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Chapter 27
The following morning, Charlotte announced to her mother and father that she was no longer under suspicion for the murder of her cousin, Brooks. At this, her mother collapsed from her chair; the fainting salts were fetched and swept over her nose to bring her back. Slowly, Charlotte assisted the maid in making her mother comfortable in the parlour, while her father paced back and forth in the magic light that swam in from the window.
“What happened?” he demanded. “Charles Baxter isn’t after you?”
“He’s arrested the mystic and her associate, Sampson,” Charlotte affirmed.
Her father furrowed his brow. He seemed almost disappointed, as though he took pleasure in building a case for his daughter, fighting for her rights.
“So, it’s over?” he asked.
“I suppose so,” Charlotte said.
“Oh, dear me,” her mother chimed in. She lifted a fan and swept it across her face. “I cannot imagine what sort of pain a trial like that might have been. I would have spent a great deal more time on the floor in a fugue state. I am sure about that.”
“How can we be sure? That it’s over, I mean,” her father asked.
Charlotte gave a slight shrug. “You can believe me, I suppose …”
But her father didn’t seem to give much power to her words until Charles Baxter himself arrived that afternoon to apologize to Charlotte and deliver the news of his captured criminals. In Charlotte’s mind, his words seemed overzealous and braggadocious. He seemed altogether pleased to announce what he’d done and how well he’d done it, while leaving out Jeffrey and Charlotte’s assistance.
Still, Charlotte was just glad it was over.
Over the following days, however, gossip swirled ominously throughout the town and surrounding counties, so much so that Charlotte’s mother insisted that they lay low for several weeks.
“People have suggested that you were in some way involved with the mystic?” she demanded of Charlotte once over dinner.
“That’s insane, Mother. I hate the mystic,” Charlotte said. “The mystic started some of the greatest drama of my life. Because of her, I very nearly spent the remainder of my life in prison.”
Her mother paused for a moment, blinked down, then recuperated. She seemed unwilling to admit she’d been wrong.
“But beyond that, they believe that this Jeffrey fellow had something to do with his brother’s murder and wanted to pin it on the mystic?” her mother said.
“No. That’s absolutely incorrect,” Charlotte said, heaving a sigh.
“Then why did my dear sister tell me that?”
“She’s clearly misinformed,” Charlotte announced. “I don’t suppose it’s her fault.”
Her mother clucked her tongue. “Still. I don’t know how much I trust this Jeffrey. He disappeared for years after his brother’s death. Now, he reports to Charles Baxter that the same people to blame for Brooks’ death are to blame for his brother’s. I don’t know how much sense there is behind all that.”
“There’s a great deal of sense, Mother,” Charlotte said.
Suffice it to say, Charlotte kept her head down throughout the next weeks, seeing almost no one beyond Louisa and Margorie, who came to her estate frequently to discuss Margorie’s approaching wedding. These brief times were essential for Charlotte’s mental health, as she very much felt as though the rest of the world had abandoned her.
She hadn’t heard much from Jeffrey—only the spare letter here and there. She questioned if the lust they’d shared had been only that—lust—if the words they’d spoken to one another had little bearing beyond the reality they’d crafted through their investigation.
Now that the mystic had been captured, perhaps Charlotte had to return to her previous life forever. This filled her with an impossible amount of dread. She hadn’t realized how much stock she’d put in her love for Jeffrey—how much she’d visualized their future. She regretted this, now. She felt like Louisa: a tiny bit idiotic when it came to love. She’d always assumed she was much brighter than all that.
Charlotte had tried multiple times to scribe Jeffrey a letter, one to explain the inner aching of her heart. Each time she sat, the words felt like scribbles, and she formed a ball with the paper and tossed it in the trash. She tried to meditate on the idea of finding someone new to love, given the fact that, in actuality, she’d rather liked the feeling.
Still, she felt she couldn’t easily replace Jeffrey.
**
Jeffrey hadn’t heard from Charlotte.
He sat in his now finished mansion, gazing out the window of his study, his heart dipping low in his chest. He’d just received word from Charles Baxter. The two criminals, Sampson and Florentia, were now on track to pay for their crimes—for both the murder of his brother and the murder of Brooks. This pleased Jeffrey a great deal, although he was surprised at how tremendously disheartened he remained.
