Page 15 of Written in Secret (The Art of Love and Danger)

C HAPTER 15

L ONG AFTER D ETECTIVE H ALL LEFT with the letter, Lydia sat at the table, numb. No, numb wasn’t an adequate description. A maelstrom of emotions—fury, guilt, grief, fear, and more she couldn’t put names to—twisted and knotted her insides so tightly that she doubted she’d ever eat again.

Marcus scooted the cup of tea she’d shoved aside back in front of her. “At least drink this. Your father said it would help.”

More like send her into oblivion. But she didn’t deserve that. No, she deserved this misery. For all her life, she would remember Billy Poe’s words. They were seared onto her memory like a cattle brand.

My dearest Lydia,

When I first read “Shadow in the Night,” I knew we had something special. With your pen and my sword, we can right the wrongs of Cincinnati. Do not fear for your safety. I am near and diligently protecting you. When the time is right, I will retrieve you, and the future we’ve longed for will be ours to create. Together.

Ever yours,

Billy Poe

Acid burned in Lydia’s throat.

This man truly believed himself to be a purveyor of justice—and the sword to her pen.

Detective Hall was right.

She was responsible. Her words had corrupted a soul.

And now some madman believed they belonged together like some bizarre pairing of wine and rat poison.

Marcus lifted the cup nearer her face.

The sweet aroma of Papa’s concoction filled her nose. She gagged and pushed it away, sloshing the green-tinged liquid onto the table.

Marcus set the cup aside. “Please, Lydia. I know you’re worried for your safety, but I won’t let anything happen to you. None of us will. Even Detective Lawson has vowed to ensure you are safely transported elsewhere. No one is going to harm you.”

For a man who edited fiction for a living, Marcus had a severe lack of understanding of this situation. Of course someone was going to try to harm her. The only question was who would get to her first—Cincinnati or Billy Poe?

Billy Poe might have delusions of love now, but once she condemned his actions, would he turn on the creator of his vigilante world and write her ending? Would he stab her to death with a pen? Or perhaps he’d slice her with a million paper cuts and then douse her with vinegar so her agony would be drawn out. That might be extreme, but if her mind came up with it, would his? What if he didn’t believe her denouncement of his actions? Would he enact the plot of her romance books and kidnap her to make her his bride? Would he even recognize he fulfilled the villain’s role instead of the hero’s? There were so many ways she could write this, and none of them were experiences she desired.

And what would he do while he waited to kill or kidnap her? Four books still remained for him to choose from to enact her version of justice. Four men whose lives were at risk because she had deemed they should die. She was going to vomit again.

She swallowed the bile and rose from the chair. “Thank you for coming, but you should go.”

Marcus clasped her hand. “You know I couldn’t stay away, not once I saw what Clemens published. I knew those people would come for you.”

Those people.

She shivered. It felt like a lifetime ago that she’d watched their veiled figures picket her stoop. Had it really been only a few hours? She no longer heard the chants echoing down the hall, largely thanks to Detective Lawson. Detective Hall had skedaddled from the house as quickly as his feet would carry him, under the guise of taking the letter back to the station as evidence. But not before he’d interrogated Marcus like he was Billy Poe.

Lydia studied Marcus for herself. With brows furrowed deep enough to plant corn in, hazel eyes pinched with anxiety, and lips downturned, he didn’t strike her as a murderer. His large hand encompassed hers with a firm, protective grip—so much like the heroes she’d created. He couldn’t possibly be guilty. He was too kind and far too worried about her because of the threats Cincinnati and Billy Poe posed. Delivering the letter did not make him a villain.

Neither did it make him a hero.

She slipped her hand from his. “Thank you for your concern, but my family will be safe. We’re staying with—” She bit down on the information. He might not be Billy Poe, but she didn’t want anyone to know their new location. She’d put her family in enough danger.

Marcus frowned. “With whom? I can be sure to check on you there.”

“I’ll contact you when I can. You understand that I cannot take any unnecessary risks for the sake of my family.”

“It’s only me. I won’t divulge the information to anyone else.” When she continued to hold back, hurt edged the earnestness in his face. “I kept your secret about Dupin for three years. Do you not trust me?”

“Please forgive me, but I cannot even trust myself. I’m sure we won’t be away for more than a few days. I’ll contact you when we return.”

He nodded, though a puppy with its bone taken away couldn’t have looked more crestfallen.

He left through the back, and Papa appeared in the kitchen doorway. “It’s time to leave. Detective Lawson will escort you, Madelyn, and your mother to the Planes’ while I sort out this mess with the window.”

“My bag—”

“Is already packed and loaded into the carriage. Go out the front and straight to your seat.”

Lydia hesitated. “Papa?”

His unusually impatient glare demanded she obey immediately.

“I just want to say, you were right. I wrongfully justified my actions so that I could achieve what I wanted, and others have paid the consequence for those decisions.” A tear slipped out as the fullness of it weighed upon her. “I could have written anything, anything at all, but I chose to rewrite their stories and kill them, because I thought my plan for justice was better than God’s.”

“Oh, my dear girl.” He pulled her into a hug and sighed. “Acknowledging that we have done wrong is the first step toward forgiveness and restoration. Confess it to Christ and then allow Him to begin the work of changing you. It won’t be easy and it will hurt, but discipline is meant to restore us to each other and to Him. Don’t mistake that discipline for not loving you. Because we do. God and I love you so very much.” His voice grew thick, and he released her from their embrace. “Now get outside. Each moment you delay is a risk to your sister and mother.”

Lydia nodded, her throat too tight for words.

When she reached the door, onlookers gathered across the street, where officers held them at bay. Mr. Clemens stood among them. She stopped walking and fisted her skirts. Billy Poe might exist because of her, but this mob existed because of him. He’d been the one to turn the fury of Cincinnati toward her family, and she’d love nothing more than to retrieve the brick from her parlor and show him her fury. Her conscience twinged. Cincinnati’s unrest was a consequence of her actions. She would not shift the blame to someone else. Even him.

Detective Lawson grasped her arm and created a protective barrier as he ushered her into the closed carriage. “Keep the shade drawn and your head away from the window.”

Once she claimed her seat next to Madelyn, he shut the door, and the carriage dipped as if he’d swung up top with the driver.

So much secrecy and protection needed for her family, all because one reporter couldn’t keep his mouth shut. Of course, if she’d just come forward at the beginning, this situation might have been avoided. She cringed. She’d already apologized to Detective Hall yesterday, but she owed Detective Lawson an apology as well.

All through the ride, Lydia’s mind turned over Billy Poe’s words. Did she share in the responsibility for those men’s deaths? Would Billy have acted without her words? If she’d never written them—if she’d only written her romance stories—would the men still be alive?

The ride to Theresa’s took twice as long as normal and varied in speeds from heart-racing to plodding as they wended a path she’d never taken.

Detective Lawson handed her down onto the drive of the castle-like home. “I’m sorry for the unusual ride, ladies, but there were several people attempting to tail us. We’ve lost them, but I suggest staying away from windows and refraining from venturing out of doors.”

“Thank you, Detective Lawson,” Momma said before she bustled past, ushering Madelyn inside.

Lydia held back.

“Please, Miss Pelton. I need you to adhere to my advice.”

“I will. I just wanted to apologize for what I have cost this investigation by my silence. It was wrong of me, and I ask for your forgiveness.”

“There is nothing to forgive. I understand that you did what you thought was best to protect yourself and your family. I am only sorry that we could not preserve your secret.”

“You are too kind, but being exposed is only what I deserve.”

He offered a compassionate smile. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. We all have our secrets. Now go inside and stay away from the windows. Detective Hall and I will see to it that this case ends quickly so you can go back to writing your stories.”

Lydia thanked him again, but it sounded as hollow as she felt.

Papa had said acknowledging her wrongdoing was the first step toward forgiveness and restoration, but was it too late? Four men were dead. Her silence had delayed the police from searching in the right direction. If another man died … Christ might forgive her, but could she forgive herself? And what about justice? What did that look like now? She had a lot to consider over the next few days of hiding, and she suspected that this period of self-reflection was going to be exceedingly miserable.