A Dreadful Splendor (106)

We rounded the turn and paused. Somerset rose from a sea of mist in the distance, hauntingly beautiful. But I could never set foot on the grounds again. The moment grew serious, our flirtation dissipated by the grim memories.

Gareth took my hands in his, then very slowly removed one of my gloves. “Will you permit me to leave you with a token so you won’t forget me?”

“Impossible.”

Then he slipped off his family ring from his pinkie and put it on my index finger—it fit perfectly. “Are you certain?” I asked, flexing my hand to look at it. “I lost the last piece of jewelry you gave me.”

The smile vanished from his face. “I have nightmares about not saving you in time.”

“You sound in need of Auntie Lil’s tea.” She’d had an uptake in business since Dr. Barnaby left. He went to London, intent on becoming a surgeon. I suspected he was no longer interested in bedside medicine. He left a long apology letter for Gareth and hoped they could reconcile their friendship, although a stint of time was required for a full recovery.

“No, thank you.” Gareth chuckled. “I see how she leers at me when I visit the cottage.”

“It’s not you. It’s your connection to Somerset and its curse.”

“She’s partly right. I am under a spell.” He reached out and twirled the ring on my finger. “One I don’t mind, actually.”

Warmth filled my stomach, and I smiled, lost in images of us, together. Blissful wishes of moments to come. How could I ever have doubted his sincerity? He was the person I trusted most implicitly now.

He leaned closer. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay for the trial?” he asked once again, for what seemed like the hundredth time.

The day they arrested Miss Crane, I made sure to be waiting across the street for a front-row seat. But if she was ashamed, it didn’t show. Her posture was straight, and her large ridiculous hat was in place. I wasn’t prepared for the fear that tightened my throat, or the paralysis that made it impossible for me to do anything but stare uselessly as she disappeared into the paddy wagon. The clever speech I’d prepared for weeks was lost between the beats of my thudding heart.

I was still no more than the quiet girl she’d first met. The frustration and anger boiled over, and I spent the entire carriage ride back to Wrendale in tears. When I expressed disappointment in myself for not being strong enough to face Miss Crane, Auntie Lil told me being brave meant listening to your instincts instead of your pride.

“No,” I told Gareth. “I’ll follow the trial through the papers. I’m anxious for it to be over, honestly. I’m ready for my new life to start.”

He smiled and kissed my hand. “As am I.”



Over the next week, Miss Crane made the front page each day, and it was clear from the reporter’s account that she was determined to control the narrative of her time in the spotlight. She told the packed courtroom that Maman and I had a stormy relationship and were seen fighting the night she died.

Even though Constable Rigby had given a statement implicating her, she would never confess the truth. I made a promise to myself that no matter how much it bothered me, I would be present the day of her verdict.

I would do it for Maman.



The only noise in the courtroom was the artist’s pencil a few rows back, sketching madly to capture the moment. The newspapers had runners waiting in the hall outside to take the headline to their offices for tomorrow’s front page.

My hands shook in my lap, knowing I could have easily been the one in the defendant’s box. I started to turn the gold ring on my index finger, matching each rotation with a breath.

The judge stared down his glasses at the defendant’s box. “Guilty,” he finally said.

There was an explosion of creaks from the wooden benches as the press jumped from their spots. I closed my eyes and sent a prayer to Maman, trying to imagine what she would say.

I looked up in time to see Miss Crane being taken away in handcuffs.

Ignoring the reporters’ requests for a quote, I went directly to the police station. As luck would have it, the young constable whom I had met the last time I was here allowed me to sneak back and visit the prisoner. I smoothed out my silk dress and adjusted my hat, making sure the peacock feather was just right. The hallway to the cells seemed especially cold and dark.

Good.

My boots tapped my arrival like a soldier’s victory march.

She sat with her head bowed over her hands. I cleared my throat.

Even though she didn’t have the garish lipstick or bright-colored dress, her cold eyes were hard and merciless. She stood and made her way over, resting her elbows on the bars.

I was glad the long skirt hid my trembling knees.

“Think you’re fooling anyone in those fancy clothes?” she asked. “A new hat won’t change what people think of you.” She gave me a pitiful expression, as if I were on the wrong side of the bars. “One day you’ll realize everything I did was for your own good.”

Not only had she killed my mother, but she’d let me think it was my fault. She’d lied in court, to no avail of course, but now that I was finally facing her, I had to press her for the truth.

“You won’t find any sympathetic ears in jail,” I said, working to keep my voice steady. “There is no audience, only me. This is your chance to confess.”