Page 17 of Alive (Shadows of a Forgotten Past #2)

CHAPTER 17

~ CONFESSIONS ~

No force in heaven or earth could keep Alex in the hospital.

“I’ve been through worse. I can handle a little scratch,” he said, as anxious as I was to see Will and to clarify his lineage.

Alex arranged a ride home, knowing the train would take too long and be too exhausting. Though my aches were far less severe than his, I still felt considerable discomfort. One of Thomas’s men, a reserved fellow with intelligent eyes and a square face, came to fetch us. We settled into the back seat, and after a brief exchange with the driver, we fell into silence. I rested my head on Alex’s shoulder and slept for most of the journey.

With a yawn, I straightened and realized we were in Breamore. Night had fallen, and the town rested under a serene hush. The chaos and fear of London were behind us, but the emotions simmering in us were almost palpable. I could feel the storm of anger and regret within Alex—years of stolen love, missed milestones, and lost unity with Will pressed upon his heart.

“Florence, I’m sorry,” Alex said, leaning close.

“For what?”

“For being selfish about your desire for a family.” He lowered his voice. “I was afraid of losing you in childbirth. I thought only of myself. I let those fears hold me back until I was in the water, wondering if I’d survive. As I encouraged Oakley to fight for his life, to think about his wife, he taught me an unforgettable lesson.

“He said that his time had come but he knew his children would carry her through the difficult days ahead. I understood then. I’m not immortal. Sooner or later, I’m going to die, and, given my age, I’ll probably go first. I don’t want to leave you by yourself. We’ll have as many children as your heart desires.” Alex put his arm around my shoulders, bringing me into his embrace. “Besides, I’d love and enjoy them too.”

“Well . . . we have a head start. We already have two.”

“Good thing, too. I might be a bit old to chase after little feet,” he said, but I saw the warmth in his gaze, the fondness for the thought.

“Don’t you worry. I’ve heard that people rejuvenate when they become parents.” I stole a quick kiss.

“Hmm. We’ll see about that.”

The car pulled into Forti Radici’s courtyard.

“Come in and have a cup of coffee before you head back to London,” Alex offered the driver.

“Thank you, sir. I’d like that.”

Martha met us in the foyer. After a heartfelt welcome, she turned to the driver. “Please, this way. I’ll show you to the kitchen.”

From the end of the corridor, Zaira appeared, her voice bright with delight. “Welcome home!”

We embraced briefly.

“Florence, you look beaten, disheveled, and in need of a bath and fresh clothes,” she observed with her usual bluntness, almost making me laugh. “You told me about the air raid, but I didn’t think you were right in the middle of it! I mean, I thought you were taken to the hospital just as a precaution, not as an emergency.” True, I had omitted the details of how I’d arrived there.

“Don’t fret. It’s not as bad as it looks. I was caught in some debris and flying objects, that’s all.”

“That’s all?” She stared at me with horrified eyes. “Well, at any rate, I’m thrilled you are in one piece.” With a sigh, she turned to Alex. “Welcome home, Mr. Sterling! We were all ecstatic to hear you were safe and coming home.”

“That’s kind. I appreciate your concern.”

“You’ll be happy to know that Mr. Brown returned earlier today.”

“That’s wonderful news!” Relief washed over me.

“Wonderful indeed,” Alex echoed.

“He said his cigars might have saved his life,” Zaira continued. “He drove to a shop just beyond the bombing zone to buy a pack right before it all started. He tried to ring us but couldn’t get through. So he stayed to help clear the streets, caught a few hours of sleep at a shelter, and then made his way back.”

“With the Lagonda?” Alex loved the car.

“Yes. It got away with a nice coat of grime, but other than that, it fared better than Florence.” Zaira smiled. Poor Mr. Brown—ever so particular about cars—the filth on the Lagonda from the bombing likely distressed him more than the attack itself.

“Good to hear.” Alex smiled back.

“How is Mrs. Haywood?” I couldn’t wait another second.

“Not well. The poor thing has had an awful day.”

“Let’s go see her,” Alex said.

“You should wait,” Zaira suggested. “She’s just fallen asleep. Mr. Haywood and the nurse are looking after her. The doctor will be back in the morning.”

“And Will?” Alex asked.

“He left a little while ago.”

“He left? Why?” I was surprised he had left Mrs. Haywood’s side.

“Honestly, I don’t know,” Zaira answered. “He suddenly took off. It was rather odd. And if I may say so, he wasn’t in the best of moods.”

“Hmm.” Alex rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Interesting.”

“Eldad. Is he in bed?” The thought of the boy steadied my emotions.

“I tucked him in not long ago. He spent most of the afternoon outside and was completely worn out. He did ask about you—three times, in fact. He wasn’t happy with me putting him to bed two nights in a row.”

My heart warmed at her words. “All right. I won’t bother him. I’ll introduce him to Alex in the morning.”

“Zaira,” Alex said, “please let Mr. Haywood know that if he needs anything or if there are any changes with Mrs. Haywood during the night, he should send for us, no matter the hour.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Let’s get cleaned up and get some rest.” Alex grabbed my hand, and we crossed the foyer to the staircase.

Where could Will have gone?

* * *

A rap on the door jolted me awake. I sat up in bed as Alex rolled onto his side with a groan. We’d slept in. The anxiety of the previous day, along with the urgency to speak to the housekeeper and see Will, came back like the crack of a whip. Still, the silent night reassured me that nothing had taken a turn for the worse.

Another tap. The doorknob rattled, the door opened, and Eldad came running in with a book in hand.

“I was waiting for you downstairs, but you are taking too long.” He was about to climb into the bed when he froze, his eyes widening as he stared at Alex. “Who is that?”

“Alex,” I said. “Remember, I told you about him. He just got back from his trip to America.”

“Oh.” Eldad eyed the stranger warily before crawling in beside me.

“Good morning,” Alex said warmly. “What do you have there?”

“A book,” Eldad answered innocently, turning it over in his hands, nervously.

“What is it called?”

“ The Adventures of Molly the Cow .”

“Ah. One of my favorites.” Alex winked at me.

I narrowed my eyes at him, quite sure he’d never read it. “How are you feeling?”

“I’ve been better, but it’s bearable.”

“Would you like some medicine?” I offered.

“Maybe later.”

“I’ll give you some anyway. It’s easier to stay ahead of the pain than to battle it once it takes hold.”

“Florence is stern today,” Eldad mumbled.

Alex’s eyebrows shot up and a smile crossed his eyes.

“ Stern ? Where did you learn that word?” I asked.

“I heard it from Martha.”

“You did?”

“Mm-hmm. She said it to Zaira,” Eldad explained. “She said women have to be stern with men.”

Alex laughed but immediately winced as his wound protested. “I’ll need medicine after all.”

“Martha also said that women are always right,” Eldad added matter-of-factly.

Alex pulled me closer and whispered, “I don’t think we are clever enough to raise this child.”

It was my turn to laugh.

“Can we read now?” the boy asked, looking up at me expectantly.

“Bring the book over here,” Alex encouraged.

Eldad climbed over me and handed Alex The Adventures of Molly The Cow .

“I’ll read with him while you get ready. We better check on Mrs. Haywood,” Alex said.

I left the bed.

“‘Molly was white with black spots and a jolly personality.’” Eldad’s voice rang through the room, brimming with excitement. “Your turn.”

“‘She liked to dash through the fields and race the other cows,’” Alex read.

I knew then that a long-lasting, loving relationship had just been born.

* * *

Mrs. Haywood lay motionless on the bed, her face ghastly and still. In my journey back in time, I had seen her young and vibrant—a striking contrast to the frail woman before me. Mr. Haywood sat beside her as a young blonde nurse, moving with quick efficiency, checked on the patient.

“Good morning, Mrs. Sterling. General, it’s wonderful to have you with us again,” Mr. Haywood greeted.

I responded with a soft smile, noticing how spent the man looked.

Alex nodded stiffly and addressed the nurse. “Please give us a moment.”

“Certainly, sir.” She gathered the soiled towels from the floor and left the room.

“How is Mrs. Haywood doing?” I asked.

“About the same. Thankfully, she rested better last night,” Mr. Haywood replied.

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“Agnes, the Sterlings are here.” Mr. Haywood held his wife’s hand.

Mrs. Haywood stirred, releasing a few disgruntled sounds before her eyelids fluttered open.

“We are here to speak with you about my son,” Alex announced.

Mrs. Haywood’s gaze fell on Alex like a hawk on its prey.

“Forgive me, but who are you speaking about?” Mr. Haywood’s question sounded innocent enough, but there was a subtle unease in his voice that gave me pause.

“The one who supposedly passed away twenty-three years ago on his way to the dispensary,” Alex said. “I have reason to believe your wife has information about him.”

“I don’t understand . . . we weren’t even here back then,” the groundskeeper said defensively.

“No, but your acquaintance, Deborah White, was,” Alex countered.

“What does she have to do with us?” Mr. Haywood countered back.

“What would you like to know, General?” Mrs. Haywood intervened in a tremulous voice.

“The truth,” Alex said bluntly.

“I knew this day would come,” Mrs. Haywood said, resignation edged into every word.

“Oh no, Agnes.” Mr. Haywood turned ashen, as if he had seen a ghost—one from his past at that. “I’ve feared this all along.”

“It’s all right, dear. I can’t take this secret to the grave. It’s been a blessing as much as a burden,” the housekeeper admitted. “General, I will tell you what happened to your wonderful lad.”

I perched on the chair across from the groundskeeper, my heart pounding. Alex remained on his feet, his hands clenched at his sides.

“Haywood and I had longed for a child our entire lives,” the tale spilled from the housekeeper’s lips in a slow cadence. “Then the miracle came, but it was short-lived. Our baby passed away days after birth. When I took him to the dispensary, Mrs. White happened to be there. I was drowning in grief, and when she told me the baby that she had with her was an orphan, I didn’t question it. She proposed we exchange the boys and that I return to my life as if it had never happened. I agreed. She was persuasive, preying on my loss, but that doesn’t excuse what I did.

“As the days went on, the nudging that Mrs. White hadn’t been honest tortured me. Then I heard about your tragedy, General, and suspected Will was your son. But by then, it was too late. I couldn’t give him up or the opportunity to be a mother. I’m so sorry, Peter. I couldn’t bear to fail you, to fail us, by not giving you an heir.”

“Oh Agnes, I’m as guilty as you are. I suspected the truth from the start. When I returned from my trip, I recognized the baby wasn’t the same, but you were so happy. I didn’t have the heart to confront it. I wanted him just as much as you did.” Mr. Haywood’s composure crumpled as he glanced at Alex. “What have we done?”

“We have loved Will as our own,” Mrs. Haywood responded. “We have cherished every second with him and gave him all we could.”

“That doesn’t make it right,” Alex said. “You robbed him of his right to grow up with me. You took from me his companionship and love. By exchanging babies, you traded your darkest days for my brightest ones. You took away the only thing I had left after my wife died. She gave her life fighting to save him, to bring him into this world. How could you do something so cruel?”

“I don’t expect you ever to forgive me,” Mrs. Haywood said. “And believe me, I wasn’t as happy as you might think. Over the years, his appearance and character became a constant reminder that he wasn’t ours. Then when he longed to explore beyond the farm, we knew we needed money. We couldn’t secure a post anywhere, so I took the chance and came here for work. After all, you were leaving the country. The income was enough to keep Will in school and the farm afloat.

“Of course, Mrs. White didn’t want Will or me anywhere near you, so she tried to send us away. Then I met you and knew without a shadow of a doubt you were Will’s father. He is your carbon copy.” A fit of coughing seized her, cutting her words. Her husband helped her to sit up, gently patting her back until the discomfort passed.

I stood beside Alex, a whirlwind of emotions raging inside me. Indignation clawed its way to the surface, but Dr. Jones’s advice echoed in my mind. “ Remember to be fair with the knowledge you have gained and to bestow mercy upon others as life has bestowed it upon you. ” I inhaled deeply, willing the anger in my chest away. Her crime, though inexcusable, was born of desperation—and desperation breeds deeds otherwise unthinkable. It would take time to come to terms with her actions, but life had happened to us both.

Mrs. Haywood gathered herself. “I can’t tell you how unrelenting my remorse has been. Many times, I considered telling Will the truth, but I feared he would despise me.”

The Count of Monte Cristo . How had I have not seen it before? “ It’s too tragic. Too much anger and revenge . . . I’d prefer it if the story focused more on Edmond’s growth and the rewards he gained from his ordeal . . . rather than dwelling on vengeance ,” Mrs. Haywood once said, speaking of Will—not Edmond Dantès.

“Will you tell him now?” Alex asked.

She nodded. “There is something else you should know.”

I held my breath, dreading what came next.

“Go on,” Alex prompted.

Mr. Haywood clasped his wife’s hand, a quiet show of support.

“Mrs. White came to me some time ago, threatening to reveal Will’s identity. I worried that, as atrocious as the truth is, she would make it worse. I feared she would place all the blame on me. And how could I refute her when I had kept silent this long? Will wouldn’t have believed me.”

“Where is White now?” Alex’s shoulders stiffened.

“That I don’t know.” Tears edged Mrs. Haywood’s eyes. “We met in random places of her choice. She had the upper hand, and I became a slave to her extortion.”

“Extortion?” I repeated, the reason behind the housekeeper’s financial strain now clear. “She’s been taking money from you, hasn’t she?”

“Money?” Mr. Haywood’s voice carried disbelief. It was clear this was news to him. “Agnes, is that true?”

“I’m sorry, Peter. I have been such a fool. Our savings are gone, and bills have accumulated. Will, somehow, found out about it.” Her eyes flicked briefly to mine, the message unmistakable. She knew I’d told him, and I sensed she also knew I’d gone through his military file. She had been the shadow watching me from the hallway. “We spoke about it yesterday. I still couldn’t tell him the truth. And when you don’t tell the truth, you lie.

“I told him I pitied Mrs. White and had loaned her money. I said that she’d threatened to tell the Sterlings that I’d helped her if I stopped providing financial aid. Will became enraged, and rightly so. He worried about his career and friendship with you, General. He reminded me how she tried to kill you and steal your fortune. And, of course, he’s also aware of the assault on Mrs. Sterling, of which I had no idea beforehand. I swear I had nothing to do with it.”

I believed her.

“Foolish woman, indeed,” Mr. Haywood lamented with a loving undercurrent. “Why didn’t you come to me? We could have face it together.”

Mrs. Haywood pressed her lips into a thin line as her tears spilled over now.

“Where is Will?” Alex inched toward the door, ready to go find him.

The Haywoods exchanged puzzled glances.

“He is in the house, isn’t he?” Mr. Haywood said.

“No, he left last night,” Alex answered.

“No!” Mrs. Haywood exclaimed, her hands clutching the bed linens. “He’s gone to find her.”

“To find White?” The idea rattled me to my bones. I did not want Will anywhere near that woman.

“Where? Tell us.” Alex demanded.

“Will knows I was supposed to meet her at Bristol station today at noon. I told her this would be the last time I would help her. She knew I was done.”

“The train station?” I said, my mind racing.

“Yes, the train station,” Mrs. Haywood sobbed.

“That’s quite a ride from here.” Alex checked his watch.

“With the police on her heels and no more money from the Haywoods, she’s going to flee the country. That’s why she chose Bristol,” I reasoned.

“Let’s go.” Alex headed for the door.

“I’ll come with you,” Mr. Haywood offered, rising from his seat.

“No, dear.” Mrs. Haywood held on to his hand. “You’ll only slow them down.”

Mr. Haywood hesitated, glancing between us and his wife, torn.

“Stay with your wife.” Alex stepped into the corridor. “We’ll handle this.”

“Don’t worry,” I added. “We’ll find him.”

“I now know that whatever happens, my son will be all right, and that’s all that matters.” Mrs. Haywood sighed wearily, her shoulders slumping as she closed her eyes.

I couldn’t imagine the guilt and crippling anxiety she must have felt.