not for that, she couldn’t bear to go on.
The journey to Whitstable took less than an hour and thirty minutes by train, and Annabel soon found herself standing on a long stretch of pebbly beach gazing out at the ocean, dotted with sailboats. Seagulls swarmed and fished the waters and soared in the air squawking and pecking. November’s autumnal breeze brought the salty ocean air to her nostrils, and she breathed in deeply. This was the season when the fishmongers would be out harvesting the cold waters for oysters, and that meant Nate might be gone for hours. Her only recourse was to wait outside his fishmonger’s hut. Perhaps, he had the day off—unlikely, but she could try.
Turning, she trudged forward, keeping her eyes on the colorful pebbles and shells crunching beneath her boots as she walked. Pretty as it was, she couldn’t stay in Whitstable with Nate, and she wasn’t about to live with strangers again—she’d insist that he send her to Stella right away. Her spirits rose at the possibility of seeing Stella soon. Leaving England for Italy would help her forget Henry, and she couldn’t imagine a life without the woman who’d been like a mother to her since birth.
She’d saved the rent money returned to her by Mr. Taylor, and now she wondered if it was enough for passage to Italy. Nate would know, she thought, as she came upon his wood-slatted hut. She knew that it stood at the very end of a long row of identical fishmonger’shuts, which made it easier for her to identify.
But as expected, her knock yielded no answer, so she sat on a grassy knoll at the edge of the beach and watched the boats that came with their first catch onto the pebbly shore. Fishmongers dressed in yellow raincoats and Wellington boots carried baskets of oysters ashore. It wasn’t long before she spotted Nate climbing out of a boat and sloshing through the water, hauling his own large basket of oysters to the sand. That is when he looked up and saw her. She waved. He nodded in response before turning to the young men who worked with him. After speaking briefly to them, he strode up the beach toward her, leaving his catch behind for them to take to market.
“Come with me,” he said, walking past her and not stopping to greet her. When she didn’t move, he turned and hissed, “Now!”
It was the urgency in his voice that made her comply. She would have resisted had it been a command, but now she followed him out of concern.
“Why the urgency?” she asked.
“I told you to come in three days; it’s been almost a week.”
“I needed time to think,” she said. “I’m here now. Isn’t that what matters?’
He pushed open the door and held it open for her. “I have to get back to work. We’ll talk this evening. There’s some bread, marmalade, and tea if you’re hungry presently.” He gestured to the counter. “We can dine on oysters tonight.”
“Thank you. That sounds nice. I’ll have some tea and then go for a walk. I quite like watching the fishmongers. Perhaps, you can teach me how to shuck the oysters so I can be useful.”
“No.” Nate’s abruptness surprised her. “You need to stay here and keep quiet. No one is to know you’re here.”
“What?” She protested.
“Trust me. You want to be with Stella, don’t you?”
She nodded. “Of course, that’s why I came here.”
“Then do as I ask, and you shall.”
And with that, he shut the door and locked it—from the outside.
*
Henry sat onthe plank that served as his bed in his Newgate cell and stared at the filthy peeling wall. Had Hobsworth betrayed him? Had he lured him to the police, knowing they would arrest him for a murder he did not commit? And where were his mother and her powerful husband now?
The sound of footsteps turned his head. A guard appeared at his cell door accompanied by a grey-haired, bearded gentleman dressed in a pristine, three-piece black suit.
The guard jangled his keys, turned the lock, and pushed open the door.
The suited man stepped into Henry’s cell.
“Twenty minutes,” the guard said.
