AUDEAMUS
Chapter 17
She pulled on the reins right in front of the little church. St. Nicholas had been built in the 16th century, a few years after King William Fell had ended the war of succession and won back the throne from his usurping sister. A friar that had fallen into the good graces of the king—even to the extent of holding the king's marriage ceremony to one Lady Isabella of Adelton Hall—had earned the gift of a new church outside of Hayes. Yet, the friar was humble, and the church had not been a grand design on his request. He merely wished for a place of worship where all could come and feel safe. It was also there, adjacent to the church, where he had kept his bees for mead-making and up until this day it was still widely sold to the rest of the country—even overseas.
Alas, thirty years ago, a forgotten stack of candles near the wood panel of the altar caused the piece to catch on fire. Almost the entire place burned to the ground, save the bell tower and the entry. It was left alone as most people in Hayes chose to venture to the churches in town. However, the years passed, and the townsfolk were saddened by the ruins of their beloved St. Nicholas. Together with some funds from the Catholic church and the noblemen of Cadherra, St. Nicholas was to be rebuilt and modernized. In the summer of 1794, after almost two decades of slow building, it was finally complete. However, the church had been in use for the past seven years, ever since the altar was completed.
St. Nicholas stood much on the outskirts of Hayes, a good ten-minute ride from the outer parts, toward the woods of Raven's Grove. The building was, like most churches, shaped like a cross in its foundations. It was oriented in an east-west axis, to benefit of the sun's positions and to illuminate the inner space. Bricks replaced what once was stone to make out the walls, whitewashed upon their rebuilding; as most modern churches were south of Safeira. It attracted the eye to the building, and it stood almost like a beacon, beckoning the believers to come to mass.
A few decades after the death of the original Friar Nicholas, a bell tower was erected next to the original church. Upon the rebuilding of the church, after the fire, the tower had been painted in white as well, with the dark tiles contrasting immensely. Three bells were held up high and every morning they would echo through the valley, together with the old Romanesque church further in the center of Hayes.
The Friars kept some pastures and had a fine garden next to the church, almost turning it into a monastery. Alas, there were not enough complex of buildings to call it such, nor enough people toiling the lands. Three priests lived there, together with some humble folk who could live and eat in exchange for labor.
The head of St. Nicholas' church was a Friar named Rasmus Blackwood. He was of advanced age and very bony. Each time he walked around, he looked like he would fall apart. Friar Blackwood was a very patient man, and many flocked to hear mass each Sunday morning as he held it. It would be a long and arduous task, but the more religious of Hayes liked him and his teachings to them. They found solace listening to the words of the Bible.
While Friar Blackwood was the calm authority of St. Nicholas, Friar Nathan was his complete opposite. He was loud, jovial, and irked to put people he did not get along with in their place. Now, Friar Nathan was not a mean person, nor did he wish ill will toward others. But as Blackwood had so eloquently put it one day as Little Lucy had made a remark, the younger friar was simply eager in his youth. Friar Nathan was the only one who openly disagreed with Captain Forster and got away with it.
Finally, there was Friar Marcus who was ever passive and kept much to himself. He was rarely seen as he kept to the gardens and the bees, taking care of making the mead that so many of the townsfolk enjoyed in Lucy's tavern.
There Bella found herself a frisky morning in September. Her cheeks had grown rosy from the ten-minute ride over there. She tied April to the wooden bar and entered through the grand wooden doors that had stood since the sixteenth century and survived the fire.
Inside, the original wooden beams in the ceiling by the entrance had blackened over time. But, toward the altar, the beams were much brighter in color, thus marking out which were new, and which were old. She walked through the opening and passed under the balcony that held the pipe organ. Wooden benches in a dark color stacked up toward the modest altar and she walked between them, passing the small transept. To her left, she spotted the wooden confessional box in one corner.
Bella saw Friar Nathan's portly build before her as he was speaking ardently with some choir boys, almost as if reprimanding them.
"T'will the last time, lads, tha' I be catchin' ya wi' this sor' o' mischief!" he stated in his thick accent. It reminded Bella of Lucy, yet Nathan's accent was decidedly heavier and more connected with the heavy brogue they spoke in Coldwick.
"Miss Swan!" he exclaimed with a burly voice as he saw her nearing. He turned to the boys and shooed them off while the young woman neared the altar. "Wha' brings the pleasure, miss, to be havin' ya 'ere?"
Bella smiled at the charming ways the priest seemingly dropped every 't' he could in his speech. "Hi, father, indeed it is good to see you as well!" she exclaimed.
Nathan liked the spirited Swan girl, only because he related so much to her. He was almost fifteen years her senior and a man, but whenever they spoke, both found it odd that they related so much in regard to the way the viewed the world. Bella had always found it amusing, that a friar almost twice her age should come to such an understanding.
"I come with some mischief of my own, father," she admitted. "Although it has not yet been committed." Much like with Little Lucy, Bella felt at ease speaking with both Nathan and Blackwood without fear of being judged. Yet, she was not an avid churchgoer and did not find herself often in St. Nicholas.
Nathan arched an eyebrow, his interest truly caught now. He smirked and led her to sit on the closest bench to them. "Is i' grounds fer confession?" he asked her. Reddish locks were cropped short and his face was cleanly shaven. The lines in his face were harsh after having spent most of his youth toiling in the sun. As soon as he had donned the friar's habit, however, he replaced his tan and muscles with a stout belly and a paler complexion.
Bella smirked, trying hard to fight the tug in her lips. "I shall let you decide, father. However, I ask that you let this remain between both of us… if you do not, in fact, approve." The degree of severity present in the inflection in her voice told Nathan that Bella Swan was not exaggerating.
"I be treatin' this as a confession, then," he assured her. Nathan was not a gossip in the least, but the way she behaved more than piqued his interest.
"I come here asking that you help me in communicating with a man that may or may not be within the confinements of the law as of right now," she started with pursed lips. The young woman looked tense and her bonnet cast a severe shadow over her upper face, only allowing Nathan to read the expression in her mouth. "And before you come to any silly conclusion, it is Jacob Black I am speaking about. I know you and father Blackwood to be reasonable—mayhap a bit more than most would think. I was hoping that Jacob and I could use the confessional for communication. He is a dear friend shooed out of Hayes by the ruthlessness of Captain Forster. I cannot go to where he hides in fear that I will either put him in peril or succumb to the dangerous environment which he finds himself in."
At the mere mention of Forster, Nathan had soured, his hot temper boiled as his chubby hands closed into fists. "Oh, bu' if I were bu' twenty years younger, I'd show tha' Forster wha' I really thought bout 'im!" he exclaimed with a fire burning in his eyes. "Wha' he did to poor Mr. Black n' his family! Unfergivable!"
She would have argued; as was expected whenever Friar Nathan spoke ill of Forster. Yet, Bella found no strength for it. Now that she was almost certain of what a horrid man Forster truly was, she had no inclination to ever again speak up in his defense. Nathan grew pleasantly surprised by this as well, almost brought closer by their common distaste for the captain.
"Jacob can come. Methinks father Blackwood will be more than glad to allow it. Bu', Miss Swan," he leaned in conspicuously. "Let's keep i' from father Marcus," he blinked.
Bella soared with joy. Now she would be able to speak more often with Jacob without having to venture into the woods of Raven's Grove!
He could see the cheer displayed on her genteel features and it provoked a warmth to spread in Nathan's chest. "I am forever grateful to you, father!"
"Le' me know when 'e's on 'is way so I might prepare the confessional fer ya."
Bella looked back at the box. There they would soon enter through each door, separated only by the latticed compartment, yet able to converse and exchange information.
She returned to April and it was soon that Bella made her way back to town. In the morrow, Friar Nathan would have the bells rung three times to alert Jacob and have him come to St. Nicholas so that they may speak.
On the elegant road, housing the sophisticated buildings of the upper class, was such splendid music bleeding onto the street that the commoners gathered around hoping to catch the finery and splendor. They saw glimpses of a world out of their reach as the footmen once and again opened the doors widely to let the distinguished guests from all over town enter.
Gowns and frocks, coats in velvet, taffeta, and silk glistened against the faint beams of a setting sun. Coiffed hairs bounced as the rich and wealthy of Hayes entered the townhouse of the Masens. The trains of their gowns trailed behind them elegantly. The many carriages lined the streets and crowded it, with the footmen and drivers waiting in the pleasant September evening for what would surely be hours until their masters wished to return home. Some had been allowed entry to the kitchens for rest until they would switch places with their colleagues. It was not uncommon to flirt with some of the kitchen maids that sprung around, trying to make sense of their workplace as demands of their attention would surely split them in half.
While the downstairs was a contained chaos, upstairs was the mask that hid it all. It only showed the refined perfection Rosalie McCarty had fought so hard and stressed for during the past few weeks.
A perfect Safeiran ball had been organized in the humble town of Hayes. The refinement of the sitting rooms in their house had never seen its equal. The guests exclaimed passionately that even Adelton Hall could not boast such finery.
The foyer, that took the guest directly before the grand marble staircase, boasted of a completely redone look. To welcome autumn, the themes of red, orange and gold had been woven into the fabrics of the home. The foyer was draped with fabrics in red and ribbons lined with golden thread. A Persian carpet had been placed there, matching the color theme. Footmen stood ready with white wigs and long coats in red with brass buttons, white gloves, and black breeches and buckled shoes. They held silver trays with claret glasses to welcome those who entered. Another ensemble of servants was ready to take the coats of the myriad of people entering.
The parlor saw its usual furniture, though, more chairs had been brought in to sit on, and orange and red fabrics draped the walls, hiding the pastel colors beneath. In every room of note, the chandeliers were suspended with their glistening crystals, lit up to illuminate each room. The ballroom—the grandest of them all—had a whole three chandeliers to boast of. When filled, the exquisite room could house a total of seventy people. Gold and red lined the walls and the floor was already being used by some for quartet dances.
Bella's mouth hung open as she regarded the general splendor, outdoing the gatherings and parties she had seen thus far. Even at the mayor's estate—where he had gone to great lengths for hosting the party of the year—could not compare to the rich and fine decorations.
She was mesmerized. Yet, there was an underlying thought that pushed past the rest: Rosalie McCarty must have spent a fortune.
Her parents had left her in Alice's care and started speaking with Wilson and his entourage. The mayor was quite inspired by the feast and had already made plans for a summer party to outdo the Masens and McCartys. Alice had left her for a moment to check on something in the kitchen and never returned.
Bella didn't know if it was pleasant or a dreaded surprise when Edward Masen showed up. He had his own entourage of ladies who loved hearing him compare his sister's party to those of Safeira. Bella smiled when hearing him approve of most of the arrangements. An approval from Edward Masen meant utter and grand success, she suspected.
Miss Moore and Angela Webber were in an almost comical competition of who could catch the fop's attention. Bella sipped her claret as she beheld the sight of Mr. Masen growing increasingly feeble and uncomfortable with the banter between both women. The others in their entourage fanned themselves in a dreaded attempt at not bursting out into silly chuckles.
However, when she caught Mr. Masen's eye across the room, he made up a silly excuse and darted over to her in a most uncharacteristic way. Ever the fashionista, he dressed to impress with a starched cravat, breeches, stockings and buckled shoes shined to perfection. He had the much-dreaded locks plastered to his forehead as always, still boasting it to be the rage in Safeira and on the continent.
"Mr. Masen, your ladies will miss you," she laughed as she looked at a fuming Angela Webber and Miss Moore. However, Jessica Stanley did not seem as affected. "And I will surely catch their anger." She leaned toward him conspicuously "They will think I have stolen you," she smiled. Their way of speaking was decidedly of a friendlier tone than it had been before. Edward Masen and Bella Swan's acquaintance had grown out of their promenades, not from sitting in stuffy parlors and sipping tea. Despite his rather unfortunate appearance or vain conversations, she could sometimes find his society rather agreeable when they were alone. He was still the intolerable fop, but softer around the edges and more genuine. Bella wondered why he would not show that side to the rest of the world. She suspected that he would grow to find many around him taking a kinder stand in regard to him.
"While I understand their fascination with me and am flattered by such approaches, I must confess that too much female attention has me at my wit's end, my dear Miss Swan," he drawled.
"Maybe you should seek out your brothers-in-law, or are you forgetting that I am a female as well?" she pondered.
"Come, come, Miss Swan, I would hardly place you in the same category as them," he answered without looking.
Bella smirked. "I shall take that as a compliment, Mr. Masen."
He turned around as if suddenly alerted to what his words might have inclined, and she saw him grow flustered. Indeed, at times, Edward Masen truly had such little tact.
"Indeed, I hope you do."
They stood together and Bella wondered why he had grown so silent right then. The aura coming from him was changed too and it made her blush; as if she was suddenly alerted to the fact that Edward Masen was not simply a fop and intriguing dandy. He was a man as well.
No, she shook her head. No indeed. The powdered and rogued visage of the peacock stared down at her with that indifferent expression once more. There was only one side to Edward Masen, nothing else.
"I wonder, Miss Swan, if I may ask a dance out of—" A faint tug on her shoulder interrupted their small exchange and caused the young woman to turn and see who demanded her attention.
Her face lit up at the sight of none other than the dashing Major Collins.
"May I ask for the next dance?" he asked as he bowed with an extended hand. Bella's eyes darted from him to Edward. The latter bowed and took a step back, allowing them to walk over to the dancefloor. Bella graciously accepted the hand. She turned to Edward while mouthing: "maybe the next one?" as she was led onto the floor by the major.
The elegance of the eve truly caught up to her and Bella Swan did not witness the frown that had crept its way onto Edward Masen's features. Her eyes were held steadfast by the major, who so eloquently led her in the quaint dance. The lively music served to inspire them and on the floor, many eyes were drawn to the couple with faint nods. Indeed, Isabella Swan and Major Collins did truly make a handsome couple if they ever saw one. It was a perfect match, many nodded and agreed.
"If you are to pursue her, you must be ready to elbow your way through," a kind voice said through the chatter and music to Mr. Masen's left. He turned and was greeted by Jasper Hale.
"Why on earth would I wish for such a dastardly thing, Mr. Hale?" he scoffed, dotting his nose with the trimmed handkerchief. "We are but mere acquaintances, Miss Swan and I, mark my word!" he uttered in his usual drawl.
"She is a handsome young woman, is she not?" Jasper continued, ignoring his brother-in-law's remark. "Alice is quite taken with her. As are your parents."
Perhaps, in that instance—watching her float on the dancefloor, in the arms of someone else with the genuine smile plastered over her delicate features and eyes glittering from the exercise—his mask did drop, if only a little.
"I am who I am, Jasper," Edward said, the drawl lessening and a haunting sadness etching its way into his voice. Mayhap the young gentleman had had too much to drink. He downed the rest of his claret and pressed the glass into the other man's hands. "She has no interest in me," he said arching an eyebrow, leaving the fair-haired young man be.
Jasper stared as Edward left, and then back at young Miss Swan with a disheartened sigh. He knew there was more to his foppish brother than met the eye. Edward Masen may be vain, but Jasper had always been a good judge of character and he discerned someone hidden behind the frills and powdered visages. It had intrigued the young Mr. Hale, for everyone seemed so distracted and irritated by the dandy that they did not take the time to perceive the young man Edward Masen truly was. What Jasper had noted most of all, was the growing interest stemming in Edward regarding Isabella Swan, yet it was an interest he openly suppressed and explained away. Their promenades were only as acquaintances, their conversations served as grounds for the fop to off-hand insult her. Yet, Bella was ever gracious, and she handled him better than most.
Bella shivered at the touch of Collins' hand on her own, how he held her in their quartet, how they danced with the music. His smile bore down on her and even made her blush slightly.
Once the dance was finished, Collins pulled her aside to a more secluded area so they might speak. She fiddled slightly with her skirts at his nearness and her eyes cast to the floor and up again at his face.
"Miss Swan," he began as he beheld her shyness. "You cannot have ignored my…interest in spending time with you ever since arriving at Hayes."
"You have been very attentive, Major Collins," she mumbled as if almost embarrassed.
He was taken in by her modesty and perfect manners. "I know you have been spending some time with Mr. Masen, yet I have been assured that he is not courting you—not openly."
"Indeed, he is not," she nodded.
Collins looked like he was to take a leap of faith in her direction. She sensed the undertone of nervousness in him, in his way of bearing himself. "I…hope you not think it impertinent of me if I were to ask your permission to court you, Miss Swan," he breathed.
Bella's heart went aflutter. An amiable man stood before her willing to court her, after all the fops and sorry wretches her father had sent her way. This time, Bella could choose who she wanted. She didn't think of the logistics—if Collins was a good match socially, his station, his standing in society, his income and so forth. Bella listened with her heart instead. How had he treated her? Was his interest in her genuine or did it seek her dowry? Such things rushed through her mind until he interrupted her.
"I wish to get to know you better, Miss Swan, and for you to get to know me better as well," he stated almost nervously.
Her lips parted and closed as she looked into the depth of his eyes. Major Collins had the deepest blue eyes she had ever beheld in her life. His air was charming, he was a good match in all senses for her. Her parents would accept it most openheartedly if she were to agree.
"I am much obliged, Major Collins, and flattered," she added with a blush.
His features broke out into an ecstatic smile as he took her hand and kissed it. "You do not know how this news gladdens me!" he told her.
Bella's blush deepened and they were about to continue their conversation when a scream outside had the music cease and the chatter stop abruptly. He saw a cold and stern fear etch its way onto the paling face of the young woman.
"Stay here, miss," he ordered her before rushing out to see what all the commotion was about.
But Collins did not know Bella enough to realize she would not obey that command. She, like so many others, rushed out after Collins, standing on the frigid steps leading down to the street. At the end of the street, a crowd had been forming and it grew as the guests of the Masen townhouse rushed forth.
"Let me through, I am the commandant of the Royal Guard," Bella could hear Collins exclaim in a commanding voice as he pushed through the throng. She shivered in the frisky September night and felt the blood drain from her face as she discerned a pale hand on the side of the road. Many of the guests recoiled back in fright at such a sight and did not venture further. Alas, Bella did.
She pushed through and shut out the mumbles and chatter. "Let me through!" she heard Collins utter once more. Once he got through to whoever lay on the ground, she could practically hear him catch his breath in shock and horror.
"Have someone fetch a blanket to cover her," he commanded one of the nearby townspeople. "Go on, man! Tell one of the footmen!" Collins shouted out in restrained anger.
Bella was let through and came to stand within the circle that had formed. She gasped at the sight of the body. A young woman lay on the cold cobblestone, part of the ground beneath her skull was darker and the metallic twang of blood hung in the air. Bella tasted it on her tongue when she gasped, and the unexpected presence of blood had her grow faint and lose her composure. A horrid expression had frozen on the corpse's face. It looked like the young woman had flung herself from the tall rooftop of a nearby building.
"Someone remove Miss Swan from here!" Collins urged once he realized with horror that Bella had seen the body as well.
"It's Miss Haste!" Bella cried out in fright as her eyes locked with Collins'. "It's Mr. Ridge's maid!"
The old woman shifted uncomfortably in the seat as she scratched her hair through the dirty cap. Her sunken-in eyes regarded the man across the desk skeptically, judging every refined and polished point about him. She took in the scent of polished boots, metal, gunpowder, and wood from the room. The gray orbs trailed further to watch the befuddling fat sergeant as he struggled to keep quill and papers orderly on the desk in the corner.
"State your name and occupation," the man before her ordered in an authoritative voice. She could tell—he was used to getting his way.
"Matilda Greene, scullery maid," she spat through her crooked teeth. In the corner, she heard the running of the quill on paper rasp irritatingly in her ear, like a fly buzzing too close.
"Time and place of incident," Major Collins asked.
"Comin' from Rover's street to cross by Mulkin's—the same street I've been walkin' down for the past twenty-five years of me life," said the maid in a matter-of-fact sort of way. "I works for the Sansieres, see," she stated with a finger tapping the clean surface of the desk. Collins grew enthralled by the dirty finger and sighed inwardly.
"State your witness of the incident—as it happened; exactly as it happened. I do not wish for any embellishments," he added. He had been awake the entire night cleaning up the mess after the maid's death, trying to make sense of what had truly happened. He had brought in every witness on that street and ceremoniously questioned them one by one for his reports and records.
"I was walkin' down the street, like every night—as I told ya. Suddenly, I hears a whimper on one of them taller houses—on the roof," she started while leaning forward. The chair creaked and Thompson's quill flew over the page. Collins had no other he would trust with keeping a record. He needed to read the people's expressions as they retold their testimony. While Thompson might be inept in many things, he now realized the importance of the situation and was up to the task. Collins wanted Forster to question why he wasn't the one sitting in the corner desk, transcribing. Collins wanted Forster to sweat rivers, to corner him further.
"Continue, be specific—for the record," Collins stated. He witnessed her eyes narrow and her hands clenched as she was taken back.
"I and some others saw her, major. She be standin' on the edge but afraid, steppin' back as if hesitatin'. Twas bizarre." Suddenly a cold look seeped across her face and she grew restless with her hands. The wrinkles around her eyes deepened and she struggled to hold her gaze steadfast on Collins. She was afraid, he could tell.
"I…I don't think tha' girl wished to jump," she shivered. "But she did, with tha' horrible scream."
Collins settled back, recognizing the words. He had heard it countless times during the night, how the young maid had hesitated as she peered over the edge, how she seemed to turn back. "Twas very dark up there," the scullery maid shook her head. "Somethin' bout it didn't make any sense," she finally answered.
"What made no sense?" Thompson urged as he leaned forward, completely taken in by her words. A stern look from the major promptly served to silence the eager sergeant.
"I cannot say fer sure, sirs, but I don't believe tha' girl jumped. Twas too dark, aye, too dark. Dark enough fer someone to hide, dark enough fer us not to see her pushed off the edge."
"Really now?" She held the curiosity of both men in the office and the scullery maid delighted in such attention.
"Tis the truth, major. I cannot explain it, bu' I know."
"Then you are stating it is not a suicide, but murder?" Thompson asked from behind his desk. He was dripping ink all over his notes and Collins could not help but roll his eyes.
"I ain't statin' nothing, I'm merely sharin' what I be thinkin'."
The major leaned back and nodded. "Thank you, that will be all Miss Greene," Collins nodded as she was shown out the room by Sgt. Thompson. Once he returned, a chuckle escaped him.
"She's the first who's speculated on murder, major. Do you also believe it?"
"Now, sergeant," Collins uttered in a severe expression. "This woman could just as well speculate for gossip's sake. She could not support her claims, it does not prove Miss Haste was pushed."
"Yes major, but—"
"Was she the last civilian to be questioned?" the major interrupted, feeling the growing headache fester.
Thompson's shoulders slumped. "Yes, sir," he said.
"Good, then I wish for you to rewrite your notes in a neater manner. I shall have to go through the statements in the morrow. Here are more renditions I've been working on, you may take them as well," Collins instructed. Thompson took the papers and looked at them. A childish and comical expression of surprise slowly worked its way onto his chubby face until replaced with a frown.
"But, Major Collins—"
"Have these finished by end of the day, if you please, sergeant. And you can continue by sending in Corporal Richards."
"You will be questioning the soldiers as well?" Thompson asked.
"Well, if this girl was indeed pushed, I must keep the soldiers of the Royal Guard up to date."
The sergeant sighed once more and took his notes and the documents handed to him by Collins as he walked out. Collins could hear Thompson's baritone voice extend outside as he called for the corporal. It was mid-morning, yet the major was certain he would be a slave to his desk long after the sun had set.
It was expected that Hayes would speak of nothing else but Miss Haste's untimely and horrid death. It was expected that gossip and hushed voices would all strive to find some sense in it all, that people would rationalize why she had cast herself off a rooftop. Since the people did not know the reason for her death, her death or—suicide—was explained away. The young woman had killed herself over the absence of Lucas Ridge, confirming gossip that she had cared for him as more than a simple maid.
Bella Swan felt crushed at what she had seen. It was a scene she had not understood. Facing death in such a violent way had not only shaken her but also many of the Masen guests who had witnessed the corpse. Charles Swan had been forced to drag his shaking daughter away from that horrid view. He still remembered the still form of the young woman, her pale and crushed figure splattered on the side of the road, the horror still present in her eyes. Some speculated the suicide had not been voluntary, some speculated it was murder.
Because of such speculations, Charles' protectiveness over his daughter had grown tenfold. Bella Swan was no longer allowed to ride April alone. Robert was to follow her wherever she went, and because of the paranoid nature of her father, she was robbed of the freedom she so longed for.
Charles had spoken once and again with Mrs. Hale that it would be prominent in parting earlier than expected for Zafra. The unrest in Hayes would not settle down soon, and he did not wish for Bella to be in town until it was safer. When autumn reached its zenith, she would part for the southern town and remain there until the first snows kissed Angloa.
Bella sat in the open balcony, regarding the garden with the pond in the distance and the weeping willow shifting slowly in color as autumn progressed. There, under that very tree, she had met Edward Cullen a third time and he had even touched her. Bella felt her brow work itself into a frown, reminded of their last encounter, of the playful and amusing tone in his voice. He had taken her note and she wondered what he might have deciphered from it. Bella sat, pensive. Had he also heard the unfortunate fate of Miss Haste? The young woman stifled a shiver.
Footsteps told of another presence in the room. Yet, Bella did not turn around to acknowledge whoever they were.
The same person proceeded in stripping the linen off her bed, no doubt to prepare it for a fresh set of sheets. It had to be Sara. "Do you truly think she did it?" her timid voice asked, cutting through the still silence of her chamber.
Bella rested her head against the windowpane and sulked. "I cannot know…" she trailed off. Sara still rustled with the bedsheets. In the dull light of mid-morning, droplets fell heavy from the steel sky. The autumn rains had started, and it was soon that they would replace the sunny days of summer.
There was a determined air to the maid behind her; in the way that she walked about the bed, in the way she rummaged.
"It will be impertinent of me to say this, but some believe she was pushed," Sara commenced in her soft tones. "And while we have enough fright to behold, I was never under the impression that Miss Haste was melancholy or longed to end her life."
Bella soured. "Let us not speak of this, Sara. This whole affair presents a rather sad and unfortunate event. I knew Miss Haste for years, her absence is more than unfortunate for me," she murmured curtly. Sara noted the hint of betrayal in her voice.
She stopped rustling with the sheets. "Everyone in Hayes is quick to jump to conclusions. Maybe there is more to this than we think? Maybe she was in love with Mr. Ridge, or simply grown alone after his death? Or maybe someone was after her. We cannot know, of course."
More drops fell from the sky and the branches of the weeping willow swayed lazily as the pond was obscured. She turned around to face Sara who stood by the made bed with her hands folded before her.
"I like to give everyone the benefit of the doubt, Miss Swan. The dead cannot speak anymore, so is it not up to us to decide what she was or what she did?" Sara wondered. "Maybe you have someone who might help you in such an endeavor?" the maid smiled.
Sara suspected Bella might know of a way to contact Cullen. And, in fact, she did! St. Nicholas, Jacob! Maybe Jacob had the answers she sought? Or maybe he could make her see sense in all this?
"I do not know who he is or how to reach him, Sara."
"Of course not, miss," the maid smiled as she gathered the dirty linen and headed for the door. "Forgive me, I was simply thinking out loud. I shall get going now," she smirked and closed the door behind her.
Bella chuckled. Sara knew exactly what she was doing—the sly woman. And, in a single instant, the young Miss Swan had gone from depressed and afraid with a mission in mind. She would venture to St. Nicholas and have Friar Nathan ring the bells and wait in the confessional until Jacob came. How she was to go about her plan, she did not know. But what Bella did know was that she left for Zafra soon, and she wished to leave at ease.
She changed into her maroon riding habit and snuck to the stables. It was filled with some workers and she was certain Robert was there somewhere. If she could simply saddle April and dart out, she might make it out of Hayes in time, before they noticed anything.
Bella snuck about and had just placed and fixed the straps of the saddle when one of the younger boys asked what she was doing. Without as much as looking back, Bella Swan hurled herself over the saddle and dug her heels into her mare. April, who had since May been placed on a strict diet and exercise, darted out of the Swan stables with agility and ease. They rushed through the backstreets of Hayes until reaching the gates leading to Raven's Grove. Bella soared together with her white horse as she carried them effortlessly over the meadow, toward the white church of St. Nicholas.
Bella was free in an instant. Bella was flying. Nothing could compare to the feeling that settled in her stomach of such enjoyment, of such a sentiment of being one with her horse and nature. She loved every moment of it.
St. Nicholas approached and not fifteen minutes passed before its bells tolled three times, the music filling the valley.
Young Miss Swan sat in the confessional impatiently, waiting for Jacob to make his appearance. The inside of the confessional was dark and foreboding, with only some light floating through the door and some panels to her immediate left. She wrung her hands as the minutes passed. Maybe Jacob hadn't heard the bells toll? Maybe he'd become detained? What if Friar Nathan or Blackwood had intercepted him? So many thoughts of what could go wrong rushed through her mind that the young woman never noticed the echo of steps sound in the dainty interior of St. Nicholas. The outside light burrowed through, yet wax candles were required to further light up the space, giving it a mysterious air.
Someone rushed to open the confessional and closed it behind them. Bella tensed as she looked through the latticed opening, trying to discern any features of the stranger, but she only found a deep hood at best. She could see no features.
"Bella?" the voice whispered. It was Jacob.
She sprung forward in anticipation as her nervousness subsided. "Jacob!" she whispered back. "You came!"
She heard the faint smile in his voice. "Of course I did, you called. I have overheard the gossip and whispers of what happened in Hayes—" he paused, and she felt his eyes work their way onto hers through the latticed opening. "Do you believe Miss Haste did it? I certainly cannot."
"I…I cannot say, for there were witnesses who say they saw her jump—"
"I think someone is trying to dirty her name, Bella. You if anyone should know that Miss Haste would never do such a thing."
"I suppose. But if she did not jump, she was pushed to it, and who would wish to kill her?"
"The same person who killed Mr. Ridge."
She moistened her lips and sat back with a sigh. Bella had the feeling Jacob could see her better than she could him. She blushed under what she considered was a stern gaze.
"He is going to find the real killer, Bella. And I aim to help him."
"My parents are sending me early to Zafra for the season, Jacob. They want me far away from this mess. Hayes is becoming dangerous and they are not the only ones to think it."
"When do you leave?"
"Within the fortnight."
They sat in stunned silence for a while, going over the fact that two people had succumbed to a mysterious killer. "Maybe it is for the best," Jacob murmured softly. They were overcome by the pressing darkness that extended within the church. Bella shivered at such ominous words. She had to be brave and trust in Jacob.
"Tell him that Mr. Ridge's note has little of substantial evidence except for those who knew him. But he was known to hide underlying messages in his texts, he used to do it with me all the time when I was younger. If he could get some of the ledgers relating your and your father's trial, I might be able to find something."
"But most of that cannot be found. He has been to the garrison, to Forster's office, even to Collins'. He has searched Ridge's apartments and come up empty-handed. He is going to look through Miss Haste's rooms tonight, but he does not expect to find anything. Is there more to it that you have deciphered this far?" Jacob asked.
"The only thing standing out was that Lucas wrote 'in haste', which would not have demanded such a steady hand. Anyone who knew him knew he scribbled his words worse than a toddler unless he knew anyone was to read them. Tell that…to Cullen."
"I will," Jacob nodded. "Everything you have just given me is truly valuable information, Bella. I know he will appreciate that."
She pressed against the opening. "He must clear hers and Ridge's name, Jacob—suicide cannot hang over these people," she demanded. "Tell him I said as much as well."
"Of course." Silence found its way into the confessional box. "I suppose I will not be seeing you until winter, then."
"No, I suppose you will not," she answered, subdued by what she was leaving behind. Bella too wanted to clean up the mess.
"But I shall know that with your coming also comes spring, Bella." The warmth in his voice extended. "And when you return, we shall have more answers!"
She couldn't help but smile as he tried to reassure her.
"Oh, and I will wish you a happy birthday in advance as well!" he added.
"Thank you," she had completely forgotten that she was to turn twenty in a few days. Bella stood up, leaving the box. She did not turn around to see Jacob leave. He heard her footsteps echo and waited until they died down, certain she had left the church before he himself left.
A/N: Had some extra time to publish another chapter! Thanks for the reviews, feedback, etc. on the previous chapters! I hope you enjoy this one as well!
Cheers,
Isabelle