My Sister's Prayer (38 page)

“The two of you might be going hungry tonight unless you leave now,” she warned her brother instead. “If you're lucky, you'll at least get a bowl of soup. Ask for bread and cheese too, after you tell Mr. Edwards who you are.”

The thought of food made her stomach growl. Anything warm would be more than welcome. She didn't know how she would survive the night if she had to remain as she was. Every inch of her body hurt. Every inch of her skin was wet and cold. And it would soon be pitch-black.

Emmanuel interrupted her thoughts. “I'm not worried about food. I need to speak to the constable.”

“Perhaps Spenser isn't having any success getting him down here. It might not hurt to go up to the jail instead.”

A rustling distracted her. “No one needs to go anywhere.” It was Jones's voice. “Miss Talbot, Spenser tells me you have company.”

“Yes.”

Jones came around so she could see his boots and legs.

Emmanuel stepped forward and introduced himself. Celeste searched the ground, hoping to see Spenser's legs as well, but it seemed he hadn't returned.

“Could you unlock me so we could talk?”

“I can't do that. You're sentenced to spend the night.”

Tears stung Celeste's eyes.

“This is unconscionable,” Emmanuel said. “You can't leave a lady out in the elements like this.”

“Lady? More like attempted murderess. Liar. And thief.”

“Thief?”

“She didn't tell you about the jewelry? The brooch? The ruby ring?”

Emmanuel sunk down to his knees in the mud, his face next to Celeste's. “You didn't.”

She scowled, willing him to be quiet and wishing she'd brought up the ring before Jones returned. “Shhh,” she hissed. “I'll explain later.”

“I was afraid you took it,” Emmanuel said, ignoring her admonition, “but Maman kept saying there's no way you would have done such a thing.”

She was about to shush him again when she realized that his testimony could work to her advantage. “I already told the constables it was Maman's, and our great-grandmother's before that, but they wouldn't believe me. They claim it's too valuable to have come from the family of an indentured servant.” She paused for a moment, realizing she needed to explain the rest. “I used it to buy Berta's freedom from Madame Wharton, in Norfolk. But then Constable Wharton came back and accused me of stealing the ring. At the same time, he reclaimed Berta as his property.”

“I see,” Emmanuel said. Then, to her surprise, he looked to Jones and asked the man if he would excuse them for a moment. With a huff, the constable turned and stomped off, his boots sloshing in the mud as he went.

From the sound of things, he didn't go all that far before stopping. Emmanuel leaned in closer to Celeste.

For a moment she wondered if she could trust him, but then she scolded herself. Of course she could. He was her brother, raised by her parents. He had her best interests in mind. He was certainly far more trustworthy than she was.

He lowered his voice to a whisper. “That ring is even more valuable than you think, Celeste. Are you aware that it originally came from King Henri IV? He gave it to our great-great-grandfather.”

“How do you know?” she gasped, her heart sick.

“Maman has the note that came with it, signed by the king himself and embossed with his seal. Her grandmother sent it before she died. Maman showed it to me once she realized the ring was gone. It's a thank-you note for the handling of some very important legal matter, and it mentions the ring specifically. Along the lines of, ‘I know you refused payment for your services on the basis of our friendship, but it is on the basis of that friendship that I give you this ruby ring as a gift of thanks.' Considering that his words provide provenance straight from the throne, I'd say that piece of jewelry is worth quite a lot.”

Celeste's face burned, her guilt and shame only compounded by this new knowledge. “I don't suppose you brought that letter with
you?” she asked meekly, thinking that if he had, they could use it in her defense as proof of ownership.

“Of course not. Why would I?”

“I don't know,” she said miserably, her eyes welling with tears.

He leaned back on his heels. “I can't believe you stole it,” he said with a shake of his head, no longer whispering.

“Yes, but I stole it from Maman, not from whom they are saying I did. You need to make them understand that—though they may not believe you, either.”

“Of course they will.” He put his head in his hands for a moment. “I just can't believe you no longer have it.”

“Don't think about that now, Emmanuel. And you would have done the same, right? Used it to save a loved one?”

He nodded as he pulled his hands down his face, a glimmer returning to his eyes. “Of course.” He turned and called out to Jones. “What my sister has told you is true. The ring belonged to our mother. Celeste stole it from her before she left England.”

“Yes, well, you'll need to convince Wharton of that.” By the tone of Jones's voice, Celeste realized, it sounded as though he still needed convincing as well.

“Invite him to supper,” she whispered.

“And leave you alone? Like this? In the dark?”

“I'll be fine—well, at least not any worse than I already am. I need you to go and do what you do best.”

This situation was delicate, and she knew that if her brother was to be believed, he would have to establish a relationship of sorts with the others first. That meant sticking around the inn, dining, talking, sharing tales, laughing, and making friends. George wasn't exactly gregarious, but everyone would love Emmanuel; people always did. If anyone could finesse this situation, given enough time, it was he. Meeting his eyes, she tried to communicate as much.

“Go on. I'll see you in the morning. Really, I'll be fine.”

He studied her face for a long moment, silent communication passing between them. Then he looked over at Jones. “So, Constable?” he called out, “Can I buy you some supper at the inn?”

“Why not?” Jones replied matter-of-factly, as if he weren't thrilled on the inside. Relief flooded Celeste's veins, for she knew nothing on earth warmed that man's heart faster than food.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Still squatting in front of her, Emmanuel nodded but then hesitated before leaving. “I just wish I understood how you could have done such a thing in the first place.”

Her eyes welled. “Maman always told me the ring would be mine one day.” She blinked, sending tears down her cheeks. “But I know I was wrong to take it. I was wrong about so many things.”

With a soft grunt, Emmanuel reached out and gently wiped away her tears. His hand lingered at her cheek, though whether in comfort or absolution she wasn't sure.

“I'll do what I can.”

Then he rose and stepped to Jones's side. She listened to the smack of their footsteps in the mud as they left her, the sound receding into the night until only the patter of rain remained.

Please, Lord, help him win them over and soften their hearts toward me.

Celeste wanted to feel optimistic, but as the darkness continued to fall, she began crying again, hot tears streaming down her cheeks and mixing with raindrops. Her head hanging low, her body shaking uncontrollably, she licked the salt from her face and tried to think about happier times, but those thoughts only made her cry more.

Eventually, her tears came to an end, as did the rain. With her aching eyes fixed on the dark and muddy ground in front of her, she imagined the night sky above and what Spenser would say about it. How he would find the Big Dipper and then point out the North Star.

Where was her North Star? If Berta could bear the trip home, perhaps George would still marry Celeste. But then again, perhaps he hadn't come in pursuit of her at all but only as a favor to Emmanuel. He hadn't indicated in any way in their brief interaction that he still cared for her. She couldn't blame him if he wanted nothing to do with her ever again. It was clearly what she deserved. She owed him an apology. She knew now what it felt like to be jilted.

Celeste braced herself for the long night, knowing she wouldn't be
able to sleep. Sometimes Papa would talk about how brave Maman was back in France, how she'd stood up to both dragoons and royalty. How she rode her horse into the wild to save her cousin. With pride, Papa spoke about how fearless Maman had been. How she never would have denied her faith, no matter the persecution. Maman would say, “That's enough, dear. I only did what anyone would have. What you did too.”

“But you did it alone,” Papa would say. “You were so brave.”

Celeste knew she would never be brave like that.

She'd heard of Huguenots in France being tortured, often until death. She couldn't compare her circumstances to that or what her mother had survived either. She wasn't being persecuted for her faith. Only her stupidity. She'd brought it all on herself.

“Stupide,”
she said, mimicking her mother.

She caught the flicker of a lantern out of the corner of her eye. “No,” a voice said. “You're courageous.”

“Spenser?”

“Yes, it's me.”

“What are you doing?”

“I came to keep you company. I saw Emmanuel and George at the inn and told them to eat and rest, that I would watch over you.”

Her tears started again and a sob shook her.

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No,” she managed to say. “P-please stay.”

He put the lantern down, took her wet cloak from her back, and spread a dry blanket over her shoulders, tucking it around her as best he could.

“Here,” he said gently, unwrapping a cloth napkin to reveal a thick piece of bread, which he held to her lips. Despite her tears, she bit into it hungrily. She'd had nothing to eat for hours.

Her sobs subsided as she chewed. When she'd managed to down the whole piece, Spenser tried to give her some water as well, though the angle of her head didn't make it easy.

“Thank you,” she whispered once she'd finally had enough.

“You're welcome,” he replied, wiping her wet chin with the napkin and then tucking it away in his pocket.

Next, he spread an oiled cloth over the mud and scooted it under her feet. He moved the lantern closer and took out a book from under his coat, sitting down on the far edge of the cloth.

“What about your work?”

“I'll make it up later. For now, I've brought a book of prayers.”

“Anglican?” she asked, expecting what she'd heard in the parish church.

“No,” he answered. It was a small volume. “It belonged to my father. I thought reading would make the time go faster.”

He opened the book and started with, “O, grant that we may willingly, and from the heart, obey Thee and become so teachable that what Thou hast designed for our salvation may not turn to our perdition.”

“Who's prayer is that?” she asked.

“You don't recognize it?”

She forgot for a moment that she couldn't shake her head. “Ouch. And no, I don't.”

“John Calvin.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “My father was a Presbyterian.”

“Oh.” Presbyterians were Calvinists, through and through, a branch other than the Huguenots but from the same tree.
Salvation may not turn to our perdition.
Celeste asked, “Are you worried my salvation might become my eternal punishment?”

Instead of answering directly, he said, “You're hard on yourself, Celeste, but you've been hard on others too.”

“What did Berta tell you?”

He shrugged.

“Probably how critical I was.”

“And maybe a little self-righteous,” he added gently.

Celeste frowned, but it was true. Every word of it. She'd been horrible. And then she'd reversed completely, deceiving her parents and stealing the ring.

“All that's left is for you to forgive yourself—”

“Stop. Please. This is enough.” She couldn't think of forgiving herself, not now. Not when she didn't know how everything would turn
out for Berta. Not when she didn't know if her parents would be able to forgive what she had done.

“Fair enough.” He resumed reading Calvin's prayer.

Several times Celeste told him to go.

He politely declined, but the last time he said, forcefully, “I'm not leaving you here by yourself!”

“It's not as if anything will happen to me.”

Spenser just shook his head. “No one should have to endure such a thing alone.”

The light from the lantern began to dim. He'd probably used oil he needed to work by. It sputtered and then went out, but the night wasn't as dark as Celeste expected it would be.