This chapter's song is the beautiful Don't Deserve You by Plumb.
Chapter 5 - Don't Deserve You
November 23, 1901
When Edith arrived at the hospital, it was nearly ten past five. She'd had her maid call a carriage, but the driver had been late, much to her consternation - she was eager to see Thomas again, and she didn't want to keep Alan waiting either.
When she arrived, a nurse told her that Alan was already visiting with Thomas. Oh no, Edith thought, I hope they haven't been at each other's throats! As much as she might wish otherwise, she knew there was no love lost between the two men.
Making her way down the hall to Thomas's room as quickly as she could, Edith opened the door without knocking. To her astonishment, she interrupted Alan and Thomas talking somewhat amicably together. Glancing between the two of them, Edith exclaimed, "I'm glad to see you both getting along!"
Thomas gave her a smile as she crossed to him, took his hand and leaned down to give him a brief kiss. As Alan was sitting in the bedside chair, Edith sat next to Thomas on the bed, careful not to jostle his wounds.
"Dr. McMichael here was just telling me some stories from your childhood, Edith," Thomas said with a bit of a smirk. He sounded almost like the suave gentleman she'd first met in Buffalo, and Edith cheered to hear him sounding more like his old self.
"Nothing too embarrassing, I hope!" she chuckled, throwing a look of gratitude at Alan.
"Would I do that?" Alan caught her gaze and twinkled back. Then, as the smile slipped from his face, he stated, "Edith, now that we're all here, there's much we need to discuss."
"What's going on?" Thomas asked, a note of dread creeping into his voice.
Alan answered, "There's a police investigation into Lucille Sharpe's death. A detective will be coming from Workington soon, and we need to make sure we're all, ah, on the same page regarding the details."
A brief flash of grief came over Thomas's face before he schooled his features to remain neutral. "I see."
Edith squeezed his hand as she gently spoke. "Thomas...I never told you exactly how Lucille died. I'd like to tell you now, if you're ready to hear it."
"You killed her. Hit her in the head with a shovel, by the harvester...that's correct, right?"
Edith gasped, "Thomas! You remember? I saw your spirit there...you saved me! Lucille would have been on me for sure, except that she turned 'round to see you!"
Nodding, Thomas responded, "Yes...I don't know how, but I was there. I saw it happen. It feels like a dream, a vision...but I clearly remember you there, pure and radiant, like an angel triumphing over a demon at last."
"Wait a minute," Alan broke in. "Are you talking about ghosts? Edith, I always thought all your talks of spirits were flights of fancy, your vivid imagination at work."
"Oh no, Alan. Ghosts are real - I have more faith in that than ever. Allerdale Hall was full of them - they led me to the truth about what had really been going on there all those years. And during that last confrontation with Lucille, Thomas's spirit appeared there to help. Actually," she gave a little grin, "your ghost was the reason I thought you may still be alive, Thomas - your shade looked and felt different than any I'd encountered before. Thank you for coming to find me, letting me know you still lived! When Lucille came out of her room holding that bloody knife...I'd thought for sure she'd killed you."
The couple shared a tender look, and Edith gave Thomas's hand another squeeze.
Alan cleared his throat and said uncomfortably, "Yes, well, ghosts aside, the fact remains that Edith killed Lucille. It was clearly self-defense, which I don't think should be at all hard to prove. What we need to have clear in all our minds is what exactly we'll tell the detective about the events leading up to her death."
"Let's get started, then," Edith said resolutely.
Alan McMichael rose to depart nearly an hour later. They'd gone over the events of that last day again and again, until all minds were clear on the narrative they'd be presenting to the police. Edith insisted on honesty as much as was possible, and they'd all agreed to recount the incident almost exactly as it'd happened - simply leaving out any details that would implicate Thomas in wrongdoing. Thomas might appear somewhat of a dullard, but not a criminal.
From his bed, Thomas stretched out his unrestrained left hand toward McMichael. "Forgive me for not being able to offer you a true handshake, Doctor. I want to thank you, for everything you're doing for me...I'd be likely to swing if you said the word. I can't - can't express how grateful I am."
"I'm not doing it for you," McMichael replied unsmilingly, taking his hand and giving it a short, perfunctory shake.
"I know," Thomas replied, dropping his arm back to the bed, "but still. I need you to know how much I appreciate it. I promise you, I will not...squander the opportunity you provide me."
"See to it that you don't," McMichael rejoined. "I will take my leave now. Goodbye, Edith."
"Of course! Thank you Alan," Edith said, shooting the doctor a fond look.
Once McMichael had left, Thomas took Edith's left hand. His eyes fell on her ring finger, which was still raw from where Lucille had ripped the jewelry off of it. He brushed his thumb lightly over the marks, face sorrowful. "I wish I could buy you a replacement for that horrible ring. Something beautiful, to match your lovely heart."
"Yes, that ring really was quite ugly, wasn't it?" Edith laughed. "I pretended to like it when you proposed, but I always thought it was too big and gaudy."
"Me too," Thomas replied. "It had been in the family for generations, and our mother wore it when we were children. Lucille took it when she killed her, and she had an obsession with it ever since. Unfortunately it was the only jewelry of value we had left, which is why I used it as an engagement ring; the rest had been sold to pay off debts or invest in the mine."
"Well, good riddance!" Edith declared hotly. "Once you're on your feet again, Thomas, you can take me ring shopping."
"But, Edith," Thomas started, "you know I have no money -"
"Oh, hush!" Edith cried. "We are married, Thomas, and what's mine is yours. You possess a small fortune now, or at least you will once I write my lawyer in America and have him send the paperwork again to transfer my assets here."
Shock flowed through Thomas at her declaration. "Edith - you don't have to do that! I don't want your money! Please - I don't want you to think that - that I still have any designs on your finances."
"I know you don't, Thomas, and that's why I trust you with them now," Edith countered.
"Edith, you - I don't deserve you," Thomas blurted out, unable to put all of his thoughts into words. He pulled her down gently for a kiss, and they breathlessly broke apart what felt like a lifetime later.
After a moment had passed, Thomas steeled himself to say what he'd been preparing for all afternoon. "Edith...I'd like to tell you the rest. I want no more secrets between us, I need to get it all out as soon as you're ready. Tell me - are you truly prepared to hear all the sordid details?"
"Yes, my love," Edith replied tenderly, with just a hint of apprehensiveness in her tone. "Whenever you're ready."
Thomas floundered, not sure exactly where to pick up. Eventually he managed, "I suppose - I should start with Pamela. My first - my first wife."
"All right," Edith encouraged. "Take your time."
With a deep breath, Thomas began. "When Lucille and I returned to Allerdale Hall after our long separation, we were practically broke. We had the house and the land, but not much else. I intended to get the clay mine running again, but all the equipment was in disrepair after twelve years of disuse...I borrowed money from whichever banks and investors would back me, which were precious few. We managed to get some clay out and sell it, but it wasn't nearly enough. By the end of our first year back we were in dire straits - debts were coming due, we needed new equipment, and workers were threatening to leave because we couldn't pay them a living wage. We were desperate."
"Lucille came up with the plan - we should find a rich woman for me to marry, so we could gain access to her fortune. I was against the idea at first, but Lucille...talked me into it. Of course, as Lucille had no intention of actually allowing me to marry a woman in any true sense of the word, we decided it'd be best to look for an older woman or a widow - one who wouldn't mind missing out on the, ah, intimacy of marriage. We traveled to London, where I attempted to find investors the traditional way; we also introduced ourselves to London's high society, in order to look for our target."
"Pamela Upton was the perfect candidate. She was in her mid-forties, rather homely, and had been in a wheelchair most of her life from a childhood accident...so no chance of her actually expecting congress. She had a sizable fortune, as she'd been an only child of wealthy parents. It was...laughably easy to seduce her. I was the first man in her life to show her serious attention, and she was...swept away by a few kind words and compliments." Thomas shuddered in shame as he recalled the memories.
"We never intended to kill her. Or at least...I did not. Lucille may have from the start, I'm not sure anymore. Pamela was a sweet lady, and though I never loved her, I hoped that she'd be happy at Allerdale. I even had the absurd notion that she could possibly become a companion for Lucille." Thomas snorted mirthlessly. "As if! It soon became evident that Lucille hated her - for even though I assured Lucille that all my affection was still hers, she couldn't bear to share me with another, even a little."
"Four months after our marriage, I took an overnight trip to Carlisle to oversee a large purchase order of our clay. When I returned late the next day, Pamela was dead - she was laying in the foyer with her neck broken. Lucille was calm and unperturbed, and told me that Pamela had lost control of her wheelchair and hurtled over the bannister from the second story. I suspected - no, I knew - that Lucille had pushed Pamela to her death, but I didn't confront her about it. It was as if...as if I didn't challenge Lucille's story, then I wouldn't have to face the fact that my sister was still a stone cold murderer."
Thomas paused in his tale, and Edith gave him a look of such understanding and compassion that he felt his heart would burst. Gathering his courage, Thomas continued.
"Lucille dragged Pamela's body into the basement and dumped it in one of the clay vats. I argued that we should bury her properly in the family plot at St. Mary's, but Lucille wouldn't hear of it. Said that Pamela had hardly been a part of the family at all, and that we'd be subject to investigation if we buried her officially."
"The money Pamela had brought lasted us a while, nearly eighteen more months. But, inevitably, the funds ran out again, and Lucille suggested we go with the same plan as before. Knowing what happened with Pamela I argued against it, but Lucille flew into one of her dreadful rages...and I acquiesced, as I always did." Thomas's voice was harsh and self-deprecating.
"We traveled to Scotland this time, and there we met Margaret McDermott. She was a widow in her mid-thirties without children, and heir to her late husband's large fortune. Unlike Pamela, Margaret was no sheltered damsel to be taken in with pretty words and declarations of love; she was worldly wise, and figured out quickly that I was looking to marry into money. However, she was lonely; though she knew there was no real love between us, I promised her a comfortable, companionable life at Allerdale Hall, with the chance to be mistress of a large estate again."
"At first, I thought things were going well - as well as they could be, anyway. Margaret had many practical suggestions as to the running of the house and how to do things better to save money, but Lucille wouldn't hear of changing a thing, of course. It was also hard to dodge Margaret's attempts at intimacy...I believe she thought I was too shy to initiate, and felt it her duty to, ah, to introduce me to marital relations."
"I soon noticed that Margaret was becoming ill with a hacking cough, and though I purchased tinctures meant to help, she kept getting worse. When I mentioned Margaret's sickness to Lucille, she seemed so smug, so pleased about it, that suddenly I knew she must be behind it somehow. I watched her closely to see how she was doing it - and I realized that she always made Margaret's tea from a separate tin. I did confront Lucille then - and she confirmed it, proudly! Confessed to killing Pamela too - bragged about it, even!"
Thomas buried his face in his good hand. "Oh Edith - if only I'd stopped it then! I tried, I truly did at first - I told Lucille to stop the poisoning immediately, threatened to get the police and tell them everything." He shook his head hopelessly, and continued, "But Lucille had so much power over me. No, I let her have so much power over me. She told me I'd hang for Pamela's death, that she'd be sent away to an institution again; she reminded me of our vow, that detestable vow we'd made as children, to never be apart no matter what. She made me feel like the worst kind of brother - and lover - to even consider going against her plan. So, I...I didn't."
Overcome with emotion, Thomas felt his throat closing up as the guilt threatened to overwhelm him. It was one thing to know what he'd done - or hadn't done. It was another to lay it out so plainly to the one person in the world whose opinion he actually valued. What must she think of him!
He risked a glance up at Edith, and her expression was grim. Noticing his regard, however, she forced a small smile onto her face. "As hard as this is to hear, Thomas, I'm glad you're telling me. This is good - getting everything out into the open. Only after that can we move forward."
"I know," Thomas murmured. "It's just...I never thought I'd be telling anyone this. Much less you. I've always...just tried not to think about it."
Taking a deep breath, Thomas resumed. "Margaret died a few weeks after I figured out the truth. Lucille put her in the clay too, and I hoped that was the end of it. And it was, for quite a while...Margaret had left us even more money than Pamela, and we were able to make ends meet for a couple years. I started designing my clay harvester; the old equipment was getting too costly to repair, and we needed to yield more clay to make enough profit to sustain us. We hadn't yet reached the point of desperation, when the nightmare happened: Lucille...conceived."
Thomas closed his eye again. "It was one of my worst fears come to life. Lucille and I had always tried to be...careful...to avoid pregnancy, but our luck had run out. We knew there was no way we could conceal the truth from the world once the child was born. Even though I was sure she wouldn't agree, I asked Lucille if she'd run away with me, go somewhere where no one knew us to pose as husband and wife and raise our child in peace. Naturally, Lucille wouldn't hear of leaving Allerdale - she said I should marry again, and have my new wife pose as the child's mother. Seeing no alternative, I agreed."
"We went to Milan this time. The journey there was hellish, as the pregnancy made Lucille sick nearly all the time - which did nothing to improve her temperament. We met Enola Sciotti there - she was a woman of respectable means, although not nearly as rich as the first two had been. However, beggars couldn't be choosers, and we needed to find someone quickly. Enola was several years younger than I, handsome, and spoke decent English - but most importantly, she was gullible. We spun a tale of how Lucille's fiancé had tragically died only a week before their wedding, but had left her with a parting "gift" that would bring shame to our family once the child came; Enola was filled with sympathy, and agreed to marry me and pretend the child was ours."
"Once we all returned to England, I began to actually...look forward to the child's arrival. I never thought I'd be able to have children, but I started to dream of fatherhood at last...I knew I wanted to be a much different kind of father than my own was, and I hoped that the child would bring out...motherly affections...in Lucille, temper her somewhat. Enola was so kind, so helpful - she spent hours sewing baby clothes and blankets, and preparing the nursery. Best of all, I was sure that Enola would be safe from Lucille, as we needed her to be the child's mother in the eyes of the world."
Thomas shuddered, and let out a whimper. "But then...it all went wrong! Lucille's time came, and it was two days of tortuous labour before the child was born, with only Enola and I there to assist. It was immediately obvious that he was infirm; his back was twisted, and he had club feet. Still, he was...beautiful. His little face, his tiny hands and feet...oh Edith, I loved him! I loved him from the moment I laid eyes on him, and didn't care that he wasn't perfect. I loved him and wanted more than anything for him to survive." Thomas stopped, heaving, tears rolling unchecked down his face. A noise made him look up to see Edith crying as well, before she leaned down to sweep him into an embrace.
"Thomas, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!" she sniffled into his ear, and all Thomas could do was tighten his grip and hang on for dear life. He didn't, couldn't speak, as they wept together for his poor doomed son.
"What was his name?" Edith eventually whispered.
"Edward," Thomas breathed. "Edward Thomas Sharpe. A distinguished name for a child conceived in disgrace."
"Don't say that," Edith countered gently. "Whatever else he might have been, he was an innocent child, and your son."
The depth of Edith's compassion threatened to submerge Thomas once more, and it was several minutes before he could bring himself to continue.
"Lucille nursed Edward for hours and hours, but he had a weak suck and wasn't getting much milk. She had no idea what to do for a squalling baby, and neither did I. Enola had grown up with younger siblings and knew how to tend a baby - she promised to do her very best to save him. And she did try, oh so hard! She spooned sugar water into his mouth, sent me into the village for fresh goat's milk, rocked him and sang to him and swaddled him. But despite all her ministrations, Edward was miserable. He screamed constantly, slept rarely, and wasted away slowly before our eyes."
"Lucille...struggled. She seemed helpless, for one of the first times in her life - and that helplessness turned into anger and resentment. I think, by the end...Lucille hated him. Edward grew sicker and more miserable, and then one night…" Thomas stopped again, covering his face with a hand, and forced out the next words. "Lucille took him for the night, and in the morning he was dead. Suffocated, I think. I know he was dying anyway, but to know that she killed him!…"
"Thomas," Edith croaked, "It wasn't your fault, love. I'm so, so sorry!" She held Thomas again as he wept into her hair, until his breathing finally evened out.
"Do we need to stop for now?" Edith asked gently. "If you can't continue…"
"No, we're so close now, I need to get it out, Edith!" Thomas cried. "Edward was only three months old when he...passed. I wrapped him in one of my own childhood blankets, and I buried him out back behind the house. Enola had loved him, and she helped me…but Lucille stayed inside."
"Lucille placed all the blame on Enola for Edward's death, said she hadn't done enough to save him. I believe Enola had also begun to suspect Edward's true parentage; Lucille had referred to him as "our son" to Enola's face more than once during his brief life, and instead of the pity she'd treated us with before, she began to be cold and distant. Lucille began poisoning Enola's tea, this time with my full knowledge; though I didn't encourage her, neither did I stop her. I felt...empty. Numb. I just wanted things to go back to normal - and, through no fault of her own, Enola was a constant reminder of what I'd lost. Once she was dead...it was easier to forget." Thomas's face flushed with guilt.
"I threw myself into building my clay harvester. I got the bare bones of the machine completed, but the parts were more expensive than I'd realized they'd be, and invariably the age-old problem came up again: we needed more capital to keep going. Lucille suggested going to America to find a rich wife, and I didn't argue against her this time, though I knew now for a fact I'd be bringing back some poor woman to her death. With three murders behind us and Lucille's constant reminders of our cursed vow, I was in too deep to turn back."
"Lucille set her sights on Eunice McMichael, and I was prepared to seduce her into a short, loveless existence as my wife. I would have done it, too, except - except for you. When I first met you, you intrigued me - there was something about you that was so unlike every woman I'd ever met before. You were intelligent, lively, and captivatingly innocent. Getting to know you better over the next few days was like taking a breath of fresh air, when all I'd been breathing was the rotten decay of Allerdale for years. I wanted you so badly! I selfishly convinced Lucille you were a better choice than Eunice, and didn't let myself think about what would happen once we got back to England. I just knew that, with you, I finally felt truly happy for the first time in years!"
"You know this next part, I think. Your father investigated us and found out about my marriage to Pamela. He paid us a considerable sum to leave, and I intended on doing just that! The money wouldn't last us as long as your dowry would have, but it was a start - and I'd hoped that by using those finances to complete the harvester, we could turn enough profit from the clay to sustain ourselves. However, I couldn't help myself from sending that letter of explanation to you, letting you know my true affections. I wrote to you the absolute truth, Edith - I dreamed about coming back for you someday, once I was successful, and making you my wife - not for money, but for love. I knew I'd have to convince Lucille, of course, but I absurdly hoped that she'd...allow me to have you, if I no longer needed to marry into money."
"That night, after I'd posted the letter, Lucille let me know she'd come up with a new plan. She would depart in the morning, and I'd stay behind and convince you to elope with me. I raised what I thought was a valid point - if we married in secret, wouldn't your father cut you off? But Lucille said not to worry about it, that your father was a soft-hearted man and wouldn't let you remain penniless. I didn't question her logic, as what she suggested would get me what I most wanted in the world - you!"
A desperate gleam entered Thomas's eye, and he seized Edith's hand forcefully. "Edith, you must believe me - I didn't know she planned to kill your father! I suspected, when the news first came of his death; once we saw his body I knew Lucille had done it, had planned it since the previous night and concealed it from me. I'm sure she didn't tell me because she knew I'd object! Please, Edith - say you believe me?"
"I believe you," Edith murmured, her face contorted in grief. "You can't know how - how relieved I am to know you had no part in that."
A few moments passed as Edith wiped her face and composed herself again. Thomas pressed on, "After we married, I frantically tried to think of a way to convince Lucille to let you live. I knew a straightforward approach would never work - if I asked her outright, she'd fly into one of her dark rages and kill you all the sooner. I tried to...delay it, as much as possible. I fixed the tea, when I could - I made sure to use far fewer yew leaves than Lucille did. Foolishly, I hoped to postpone your death long enough that Lucille may come to...well, if not like you, then at least not want you dead. I hoped I'd be able to persuade Lucille that we could all live together; I knew I'd have to assure her that she wouldn't lose me to you, but I thought that maybe she could be coaxed into allowing you to stay as a companion to us both." Thomas snorted humorlessly. "As if I could cajole Lucille into doing anything that hadn't been her idea!"
"Edith - I wish to God that I'd mustered up the courage to defy Lucille earlier. You must think me a weakling, a coward - and I was, oh I was! I'd been following Lucille's orders for so long that anything else seemed impossible to me. That night in the depot, when you spoke of running away together - I wanted to, so badly! But Lucille still had her claws in me, and even then taking a stand against her was unfathomable."
Thomas turned his head to stare directly into Edith's soft brown eyes. "That night, Edith - it was the best night of my life. And it was the first time I'd felt true passion in so, so long. Ever since Edward...I didn't desire Lucille anymore. We still had sex, of course, but only when she wanted to - and I didn't dare refuse her anything. But you, Edith - I had been falling in love with you for so long, and to finally be with you that night and forget about Lucille was...magical."
Edith's mouth quirked up into a smile, and Thomas matched her expression for a brief moment as they recalled their night of passion.
Then sighing, Thomas continued. "You know the rest, of course. Lucille's failed effort to kill you as she'd killed Pamela, Dr. McMichael's arrival, Lucille forcing you to sign over the rest of your money."
"After I left McMichael in the basement, I was desperate to save you. I threw your finance transfer papers in the fire, and Lucille couldn't believe what I'd done. I made one last effort to reason with her, to persuade her that we could run away and live together happily. When Lucille realized that I wanted you to come with us...that's when she attacked me." Thomas shuddered at the memories. "I had thought she'd never hurt me - but she was in a fury, incensed at my betrayal. She really intended to kill me, even though all she'd ever wanted was for us to be together! As ever, her rage drove her to madness."
There was an odd feeling creeping over Thomas; a lightness, as if he'd been unknowingly carrying a heavy burden all his life, and it had just now been lifted from him. It had been hard, so hard, to bare all of his secrets to Edith; but now that it was over, he felt free in a way he couldn't remember ever having experienced before.
Looking back up at Edith, Thomas felt preternaturally calm. "There. That's all of it now, Edith - you know everything. Are you...are you still so certain you want to stay, now that you know exactly what kind of creature you're married to? I wouldn't...blame you if you want to leave, now. I release you from your promise, if - if you want a divorce, I'll give it to you."
"Thomas, no." Edith's reply was firm. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm afraid you're quite stuck with me now." She smiled, and Thomas felt as if his whole world was contained in her beatific expression. "Thank you for telling me, Thomas. Thank you for trusting me...I can see how difficult it was for you to relive the memories. I'm sure we'll have more to discuss later...but we have time. For now, I need to tell you something again, now that I know everything, so you're certain it's still true: I forgive you, Thomas, and I love you. Nothing will ever change that."
Thomas felt his face twisting with emotion again, and tears trickled down his cheek. "How is this real?" he whispered. "How are you real?"
"I am real, my love," Edith replied, caressing the unbandaged side of his face. "And I'm here."
"I'm here too," Thomas replied, echoing his words from that night weeks ago - this time truly meaning them in every sense.