Patting the loaded pistol in his coat, he climbed toward the loft. The sloped ceiling revealed moonlight between its slats, and the beams creaked overhead. The air here was hot and thick with dust. He covered his mouth with his arm, peering through the darkness...
“So, you did come,” a female voice said. “The cynic in me really thought you were going to abandon Mr. Hawthorne to his fate.”
Isadore emerged out of the shadows wearing a familiar green coat. She inspected Alexander, maybe looking for a weapon. He held his lantern up to her face. A pale, dehydrated, miserable face.
“Before you ask, your friend is there.”
She pointed to a mass in the corner, barely illuminated by the crackling upstairs hearth. It was Bastian, a gag in his mouth, hands bound behind him as he sat barely upright against the wall. His eyes widened as he saw Alexander, shaking his head and squirming.
“He was like that for the first few days, but then he grew calmer,” Isadore said evenly, making Alexander’s blood curdle. “I hate seeing him like this. But it really is his own fault that I had to tie him up. He should have just taken me to Gretna Greene like he promised, and all this could have been avoided.”
Alexander watched Bastian out of the corner of his eye, calculating his next move. “It’s true then,” he said. “You left Somerstead Hall to elope.”
“Not exactly. Not at the start...” She took a step toward him, trained on him like a bloodhound. “But I won’t tell you anything until you give me what I asked for. Where is it?”
“The money is downstairs, attached to the horse.” He had retrieved the sum from the Salisbury bank that morning—a mix of banknotes and coins, usually less likely to be perceived as counterfeit, stuffed into a bag that hung from Thalia's saddle. “Unbind Bastian now, and I will get you your money.”
“Just like that? You must think I’m stupid. If I untie him, it’ll be two against one.” Behind her bravado, he perceived fear. “You’re not curious to learn who I truly am? After all this time... you really don’t care at all about me, do you?”
“What would be the point in asking? No sister of mine would behave as you have. You are not who you claim to be. Isadore Bell does not exist except in my imagination.”
“You’re right. No Isadore Bells exist that I know of, anyway. I had hoped to play the part well enough to convince you. I’m an actress by trade, and this promised to bethe performance of a lifetime. Learning the history, the accent...” She plucked at her neck, nervous. “It worked for a time, didn’t it? I could tell you believed me in the beginning, and Mr. Hawthorne was no challenge at all to convince. But your little wife, and that uncle of yours... Do they know where you are tonight?” she asked. “I doubt it. You pride yourself on being so honorable. You would not have told them a thing.”
There was nothing honorable about that night. A deal made in the dark. A lie he had believed. He was shamed by his own credulity. He glanced at Bastian.
“He saw me differently in the end, too,” Isadore said, gesturing toward her captive. “We left Somerstead Hall after Margaret had her accident. I knew you would blame me, and you would have been right. I did tamper with that beast’s saddle, planted a seed so your dutiful wife would swap horses with me. I thought I would feel bad, but I was glad when she fell. I was hoping to drive a wedge between you, hoping you would turn to me for support. That letter under your door, for instance...”
Alexander shivered. It’s all been Isadore. Margaret’s accident.Everything.
She continued: “I told Bastian I feared you would blame me, and he swore to take me somewhere safe. That’s when I came up with another plan and floated the idea of marriage a day later. That is, until we visited that wretched mother of his, and she disapproved. I felt a change in him once we left. He looked down on me like all your sort do, could smell the poverty on me even if he refused to see it. We only drove a few miles northward before he said we should reconsider our elopement. Mummy’s second-favorite little boy couldn’t possibly defy that old crone’s wishes. And when he could not be convinced to change his mind back, I had to take matters into my own hands.”
“Enough of this,” Alexander said, terror snaking down his spine. “There is only one thing I need to know. You knew that I was searching for Isadore. You knew everything about her past. How can it possibly be? Who set you on to me?”
Isadore looked off to the side.
“You are a careful man, Your Grace,” she said. “But not quite careful enough.”
The stairs creaked behind them, and Alexander turned.
Mr. Ripley emerged from the darkness.
“You?” Alexander said, taking a stunned step back.
Ripley smiled, shrugging. “I’m very sorry it had to come to this, Your Grace. But it’s like my Sarah said. If you had only done right by her—or if not you, then your friend—all this unpleasantness might have been avoided.”
Alexander hoped the shadows would conceal his next movement, but he was wrong. Just as his hand darted for his pistol, Ripley drew his own weapon, leveling it at his chest.
“Now, now. No sudden movements,” Ripley warned. “I have no intentions of becoming a murderer tonight.”
“That would be a more compelling statement if you had not come armed.” Alexander raised his hands, aware of every breath he took, his mind filling with thoughts of Margaret. “You’ve had a long career, Ripley. Why throw that all away now?”
“You came to me, and I saw an opportunity,” Ripley explained, cocking his head to the side. “I realized early on that your search for this missing sister was going nowhere. The trail ended with her birth announcement, and despite my best, genuine attemptsat locating an Isadore Bell for you, I achieved nothing. And honestly? After so many years bartering intonsecrets, feeding on your poison, I’ve grown a little contemptuous. So, I hired Sarah to play the part, hoping she would be legitimized, and in time, we would both enjoy the fruits of her new life. I stayed close by, was almost caught once by your wife on the grounds, by that river, when I came to give Sarah some much-needed advice on moving things forward...” He looked at Bastian, now quiet on the ground. “A widowed, aristocratic husband, perhaps? That had been my thought, but it hardly matters now. She never quite convinced you, did she?”
A wicked plan. Alexander could only imagine what would have happened to Bastian if he hadn’t seen through the woman’s performance.
“You will be brought to justice,” Alexander said. “For this, and for all you threatened to do but did not achieve.”
“Only God will judge me. But I have no fear. I have seen men more terrible than me do much worse and go to their deathbeds with hope for salvation.” His eyes flicked to a space behind Alexander. “I wonder... Will you?”
