His gaze now drifted to the house. Upstairs, there was no light in any of the rooms. The sitting room and their bedroom were in complete darkness. His life’s work was gone, and so, it would seem, was his wife.
She had made good on both of her threats. His paintings were gone; but far worse than that, Leah had returned to her family. She had chosen them over him. Their marriage had been a lie.
He turned and staggered out into the laneway. The dark of night was his only ally as it hid the tears which streamed down his face. He was struck dumb, his mind a whirl of uncertainty. There was only one thing he did know— he had to get away.
The sun was already working its way up the morning sky when James woke. He was lying under a tree along the banks of the River Thames, a near-empty bottle of whisky still clutched in his hand.
He had staggered in a daze from the house down to his old haunt,The Riverside. The irony that he’d chosen to get blind drunk at the exact same tavern that he and Guy used to frequent was not lost on him. He craved the comfort of familiar surroundings and old habits.
Rolling over onto his side, he struggled to his knees. When his head protested at the sight of the whisky bottle, he sat his drink on the ground. The whisky poured out, but he didn’t bother to right the bottle.
“I think I hurt enough,” he muttered.
The whisky had been his friend in the early hours of the morning, numbing him to the pain of loss, but now it only served to punish him. His head throbbed.
The bustle of busy London went on all around him. Carriages passed by, as did countless people. Everyone was going about their business. Lives continued.
He wondered if it was only his life which had suddenly stopped.
His mouth was dry, and his empty stomach growled. He hadn’t eaten anything since noon the previous day.
“Fuck.”
He should be at work by now, not nursing a hangover. Francis would skin him if he abandoned him to the task of cleaning up the shipping orders on his own.
All he wanted to do was lay down and die.
“How did it come to this?” he muttered.
A dozen theories spun ’round in his mind. Tobias Shepherd had made Leah burn the shed down. No, Guy Dannon had done it. Both of those ideas, while unpalatable, were still better than the thought that the woman he loved had turned traitor and betrayed him.
He began to walk. One foot painfully in front of the other. After finally making his way up from the river bank and to the street, he stopped.
There were many places he could go at this point. He could go back to the tavern and force himself to imbibe once more, thus waking up under the same tree this time tomorrow. But he felt sick enough, so that held little appeal.
He could hail a hack and arrive in his current disheveled state at his uncle’s shipping office, where no doubt he would be told to go home and not return until he was in a fit state.
“Or you could just walk home, sober up, and face reality.”
That last option, while being the least appealing, was the obvious choice. James had nothing left to lose.
He went home.
Chapter Forty-Nine
James stepped through the front door of the house and was met by the butler. He had hoped to slip in quietly, go to bed, and get some sleep before facing up to the aftermath of the fire and Leah’s departure.
“Good morning, Mister Radley. Shall I have cook make you some breakfast?”
He perked up at the thought of food. He would be able to think a little clearer after some sustenance. “Yes please.”
He had taken a step toward the staircase, when he stopped. There was no point in delaying the inevitable.
“Has my wife returned to the house this morning?” James asked.
“As far as I am aware, Mrs. Radley is still at home this morning. She had a difficult night, but her maid tells me she is up and about,” he replied.
Leah was home.
