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br /> “There was another Philip Sidney,” she explained. “Sir Philip Sidney, and he was one of my heroes. About the time of Queen Elizabeth, I think. There was a situation where a lot of people were dying, after a battle. They were very short of water. Someone came to him and offered him a flask. He was dying and he said to take it to another man near him who might live.”
Patrick was watching her; the tenderness in his face startled her. She turned away, tears in her eyes, but she reached out a hand to him and he held it too tightly for her to take it back. Not that she wanted to.
“You’re right,” he said. “The name is far too good for him. I resent his soiling it. I’m sorry I have to expose it, but I do.”
“I know. But how?”
“I’ll find a way. The Thorwoods are over here, you know?”
She stared at him. “You didn’t tell them there was any hope…? How could you? They’ll expect something, and there isn’t anything more that…is there?”
“Don’t you ever finish a sentence?” he asked.
“Don’t change the subject! What did you tell them?”
“I didn’t tell them anything,” Patrick replied. They both knew the Thorwood family quite well, in spite of the vast difference in wealth and social station between them. Patrick had had occasion to help Tobias Thorwood professionally on several occasions. Jemima had met Rebecca at an exhibition of British portraiture at the British Embassy. She had seen Rebecca alone in front of a portrait of Anne Boleyn, looking puzzled. Jemima had spoken to her, offering a historical explanation of Henry VIII and his six wives, and then his three children, who had inherited his crown, one by one, lastly the brilliant and long-lived Elizabeth.
They had toured the rest of the exhibition together and become friends from then on.
“The Thorwoods being here has got nothing to do with me, or Philip Sidney,” Patrick said.
“What, then?”
“Aunt May Trelawny.”
“Aunt May…”
“Trelawny,” Patrick repeated. “She was Rebecca’s godmother. She lived somewhere in the Channel Islands and died recently.”
“Not Cornwall?” Jemima said. “Trelawny—it’s a Cornish name. Why is Rebecca here now when you are pursuing Sidney?” Jemima was suspicious, and she knew she sounded it.
Patrick’s smile was definitely twisted. “I suppose it could be Cornwall. And Rebecca is here in her role as heir to her godmother.”
“I’m sorry. That’s very sad,” Jemima replied. “Whatever the estate is, if Rebecca cared for her godmother, I’m sure she would rather have her alive. It’s another blow. Poor Rebecca.”
“I know where they’re staying in London. You could go and see her—as long as you don’t say anything about Sidney, of course. I hope he won’t dare show his face.”
“Hardly! London’s a very big city. It’s difficult enough to find anyone if you want to, never mind if you don’t. Except if you know where they live or what parties or clubs they go to.”
“I shouldn’t think Rebecca would be going to any parties. But it’s important they be here. If I manage to find something to charge Sidney with, and get him tried…”
“Patrick,” she said gently, trying not to sound as frightened as she felt. “Are you sure this is right?”
“Right?” he said with surprise. “Do you think it’s right that Sidney get away with it, Jem? He broke into Rebecca’s home, entered her bedroom in the middle of the night! He assaulted Rebecca in her own bed! Ripped her nightclothes and tore the pendant off her neck, the one that her aunt May left her, a diamond, although that’s not why it’s of value to her. It’s because it was Aunt May’s. He stole it right from around her neck and she still has the scar. Heaven knows what else he would have done, if she hadn’t screamed. He ran, and Tobias Thorwood saw him. There’s no doubt who it was. Tobias saw him quite clearly.”
“I know! That’s not what I meant.” She tried very hard to keep her voice level, but she was deeply distressed for Rebecca. She could hardly even imagine how Rebecca had felt, and was still feeling—the nightmares she must still have. Jemima had never for a moment forgotten how kind Rebecca had been when she was new in Washington. She had been a stranger to America, only just beginning to find her way in New York when Patrick was offered a promotion and the corresponding raise in salary if he moved to Washington. Jemima was proud of him, and certainly pleased for him to get more. She was not used to managing on relatively little. She had tried desperately hard not to let him know that, but the financial struggle was never very far from her mind.
But the change had been a difficult one, especially with a small and very demanding baby. It was Rebecca Thorwood who, ever since the meeting at the exhibition, had been the friend who was never too busy to help, too impatient to listen, or too full of judgment to be gentle with Jemima’s tears or forgetfulness, or the occasional bout of longing for the familiarities of home.
Now Jemima wanted not only what was just, but what would give Rebecca the chance of healing, whether that involved punishment for Philip Sidney or not.
Patrick was waiting, and not with a lot of patience. “What did you mean?”
She shut her eyes so as not to see his face and be distracted. She was still very much in love, even though she knew him better and better every day. She knew his quirks; she did not see them as faults. There was still something magical in seeing him come home every evening, and hearing his laugh, waking up beside him in the morning.
She chose her words carefully. “Are you sure that exposing what happened in court is really best for Rebecca? If you accuse somebody and take them to trial, they have the right to a defense. The only other person who knows what this was is Rebecca…”
“So?”
