Chapter 10

He turned. He spurred to the west; he did not know who stood
Bowed, with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own blood!
Not till the dawn he heard it, and his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.

Edward Cullen, Boston, March 1770

A sudden crack rent the night sky, making Steadfast startle underneath me as he reared up onto his hind legs. I swore, turning him around as distantly, muffled cries were heard. Steadfast galloped in the opposite direction for a while before I reined her in to a stop, glancing back the way I had been heading.

God only knew what mischief was afoot. I had never failed to show up for Isabella, but there were so many Redcoats around nowadays. I'd never been particularly concerned for my own safety, but now that her life was linked to mine, I had learned to grow more cautious. The sound could have been anything. Dueling was popular amongst the younger more foolish men these days. But I could sense Steadfast's impatience. Whatever was beyond that road, he didn't want to explore any further. I sighed, disappointed at the change in plans. I would send a note by Esme and make it up to my love another night.

I allowed Steadfast to take me to the little hut that Isabella and I shared. Leaving him in the yard, I entered the room and got a fire going. Although it was a small room and I made a large fire, it felt empty and cold without her. I didn't bother to undress before getting into bed. The rest of the night, I laid awake, shivering under the covers, unable to fall asleep as I thought of her.

Gradually, night turned to morning and I gave up on trying to reach the shores of slumber, instead watching as the fire faded into dying embers and the light of day slowly started to brighten up the room instead. I threw back Esme's quilt and sat up, pulling on my boots. I walked the couple of paces it took to get to the little table, sitting down and searching my pockets for a scrap of paper. Taking a quill, I wet the end of it in the condensation that formed on the window, and swirled it in the dried-up inkpot. Gathering enough wet ink to allow me to write, I started penning my apologies. A few lines later, I folded it up, tucking it in my shirt pocket as I walked out the door. Steadfast was waiting placidly in the same place I had left him, giving me a soft snort in greeting. I patted his nose before I hopped on, spurring him to a gentle trot as we headed towards town.

I made sure my scarf was secure around my face as we approached, my hat pulled low over my face. But as we entered the main square, I frowned. Something seemed… off. The townspeople were scurrying around, looking nervous as mice. Even more curious, there were no Redcoats around. I looked around surreptitiously for even a hint of red but there were none to be seen. So what the devil has everyone looking so jumpy?

I dismounted when I reached Esme's door. I could hear the faint crying of children from the other side as I reached up to knock.

The usual cheery "Come in!" I was expecting never came. I reached up to knock again when the door suddenly opened and a pair of wide grey eyes in a girl's face peered out. She was not familiar to me and she had a rather malnourished and weather-beaten look about her for someone so young. I surmised she must be one of Esme's newest charges.

"Good morning," I greeted her, "I'm looking for Esme. I'm a friend of hers, Edward."

The girl didn't or couldn't speak. She only stared at me.

"Is she here?" I tried again. This time, she shook her head. Puzzled, I stared back at her. Esme has never not been home at this time of day, not since I could remember.

"Do you know when she will be back?"

Again, the girl shook her head mutely. I was unnerved, but I brushed off my unease as foolishness. Esme was allowed to leave her house whenever she wanted. Surely it meant nothing. Still, the feeling of something being seriously wrong refused to leave me.

"Well, please tell her that Edward was looking for her when she gets back, won't you." The girl nodded before shutting the door in my face. I blinked, thrown off kilter by this strange exchange. Finally, I shook my head before I headed back towards Steadfast. Instead of mounting, I led him by the reins to a nearby tavern, already busy with patrons. I left Steadfast with the other horses as I entered the establishment, resolving to rest there for a few moments before I went back to see if Esme had returned. If there was any explanation to the pall that seemed to have befallen this town, and my own disquiet, I would learn it from her then.

I sat down at a corner table and it wasn't long before a barmaid stopped in front of me, her hands on her hips but her smile cheery as she asked me, "And what'll ye have, sir?"

"Coffee, if you have it, please. Make it strong."

The barmaid scurried away with the order and before long, I had a steaming cup of brew warming my hands. I breathed in the aroma before taking a sip. The buzz of the inn was familiar and comforting after the strange-ness of the morning and I lost myself in it.

Next to me, three old women were conversing, their heads pinioned together as if planning a murder. I paid no attention to them as I recognized them as the town gossips. I turned back to my coffee.

"Did you hear about what happened at the Swan establishment?"

The cup froze on the way to my lips as I caught the barmaid's words. She had stopped by the three gossips' table to refill their teas. The morning's unease rose in a burning lump to my throat again, like bile, and I fought to keep it down. Steady, man, I thought, don't bring attention to yourself. It may be nothing.

"Oh dear," gossip number one sighed, "Who hasn't?! It's all over town. And poor Mary's husband got caught in the middle of it all. He's dead, you know."

"What happened?" gossip number three asked excitedly, "I haven't heard this yet."

"What, Bertha, have you had your head in the sand?" gossip number two exclaimed incredulously.

"Tell me! Tell me!" gossip number three urged.

"The Redcoats came for them in the night. You know the highwayman they've been hunting for months?" She paused for their assent.

"Well," she continued, "would you believe that that pretty little daughter of Charlie's was his lover?"

"No!" gasped gossip number three in disbelief.

Gossip number one shook her head and tsked, "If I said it once, I've said it a hundred times. A man raising a child, especially a girl-child, on his own spells trouble. As soon as his wife passed, he should have remarried and given that girl a mother! She was a wild one, that one, always running around wherever she pleased, just like a boy. It's disgraceful! Unnatural!"

"So what happened?" the barmaid prompted, leaning her elbows against the table now, "Even I haven't heard the full story."

Gossip number two clucked in sympathy before continuing, "Well, the redcoats found out. They marched into the inn, tied up Charlie, and dragged the girl to her room while they waited for her lover. That was when they shot Mary's husband."

"But why?" the barmaid exclaimed.

Gossip number one scoffed, "Why do the redcoats do anything? Who knows! Keep going with the story, Ruth."

"They dragged the girl up to her room and tied her up so she wouldn't run off to warn her lover. And then, they just sat and waited for him. I believe they almost had him too, but the girl got hold of one of their muskets, lord knows how. Well, I'm sure you can guess what happened." She waited expectantly.

"What?" gossip number two obliged her.

"She went and shot herself of course. To warn him, surely. They said she was gagged so screaming would have done her no good." There was a gasp of horror from the barmaid.

"Oh the poor thing," she sighed, shaking her head.

Gossip number one reached over and patted her hand, "Don't worry, sweet pea. If you listen to your mother and don't take no highwayman lovers, you'll die old and safe in your own bed, that is if the pox don't take you."

"How did you come to learn of all this?" the barmaid asked.

Gossip number two shrugged, "They pulled old man Barnes out from his bed to help them rip apart her room. They're still intent on finding this fellow so they were desperate to find any scrap of a clue to where his hide-about was."

Gossip number one shivered, "He said they didn't even have the decency to bury her. I'd bet my last remaining tooth that she's still lying there, sitting in a pool of her own blood. He said by the time he went in, the room looked and smelled a fright. And her face. He didn't know what they done to her, but her face was all shades of purple and blue. He hardly knew her and believe me, old man Barnes had seen this girl grow from when she was but a babe. Apparently it was quite awful. He hasn't been the same since. My Harry's with him right now, trying to cheer him up with some strong ale. No matter how strange she was, that girl was real popular amongst the patrons of that inn and like many others, old man Barnes had a soft spot for her. It was a nasty shock for him."

"I know something else you don't," gossip number two said smugly as the others pressed her to reveal her secrets.

"When Barnes got there, the doctor was just leaving. He had been called to examine her earlier and proclaim her death a suicide. Not that the Redcoats would have been culpable anyways if it hadn't been by her own hand. Barnes overheard him telling his assistant that she was with child."

"What?!" the others gasped.

"Oh yes," gossip number two nodded, "that girl was with child, the little fool. Not very far along mind you, but still. There it is."

"Poor thing," the barmaid repeated.

"It's a pity," gossip number three opined.

"It's a shame," gossip number one countered severely.

"It's a pity and a shame," concluded gossip number two.

"So how did the Redcoats find out about her and the highwayman anyway?"

At this, gossip number one leaned in conspiratorially, "Well, apparently, the stableboy was in love with her, too! I heard he was the one who tipped the Redcoats off."

"What happened to him?"

"No one knows. Some think he skipped town. Others think he killed himself. Personally, I think the Redcoats have him locked away somewhere. Other than her, he was the only other one who knew of this highwayman. They'd be idiots not to try to press him for more information. He obviously didn't think anything would happen to her. He only wanted him out of the way. That just goes to show you never know what you'll get with a Redcoat. Can't trust them. No siree!"

By this time, I'd heard enough and I couldn't stand to hear any more. My blood felt like ice in my veins as I shot up, knocking over the table in my haste. The three women and the barmaid turned to stare at me but I paid them no mind as I headed straight for the exit.

I felt sick to my stomach. I didn't want to believe it. I barely could believe it. Isabella? My Isabella? My beautiful, selfless, fearless wife? Pregnant? Dead? Died alone and surrounded by brutes? Died for my sorry soul? My entire existence railed against this version of reality and every fiber of my being rejected its veracity. But the hole in my gut told me otherwise.

Just before I reached the door, I felt someone knock into me and wobble, almost losing her balance. Instinctually, I reached out to steady her, a quick apology automatically issuing from my lips, but when I glanced down, I found myself looking into Esme's startled eyes.

"Edward!" she exclaimed, out of breath. Her eyes were puffy and her face held the traces of many tears.

"I've been looking for you everywhere," she said, her hand reaching up to touch my face, as if to confirm that I was real flesh and blood and not a ghost.

For one mad second, I hoped that by some miracle, those women had gotten it wrong. Isabella couldn't be gone. Esme had to tell me that it was all some elaborate hoax, some Shakespearean machination, and that Isabella was actually waiting somewhere for me, safe and sound and alive.

"Esme," I said, my voice so rough, I hardly recognized it as my own, "Is it true?"

I didn't have to clarify what I meant, because from the look on Esme's face and the tears that started anew, I got my answer. The room seemed to spin and all I could see was red as my blood turned from ice to fire and a white-hot fury filled my heart. I brushed past her out the door.

"Edward," she cried after me, but I hardly heard her as I leapt onto Steadfast and spurred him towards the inn.

The trees were a blur on either side of me as I urged Steadfast faster and faster towards where my love lay cold and unmoving. Steadfast whined with the exertion, but I only coaxed him on faster. Gradually, the inn came into view and I could see her open window.

Then, as the sun broke through the clouds, I caught the glint of a musket. Steadfast saw it too and he hesitated, briefly breaking his stride. But I urged him on, pulling my pistol from my belt.

A shot rang out, shattering the morning air and making Steadfast jump, whinnying his alarm, but I was past caring. I was a man possessed. I couldn't help picturing her body lying broken and lifeless in her own room. And if that wasn't enough, we were going to have a baby. A baby! Our child. Our imagined future together choked in its womb. My mind reeled in anguish. I needed to avenge my love, no matter the cost.

The next shot clipped my shoulder, throwing me off my horse. But this time, it didn't come from the open window. Rather, the sound was more off to the side, from the shadow of the trees. I hit the ground rolling and was back on my feet, hardly feeling the pain in my shoulder although I could feel a weakness in the hand that told me it had hit a nerve. I was past caring.

Brandishing my weapon, I peered into the trees.

"Show yourselves, you cowards," I roared. There was no answer. I stalked towards the direction of the discharge.

The next shot laid me flat. I groaned as I tried to get up again. Another bullet tore into my back and suddenly, my legs were gone. A shadow crossed over me and I looked up to see a Redcoat smirking at me.

"Well, well, well look what we have here," he sniggered, "Hate to tell you this, my friend, but your little bird has flown the coop."

I glared at him: "Go to hell, motherfu –"

The last thing I remember seeing was blood seeping into the ground, staining the snow red, before all was darkness.

Isabella… my love…