Chapter Ten

Attending church that Sunday by this particular Sir and Lady Sharpe was something the usual churchgoer would think to be… peculiar. Dressing in their Sunday best was a must, but when Edith and Thomas looked at their wardrobes to prepare for pastoral inspection, they had absolutely no idea what to put on. Too fancy was to exude contempt for their station of living outside of the majestic Allerdale Hall, too ordinary, as in the public had seen the same outfit more than once, would invite further rumors and gossip spread about them and their fortunes.

Edith looked to Thomas, his face as confused as ever. He was a man! He did not need to spend more than a few minutes gathering together a good suit. It was not as though he had a great variety of garments to match together in the first place. Edith arranged her outfit then hugged his waist with one arm and pulled out his black and white suit from the wardrobe. "I remember first loving you in this one." She kissed his cheek. Edith herself wore her gold dress with black embroidered belt and styled her hair in a simple upstyle.

They walked hand in hand, happily avoiding any of their prying neighbors' eyes. For a moment, Edith felt like she and Thomas belonged in that village, existing together. Such moments were rare and she breathed in every minute of it. Then they turned the corner and heard the rushing feet of a child scurry away. Edith thought little of it, but Thomas's grip on her arm tightened and he inhaled deeply through the nose and exhaled through his thin lips so slowly Edith thought he was trying to blow the sails of a ship. "What's wrong?"

He cast a sideways glance at her. "They can say what they wish outside of the church. What happens on the inside is what will make the greatest difference."

"Do you think the Vicar will say something about us?"

Thomas fell silent. "It has been known to happen." He told her, "Most of the time not for the better."

AHAHAH

The stone church was a comfortable little place, despite the hard-wooden pews they were forced to sit upon. Sunlight sprayed through the stained-glass windows depicting biblical scenes and the smell of incense brought Edith such a sense of home that she closed her eyes and breathed it in, wondering where in the world did she experience such a feeling before. Hymn books were opened and all around them the words of praise and worship written on the old pages were uplifted in song to the accompaniment of an organ to the right of the church.

For a moment, Edith was struck by the soft tenor Thomas carried. It was subdued and careful, much like how he appeared in public, but had the great potential to be concert ready if given practice. She joined him in singing, her mood instantly lifting, giving her greater confidence in ignoring the whispers and the looks around them. They had nothing new to say, therefore there was no need to worry about them. Three hymns were sung, then the hymn books were closed and the parishioners assumed their seats. Edith could hear Thomas inhale and lift his chin as he sat, instantly making her mood fall slightly.

The Vicar, dressed in his usual garb of white robes, black scarf, and red hood that descended halfway down his back, assumed his pulpit high above the flock and gripped the sides of the wooden box. He inhaled, his piercing blue eyes sweeping over the young and balding heads, stopping when he saw Edith and Thomas. Immediately, Edith felt ice rush over her body like a bucket of slush.

"I had an interesting conversation yesterday with Lady Sharpe." Thomas's gloved hands balled into fists as all eyes flicked to them, "A conversation about forgiveness." Edith's heart skipped a beat.

"Let us dispense with the propriety for a moment, shall we? Do not think that because I am an ordained Vicar that I am immediately immune from public house discussions. Particularly those few who planned to mug and murder Sir Sharpe when he came home from Lord Castle's estate on several locations." Several men stirred, making Edith's heart pound as she looked to her husband. He sat stock still, eyes focused on the Vicar. He had heard the same rumor and had not told her. "I also know how Mrs. Stein gave Sir Sharpe a piece of rotting lamb when he asked for a good one." A matron sitting next to Mrs. Henson gave a proud nod. "Such an action caused him to walk nearly an hour out of his way to provide for his family, prompting Sir Sharpe to lose valuable work time. So, do us a favor and save your contempt Mrs. Stein."

"I do the Lord's work, Reverend!" Mrs. Stein huffed.

"Do you, now?" He looked to the grouping of men who had shifted uneasily. "And you, too? You do the Lord's work to plan to kill your fellow brother in Christ?"

They looked to each other, but none answered.

"My lesson today is simple: forgive. We cannot live amongst each other, doing what Jesus commanded us to do without forgiving each other. When the disciples asked Jesus how they were to pray to the Father, he told them. You may recite it with me if you'd like:

'Our Father, who art in Heaven,

Hallowed be thy name.

Thy Kingdom come, thy will be done

On earth as it is in Heaven.

Give us this day, our daily bread,

And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive

those who trespass against us.

And lead us not into temptation,

But deliver us from evil,

For thine is the Kingdom, the power, and the Glory.

Amen.'"

The parishioners had recited it along with the Vicar, all but Thomas. He swallowed harshly, his hands still unrelenting of their fist. The Vicar continued:

"Ladies and Gentlemen, that prayer was not something to mumble over your afternoon luncheon. It is something to be lived. 'Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.' What that line means that if we are to be forgiven by Christ, then we must forgive others. Forgive the gossipers," He looked to Miss Henson. "Forgive the plotters," He looked to the men. "Forgive the blasphemers," He looked to Mrs. Stein who turned away, "And, forgive the murderers." Everyone looked to the Sharpes.

"But how do we find it in ourselves to forgive? How can we forgive these trespassers? Well, we must have love." There was a collected frown of confusion throughout the church. "When I spoke with Lady Sharpe, she told me that she had not forgiven her husband for what he had committed. She loved him, she understood his side of his atrocities, but she had not yet forgiven him." The Vicar took a moment to look around at the parishioners. "I do not think anyone has forgiven Sir Sharpe. Not even Sir Sharpe himself."

The creases on Thomas's face smoothed and his fists lessened, though they didn't completely open.

"Forgiveness is like a gift for a loved one. You take the time picking it out, a unique trifle given to only one person. You may even wrap it in fine paper and a silk ribbon. But, it is all for naught if it is not given away. You can wave it around," He lifted his hand and bounced around his pulpit like he was walking, "You can say look! I have forgiveness! Its right here, my forgiveness gift!" He dropped his hands and gripped the pulpit once more, "But it is meaningless unless you give it to whomever it is intended for." He turned to Thomas, looking directly at him. "Love, endures all things. I believe forgiveness to be one of those endurances. Sir Sharpe, I love you as a brother in Christ. You have done many horrible things, committed many atrocities. But I forgive you for them. I myself, Vicar Andrew Walters, forgive you. Not because you need my approval, no. But because Jesus commands me to forgive you as I would like to be forgiven. If there is no forgiveness for you, then there is no forgiveness for the rest of us. Believe me," He turned back to the parishioners, "If you think for a moment that the judgement we give each other is bad, just wait until we have to live for eternity with the Judgement the Father gives."

The parishioners stirred, several people nodding. Edith realized she had been holding her breath and inhaled.

"Forgive, ladies and gentlemen. Love one another, and forgive our faults. Please stand for closing prayers."

They stood, a tension exuding throughout the parishioners, sideways glances darting to the Sharpes, Mrs. Stein, and the group of men. Closing prayers were made, along with announcements of caregiving for a woman who had fallen ill and reminders of the church's annual garden ball. Finally, the Vicar stepped down from his pulpit and led the parishioners out of their pews to the outside under the serenade of "Amazing Grace."

Edith had barely picked up her pamphlet of the monthly church activities when she felt a vice grip her arm yank her out of the pew and into the throng of parishioners. Thomas blew past everyone, even shouldering the Vicar in the churchyard, making everyone stare at him, Edith in tow.

"Thomas, you're hurting me!" Edith protested when they were a safe distance from the church.

He let go of her arm, but he did not relent his pace. Edith picked up her skirts and scurried after him, nearly being hit by the garden gate when they made it back to their house. Thomas waited for her, holding the door open for her to pass through before slamming it shut so hard that the windows rattled.

"Thomas?" Edith pleaded, "What's wrong? What did I do?"

He seethed, possibly deciding if he should strike her or if he should murder someone. Finally, he turned to her, eyes blazing, gaze like hell was staring back at her. "Forgive?"

"Thomas, I didn't know that he was going to speak about us. I promise you, darling."

"Forgive… her?"

Edith's lips smacked shut. Who is he talking about, She thought.

"Forgive… HER?" He threw his gloves across the room to the parlor. Edith backed away, her back touching their coats, eyes wide. He kicked the rug so that it skidded a short distance away from him. Edith fingers touched a plate she had gotten back from Miss Henson, one that she hadn't liked enough to put away immediately.

She picked it up and held it out to him. "Throw it. It might help."

He hurtled it as hard as he could, causing it to shatter with a loud scream, "Forgive her?!"

Suddenly, it dawned on Edith. Lucille. The Vicar was asking him to forgive Lucille. Forgive her manipulation, her ambition, and most of all, her making him desire her far beyond what was natural for siblings.

Thomas stalked into the parlor, grabbing fistfuls of his hair and crouching down with the weight of such an order. "Forgive," He seethed, repeating the word over and over again.

Edith slipped into the kitchen, careful with the swinging door. She breathed slowly, taking her time to regain her composure. Then, with shaking fingers, she took her apron and tied it around her waist to begin their Sunday roast. There was nothing she could do for him, now. Nothing she could say to make him feel better. This was his battle, and all she could do was pray that he was well equipped.

AHAHAH

Thomas was quiet the rest of the day. He did not insist on a daily walk and Edith did not push him. Alan did not dare to come over, though Edith saw him outside the garden gate when she was setting the table for supper. She waved to him, giving him a nod when he mouthed if she was alright. She could tell he wanted to stay to make sure she was going to be fine for the rest of the night, remembering when he had come to rescue her from Allerdale Hall in a blizzard. But, she closed the curtain and continued with her housework.

When the time came to undress for bed, Thomas touched the small of her back, prompting her to turn. He was still livid, but his temper had faded enough so that she was not frightened to be near him. "You, don't forgive me?" He whispered. "For what I did to you?"

Edith slipped her hands into his. "It is difficult, Thomas. The most difficult thing I have ever done. You, wanted to kill me. You said you loved me in the most beautiful manner that I had ever heard. Yet, you wanted me dead."

"No," He nearly moaned, "I never wanted you dead. I wanted you as my wife, my true wife." His face softened and he closed his eyes for a moment before opening them. "I. Forgive. You."

Edith leaned away, "Forgive me? For what?"

"For not leaving when you had the chance. For loving me, despite the ghosts that had warned you. You could have commanded the carriage be made ready for your departure to London. You were lady of the house, there was so much that you could have done that Lucille could not balk at and still maintain her ruse. I forgive you, for all of it."

Edith stared into his shirt. Yes, now that she thought of it, she could have ordered rides into the village. She could have gone to Carlisle and taken the train to London when she first saw the ghosts. She could have left Thomas. If she had not loved him, that was.

He touched her face, bringing her eyes back to him. He longed for her, she could recognize that look from anywhere. But tonight, he seemed to only study her. Edith touched his chest, opening his shirt to reveal his pectoral muscles, giving him permission to do more than study. Slowly, they kissed, either of them realizing that this was likely going to be the last time they would ever touch. Edith caressed each soft hollow with a slow and steady hand, feeling the grace and strength of each curving muscle, kissing him where his breath sputtered and demanded more, heavy inhales. He returned the favor, memorizing the smooth and solid lines down her back and her front, kissing and savoring first where their child would occupy and savor later. When he couldn't wait any longer, Thomas carried her to bed and moved against her, holding back nothing, regretting nothing. Their despair yielded to passion, their longing giving way to fulfillment. The echo of their cries rang out for a moment before dying in the flesh of the couple, Edith's in his temple, Thomas's in the nape of her neck.

Edith wrapped her arms around Thomas, kissing him over and over again while he did likewise. Suddenly, he stopped kissing and smiled, "Edith, listen!"

She panted, straining her ears to hear. Outside their bedroom window came the soft tap! tap! of rain. She began to smile, when she looked to the nape of his neck and saw a small tremor of his heart pounding… in perfect sync to hers. It was a waltz, his heart and hers beating together to the music of rain. She smiled, almost laughing.

He kissed her once more before collapsing on his side, his hand rubbing her pouting stomach. He closed his eyes, feeling her. "Let me sleep like this," He whispered into her forehead. "Let me feel you and the baby like this. Let me dream."

Edith nuzzled into the tenderness of his muscled shoulders, smelling the saltiness of his body, stroking his neck whilst he stroked her belly. "Thank God for dreams."

Thomas exhaled once. "Amen."

AHAHAH

They came for him while he was eating breakfast. Edith froze, spoon halfway in her mouth. Thomas's eyes flicked to her, the same knowing eyes that he used to cast to Lucille. Slowly, he took a sip of his tea and stood, Edith following suit. Gently, he kissed her one last time, a delicate, patient kiss, then stepped back.

"How do I look?" He asked, his face calm, his shoulders back.

Edith scanned him, ignoring the second knock on the door. His suit was pristine, though worn. His boots were polished, though needing replacing within the next year. His hair was oiled back, his curls tamed though threatening a revolt later. She inhaled, her love for this man threatening to suffocate her.

"You look ready."

He smiled, a warm, defeated, smile. Then he turned and gathered his top hat, hearing her footsteps behind him. The door knocked for a third time and Thomas called out to it before looking back to his wife once more, tears rimming his eyes. "I love you, Edith Sharpe."

Edith swallowed her breakdown, forcing her knees to keep from cracking. "As I love you, Sir Thomas Sharpe."

He turned back to the door and opened it, revealing the Sheriff, Mr. Mason, and two of the deputies that had gone with them to Allerdale Hall. The Sheriff presented a warrant for Thomas's arrest which was promptly signed by the arrestee, then withdrew a set of handcuffs to envelop the Baronet's delicate wrists.

Edith's breathing sputtered at the sight of the handcuffs, her tears overflowing at the sound of the iron clinking together. Thomas hatted his crown, then donated his noble flesh out in front of him, dotted with blisters from hard engineering work, his resolve unshattering as the metal clamped down on him. Before they let his arms fall to his stomach, Mr. Mason slid a coat over the handcuff chain to spare Thomas some of the shame of marching through the village of Redsett in police custody.

Thomas stepped forward willingly, following the police officials like a trained dog without a lead. Edith followed behind them a short distance, hoping, praying, that they would take him to Carlisle tomorrow so that she might take him some supper tonight in the jail. All around them, the life of the village stopped to stare at the moment they had all been waiting for. Women pushing prams stood mid-walk, hands still on the push bars, children playing in the streets holding balls in their small hands, and men walking or working stopped to watch with various instruments in hand: a glass of beer, a broom, one even with a recently shot duck dangling in midair. No one spoke. No one even seemed to breathe.

They neared the sheriff's office, the sight of two men clearly visible: the Vicar and Doctor Alan McMichael. The Vicar stood the closest to the doorway of the office, while Alan sat on the bench outside of the office, standing the moment he saw the party appear. Edith did not care who was near the office so long as she could find out just how long it would be before her husband was sent to trial in Carlisle.

The Sheriff nodded to Alan who nodded back, coming forward toward the party. Thomas's head, once parallel to the dirt floor, turned to Alan as he neared. "She's all yours," He told him.

Alan flinched Thomas's direction, but continued past him to halt Edith in her tracks. "The Sheriff asked me to escort you back to your house."

"I need to find out when they are taking him to Carlisle." Edith cried, holding out her arms to push him away.

"Please, Edith! You must go back." He put his hands on her shoulders, but she would not be dissuaded.

"No, I have to find out when they're taking him!"

Alan gripped her shoulders and pulled her close, forcing her feet to dangle inches above the cobblestone ground, his breath coming hot in her ear. "He's to be taken immediately to Carlisle and there are several dozen bets to see if the American woman will disgrace her husband by acting out in public. Please, let us go!"

Edith faced him, her heart pounding. Over his shoulder, she saw Thomas and the police party bypass the office in favor of heading around the back to the horses and paddy wagon, the Vicar joining them in an attempt to calm Thomas. He whirled back to Edith, feet slipping and gliding over the uneven cobblestone, causing the Sheriff and deputies to clamp down on his arms and back. His eyes were stricken with worry, his lips quivering. In that moment, Edith thought she saw a boy, a little boy being dragged toward a monster.

And she could do nothing for him. Thomas faced forward, enough of his dignity returning to continue the walk to the paddy wagon. But, Edith needed more coaxing from Alan. He wrapped his arm around her waist and kneed her backwards in a reluctant waltz, Edith clamping onto him for balance. Thomas turned the corner and the police party faded from view, allowing Edith to adhere to Alan's wishes.

They walked on, but Edith saw nothing. Her husband, her beloved knight, was gone.