Hope Between the Pages by Pepper Basham (ebook reader for surface pro .txt) 📕

Chapter 25

Taking a trail through the forest, the hour-long walk to Camden House afforded me alone time. Time to allow the ebb and flow of myriad emotions. Anger, loss, pain, denial—all swirled through me at random. Half my prayer erupted as cries, even screams, to God, and the other half dissolved into murmurs that only God could have understood. What was He doing in this? How was He working good from this? Why would He have brought me all the way to England to give my heart to Oliver only to take him away?

And now, as the lights of Camden House shone into the sunset shadows, my loss, my grief, twisted into a deeper sting. Betrayal.

The same butler answered the door, his brows barely flickering when he saw me standing in my day dress before him without invitation.

“Did you come for your telegram, miss?”

I refused to answer until he looked at me. “I came to speak to Mrs. Camden and retrieve any post that belongs to me.”

His expression marked confusion, but with skill honed from years of cloaking his emotions, he gave little away—only enough for me to realize Mrs. Camden had not made the staff privy of her deception.

“Mrs. Camden is not seeing anyone at present. She is ill.”

Oh no, she’d not get away with this. Grief or no. “Would you mind retrieving my mail for me, please, Mr. Drake.”

He bent his head in assent. As soon as he turned the corner, I dashed down the hallway, moving past room after room, until I found her in some sort of sitting room, a maid at her side. Her pristine appearance boasted control, from sculpted hairstyle to the tip of black velvet skirt. She sat in the shadows of the room, handkerchief in hand, waving it about as if she was having some sort of nervous fit.

Two months ago, I would never have dared confront someone of her station, but I was no longer the woman I’d once been. My shoes clipped the hardwood as I marched into the room.

The maid almost lost her hold on the teakettle in her hand. Mrs. Camden’s head swiveled about like an owl’s, her dark eyes widening before closing into serpentine slits. “What are you doing here?”

“How dare you.” I came to a stop a few feet from her, my gaze holding hers with as much intensity. “All these weeks? You stole my mail.”

Her expression didn’t so much as quiver. “You stole my son.”

I rocked back on my heels as if slapped. “I stole your son?”

“He would never have married you, had he been in his right mind.” She pushed to a stand, facing me. “He knew his place. His station. Until you came along and bewitched him.”

“Bewitched him?” A humorless laugh burst from me before I could stop it. “Your son chose to love me and give me his name.”

“He would never have given up his situation had it not been for you.” Her voice trembled with an almost palpable rage. “You took him from his rightful place. You forced him to give up his family for the likes of you.”

“Clearly, you didn’t know your son.” I stood taller, refusing to break eye contact. “He never cared for the veneer of life that you forced upon him. He wanted freedom to live as he thought best for his own virtues. That is the reason he gave up his inheritance. His choice, as a grown man who is free to make such choices. And you…” I shifted a step closer, my eyes stinging with renewed tears. “You had no right to take my telegrams, to read the private letters from a husband to his wife.”

“Wife?” Something flickered in her eyes, dangerous and wild. Her soft laugh pushed a chill through me. “You are only his wife if I say you are.”

“I know who I am. I am Oliver’s wife, and you can’t change that.”

“Can you prove it?” Her eyes took on a glossy look, her smile twitching, false and sinister.

And what I had feared when I’d first considered Mrs. Camden’s villainy suddenly crystallized before me in her merciless sneer. She possession of my marriage certificate.

“I have witnesses.”

She chuckled again, a sound almost growl-like. “Lest you forget, Miss Blackwell, the former clergyman has been reassigned somewhere very far away. Quite suddenly, I believe, after this ill-conceived wedding of yours.”

My face cooled, my pulse hammered. “Mr. Camden was there.”

“You would hang your hope on Mr. Camden’s testimony?” She shook her head and slowly returned to her seat. “Or Helen’s? They have no real power here.”

“And what control do you have over the Almighty? Who witnessed everything and knows what vows were spoken.”

Her eyes flashed. “By all means, bring Him forward and let Him testify.” She folded her hands together in her lap, the silence dealing a deafening blow. “Poor Sadie Blackwell. Who are you now, when everything is stripped away?”

“Why are you doing this?”

“You took him from me.” She launched back to her feet. “You turned him against me, making me a laughingstock among my peers. My son! Marry a maid ? I will not have you become a smudge on our family’s name or history.”

“If you loved your son at all, you would be more concerned with his wishes than your own.”

“His name is what matters. Five years from now, if I have my way, you’ll be forgotten from this place.” She leveled those dark eyes on me, their coldness inciting a tremble over my skin. “By giving up his inheritance, he left little for your future, and with no legitimate documentation of the marriage in our little hamlet, I can ensure that it never happened.”

No legitimate documentation? The church! The fire? Two days ago? I examined her, a sense of dread nearly weakening me to the floor. Could she have been the one? The wild look in her eyes, her erratic behavior, stalled my arguments. Had her grief and hatred plunged her into madness? Power, an unsound mind, and a bitter