"Hope? Edith, hope is the cruelest of all feelings. I normally stay away from it. But now, something has changed me."
Chapter 3
Thomas stared at her wide-eyed and mouth agape. "How...?" he began to question her, no longer attempting to disguise his voice.
"What sort of fool do you take me for, Thomas?" Edith snapped her reply. "Out of all the names you could have chosen for yourself, you chose Cavendish. Well, you and I both know that you took that name from the manuscript that I was writing when we first met. That manuscript was destroyed long ago by Lucille." She saw him flinch at the mention of his deceased sister. "And I haven't used the name since.
"But, even so, there was still a possibility that it was a mere coincidence. So, I examined your letter further. It was then that I noticed how utterly proper you were in your writing. You kept referring to me as 'madam' and you expressed your distress at the possibility of offending me for being so forward. I knew then that whoever had written the letter was not American, as an American reporter would've had no problem being so bold and would have never been so polite.
"The biggest clue of all, though, was your handwriting. You see, I kept that letter that you had written me all those years ago. The one you wrote me after the night that you broke my heart. Do you remember? Well, I compared the handwriting from both letters. When I realized that the handwriting was identical, I knew it had to be you. There was too much evidence to suggest otherwise."
Thomas sighed in defeat, pulling down the brim of his hat. He hung his head with shame as his shoulders deflated. "I should have known that I'd be unable to deceive you," he spoke softly, more so to himself than to her.
She nodded her agreement. "Yes, you should have."
She expected him to say something more after that, but he didn't. He remained silent, his attention focused on anything but her.
Edith took a sip of her coffee and grimaced. It had gone cold in the time that she had neglected it. She watched as Thomas absently sipped at his own coffee, not seeming to mind that it was no longer hot.
When he drank the rest of his coffee, his hands began to fidget, as if he had no idea what to do with them. Then, he gently took up his half-emptied water glass and began to take small sips from it.
The silence had grown to be too much for Edith. She smacked her hand down upon the table; gently enough not to alert the other patrons of the cafe, but loud enough to get his attention.
"For heaven's sake, Thomas!" she hissed through her teeth. "Say something."
Thomas regarded her for a moment. Edith could sense that he was trying to read her expression. An unfair advantage, in her opinion, as she could see very little of his face thanks to that stupid hat of his always obscuring his eyes.
"What would you like me to say, Edith?" he said finally. It was the first time he had spoken her name since she had entered the café. The sound of it pouring from his lips made Edith's heart soar, but she reeled in her emotions. There were still so many things left unanswered.
"Well, you could start with were you've been these last four years," she told him crossly. "You had me believe that you were dead and that I would never see you again!" She could not help the tears that sprung from her eyes as she said these last words.
He began to reach out his hand to her, then seemed to think better of it before dropping it back on to the table. "I'll tell you everything," he said softly. "Whatever you want to know, but not here," he looked around the cafe nervously. "Somewhere private, where no one could be eavesdropping."
Edith sighed. "Very well. We'll go to my apartment. We won't be interrupted there."
Thomas nodded as the pair of them stood from their seats. He dropped a few coins on to the table before following Edith out the door.
...
When Thomas had been ushered through Edith's front door, he took in her simple apartment. The whole of it could be seen from the threshold. It had a charming little parlor with a desk in the corner for Edith to do her writing. There was a modest kitchen at the other end of the apartment. A dingy looking breakfast table with a couple of chairs to match, was pushed off to the side. At the back of the apartment were two doors: one leading to the bathroom and the other to her bedroom.
"I can take your hat and coat, if you would like," Edith said once she had shut and bolted the door behind them.
Thomas hesitated for a moment, fidgeting with the collar of his coat. Then he nodded, and removed the coat and his hat. As he handed them both off to Edith, he saw her eyes glow bright with shock and tears.
Self-consciously, he brought a hand up to his left cheek and rubbed at the scar there, as if it were a smudge of dirt that could easily be scrubbed away. Of course, this action only brought more attention to him. It wasn't long before Edith noticed his false eye, staring at her unseeingly.
"Oh, Thomas," she whispered sadly.
Firmly, he shut his eyes and turned his back to her. He couldn't bear to see her sad face looking up at him. Not when he was so undeserving of her tears.
Behind him, Edith gave a deep sigh before clearing her throat. "I'll just go ahead and take care of these," she began weakly, referring to his hat and coat. "Go ahead and have a seat in the parlor. I'll be with you shortly."
Thomas made himself comfortable in one of the overstuffed armchairs that furnished the parlor. Meanwhile, he watched as Edith took her time carefully hanging his coat on a hat stand near the front of the apartment. When she had finished with this task, she entered the parlor and took a seat upon the sofa that was sat across from him.
"Whenever you're ready," she told him.
Thomas stared at her for a moment before asking, "Where would you like me to begin?"
Edith huffed with annoyance. "You could start with how it is you survived," she said shortly. But, then, her voice took on a softer tone, "I thought you were dead..."
"I was dead," he all but blurted. "For a moment, at least."
Edith nodded. "I saw your ghost." She paused for a moment, then asked, "How...how did you die?"
Thomas swallowed. "Lucille," he breathed, unable to repress the shudder of fear and shame that made its way down his spine as he spoke his sister's name. "When I left you by the elevator, I went into her room and burnt the papers that signed your funds over to me. She wasn't exactly happy about that." He released a short, humorless laugh. "And she was jealous."
"Jealous?" Edith asked curiously.
"Of you," he replied, giving her one of his notoriously sad smiles. "See, we had promised one another that we would not fall in love with anyone else... It was not a promise that I was able to keep."
Edith turned her gaze to her lap at those words, but Thomas continued on.
"In her anger, she attacked me. She stabbed me numerous times in the chest, and she stabbed me here," he brought up his hand to his face and gently brushed the outline of his scar with his fingertips.
"When I removed the paring knife from my cheek," he continued, "I felt myself fading. Then everything went cold. I remember, it was like I was standing naked in an ice house.
"But then... Then, it was like the sun was shining. I could feel its rays upon my face, and I could see the golden head of morning rising up from the earth. Then, I woke up.
"My shirt and face were covered with blood, and I was unable to see out of my left eye. I remember feeling dizzy and breathless, but I knew that I could not stay there. I had to find you. I had to make sure that you were safe.
"So, I ventured out into the storm on foot. A foolish thing to have done. I walked for little less than an hour before I collapsed in the snow. The blood loss was taking its toll and hypothermia was beginning to settle in. I lost consciousness, and I dared not dream that I would be so fortunate as to cheat death a second time.
"Luck, or whatever you wish to call it, just so happened to be on my side that day.
"Amongst the group of men that McMichael had called upon to come to Allerdale Hall after him, was a gentleman called Bobbins. He was one of the few individuals to have arrived on horseback, so he and one other man, Dr. Lawrence, returned later to ensure that there were no other survivors. They had only made it about half way when the ventured upon my half-frozen body. They believed me dead. To be sure, Dr. Lawrence checked my pulse. It was faint, but it was there.
"Immediately, I was rushed to Mr. Bobbins' shop. It was closer than Dr. Lawrence's office, and time was of the essence. They laid me in front of a wood stove at the back of the shop, and removed my wet clothes before piling thick, wool blankets over me. Thankfully, Dr. Lawrence had brought his doctor's bag with him and was able to attend to my wounds Immediately.
"All this time, I was unconscious. When I awoke, I was in pain, but warm. Mr. Bobbins then told me how I had come to be in his toy shop, and Dr. Lawrence gave me a summary of my injuries.
"He said that that whoever had attacked me, had just missed my heart. They did, however, manage to nick my lung, just barely, though. He also told me that he had to remove my left eye because the nerves had been all but severed, and keeping it would have done me more harm than good. He told me that it was a miracle I had survived, for my wounds were deep and the hypothermia should have caused severe clotting.
"Once I had processed all this information, I asked after you and McMichael. Both Mr. Bobbins and Dr. Lawrence assured me that you were all right, and Dr. Lawrence informed me that the pair of you were being taken care of by a colleague of his, Dr. Addams.
"I was satisfied with this answer and wished to say no more, but then they asked for my name.
"I told them the truth of who I was. I saw no reason to lie to them as I did not really care what happened to me then. I confessed everything to them. Well...almost everything. Somethings I could not bear to say aloud.
"I expected them to alert the authorities, but, to my surprise, they didn't. They sympathized with my situation. I was unworthy of their kindness, but I wasn't a big enough fool to disregard what they were offering me. Dr. Lawrence even said, 'I did not save your life for nothing.'
"So, they asked me who it was that I would like to be. It was then that I decided that Thomas Sharpe was dead. His was a life that I did not wish to return to. From that day forward I would be known as Henry Cavendish.
"Mr. Bobbins continued to allow me to stay in the back room of his shop until I had recovered. When my injuries were healed, he offered me a job and lodging there in his toy shop. I was able to put my skills in carving and machinery to good use. And it is at Bobbins' Toys that I have lived and worked for these past four years."
When Thomas had finished with his tale, Edith stared at him quizzically for a moment. He could almost see the gears in her head turning as she processed his words. Not that he could really blame her for being so stunned. It was a lot of information to have dumped on a person in only a matter of minutes.
Finally, she asked, "But when the authorities were unable to find your body, what did you do? Did they not try to find you?"
Thomas shrugged dismissively. "They really didn't much care what happened to me. Thanks to yours and McMichael's statements about how you were both able to escape, they concluded that I too was somehow a victim of my sister's. All evidence suggested that she was the one responsible for all the murders, and the asylum that she was sent to when we were children had deemed her criminally insane. They decided that whatever part I might have played in association with her crimes, was only to save my own skin. At most, I was guilty of being an accessory to murder, but they argued that any self-preserving person would do anything so as to not provoke the psychotic tendencies of one such as Lucille.
"As for my fate, they theorized that I had escaped and died out in the storm. Perhaps some poor, starving animal consumed my remains. But, though the authorities do not seem to care one way or another what happens to me, I can't say that others hold that same belief. There are many who would have celebrated my death, so I find it best to remain dead to the world."
Edith frowned. "If Lucille was criminally insane, then why was she ever released."
"She was an excellent actress," he replied grimly. "And charming. She was able to convince the doctors that she was better and had developed more of a conscious as she grew older." A shameful look crossed his face. "I confess, I too played a part in her release. I assured them that I would look after her and take care of her, if she was released into my custody."
Edith gave him a sympathetic look. "You loved her so much."
Thomas nodded. "I did," he replied, knowing that her words had no hidden meaning and were not meant to be cruel. "She was my world. All I wanted was for her to be happy."
"Were you happy?"
He pondered her question for a moment. He had never really given it much thought. But the more he thought about it, the more clear it became.
"No," he answered softly. "I lived my life with my eyes firmly closed, guilt and shame my only companions. Only when I stumbled blindly into your arms, did I know the meaning of the word."
The corners of Edith's mouth quirked up into the barest of smiles, but quickly vanished. In its place was a look of puzzled hurt. "I still don't understand," she said. "Why has it taken you so long to come to me?"
A look of utter disgust graced Thomas's features. "How could I face you, Edith?" he asked bitterly. "After what I did? After what I did to you? After you discovered exactly what I was? A monster."
He put his face in his hands and sighed. "By the time I had fully recovered, you and McMichael had already returned to America. I saw the way he looked at you, Edith. The way he has always looked at you. I just assumed that you would move on. Then, you wrote that book.
"It was published in England the year after it had been published in the states. It sat next to my cot at Bobbins' for almost another year before I mustered up the courage to finally read the damned thing.
"Reading your version of events and the ending you gave your characters made me dare to hope. You know how I feel about hope, Edith. It's a cruel emotion that allows one to delude themselves. And yet, I wanted so badly to believe that I had not lost you forever.
"I've reread your book so many times since then, and I finally worked up the courage to come here and find you."
Thomas took a breath to calm himself as he spoke his next words. "First of all, I want to thank you."
"For what?" Edith asked softly.
"For not sharing the details of my relationship with my sister," he said with a grimace, tasting bile on his tongue as he spoke those words.
She shook her head softly, her brow furrowed. "It was not my story to share," she said, her tone sounding as though she thought that that was a given.
He gave her a weak smile.
"Look, Edith," he began after a moment, "I don't expect you to give me a second chance, or for you to forgive me. I only came here so that I could make my peace. To see you one last time, and to hear your voice again is enough for me... I'll make it be enough."
"Thomas‐‐-," she started softly, before he cut her off.
"You'll never have to see me again, if that's what you want," he told her, sadness fogging the corners of his features. "I'll do whatever it is you want."
He watched as she blinked back tears. Then in a wavering voice she said, "I want..."