Through Each Tomorrow, page 29
“Anne?” I nodded. I’d heard the story from my mother, but it was heartbreaking. “’Tis a sad tale, though Anne’s daughter, Caroline, had a happier ending.”
“Tell me.”
“Do you think ’tis wise?”
“I don’t care anymore. I’m so tired of trying to make all the right decisions when everything seems out of my control anyway.”
I knew how he felt and took a seat on the bed again to tell him the story.
“Anne’s father, Josias Reed, took Anne to South Carolina and raised her on a tobacco plantation, but she ran away with a man at the age of thirteen.”
Charles’s eyebrows rose in surprise.
“A year later, Anne brought her daughter, Caroline, back to South Carolina and left her in Josias’s care. Then she returned to the Caribbean, where she lived as a pirate and died on her twenty-first birthday.”
“Evelyn would be heartbroken to hear it.”
“The tale doesn’t end there. Caroline found Hope in Salem in 1727 and told her the rest of it. Caroline had no guide, so she had gone on a quest to find Anne. She eventually located Anne in her other path in 1927 and learned that Anne was a notorious criminal there.”
Charles frowned. “That’s horrible.”
“It is,” I agreed, “but Caroline reconciled with her mother Anne in 1927 before Caroline chose to stay in 1727 with her husband. According to Hope, Caroline and her husband lived a happy and prosperous life together in Boston. But I do not know what became of Anne in 1927.”
“There is some redemption in the story, at least,” Charles said. “I don’t know if Evelyn would think so.”
“Why does she go by Evelyn in 1883?”
“Her real name there is Rachel Evelyn Whitney, but she never felt right having the same name in both paths.”
I nodded, understanding her feelings. “What will you do with the information?”
“I know not. Mayhap nothing.”
Neither of us said anything for several moments, and then I rose from the bed and met Charles in the middle of the room.
“Please withdraw your challenge from Andrew,” I begged. “No matter what you think, I do love him, and I am willing to make sacrifices to be with him. I’d much prefer to live a simple life as his wife than a grand life as Lord Wolverton’s wife. Surely you can see that.”
He shook his head and sighed. “I will not pretend to be happy about the situation, Cec. But if he is willing to stay with you in 1563, and he has vowed to protect you, then I will withdraw my challenge and leave your fate in the hands of the queen.”
With a cry of happiness, I threw myself into Charles’s arms. “Thank you.”
He hugged me back, but when he withdrew, he said, “Do not underestimate the queen, Cecily Bromley. She will not accept your marriage without severe punishment. It could be years before you and Andrew are released to live as husband and wife, and that is only if it benefits the queen. There are some still living in exile from the court, on house arrest, for lesser offenses.”
I worried my bottom lip, knowing that he spoke the truth.
In my excitement to learn that Andrew would stay in 1563 and Charles would not challenge him to a duel, I’d forgotten that we still had to face Queen Elizabeth and the rest of court.
That fate could be worse than all the others.
24
CHARLES
AUGUST 5TH, 1883
NEWPORT, RHODE ISLAND
Drew and I were quiet during breakfast the next morning at Midcliff. Yesterday when we arrived at Windsor Castle, I had gone to my apartment without another word to him and Cecily. I didn’t know what had become of them. Whether Cecily had gone to Andrew’s apartment or back to the maids’ dormitory, I hadn’t bothered to ask Drew. Their fate was now in the hands of the queen, and there was nothing I could do for either of them.
Evelyn looked between us with concern, though she didn’t broach any subject that would cause division.
As we ate in silence, I thought about Cecily and what she had told me about Evelyn’s daughter’s tragic life. Would Evelyn want to know? I wasn’t sure I would ever tell her. Her guilt about leaving Anne was already so profound.
Mrs. Whitney entered the breakfast room like a burst of wind, and all three of us looked up in surprise. She never ate breakfast with us.
“Good.” She put her hands on the back of a chair and faced us. “I have some exciting news.”
The three of us waited as she took a dramatic pause. In all the chaos of the past two days, I’d almost forgotten about her upcoming ball and the knowledge that Helen knew about my real identity.
“In light of the announcement that will be shared at my ball tomorrow,” she said, giving Evelyn and me a pointed look, “we will have a special guest in attendance.”
“What announcement?” Drew asked.
Mrs. Whitney clasped her hands in excitement. “Lord Norfolk and Evelyn are engaged to be married.”
Drew stood so quickly his chair fell to the ground behind him.
Mrs. Whitney’s eyes opened wide, and she took a step back.
I, too, rose as Evelyn’s face went ashen.
“You hypocrite!” Drew turned to me. “You proposed to Evelyn?”
I held my hands up. “There’s been a misunderstanding.”
“Oh, really?” Drew’s jaw tightened as he crossed his arms.
“A misunderstanding?” Mrs. Whitney asked, the spark of obduracy I’d seen at the casino the other night revealing itself again. “That can’t be. I saw you and Evelyn in the secluded sitting room in the lobby at the casino. A man doesn’t get that close to a proper young lady unless he’s proposed to her.”
“Mother.” Evelyn finally rose to her feet. “Lord Norfolk has not prop—”
“Not yet,” Mrs. Whitney said, “but I will expect a proposal before the day is done, or your father will demand he is held accountable for taking liberties with you.”
“He did not take liberties at the casino.” Evelyn’s voice lowered as her cheeks turned pink.
“Perhaps not at the casino, but a maid saw the two of you in the library, kissing,” she stressed. “If that doesn’t warrant a proposal, I don’t know what does.”
Evelyn looked to me with helplessness.
“I’ve already hinted to our guests that this ball will also be an engagement party,” Mrs. Whitney continued, clasping her hands together again, not welcoming debate. “Mrs. Astor included. I’ll be the laughingstock of Newport if there isn’t a proposal. And your father will be angry that he’s making the trip from New York.”
“What?” Drew asked. “Father is coming here?”
“He is coming by yacht and should be here any minute.” Mrs. Whitney’s piercing gaze speared me in place, and I realized that the sweet and gentle exterior she’d exhibited during my earlier visit was an act. “What will become of me when everyone finds out there is no engagement, Lord Norfolk? Helen will gloat like never before, and the papers will be full of scandal. I’m certain Mrs. Astor only accepted my invitations because I am the future mother-in-law to an earl.”
“How can there be a scandal when there was no proposal?” Evelyn asked.
“Why would you invite Father?” Drew demanded.
My heart rate intensified as sweat broke out on my brow. I couldn’t face Mr. Whitney—not as Lord Norfolk—and I couldn’t hide the fact that I had lied about my identity all summer. He would know moments after his arrival that I had misled everyone.
“There’s nothing left to do but to propose to Evelyn,” Mrs. Whitney said to me. “It simply must be done.”
All I could think about was escaping Midcliff.
Prescott entered the breakfast room, his face serious. “Mrs. Whitney, the police superintendent, Officer Francis, is here to see you. I’ve brought him to the drawing room.”
“The police superintendent?” She frowned. “Whatever for?”
“I couldn’t say, ma’am, but he asked to speak to you and said perhaps your children should be there, as well.”
Mrs. Whitney’s eyes grew wide as she looked to Drew and then Evelyn. “What could he want?”
Drew moved around the table and offered his arm to his mother. “Let’s not keep him waiting.”
She nodded and then said to me, “Lord Norfolk, escort Evelyn to the drawing room and join us.”
I quickly offered Evelyn my arm, and we followed them out of the breakfast room.
Evelyn’s eyes filled with unease as she looked up at me.
I gently squeezed her arm and tried to give her a reassuring smile, though my mind was reeling with everything Mrs. Whitney had just told us.
“Officer Francis,” Mrs. Whitney said as we entered the drawing room. It was decorated in shades of white like the rest of the rooms in the public part of the house. “How can we help you?”
“Good day, ma’am.” The police superintendent held his blue hat in his hands, clearly uncomfortable. “Perhaps you’d like to have a seat.”
Mrs. Whitney didn’t speak for a moment as her face went from uncertainty to resolve. “I’m certain that what you have to say is unpleasant, so please just say it.”
He nodded. “I hate to be the bearer of this news, but there was a maritime accident yesterday afternoon off the coast of Southampton, during the storm.” He paused. “Unfortunately, there were no survivors.”
Mrs. Whitney placed her free hand on Drew’s arm as if to steady herself. “And who was in the accident?”
“Besides the staff of five, your husband, Mr. William Whitney, was one of the casualties, ma’am. I’m very sorry.”
Evelyn cried out in shock as Drew caught Mrs. Whitney from collapsing. He led his mother to a chair as she shook her head and said over and over, “It cannot be true. William wouldn’t make me a widow.”
Drew’s face lost all its color as Evelyn began to weep silently beside me.
“I’m so sorry,” I said to her, putting my arm around her.
It took several minutes for the shock of the announcement to pass. Mrs. Whitney held a handkerchief to her mouth, but she did not cry. Finally, she looked at Officer Francis. “Who else was on the yacht?”
He glanced at Drew, Evelyn, and me as he tightened his grip on his hat.
“Well?” Mrs. Whitney demanded. “I’m certain there was someone else.”
“Besides the staff? A Miss Molly O’Leary, ma’am.”
Mrs. Whitney took several breaths before asking, “And who was Miss Molly O’Leary?”
“From what we can tell,” Officer Francis said, “she was a showgirl at Harry Hill’s Variety Theatre in New York City.”
Evelyn slowly lowered into a chair as Drew paced to a window and looked outside.
“And what kind of a theatre is Harry Hill’s?” Mrs. Whitney asked.
“I-I hate to say,” the police officer stammered.
“Tell me.”
“It was a burlesque theatre, ma’am.”
Mrs. Whitney pressed her handkerchief to her lips again as she turned away from Officer Francis, and for the first time since receiving the news, tears gathered in her eyes.
“The yacht was unsalvageable, as you can imagine,” Officer Francis said to me, since I was the only one looking at him.
“That’s the least of our concerns right now,” Drew said from the window.
“Of course.” Officer Francis fidgeted. “I’ll send a mortician to see you tomorrow, to make plans for the funeral.”
Mrs. Whitney wiped her nose and then stood. “We’ll plan the funeral in New York. We’ll return there directly. Thank you for coming, Officer Francis.”
“Of course.” He nodded and then started to move to the door where Prescott materialized, no doubt waiting just outside in the hall. “If there’s anything else I can do for you, please don’t hesitate to call on me.”
“Thank you,” I said, since the other three didn’t seem to hear him.
After Officer Francis had left the room, Mrs. Whitney didn’t waste a moment. “We’ll need to cancel the ball and return to the city tonight. I’m certain there will be legal things you need to deal with, Drew. We don’t want Clarence and Helen to get their hands on—”
“Father died.” Drew turned away from the window. “Can’t you take a moment to mourn?”
“We don’t have a moment.” She clasped her hands. “I will mourn in private, but in public I will always remain stoical. There is no other choice. We must look strong to stay strong, and no doubt Clarence will try to take whatever he can from the family business. This is your time to shine, son. The moment you were born for.”
A look of dread overcame Drew as he turned back to the window.
“What’s wrong with you?” Mrs. Whitney asked. “Whitney Shipping is your legacy. I’d think you’d want to honor your father’s memory by keeping it strong. It’s time to step up and be a man, Drew. Take the company to new heights.”
“Is that all life is to you?” Drew asked, facing her again. “Just money and power? I lost a father, and now I’m being asked to give up a life with—” He choked on his words, and I knew what he had wanted to say.
He was being asked to give up his life with Cecily.
“I’m being asked to live a life I don’t want,” he corrected himself. “I might need a few minutes to process everything that’s just happened.”
“We don’t have a few minutes,” she said. “Clarence and Helen are vultures. We must read your father’s will as soon as possible and see how he’s left the company. He was the majority stockholder, but I don’t know what his father’s will said, should William die before Clarence. We need to get our hands on that will as soon—”
“Enough!” Drew roared.
Evelyn and Mrs. Whitney jumped.
“I need space to think.” Drew ran his hand over the back of his neck. “Give me a minute,” he said, a little calmer.
She pursed her lips. “I will instruct the staff to pack our things and purchase train fare back to New York for this evening. You have until then to enjoy your space, and then I need you to take your rightful place at the helm of Whitney Shipping.”
And with those final words, Mrs. Whitney swept out of the drawing room.
Drew looked at me and slowly shook his head. “My entire world just crumbled around me. What am I going to do?”
Evelyn rose from the chair and rushed across the room to enter Drew’s embrace.
I quietly slipped out of the room, my heart breaking for Evelyn and Drew—and for Cecily, who would soon learn that Drew no longer had the liberty to stay in 1563.
The house was solemn that morning, though the staff was busy preparing to move the family back to New York. I wasn’t sure how much space to give Drew and Evelyn, or if Drew would even want to speak to me. The shock he’d endured pierced my heart because I knew what it felt like to lose a father tragically. It was a unique kind of grief, the loss of a parent.
I waited for a couple of hours and then inquired with the staff where I might find Drew. He was in his father’s study.
With a heavy heart, I knocked on the study door and waited for him to answer.
“Come in,” he said.
Slowly, I opened the door and found Drew standing near the window, looking out at the Atlantic Ocean. He had his hands in his pockets and glanced briefly in my direction.
“My father loved his yacht,” he said in a monotone voice. “Mother hated it, for many reasons, but especially because he often brought showgirls with him when he used it.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“I can’t believe he was bringing one here,” Drew continued, as if I hadn’t spoken. “I’m sure he intended to keep Miss O’Leary on the yacht while he made an appearance at the ball and then return to her after his obligations were done.”
I stood just inside the study, realizing that Drew didn’t need me to talk.
“I wonder if she was a new acquaintance, or if she was a steady mistress,” he mused, though I knew he wasn’t looking for my opinion. “What I’d like to know is why.” He finally turned to me. “Why would he not take his vows to my mother seriously?” He swallowed his emotions and shook his head. “I know I might be naïve, but the vows I made to Cecily a couple of days ago are seared into my heart and soul for eternity. I would rather die than break them. How could my father justify his immoral choices?” He put his hands to his face and took a few deep breaths, then lowered them and said, “I don’t want to become my father, Charles. I don’t want the life he had—not a single part of it. I don’t want the money or the homes or the yacht or the company. The only thing I want is Cecily. And now?” He turned back to the window and wiped his eyes. “Why would God allow this to happen? I’ll be eaten by guilt if I leave Mother and Evelyn at the mercy of my uncle Clarence, and I’ll be plagued if I break Cecily’s heart. I am a prisoner of time, and no choice I make will be good enough for the people I love.”
“What will be good enough for you?” I finally asked.
He scoffed. “It doesn’t seem like God wants my opinion on the matter.”
“Do you want my opinion?” I left the door and walked to the window to join him.
Drew used his shoulders to wipe his eyes and shook his head. “I can about imagine your opinion.”
“What do you think I’ll say?”
“You’ll tell me that I should give Cecily an annulment and then stay in 1883 to take care of Evelyn and Mother.”
I shook my head. “You should do what you want to do, Drew. It shouldn’t matter what I want, or what your mother wants. You should take some time to pray about it and then make the choice that you feel convicted to make—not guilted to make.”
For years I had operated out of guilt and obligation, and it had brought nothing but strife and resentment. I had tried to play the part of God, and He had showed me that no amount of striving, manipulation, or cajoling could alter His plans.
“I’ve learned the hard way that God doesn’t work through guilt,” I continued. “Conviction, yes, but not guilt. If you’re feeling guilted to stay in 1883, and you’re convicted to stay in 1563 and honor your vows to Cecily, come what may, you should do that. But, if you feel guilty staying in 1563 because of your vows, but convicted to stay in 1883 because you’re the heir to the Whitney legacy and are now required to take care of your mother and sister, then do that. I can’t make that choice for you, nor will I presume to try.”
