Hello everyone! Once again thank you for the support. It's not always easy for a writer to keep the motivation and the inspiration going, but I'm so lucky to have you all!
Sorry about last chapter. I saw two days ago I've posted the wrong version. Some sentences were missing, and faults were not corrected. Now it must be available. Do not hesitate to tell me if there are still some left.
I hope you will enjoy this chapter. Our lovers continue to work frustratingly at cross-purposes, and I fear for a few other chapters, it will stay that way. I've decided to make a bit more than the forty chapters promised, hoping it might give more coherence to the development of the story, and that it does not seem too rushed or coming from nowhere. I hope you will like it!
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Chapter 33
The first morning, laying on the bed, Rhett stared at the cut braid of hair, black like the wings of a raven, shining like watered silk. He smelled the delicious flowery scent, the tender remains of the warmth her body – alive! So alive! – had left on the sheets. He stayed a little in it, his hand gripping the braid as if to retain the memories a little more. The comforting rays of the Georgian sun found their way in, lines of light in the darkness.
With difficulty, he let go of the first old hints of anger and feelings of betrayal that came insidiously to his mind, that old voice, so like his father's, that told him she had played him, and that he had shown her his vulnerable heart only for her to crush it.
She'd come back. She always did. He knew she would, just as sure that he would always come back to her. She just needed time.
And anyway, she was in her territory and he was in her den. She knew every inch by heart, knew its people and ways. She couldn't get lost in it. She always returned.
No doubt she was afraid of the way he would welcome her, just like he had been after that night in Atlanta. No doubt like a child she had run and run until her weary feet dragged her home, and she couldn't find a way out of the situation.
Now, he understood all the questions of the children, all their affirmations, that seemed so fantasist, so unbelievable. Oh, what a mess they had made of it all!
She loved him, oh, he had seen that. She couldn't bear to see him with another. He had felt that pain, in her eyes. He had felt the doubt, the apprehension. And now again, she was afraid, certainly hiding again. Or maybe was she a little angry. After all, in his drunkenness, he did reveal to her Olsen was trying to burn the house, and that had certainly awakened quite a few memories.
But certainly, what could she do about it? She would see he would handle it, and everything would be alright. She just needed to trust him, to lean on him.
And, well, there was also this pitiful little incident with that fast woman he had brought. Not his best move, he had to admit it. He had been desperate enough. Yet that ended soon enough and certainly, now she did not doubt it. No, the real problem had been with the house, he had felt it.
Certainly, she couldn't be doubting his love, after all this time?
He winced, remembering the words they had parted with back in Atlanta. Well, maybe so. A little. But after all, he did humiliate himself quite joyfully after, coming after her like a thirsty man in a desert. He remembered even calling her queen and then telling her he loved her. Certainly, this would appease her vanity… Wouldn't it?
He winced again. Things had never been that simple with Scarlett. She could be so dense when it came to love and lust, so set in her ways!
And then, he had to admit he had not made it easier. He felt the years of hiding keenly, a double-edged blade that now came back at him with the strength of a boomerang.
He would need to be gentle with her. Tender. He would show her there would be no repetition of the past, and that she could lean on him. He would always shelter her, protect her.
Maybe he would tease her a little, and she would see how silly she had been to try to hide from him. But after. Oh, how he wanted to be to this after! He felt like a young man again, ready to board on new adventures. She was alive and she was adventure enough, and he couldn't wait for her to come back.
He raised at the rooster's song, sliding with a feline grace across the room to push the curtains further, allowing more of the sun to come on him.
Today was going to be a good day. A good day after so many dark and grey, he decided. He would not overthink this. Overthinking had never helped him with Scarlett, for it made him imagine things that were not necessarily there.
No. Today was a good day.
A calm before the storm, the insidious little caustic voice in his mind added.
But he shrugged it off. Skepticism was not the way of happiness, he decided, and the hedonist in him wanted to enjoy the moment.
Oh, yes, she had played him a good trick. Yet, she was alive and so was he, and what seemed completely broken now laid in front of him as if nothing had ever touched it. As if it had only waited its moment to appear, at the right time, when he would be ready to take it.
Oh, she had completely managed to drive him crazy, that was for sure. She had made him believe in ghosts and other fantasies. She had made him realize how life could be without her presence in the world, and he had taken it as a lesson. Never again. Oh no, never again.
But he was fine. She was fine. Everything was fine.
Well, he doubted Scarlett was in the house now anyway. She had cut her hair, visibly to escape his embrace, not just to get down and take some breakfast.
He needed to think, to go back from the beginning. But not overthink. Scarlett herself was not one to overthink, so why would he?
It felt like he had been running like a headless hen, running to something that did not exist. "You're not looking at the right side", the woman had said. How true it had been, how accurate.
Which now brought him to his next reflection. Had she known of it?
Most certainly yes. The woman had looked much too satisfied by her knowledge, and now he could see she had taunted him with it, and if he had seen the taunt, he had not recognized, as he would have in an ordinary day, the hint of something more to it.
Was Mammy in it too? Of course, nothing could escape her eyes, and certainly not the presence of her lamb in the house she had lived for so many years. She had been loyal, loyal until the end. He could not deny her that. Yet it hadn't served him much.
Well, at least, if her last moments weren't a dream, she had tried to make Scarlett see reason. She had taken his side, to an extent.
What could Scarlett have done when she was out of his sight? Where could it lead her now?
He pondered the question, settling on her rocking chair. Ella's cat climbed up his legs, meowing quite pitifully, its tiny claws scratching the linen of his trousers. Solene, she had called it. Like the heroine in Scarlett's story.
Something clicked, yet disappeared suddenly, leaving him very much frustrated with himself. He took the cat and petted it, the purrs of it calming a little his agitation.
How slow-minded could he be? A little sorrow and he was off of the game!
That would not do. That would not do at all.
Where could she have hidden herself? The former slave cabins? No. It must have been in the house. She was clean when she came to him, almost fresh like a morning rose.
He wouldn't put past her taking advantage of his blindness by ordering a bath in plain sight. The thought of her, naked among hot vapors smelling of rosewater and magnolia, her eyes gleaming at him…
The cat protested over the stop of his ministrations. He felt the tiny bite of its wrath before it escaped his grasp, its eyes glaring at him with the indignation of an offended divinity.
Rhett laughed, then sighed longingly. He had always been a fool for Scarlett. Not wanting to let her in, yet wanting to give her everything… Not wanting to be hurt, yet hurting her… All of this in a spiral that blurred the lines between love and hate, between hunter and prey.
Love had been a chase, a constant fight for dominance, with him as a regular apparent victor. Yet not the true one, for it did not give him what he wanted.
Love had been a transaction, and he had lost more than he thought he would.
When had it begun? He asked himself. Who began it?
It did not matter. No, it did not. He shook his head. Where had he not looked?
The kitchen? No, too many people walked through it. Which also eliminated other options like the living and the sitting rooms.
Other chambers? Maybe. But knowing Scarlett, it wasn't dramatic and secure enough, even if it corresponded at least a little to her straightforward nature.
His eyes widened.
The attic! He had never looked at it, and how stupid of him not to do so!
Hurrying up the stairs, he cursed himself for not thinking of it until then, and even more when he found it, plain as daylight. Plain as a dustless corner in an attic, with covers and carefully packed provisions near it.
He could have found her much earlier.
He should have raged but instead, he laughed, a burst of laughter like a madman's, that tore him in half until he finally decided to sit back and let it end.
He laid at her hide in the attic, and tried to imagine her, tucked between the sheets, her proud face twisting with impatience and irritation, not liking the idea of staying between these words when there was so much life outside, yet not daring to.
And with a book, besides! It must have been quite the merry hell for her to resign herself to the reading of it.
Jane Eyre. He raised an eyebrow as he looked through it. Visibly, she had not liked it. Many torn pages laid on the floor, love passages from what he guessed, and he smiled with unconcealed delight, thinking he might have haunted her thoughts just like she had haunted his, to the point that even the hints of feelings and barely concealed sexuality sent her to such a destructive little frenzy.
Oh, Scarlett, he thought fondly. What kind of fantasy had she thought of, this time? For a woman that used so few of her imagination and preferred the concrete over the intangible, when it came to her, it was surprisingly persistent.
He laid a little more, feeling the lack of her keenly, but confident. She would come to him. After her little stunt on the other night, there was no doubt in him that she would.
The second day, worry coupled with frustration and he was short with everyone. Why wasn't she there already? Had something happened on the way? Was she dying on the streets, caught by some unfortunate adventures she always seemed to attract?
Was she ill? Was she eating well? She had seemed so thin, so pale under the moonlight… Were her dreams still plaguing her, without him to calm them down? Had it haunted her without him knowing, so much that she was still running when he so wanted her to stop?
Oh, what a fool he was, to wait, to think she needed to come on her own, not to force her out of her hide. What if… What if…
With Big Sam, Andrew and Alphonse, he cast a wide net on the land, looking at each corner of it.
Yet, she was not to be found. Not even a footprint. She had disappeared, like a fairy in the night.
What was to be found though was some black liquid glinting in the sunlight, just near the former cabins of the slaves. Intrigued, Rhett sent a telegram and continued his search in town.
Yet, still not a trace of his wife.
It was at the end of the day that he realized what he had planned would happen didn't, but he did not even lift an eyebrow. Maybe it would be for tomorrow. He still had time.
The third day came with news about that last question, and he realized it would come to nothing. Olsen was dead. Heart attack. Adrian would certainly be too wary now to act.
And then there was this letter with her handwriting. The envelope was torn apart eagerly. Yet as the words flowed, cold invaded him and the old voice came back. He did not let it show. He only gripped the paper and locked himself in his room.
For two days, no one dared to disturb him. They could hear his furious pacing, followed by a cry of rage and the shrill sound of glass breaking.
When he finally left the room the second day, he was smiling, a very chilling smile that did not reach his blazed eyes.
Prissy fainted at seeing the state of the room, and, once she recovered her spirit, swore with a sudden and surprising opposition that she would not be the one to clean it, and that if her employee continued so, then maybe it was better that she left with her children.
Rhett paid no attention to it and as he checked his other letters, his devilish grin widened, a plan coming to him. A plan that would take his mind elsewhere than of irrelevant events and one woman that still managed to disappoint him to the point that he thought maybe it would have been better if she was truly dead.
Few days after, a man, a very common man that almost looked like a Yankee, came to Tara, his glasses comically sliding down a nose that was not strong enough to keep them in place. The inhabitants of the house observed him with curiosity as Rhett welcomed him and offered him something to drink before locking themselves in Ellen O'Hara's former office. Wade and Ella said nothing, the former urging his sister to go to her garden to look after her crops.
Rhett and the strange man left the house one hour after, and Wade followed them quietly. Yet, his begrudgingly spying act was almost cut short when sneaked on him and asked him what it was all about. He hushed her, hiding behind a tree and tried to listen.
"So, Dimitri. Do you think there may be some petroleum in this land?"
Dimitri hesitated, crouching over the liquid. His finger slipped in it and he spread it on the tip of it, as if to appreciate its thickness.
"One can never be sure. Maybe there is. The only way to see is to dig it. Yet, from the signs there… I doubt there is actually much of it…"
Rhett wanted to laugh.
Tara, like its mistress, had promised a lot, yet it had not quite to offer, it seemed.
Or had it?
It did not matter. Money anyway wasn't what he lacked. It never had been about it.
"Do not say anything about it. Keep it to yourself," He said quietly, dark eyes glimmering with a dangerous promise. "You understand?"
A hiccough answered it at first, a blink, then deep reflection numbed Dimitri's face. Irritated, Rhett hit lightly the other's nose with his palm. This man decidedly did not know how to hide his thoughts very well.
"… yes."
Black orbs glistened maliciously.
'I'll see that you understand. Now go. Your work here is done."
He patted his shoulder a little, pressed then smirked.
Certainly, in a few days, the word would be spread like a disease, he mused as Dimitri's back was turned to him.
He waited a few minutes, considering the grooves of the oak in front of him, following each line intertwining, disentangling, yet never completely apart. How old was that tree? He wondered, then sighed. Anyway. It was time to cut it. Among other things.
"Wade. You can get out, now. Ella, you too, darling."
Ella was the first, running to him. Her little hand slipped in his, chubby yet dwarfed by his own large one.
"Why was he there, daddy?"
Looking at her with amused eyes, he crouched at her level.
"He was there to verify something, my sweet."
She raised wide green eyes at him, her head cocking to her right side.
"Oh, what for?"
He was about to invent some little story when Wade intervened, blind trust in his face that hurt more than his previous wariness had been.
"That's a thing for the grown-up, Ella. Come. We shouldn't have been there."
A surprising boy, that Wade. Tough as nails when one of his loved ones was threatened, but so desperately trusting, even when some things could appear suspicious.
The offers came barely one day after, and Rhett was almost surprised by it.
Oh, so there were still people that wanted that house? Even after the uncertainty of such a bet?
It meant nothing. It was such a shallow, worthless thing… Just like the woman it represented.
He sent a message back, naming the date and place.
He washed his hands of Tara. It was just a wild little farm among others, promising a homey feeling, yet it did not provide it for the long term.
On and on, he told himself that, and finally the day came and it was with a light step he arrived, almost grinning, at the meeting, blissfully aware that the other part thought he was a fool for selling so cheaply. So cheaply that he could see now the doubts were coming to them, as the deed was now presented to him.
Fools, it was them, for thinking they could get anything from it. No one would ever get anything from her.
Slatterys, they were called? Oh, he remembered them. Scarlett had talked over and over of them. She hated them. What for? Something about them being poor trash? The woman being the former overseer's widow?
Well, that was just the icing on the cake.
Good for him. Good. It was only fair. He would take the children to another place.
She would have nowhere else to come back home. Nowhere else but…
Nowhere.
He would protect the children no matter what.
She could… go to hell if he cared.
He looked at the paper, stayed still. The pen fell, then raised. A drop of ink tainted the paper. His heart stopped.
No, he couldn't.
Damn him, damn her, he couldn't!
He tore it apart and turned away, ignoring the protests of each part. Ignoring the noise of the crowd on a market day, and its smells and attractions.
She had made it his home, theirs, and despite her treacherous little soul, he would not give it up. He would not.
He'd take it as part of the debt she had with him, and she would pay the rest.
When she returned. If she returned…
She had to return.
But maybe he was handling the problem by the wrong side.
Maybe there was something he did not see…
At least, other than this big Scottish elephant in the streets that was following him since he came to town.
He turned left to an alley, then another until it was secure enough, and waited, preparing his gun. He raised it, a corner of his lips lifted.
"Hello, Patrick."
Patrick McConach froze, visibly surprised of having been discovered.
Not a light, this one. But certainly, it wasn't what was asked of him. That big old giant, with his ginger beard, that mass of muscles in one block, all laid on two thick barrels of legs.
Was he here to kill him? To threaten him?
Rhett was ready anyway. In fact, he awaited the challenge.
"I'm not here to fight…" The Scot began, eyeing the gun with suspicion.
"Oh, no? And what for?" Rhett lifted a black brow, almost amused. "And what if I want to?"
One step taken down. Another up. He was the one in power, and it rushed through his veins like a precious elixir.
"I've promised Mrs. Butler…"
"To take care of the children, yes? I do remember you were hired for that once upon a time. Not now," He sneered.
"It's not over," Great, hairy hands were raised. "Mrs. Butler did ask me a few days ago…"
Rhett's eyes narrowed, throwing daggers at the man.
What kind of devil did she think he was? He had always taken care of them, even when she didn't!
Rhett maintained his grip on the gun, a click indicating only one step before shooting.
"And… to watch over you as well…"
Rhett froze. Then a bland expression took over his face.
"Oh, really?" He purred. "That's interesting. Do tell me more…"
No. If she cared, she would be there. If she cared, there wouldn't be that letter hanged on the wall of her former room, proof that she was and stayed a treacherous and unworthy woman. If she cared, these words…
These words…
He blinked. His eyes narrowed as he put the gun under the man's throat. The ginger giant tried to take it back, but Rhett was swifter. It had been a long time since he had had to handle other men like that. But it was not one thing he had forgotten. He kicked his knees and pushed him down.
He was a bit disheveled, but at least it had been worth it. He felt as if finally his wasted energy was put to use, and it was exhilarating.
"You… You will go with me," He uttered, trying to groom that rebellious black strand that had fallen on his forehead.
"I do not like your tone, sir."
"I do not like you at all," Rhett retorted, barely concealing a peal of laughter. At least, that man had some gumption. "Yet, you might as well be useful. Do you know where she is?"
The red-haired giant looked at him with suspicion and unbearable pride.
"I don't work for you."
"Oh, but I can buy you, can't I?" He mused. "I have a sudden need for a gardener. See, there are too many weeds in my land…"
The Scot's eyes narrowed at the visibly humiliating task, then gleamed suddenly.
"What's your price?"
Rhett let out a sharp laugh and reached out for him. "Well, now I know we can talk."
It was almost hand in hand they came back to Tara once the deal was done. Nothing but the deal, despite Rhett's attempts to get more information. And maybe indeed he did not have it. Who knew?
Ella welcomed the giant joyfully, as if his appearance here was a belated birthday gift. Wade smiled and nodded, but mostly looked at his stepfather. He seemed to find in his expression something that relieved the tension in his shoulders, for then his gestures became more spontaneous.
Prissy, intrigued, approached the scene, and Rhett had the surprise to see her almost blush.
He shrugged and ordered a drink. Now that he was home, there was no ignoring it.
This was all nonsense. Why would Scarlett send one minion of hers to look after him? Why would she do that if she cared nothing for him? And then, why would she even think of it?
That's when it clicked. He put back the glass violently and went back to the room, his body radiating in a furious frenzy as he took down the paper from the knife he had thrown on the wall.
She could have destroyed him so easily. She knew how he had blamed himself for her miscarriage, for their darling Bonnie's death.
She knew the words, knew his fears. And she had not used it. In fact, now that he thought of this…
These were not her words. These were his. The ones he had told her so many times, when he had been so determined to divert her attention from the signs of his love.
He sat down, read it again.
All of this time, he had been so confident that she was like him, that he knew everything about her. Yet with all this overconfidence, he had forgotten that as well she had learned to know him, know what would make him angry and ready to flee, and that being like him could include acting as he would have.
Because she had. In an almost symmetrical way, to remind him of the aftermath of that night.
She had thrown his own words back at him and forgot to add her own. It was all a masquerade, a mask he had given to her and that she had taken. But it never had been her true face.
Yet, was it for the same purpose he had that day? Then why send a letter?
He read it some more, the words cutting much less now that he knew this.
She never lied well, and in written words it seemed she did not too. Her clean, elegant calligraphy was messy and sloppy, turned downward when it had always been more upward. It almost cut through the paper in firm decisive cursives that proved she had her mind set and would not hear any opposing side.
She wanted him to think she did not love him. She wanted to feed his anger, so he would not try to find her.
Yet why would she do that? In what kind of mess had she tangled herself?
Patrick would know something. But it was clear that he wouldn't say.
Wade, he thought with anxiety. The boy certainly knew it. He always did, one way or another. Scarlett would not leave him or his sister without a word, he had learned it the hard way.
How much time had he wasted?
Rushing down the stairs, he tried to maintain his calm. He did not need to frighten the boy just yet. He couldn't risk losing him. Not now when the pieces were clicking, yet so many were still missing.
A discussion was taking place with Patrick and stopped as soon as he arrived.
Eyes met in the living room in silent communication and the boy stared, before nodding, an understanding lightening his face. Ella smiled widely. Rhett looked at him as he raised and took today's newspaper from the basket.
Silently, Wade handed the paper to him. He sent him a pointed, insistent glance, before turning away.
Rhett stared at him, intrigued, then his gaze went down. Looked through the part about abortive methods and products against powerlessness, the deaths of pets and little domestic incidents. Widened at a word. A name, familiar. Then narrowed.
He sat down, numbed by the revelation.
Here, in plain sight… It was here! She was here!
His heart caught up in his throat as he read the words.
.
"… Solene was scared, but she knew she had to do this. With that terrible incident in her former kingdom when she had hit her head, she now knew everything she had forgotten, everything they had forgotten, Robert and her, and the children that were waiting for them. The children she had foolishly dismissed as others', when they clearly expressed their wishes for her to return, for her and for Robert.
She loved them, so much, and she would do anything to get them back.
They had been so reckless, the both of them, stuck into old roles they did not dare to leave. They had lost their ways, lost themselves with the loss of one of their children. They had wanted to forget it all, and so they had, for a time. But now she needed to fight for him, fight for them. And hope she would be able to come back home. If she could. Gone was her quest for the missing half of her heart, for it had never been hers to find. She now knew who the true enemy was, and knew she had to find a way for him not to destroy what was hers. She had to distract him, make him stay away from what she held dear.
Yet where to begin? The answer came to her as she thought of Mary, her guardian angel, that princess, too good for this world, who had guided her and that she had lost by her own foolishness. She needed to find that prince of hers, so he could join her and save her. Then, she would be free of old chains that she had dismissed for too long, but who now came nagging at her.
Not to mention that princes were always so rambunctious (isn't it, my sweet?), and chaos was exactly what Solene wanted to make."
.
Stories from Nowhere, the rubric was called. Anonymous, as expected. That part had been at first for those who wanted to claim it for whatever little petty revenge they wanted to get from someone. That dear Doctor Meade had once used it during his blockading years, after all, calling him a speculator.
Which he was, actually. This had never been an insult for Rhett. And anyway, it had never been a part of the newspaper that had been useful for him anyway, and he had always skipped it.
But it seemed it had been taken now more than once by this. How long? How long?
And where did she find the money to get it? From his memory, this wasn't a cheap thing to do.
He paused, frowned, then threw it on the couch. The other papers were looked through again and again, but all he could read was: "Rhett! Rhett! I'm here! I'm alive! Find me! I love you and I'm afraid! Find me!"
Damn, there was even the very beginning of it!
Thoughts raced through his mind, until suddenly a knock on the door broke the process of them.
Damn him for a fool! Who could it be?
Fuming as he took back the first paper and stuffed it in his jacket, he jumped and almost called for Prissy to go see who the intruder could be. Yet, the belligerent side of him also wanted to get him or her out of it more forcefully.
And for once, the belligerent side of him won, and conveniently found himself in front of a hapless and hatless Todd Smith, who was looking at him with puppy eyes and irritating trembling chin…
How convenient… How very convenient…
"Scarlett is gone."
Rhett blinked, the anger subsiding with the surprise. Swiftly, his gaze went to Patrick, who paled.
"What?"
"I've lost her."
The anger returned tenfold, and he pulled the trembling man in, pushing him in the office and gesturing Patrick to follow them.
He locked them all in the office, his body leaning on the door as he pondered his next move.
"What do you mean, you've lost her?"
"Your wife is an impetuous woman. I've tried to stop her, but she's determinate," Todd Smith pleaded, taking a step back. "Last time she talked to me, she said something about Richard Fenton and diverting his attention. She said she would meet me afterward, but she never came."
Richard… Richard was here? How could…
Oh, yes. He had certainly used the same trick he himself had used that one time in London. And his way had crossed Scarlett once again…
That wasn't good. He had a very bad feeling about it.
Richard was a fool. And maybe a little twisted, he had to concede that. He had seen his plays and dismissed it for old times' sake. But most certainly, he was not a man to cross and to be played a fool, and Scarlett did play him…
"Damn you!" He snarled. "When was this?"
"… Five days ago."
This made him rage even more.
"And now you're telling me? She could be anywhere! Why didn't you tell me earlier? Did she try to stop you?"
"… No."
"Then why?" He observed him with narrowing eyes. A corner of his mouth violently went down in a rictus. "Oh… I see. You wanted to find her for yourself. You wanted to prove to her that you could, and that you were the one who could protect her. Very heroic. Very… knightly. Yet, you didn't, and now you're left with asking that one person you did not want to ask. Me. Her husband."
Yet, the hapless man only shook his head, visibly not bearing the pressure, and certainly not the remembrance.
"She… She asked me to tell you if she did not reappear."
Oh, she did? His heart shook. She asked for him and he hadn't been there. And at this time, he had been waiting like a fool, when he could have tried to find her!
"Of course, she did," He said. "And you let her down."
And I did. By God, I did, Rhett thought behind a mask of cold cruelty.
Briskly, he examined him, towering over him to make him feel his strength. His voice was firm, emotionless.
"Now, you are my man. You are, because you have no other choice. You will tell me everything you know, and if I find you have been leaving some things behind, I can assure you I'll make sure you'll never find any place to be safe."
"And why would you care?" Todd tried, a last attempt at defense. "You do not love her, do y…"
"I want these plans she stole," Rhett cut. Oh no, he wasn't about to reveal his feelings to Todd. That young man was a fool, yet even a fool could unsettle it all with that kind of information. "Now, tell me."
Todd stared at him, bewildered. "You do not deserve her."
A nasty grin drew on Rhett's lips as he considered it. Oh, he didn't even know the half of it! "That's not the point, is it? You ask me because you can't find her. Because you're not competent enough to do it. As I see things, I am your only option. So tell me."
And he did. Though it seemed he hadn't been the one at her side, guiding her. Wrong person to ask. Yet, Patrick had been so stubbornly silent to other things than money it had felt like talking to a wall on the way. It would take time to crack him, and time was not a thing he could afford to lose for so uncertain a result.
A sufficient amount of money may do the trick. After all, weren't Scots renown to be quite loyal to the one who paid them?
He eyed him. Maybe not. Yet, he had to try.
Quietly, he took a cigar from his vest, touching wistfully the golden case Scarlett had offered him during their first year of marriage. Clipping and lighting it, he took a puff of it and considered the situation.
He did not know how Scarlett had managed it, but visibly she had instilled in that Scot a deep sense of devotion and loyalty. Perhaps even without actually quite knowing it. Scarlett was not one to completely reflect on how to manipulate people in the long term. Seducing, persuading, she could do, and very well. She had learned to use her charms from a young age, and had applied it like a skilled actress on a stage.
Personally, he had always been more of a critic himself, thus why this act never quite took to him. Only one time, maybe, it had almost worked. Only one time…
Rhett looked once again at the newspaper, reading the words again and again until it meant nothing to him, only an addition of letters and signs.
He let out a short laugh and threw it on the table.
"The answer is here. It had always been here, before our eyes."
And I did not see, he thought bitterly. But now, I do. I'll find her. I have to. Soon, she'll be safe in my arms, whether she wants it or not.
The time to run was over. Couldn't she see all the things he could accomplish for her? Couldn't she see he could fight for her?
Todd blinked, looking at the paper with wide amazed eyes as he read it.
"I always wondered what it was all about," He mused. "Pansy had been so adamant about showing it, yet never told me what it was. She is really… extraordinary. It's obviously a code. Yet what does it mean?"
"Pansy, uh?" Rhett answered, quiet anger at the praise this man was giving Scarlett. He was certainly not about to give other reasons for him to admire his wife. "Scarlett was never truly an imaginative one. What she tells, she usually does it according to things she lived. But she's clever. That's the trail she is leaving to those she cares enough to let them know."
Most certainly Wade, who kept reading it. Wade who never doubted her, and always stayed true to her in his love, even despite his own apprehension. Yet, he could not bear to reveal it to that man, who he suspected had spent too many times with his wife. He felt satisfied though, remembering her wild abandonment to him, her attempts at hurtful words that even through the letter had not a tinge of sincerity in them.
No. She had not betrayed him. If so, she would not have reacted as she had done, and that man would not look at him like that.
"And… what does it mean?"
His look was all too eager, and Rhett wanted to hit him for that.
"That's for me to guess, and for you to apply when I tell," He quipped. He stared at the paper, the image so clear. His white animal teeth gleamed under on red insolent mouth. "Atlanta. That's where she is. For now."
Atlanta, yes. And she was certainly doing something that did not please him at all.
She was about to set that poor unfortunate Wilkes free of his chains.
Sighing with irritation, he turned towards Patrick and Todd and smirked.
"Gentlemen, I believe we have a vixen to chase. So let's make a bet of it, shall we?" He drew a puff of his cigar, hot blood rushing through his veins. "To the one who'll find her first and bring her to me, I'll give one million dollars to lay off for the rest of his life. Starting now."
That is if I'm not the one to find her first, he added in his mind. But it was always better to put more irons in the fire. From her story, Richard had visibly not found her yet. Yet for how long?