“That’s the word of some other man. It wasn’t I who asked her.” His face is suddenly lucid, not frantic or lost. It’s focused, with broken pieces on the surface. “That man…is lost.”
William bows his head, feeling the echo of those words in his soul. Helen married a different man—one tall and slender, far too cocky and ambitious. He’d give anything to return to that time, but as his wiser self.
Then Samuel’s thumb is striking the chair arm with quickening beats, muscles twitching in his neck.
“Nurse!” William looks down the empty hall.
“It’s no good.” Samuel grabs him with a shaking hand. “If you call them they’ll stick me with something and our conversation will be over. I’ll be gone again until they feel like bringing me back.”
William stares at the man. Not gawking, but feeling.“You cannot live this way forever.”
“What choice do I have?” he says through gritted teeth.
“Do you know what a wise artist once told me? She said sometimes a person must become lost to find what’s important. She was speaking of the lost woman she’s helping me find, but somehow she was talking about herself, too. And you.”
A nurse rushes over and shoos William away. But Sam Carmichael clamps a hand on her arm. “Merryn.”
William comes around to stand before him again. “I beg your pardon?”
“It’s Merryn, isn’t it? The woman Florence is helping you find.”
“It is.” He clutches his trembling hands. “How did you know?”
His shoulder jerks. “Wrote me a letter. I didn’t answer.”
“Why not?”
The nurse shoves a mug at him, and he stares down at it. Another tic. “Don’t take kindly to her helping some other gent.”
William keeps silent. Waiting.
The lieutenant takes a long drink. “Why are you looking for her?”
“I believe I’m living in her cottage, up St. Ives way. I’ve found her portrait behind the wall, and…”
The man’s face swivels slowly. “William Thatcher. That’s who you are, isn’t it?”
William’s back stiffens. “Indeed.” He searches the man’s lean face.
“Merryn isn’t lost. She doesn’t care to be found, but she isn’t lost.” Those red-rimmed eyes focus on William. “Except by you.”
A chill ripples down his spine. “How did…where…whoisshe?”
Another sip of tea. A few more tics. “That’s…a long…story.” He’s breathing harder now. “YouI’ll tell. No one else, but you can know where she is.”
“St. Ives?”
He shakes his head. “But worth…the trip.”
“What is her name? Her whole name.” He’s close. Terribly close to finding her. He nearly hits the mug out of the man’s hand, but the nurse watches from a safe distance, arms folded over her chest.
“Merryn Dunn. Grew up here, came back for a spell when I was a lad. She took to my mum.”
“Please. Tell me where I can find her now.”
“If you promise…meone…thing.”
“Anything.”
