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Liam’s face kept coming into her mind, and she couldn’t push it away, no matter how hard she tried. She closed her eyes, for what difference did it make in darkness such as that? She soon fell asleep and awoke a few hours later, as the carriage slowed outside the prison.
Wiping the sleep from her eyes, Elizabeth jumped up to be led out of the carriage and into the prison. It appeared that all had been made aware of her arrival, for the men simply allowed her to pass. There were no questions, no outstretched hands to block her way, and she moved through the prison gates like a night breeze, softly, calmly. She wanted to rush, but she found her body could not move quickly. It was like she was walking her own death march, and soon, she met up with a tall, dark-clad man with keys in his hand.
“Lady Darling, I am Horatio. I am here to take you to your father.”
“Thank you, Sir,” she said softly. Her voice sounded not her own. She was fatigued as well as still in disbelief. She watched the back of his dark coat as he led her through the moistened stone hallways. In the gloom, she could see figures in their beds tossing and turning. She could hear the soft groans of nightly despair from nearly all corners of the prison, and at one point, needed to lift her handkerchief to her nose to keep out the smell.
Horatio saw this and said, “I am sorry, my Lady. We have taken you through the best route.”
“There are worse?” she asked with disbelief.
“I am afraid so. Your father is in an entirely different section, set aside especially for those prisoners the King has an affection for.”
She nodded but thought how silly the king should have an affection for her father when his own daughter wondered at her lack of feeling at the prospect of his looming death. She kept silent while making it through the first stone corridor, out over a flat dark expanse, and then into a new corridor, with wooden doors.
Horatio paused in front of one of them and pushed the key inside. “Your father may be resting, but your aunt is here as well to comfort him. The prison chaplain is also inside to be with him.”
“Thank you,” she said again, for lack of anything better to say. Inside, there was only one candle lit, but it was shining on the pale, moist face of her father. To her surprise, shock and sadness struck her in the heart, and she clutched at a nearby chair to keep herself steady.
Aunt Mildred stood up and rushed to her niece’s side. Elizabeth could tell she’d been crying. “Elizabeth! Your father will be so glad to have you here! Come and sit.” Reluctantly, Elizabeth allowed herself to be pushed forward and sat in front of her father’s sleeping form.
Gently, Mildred tapped her brother, and he stirred, his same cold eyes looking at Elizabeth with recognition. “Daughter, you have heeded my letter. Good. That is good.” His voice was rough and dry, and between words, Elizabeth could hear the rasping in his chest. It would not be long now.
“Yes, Father, I have come.”
“And what have you to say for yourself?” Even on the brink of death, Lord Mortimer Darling was still poised, still traditional, and still unfeeling.
Elizabeth sighed, feeling strange that her future had now been decided, and explained it all. “I have engaged myself, father, to the laird of the strongest clan in Scotland.” She watched him close his eyes and nod with satisfaction. “You do not need to find me a husband; I have done so on my own. We shall be married when all is settled here.”
“Good,” he breathed. “Would this be John Campbell?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Strange that you should select him, or that he should select you after the death of his brother, but ah well. It will have to do. You will be helpful to England, will you not, Elizabeth? Help them create strongholds in Scotland with your power as the new Lady Campbell.”
Elizabeth nodded. “I will, Father.”
“Good.” He tapped her lightly on the fingertips. She looked down in surprise. It was not usual for her father to make any sort of affection embrace, and she knew that he must be sick, indeed, if he was finding ways to approve of her actions. “Your mother will be proud. I shall alert the solicitor.”
“But Father,” Elizabeth began, but he cut her off.
“I have already written the letter.” Pointing to the side, he motioned to Horatio, who grabbed the letter in hand and left wordlessly. “I am sending the information to him tonight. You will go to visit him in Church Street tomorrow and collect what is yours.”
Elizabeth was angry that tears were budding at the corners of her eyes. Everything was now so final. She could hear the soft sobs of his sister behind her, and he glanced at her with a faint flash of his old annoyance. “Do well, Elizabeth. Be a lady, and do not forget the proper things you have been taught. I feared that Scotland would ruin you, but you have caught yourself a laird. Very promising, indeed.”
He began to struggle more and more with words, and Elizabeth could see his chest tremble as it fought for breath. She clenched her hands together in her lap. It had been difficult enough to watch her mother die, but also to see her last parent die before her? What a sad fate for an only child.
She didn’t know what to say to him in parting. There were no words left to her. He had done her wrong time and time again, and many others. There was no comfort she felt she could give; however, she endeavored to think of something. While she struggled, her father turned his eye once more to her and said, “You are a good girl, Elizabeth,” before breathing out his final breath and then laying still.
Elizabeth blinked in shock at the limp, bony figure of her father. She turned to her aunt, who burst into a fresh bout of tears. Elizabeth found herself cooing and comforting the older woman while keeping her one eye on her father’s deceased form.
It was over now. Her father was gone, and she was now mostly alone in the world, set to do her duty even after his death. As she kept her arm on her aunt’s shoulder, she said, “We shall sort everything together, Aunt. We shall begin preparations tomorrow, but we must go to the solicitor tomorrow.” Tomorrow. The prospect seemed strange, with a dead man lying before her. She wiped a tear from her eye and said softly to herself, “Tomorrow.”
