Selma wrapped an arm around her shoulders as they continued walking. “Well, perhaps one day your heart will heal, and you may decide to let someone else in.”
“Like you and Mr. Lamsley?”
Selma’s ruddy cheeks grew even more red and she smiled sheepishly. “I thought we were being discreet.”
“The way the two of you look at each other, it’s fairly unmistakeable.”
A wistful smile turned up Selma’s lips. “Perhaps, but Mr. Allister also said you’re very observant.”
“When did he tell you that?”
“In the letter he gave me at the train station.”
“What else did he say about me?”
Selma squeezed her. “All kind things, I promise. You’re welcome to read it. I kept it just in case.”
She shook her head. “If he wished for me to know those things, he would have told me.” That was part of it, but she was also afraid it would be too painful. The razor-like edges of the shards of her heart were only just beginning to dull. Or at least they had been. “Do you mind if I go up and rest for a while?” she asked when they entered the house.
“Of course not. In fact, I think I’ll do the same.”
She barely managed to close the door to her room when the burgeoning sobs burst out of her. She slid down the wooden surface and cried into her knees. She just wanted his arms around her. His warmth and protection. His assurance that everything would be alright. That she would be alright.
But it wasn’t fair to Selma to be pining for another life that she shouldn’t even want. Selma was sweet and kind and motherly. She had welcomed her into her home and her family. And she was right. In time, Madelene’s heart would heal. Even if right now, it didn’t feel like it would. It had to. Didn’t it?
That evening, Madelene sat around the fire with the others, eating sausages and drinking tea. It had become her favorite part of the day. They welcomed her as if she had always been a part of their family. As if she belonged there.
As Lamsley told a story from his childhood they all laughed. “Mrs. Steepleton always left pies out on a table in her back garden to cool. I was only seven, but I thought I was so sly when I crept over the wall and snatched one.” He was animated and dramatic as he told the tale. “It was filled with apples and currants, and apparently I had a purple smudge on my chin when I returned home. My mother dragged me all the way over by my ear and forced me to confess before promptly ensuring I wouldn’t be sitting down for at least a week.”
Selma wiped tears from her face as she laughed. “Now I know why you have no desire for currants. It was beaten out of you!”
Slowly, the laughter died down, as did the fire. “Well,” Selma said. “I think it’s time to turn in.” She looked at Madelene. “I thought tomorrow we might go into town and find something to keep you from getting bored. Perhaps some art supplies? Embroidery? Books?”
Madelene’s mood brightened at the last one. Books had always held a special place in her heart.
“Books it is.” Selma squeezed her hand. “Sleep well, my dear.”
Chapter
Seventeen
Simon was exhausted, body, mind, and soul. He’d spent another week conducting interviews and interrogations. Last night, for the second time in three days, he and Timms had been sent on an “errand”. That was the innocuous name the Intelligence Services used, but it meant he’d taken yet another man’s life.
“Where’s the coffee you promised?” Simon asked Timms as he dragged himself into the office.
“Already on your desk.”
“Thank you.” He gulped down the hot liquid, praying it would give him some much-needed focus.
One thing was clear, he needed to find that bloody vicar so he could leave this job before it destroyed the few remaining traces of his soul. He was grateful for the experiences and skills it had provided him, but his heart had been done with it for a long time now.
In reality, he didn’t know how much better it would be working for Ash, but at least Ash knew the truth of who Simon was. That counted for something. And presumably, he’d be able to see his sister regularly, and know she was safe and well. But first, they had to find that goddamned vicar.
“Are you sure you shouldn’t be home in bed?” Timms asked. “You look unwell.”
“I’m fine,” he said grumpily. “Can we spend today tracking down that blasted vicar?”
“In a hurry to leave us?”
