Jaded orbs: The Hoosier accent is a bit different from the Georgian accent, yes! They both have a twang, but the Indiana accent is much softer. It's definitely something the sheriff is going to consider! He's got a lot to consider, actually. Thanks very much for the well wishes. I'm still under the weather- it's not covid but is probably some type of virus.
Guest 1: Thank you so much! I hope you enjoy Chapter 12!
Polinka22malika: Thank you very much! I'm still feeling poorly, but much better than last weekend! You are the first person to mention that I hadn't used our Scarlett's name since chapter nine, and that was conscious! She is, to me, essentially, a different person- newly named and unknown. I hope Scarlett/Jane finds her people in whatever form that takes.
Newreader2022: No sign that Jane is suicidal at this time, but she's definitely about to go through it. The Whitakers are very kind, though, and want what's best for her. I hope you enjoy this chapter! I look forward to hearing your thoughts.
Truckee Gal: Hopefully I will recover faster than our Scarlett! The sheriff is casting the net as wide as he thinks it likely. It's not often that a woman would travel several days from her location alone. The bag is generally a dead end. The ring was purchased in the UK and there's not much you could do with a handkerchief. They were reminders of a life she left behind. Is she RBK? Is it someone she knows? It makes for more questions.
Mistress: Thank you! I hoped the research was evident. I've done a ton of research about her condition and addiction as well as historical accuracy for treating mental illness. That will all come into play in later chapters. I hope you enjoy this!
Guest 2: A storm blew up from the south in many more ways than one, that's for sure! They definitely think something is up, but they're not quite sure what's fishy about the situation yet. We'll dig deeper into this soon enough!
Guest 3: Indiana accents, while not necessarily southern, do not sound like northern accents. Our Jane is in a bit of a grey area. Hope you enjoy this next chapter.
Aethelfraed: Thank you so much for that compliment. I tried to capture as much of her spirit as I could for someone who was very lost. Scarlett is in there somewhere behind all that trauma. It's just a matter of finding where. Rhett is a coward and he's going to have to deal with that coming up.
Guest 3: This gets updated once a week for now. Thanks for following.
Celticsketches: Thank you so much! I am partial to chapter ten so I'm glad to hear that people enjoy the imagery as much as I do. There's lots more of Scarlett's journey left so you'll get more of the Whitakers for a bit!
Thanks to everyone who favorites, reviewed, and followed! It truly means the world to me.
Chapter Twelve
"How much money are you going to spend on whiskey and women before you pull yourself together?"
Eleanor Butler set a cup of coffee in front of her son. The gentle tinkling sound of the china rattling against its saucer sounded like a boom in Rhett's half-coherent state, jolting him awake. Rhett had fallen asleep going over some of his financial accounts after breakfast. They had indeed seen better days. It was nearing three in the afternoon, and the accounting logs had long since tumbled from the table and lay strewn about the floor. He grunted, blinking away the bright afternoon sun.
He ran a hand down his face, stopping at the stubble of his unshaven jaw and curling his fingers around his chin. He straightened himself in the chair, squeezing his shoulder blades back in a stretch before reaching for the coffee. "Thank you for the coffee." He took a sip and it scalded its way down his throat. He continued exhaustion lacing his voice. "I am not altogether sure that my finances are any of your concern. Could they be better? Yes, what with the banking panic coming from New York, but I am far from destitute."
"You're evading my real intent."
"Yes, I know I'm avoiding your prying questions because we're not discussing it." Rhett sighed, taking another swig of his coffee, "As for the capitals, I am wealthy and you benefit greatly from that no matter where I decide to spend it."
Eleanor raised a brow and made a short, incredulous humming noise coming to sit next to her son. She reached down, picking up some of the papers at his feet. "I benefit greatly, do I? You would do well to remember with whom you are speaking. Remember dear, that you grew up affluent yourself and that wealth came from your father. You are not man-made. I do not need my son's money. You're correct, your finances are not my concern, but your behavior certainly is. Your… salacious activities have not gone unnoticed in town. It is getting increasingly difficult to justify your conduct to society. "
Rhett let out a staccato breath into the hollow of his cup. The noise was almost deafening to him in the violence of his hangover. He fought an irrational urge to throw the china against the opposite wall before thinking better of it. It was true; Rhett had become quite a regular at the gaming house in downtown Charleston since his meeting with Scarlett. Prior to their reunion, he had gone twice a week or so, but now he found himself there nearly every evening. A bad habit indeed and he knew it. He ached with drink: his hands trembled, his temples throbbed, the veins in his eyes long since colored red.
Rhett had fantasized about divorce for months-years if he was being honest- but he found that it did not provide him the satisfaction he had so eagerly anticipated.
It was curious, the feeling that settled over him in the wake of his final meeting with his wife. He was thrown by the hollowness that formed in his chest when she denied his drunken suggestion that she spend the night in a spare room to wait out the storm. He had been beyond inebriated that night with not only whiskey but with power. He finally had, after months of paperwork and furious will, the divorce paperwork with her signature. He had her consent. The victory felt cold, however, and whenever he felt a stirring of triumph in his chest he remembered the precarious slump of her shoulders and her ghost kiss on his lips.
He would admit that part of him was remorseful for the way in which he had had to destroy her in order to be free of her, but a more sinister part of him remembered all of the times over the years when she flaunted her desire for another man in his face. Remembering her fantasizing over Ashley Wilkes while he made love to her set fire in him to a simmering fury that spurred him into rash and destructive decisions. And destructive and rash he was.
Rhett had not slept the night that they said their final goodbye. Instead, he locked himself into the drawing room, nursing a second decanter of whiskey in a simmering, depressive melancholy. He fought desperately to rid himself of the memory of her trembling hands, her sorrowful eyes, and the burn he still felt from her parting kiss. He could not comprehend that last goodbye. He thought in circles, questioning her motivation for the kiss before coming to the realization that there might not have been any. They were both incredibly drunk and broken. Those two factors made much better people than them do far worse.
So he drank. He drank until he thought he might be sick and then he drank some more. It was his own form of self-flagellation. When he realized that whiskey could not wash away the presence of her, he watched the storm roll through South Carolina. He remembered thinking, fleetingly, that the weather reflected his mood: dark, conflicted, and surprisingly furious. He remembered sobbing silently into his last drink.
Despite her absence, she was still a presence in that drawing room with him. Her haunted emerald eyes were burned into his memory and, despite the sheer amount of alcohol he had consumed, the only thing he could focus on was her. He had traced the curved loops of her signature with his finger, remembering all the ways in which she had curled him around her little finger over their many years. He remembered his obsessive need to have her. He remembered how frantic she was for another man's affection and how unwavering she had been in regard to her love for him. He remembered how she mercilessly blamed him for the death of their child. Rhett fought the urge to discount her final visit as performative, but he had never known Scarlett to be a good actress. Every emotion that crossed her mind danced across her face. In some capacity, Rhett knew she was remorseful, perhaps she even did love him but it was not enough. He would never have been enough, not anymore. It was over.
Rhett was wild in his bafflement, teetering so erratically between sorrow and jubilation that he impulsively sent Ahlborn a note to expedite the divorce with his signed copy of the paperwork the following morning. When it was done he stumbled, still drunk from the meeting with Scarlett, to the upscale brothel in downtown Charleston. It was mid-day and he could barely stay upright on his feet. Drinking away her face alone had not worked. In his inebriated miasma, he believed the next best thing was to strike her from his mind by bedding as many women as he could. He tried to find solace in the curves of other women's bodies, but he still could not eradicate the thought of her lips on his.
He spent the last four weeks in a state of rapidly fluctuating state of inebriation. He would chase his bottle-aches with more alcohol, consuming as much as he could handle in order to numb his fury and sedate his inner turmoil. Three days after he mailed the divorce paperwork to his lawyer Rhett received a letter from Ahlborn stating that the separation had been finalized. The news sent a new wave of chaos through him and he again turned to drink. Rhett wrote to Wade and Ella that same day expressing his love despite his parting from their mother. He treasured them as if they had been his own children. Rhett asked if they might be open to seeing him in the future and to please maintain correspondence. He never received a reply.
Rhett began neglecting his mail, letting it pile up in the drawing room. He could see it now as he drank his coffee. He had received a few letters from Henry Hamilton but did not care to open them. He knew it was regarding the divorce or perhaps the sale of the Peachtree Street house. If Henry had anything to say, he could say it to Rhett's lawyer. He was done with the whole affair now.
"I do not expect you to justify my behavior to anyone. What I do is my business and mine alone." Rhett croaked, his voice hoarse. He took another swallow of coffee, blinking away his dehydrated unsteadiness.
Eleanor reached out to place her hand on her sons, "You know just as well as I do that that is not, nor has it ever, been the case. Your actions have a direct reflection on this entire household. You cannot flaunt your indiscretions so openly and expect Charleston to turn a blind eye. You did it once before when you were young and reckless and irresponsible and that ended you separated from the family for years. You know I will defend you always, but please- pull yourself together. If you do not intend to stop at least pretend to be discrete. " Rhett stared absently at his mother's hand, his head throbbing.
"I am sorry my divorce has affected your social standing," Rhett said, an edge to his voice. The residual burn of his clipped response made Eleanor furrow her brows. "I also don't recall you being too keen to defend my honor all those years ago."
"You know that is not what I meant, Rhett." Quietly, Eleanor continued, "I'm concerned for your well-being. There was nothing I could do then with your father still alive, but you know I never once believed he did the right thing by turning you away. I want to protect you- I want to see you happy and you are so miserable, my darling."
Rhett smiled sadly, pulling his hand away slowly and placing the cup back in the saucer. "Let's not rehash old wound, shall we, mother? The fact is there is nothing to discuss just as there was nothing to discuss last week or the week before or the week before that. Scarlett and I mutually agreed that our marriage had run its course and decided the terms. We were amicable at the very end. I am fine and she is fine. I appreciate your concern, but there is no need for it."
Eleanor assessed her son closely. He was disheveled, his jacket, though pressed appeared limp. His face was bloated, his skin a sallow yellow pallor that looked unnatural. He was thin- so, so thin. "I saw your rage. I know how you treated her in the end. You cannot expect me to believe that things were amiable."
"I would very much like you to believe it," he said, a shadow in his tone. He slumped in his seat just slightly, resting one of his elbows on the armrest to prop his head gently against it. He began to rub his eyes gently. "Perhaps amiable is not the correct word. We came to an…understanding. We were able to see eye to eye, however briefly."
"Rhett, you spend most of your time out and when you are home you smell of alcohol and women. These are not the actions of someone who claims to be fine. " She again reached for his hand, "I hope you know that it is alright to feel the loss of your marriage despite desiring it."
Rhett paused, his hand still covering one of his eyes. Eleanor continued, "People are very complex, Rhett. You are very complex and despite this hardened exterior you have, you do love fiercely when given the chance. There are many things I do not know about your marriage, but you ache, my dear, and it pains me to see you this way. I may not understand the nuances and complexities of how you came to be here, but I know what it feels like to mourn."
There was a long pause between them. Rhett dropped his hand, glancing up at his mother as if to say something. She thought in that one moment that he might break open. The dullness in his eyes was so deep, so vast that she was not quite sure how he kept afloat. "I was foolish in love and blinded by a beautiful face. I paid a heavy price for that recklessness. I will likely miss Scarlett in time, but we were never for each other. This was for the best for both of us to move forward."
"I know a lie when I hear it, Rhett…"
He held up a hand swiftly as if to end the conversation, his dark eyes momentarily blazing. The nearly imperceptible waver of his voice betrayed him, however, and he hissed, "Enough."
Eleanor straightened, pulling her hands back into her lap and sighing. They stared at each other for a long moment, Rhett's eyes both fierce and heavy. His lips were drawn back in a thin line, his jaw set trying to dam in his unprocessed emotions. His body was all straight edges, ready to cut her at one wrong phrase.
The silence stretched on, neither of them attempting to fill it. Finally, Eleanor sighed. "Shall I call for some more coffee?" Rhett replied with a nod and a clipped hum, his body loosening slightly with the temporary stalemate.
Eleanor made to stand, turning in her chair when she caught sight of the butler entering the room. "Perfect timing. Frederick, would you please bring in some more coffee?"
It was only after Frederick nodded, that Eleanor saw he was holding something. He passed the small slip of paper to her answering, "Of course, right away. There are two visitors that just arrived at the door for Mr. Butler, shall I bring in service for four?"
Eleanor glanced down at the calling card in her palm. Two intersecting Hs embossed within a band of laurel wreath were printed on a small white card, the top right corner of the paper turned up. She did not recognize initials. Glancing up at her son, she asked, "Were you expecting company?"
He flourished his hand nonchalantly, motioning to the state of newly awake and dreadfully disheveled. "Obviously not." He leaned forward, reaching his hand out to his mother to pass the calling card to him while simultaneously asking, "Did they state their business, Frederick?"
"No, but they did say it was urgent. It's Mr. Henry Hamilton and Mr. Clyde Owens."
A beat of stillness settled over them before an acrimonious bark of laughter thundered from Rhett. The sound was so jarring, so manic, that a chill shot down Eleanor's spine. "Oh, that witch," Rhett laughed, flicking the calling card onto the table.
"Rhett," Eleanor gasped, aghast.
"How foolish of me to think that Scarlett would ever walk away from money so easily. It is my lovely ex-wife's lawyer, mother. I am positive that this has everything to do with our settlement. Bring them in, Frederick. Let us all have a wonderful conversation." Frederick nodded, ducking out of the room quickly.
"You should not be so openly hostile, Rhett. Perhaps I should take my leave and let you settle this manner with the lawyer."
"No, no," Rhett continued, agitatedly. His eyes grew darker, wearier than a moment ago. "You mentioned yourself that you did not know how Scarlett and I got here. Stay. See what I have been dealing with over the last six months." He swallowed the last mouthful of his coffee and stood just as Scarlett's uncle and his companion entered the drawing room.
Rhett plastered a disingenuous smirk on his face and outstretched his hand. The dark bruises beneath his eyes made him appear sinister. His limp jacket hung off of him and his swollen face gave insight into his recent activities. "Henry, so good to see you." His words, though polite, had a brittle undertone. It was clear that Henry's presence was unwelcome.
Henry Hamilton crossed the room and stood before Rhett, ignoring his offered hand but offering a curt nod in response. "Mr. Hamilton, if you please," Henry corrected, his tone matching Rhett's in brusqueness.
There was no mistaking the adjustment. Rhett was no longer family and as such the familiarity that came with distant familial ties was gone. There was no pretense and for that Rhett was relieved. He was too exhausted and too hungover to pretend kindness- especially to his ex-wife's lawyer. Rhett retracted his hand and clasped them behind his back.
"Mr. Hamilton," Rhett emphasized the title, "may I introduce my mother, Eleanor Butler."
Eleanor approached and smiled apprehensively, bowing her hello. Henry, who stood erect, so tense that he appeared ready to snap, softened slightly and offered her a bow in return. "Thank you for welcoming us into your home with such little warning. I have written to your son a number of times but believed a call may be more expeditious given the circumstances and lack of response from your son." He gestured to his companion, "My colleague, Constable Clyde Owens."
Eleanor's right eyebrow twitched upward slightly at the mention of constable. She gave her son a fleeting, concerned glance before asking, "Might I offer you and Mr. Owens some coffee, Mr. Hamilton?" She gestured to the serving tray Frederick had set down inconspicuously.
"Yes ma'am," Henry responded, the tension in his limbs returning. Eleanor noticed that he was making it a purpose not to address her son. "We have quite a bit to discuss with Mr. Butler. I come bearing some grave news."
Rhett released a curt hum in response, gesturing for Henry to sit, wishing desperately for water or whiskey. It did not matter which to him at this point. He was simultaneously too dehydrated and too sober for this conversation. "Yes, about the house I presume."
Henry paused halfway down into his chair. His head finally snapped up as if taken off guard and for the first time seemed to directly address Rhett with more than just a tense greeting. "The… what?"
Rhett sat and poured himself this second cup of coffee for the afternoon, taking a long, slow drink. He sat back resting his head against the high-backed chair in an attempt to keep himself awake and upright for what he was bracing himself to be an inconvenient conversation about money, "The Peachtree Street home. Scarlett mentioned that she intended to sell it. Has she changed her mind about our financial agreement, then?"
"You mean to tell me…" Henry paused, his face flushing red with irritation, "that you believe my business with you is over the damned house?" Rhett and Eleanor straightened then. Rhett's brows furrowed and he turned his head incredulously. It was then that Rhett saw how exhausted Henry looked. He wondered if Scarlett was paying him enough for his legal services. Rhett knew how demanding Scarlett could be. Whatever she was paying he hoped Henry doubled it after this meeting. The slump of the man's sagging body made it appear as if Henry had not had a good night's sleep in weeks.
"I assumed so, Mr. Hamilton, yes."
"Have you read any of my letters at all?"
Rhett paused, assessing the wary eye of the constable and the exasperated anger of his former relation. He was far too hungover for this. "I have to apologize, Mr. Hamilton. I must admit that I have been rather… indisposed recently. Scarlett and I had an agreement that all correspondence regarding our divorce would go through our lawyers. Anything that needed to be adjusted in regards to the terms of our separation was to be settled with William." Rhett glanced at the stack of letters on the desk across the room.
"This has nothing to do with your settlement, though I dare say you wasted no time in processing the paperwork." Henry retorted, his lips quirking downwards in obvious disdain. "I had hoped to keep you out of this investigation altogether considering the status of your relationship and the manner in which you conducted yourself with my niece, but at this point I have very few options. I do not, in fact, come with settlement disagreements. I have some unfortunate news. We cannot find Scarlett."
Eleanor straightened, her hand coming up to rest on her chest in apprehension, and asked, "Investigation?"
At the same time, Rhett said nonchalantly, "She is difficult to lose track of. Those ostentatious outfits she enjoys peacocking around in make it rather…" Rhett trailed off, the hard grip of his mother's hand on his forearm halting him. He glanced down at the back of her hand- the veins in her wrinkled skin poking out severely in its flexed state. "Rhett," Eleanor whispered in a gasp.
Confused, he drew his eyes up to meet her face only to find all her color gone. He furrowed his brows and turned his attention to the two men opposite him. Something was not right. He suddenly felt immobilized in his thoughts, barely wading through enough to comprehend what Henry had said.
A look of shock and revulsion contorted Henry's face. An uncomfortable silence hung between the four of them for a brief moment. Henry appeared to be choosing his next words carefully, but they stung all the same. "No, Mr. Butler, you mistake me. Scarlett is missing. She has neither been seen nor heard from since she came to Charleston to speak with you four weeks ago. No one has seen her."
Rhett blinked once. Then a second time. The room around him seemed to muffle and slow as Henry continued, a sharp ringing in his ear halting his comprehension. He watched Henry's mouth continue to move, but he could not get past his terrifying confession: Scarlett was missing. He tried to take a breath and realized it was lodged in his throat.
"I'm sorry. No… I… I don't understand." Rhett cut Henry off, "What do you mean, missing?"
Henry narrowed his eyes slightly, his patience wearing thin. He watched Rhett for a searching moment before reaching down into his briefcase. He procured a handful of papers including a copy of The Weekly News- Atlanta's premier newspaper- and a single sheet of paper. Rhett perched forward in his seat, reaching out for the papers before glancing down. The papers were crinkled along the corners from wear but both bore the same stark lettering: O'HARA- INFORMATION WANTED. Rhett felt the coffee churn in his empty stomach so violently that he covered his lips with a trembling hand and read:
O'HARA- INFORMATION WANTED. Information wanted of Scarlett O'Hara who left Charleston, South Carolina March 1874 and has not been heard from since. She was supposed to have gone to Atlanta, Georgia. Age 28. She is five feet two inches, fair complexion, black hair, green eyes. Any account of her will be thankfully received by her uncle, Henry Hamilton, 264 Sherman Ave, Atlanta, Georgia.
Rhett tore his gaze from the advertisement and turned to his mother, his eyes wide and terrified. He looked like such a child then. Despite his many weeks of protests, she knew how fragile he was. She wanted to take him in her arms and soothe him in spite of her own distress. The announcements danced in his unsteady hands and as she moved to take them from him he whispered quietly, "Mother."
His whole world seemed to crack, splitting down its already battered seams. He had loved Scarlett so fiercely that he had come to hate her and yet the absence of her pushed him into madness and despair. He thought of her every day and every night believing that now that she was free of him she would be the independent woman she always was meant to be. Yet she was missing and not just missing from his life, missing from everything. All at once there was comprehension and blinding panic.
Every unprocessed emotion he had been harboring since his last meeting with Scarlett exploded inside of him, finally bubbling to the surface. He wanted to scream but instead sat staring at his mother both numb and overwhelmed simultaneously.
"When was the last time you saw or heard from your ex-wife, Mr. Butler?" Clyde turned to Rhett, speaking for the first time. His voice was gravelly and flat- one that held little sympathy.
Rhett turned to face him slowly, his mind working frantically to form a coherent sentence. He was too shocked, too stunned, to respond. He made to answer, but his eyebrows twitched and his face began to crumble. He wasn't breathing. He knew he wasn't breathing but the slamming of his heart in his chest made it difficult. He opened his mouth and the only thing that slipped out was a gasp for air.
"Three weeks ago," Eleanor responded for her son, "I saw her leave the drawing room before getting in her carriage the day they finalized the divorce."
"And what happened during your interaction? Any information you have may be helpful. There is no information we're considering too small at this time."
Eleanor shook her head, "We did not speak. She appeared distraught and I wanted to allow her the space to greave. She came out of this room, pressed her back against the door, and cried. I did not go to her; I did not want to impinge upon her private moment. I should have gone to her." Eleanor's voice wavered and she looked at her son, her eyes full of apology.
Rhett turned to meet his mother's gaze. He breathed the word, "what" before his eyes welled with tears that threatened to fall.
Owens nodded as he wrote notes in a small book. "Thank you, ma'am. Mr. Butler, you did not answer my question. Have you heard from Ms. O'Hara since? Was there any mention of travel while she was here?"
Rhett glanced down at the listing in his mother's hand once more, muttering something so low it was nearly imperceptible. He made to reach for it, but Eleanor placed it on the table before he could will himself to move.
"I need you to speak up, sir."
"That is not her name." Rhett croaked, his thoughts tumbling over each other. "She…"
Before Rhett could continue, Henry slammed his fist onto the table. The constable and Eleanor were startled, the latter jumping in her seat slightly. Rhett snapped his head up to meet his former uncle-in-law. Henry's eyes were blazing, his mouth contorted in a sinister snarl as he hissed, "O'Hara is her name, Mr. Butler. Or do you forget your hasty divorce? Scarlett was my client but she was also my niece and someone who I have come to care for a great deal. I will not sit here and listen to your charade. Not after the irredeemable way in which you rebuked her."
"Mr. Hamilton," Eleanor gasped, riled by his anger, "can you not see he's in shock? He just learned that someone he cares for is missing."
Henry laughed hard and without mirth, "Cares for? Mrs. Butler, excuse me if I do not share your sentiment. The ink was barely dry on the paperwork when your son expedited them to my office and then failed to respond to any of the six letters I wrote urging for assistance in this case. You may want to inquire as to the nature of your son's letters to my niece over the last three months. Never have I seen such callous, incorrigible behavior."
Something inside Rhett snapped then. He felt as if he was falling apart, consumed by his anxiety and terror. How could she be gone? She was just here. She had just been right here. He stood, his whole body shaking in both despair and rage and he growled low, "She has not been known as Scarlett O'Hara since she was sixteen. You are alienating an entire decade's worth of acquaintances that may be able to assist because they were ignorant of her maiden name."
He balled his hands into fists against the table, glaring wildly at Henry, a tendril of hair falling loosely into his eyes. He felt unhinged, untethered to the ground that threatened to swallow him whole. "And who are you to tell me how I feel about Scarlett? You know nothing of the circumstances of our marriage and you know nothing of my affection for her. I love her," his voice cracked, wavering in agony, "I have always loved her…"
Eleanor reached up, laying her hand gently on Rhett's arm and pulling him down into his seat gently, "Demonize him all you wish later. Finding my daughter-in-law takes precedence. Mr. Owens, is Rhett under investigation?"
The constable shook his head, "Not at this moment, ma'am. We have received a few letters from the advertisement in The Weekly News from passengers who claimed to have seen Ms. O'Hara. We were able to speak with them and they were able to identify her from a recent photograph. Her last known sighting was in Augusta, Georgia. The gentleman and lady who identified her disembarked at the Augusta station; we have no additional information on the location. We do know that she was on the train. The conductor had her ticket stub."
"She mentioned that Mr. Hamilton had arranged her travel when we last spoke." Rhett offered feebly.
Henry nodded curtly, his eyes still blazing, "Yes. The coachman who drove her from the train, here, and back confirmed. She did not meet my driver in Atlanta."
Rhett was breathing heavily, his chest aching, "Perhaps she is not missing then?" He asked hopefully, "Perhaps she took it upon herself to travel?"
"We had hoped that was the case," the constable answered, rubbing his hand along his jawline. "Unfortunately, her bags were found at the Atlanta depot. We have asked her housekeeper what she packed and everything was there accounted."
"We cannot be completely certain," Henry interjected, also attempting hopefulness despite his radiating agitation towards Rhett. "It is possible that she took some time to travel, but I am under no pretenses, Mr. Butler. Scarlett was distraught when I was helping her negotiate the terms of your contract. She set up six months' worth of payments for her children's stay with her sister and was forceful about her desire to sell the Peachtree Street home. From what I could see, she was at a point in her life where she was placing importance on her family and close relations. She kept frequent correspondence with her children, her Aunts here in Charleston, her sisters, and my sister for the last several months- all of which have ceased. She did not even allude to a visit here.
"We have spoken to everyone she had been in correspondence with within the last six months. All of her letters appear to have been written in fine spirits. Only her brother-in-law, her family doctor, and I know the extent of her decline. Her doctor was concerned that she was abusing laudanum over the last few months."
Rhett closed his eyes and buried his face in his hands, fighting the urge to vomit. He had known that he had been less than kind to Scarlett over the last several months. It was the only way he could think to make her aware of how serious he was about divorce. Seeing her all those weeks ago so frail, so thin he should have known that she was wasting away. He had assumed that she had taken up drinking, but the dark blue bruises beneath her eyes and the precarious way her bones seemed to poke through her skin were not indicative of over-consumption of alcohol.
"And you thought to keep me from this investigation, why? Why haven't you come sooner?" Rhett croaked between the cracks in his palms before running his hands up into his hair. "I could have helped. I have ample resources here in Charleston."
"I tried," Henry shot back. "I have written six times over the course of the last few weeks. Initially, I thought it best to keep you from this search once we were able to confirm that you were not the last person to see Scarlett. You have no business in her affairs after the way you treated her. I had hoped that if she was traveling and needed time she would have come home by now. She is carrying nothing on her except the clothes on her back and whatever money was on her person. She did not withdraw any from the bank before she left and she has not accessed any of her money since. She tied up all of her loose ends and vanished. We are following every lead, but after three weeks they are starting to run dry. I will not stop looking for my niece, but we have to acknowledge that there is a very real possibility that…" Henry stopped himself, taking a handkerchief to his brow.
"What are you saying, Henry?" Rhett rasped, his voice breaking. He could not breathe. The room was spinning around him and in the haze, all he could envision was Scarlett's desperate emerald eyes. He felt her trembling hands in his. She had begged for kindness and had to drag it out of him. Now she was missing, and his final memory of her was her drunken kiss as she walked from his life.
He had done nothing in the last few years but hurt her. He had taunted her when he had found out that she was pregnant with his second child- goading her by telling her to pray for a miscarriage. He had taken their daughter away and held Bonnie's affection over her head like something that needed to be won. He had killed their daughter with his recklessness and inability to parent their child. He had forced her hand in divorce by callous coercion after abandoning her. He drove her to self-medicate. Rhett should have recognized the depths of her anguish. He should have seen the change in her, but he was so consumed with his own grief that he couldn't see it.
Henry did not correct Rhett on the use of his name. He saw the deep fear in his once-nephew's eyes and wondered how much he did not know about his niece's marriage. "We have to be prepared for the possibility that she either does not want to be found or that she is no longer alive."
Rhett could no longer control the tears that burned in his eyes. His head lolled towards his shoulder and he covered his face with one of his hands whispering, "No."
Eleanor seized her son's hand hard in her own and came to kneel at his side. She ran her hand over his limp forearm that hung over the armrest. There were no words. There was nothing that could be said to comfort someone upon hearing a loved one was missing, presumed dead. Despite his protestations that he was glad to be rid of his wife, Eleanor knew a pretense when she saw one. His pride had been hurt and he was still mourning the loss of his children. He had been reacting out of mourning and desperation. It did not make his actions sympathetic, but perhaps it would be a way for him to empathize with his ex-wife.
"No," Rhett repeated, pulling himself up and turning to face their guests. The constable looked momentarily shocked at his outburst and Henry seemed to subdue every so slightly. "No, do not say that. Don't you dare say it, Henry. Scarlett was as stubborn as they come. She did everything for her family, sometimes to her own detriment. She would never abandon Wade and Ella. She would never…" He broke off, choking on his fear that wedged itself deep in his throat.
"Speaking of the children," Henry spoke, this time more gently, the fire in his eyes reduced to a simmer, "They're currently at her family's estate. Your letter…" Henry paused, "there is no easy way to say this so I must be blunt with you. The letter you sent three weeks ago came the same day they heard of their mother's disappearance. According to her will, you are listed as their guardian. She had, obviously, not made amendments to her will since the divorce. There are three months left on the payments Scarlett set up for her sister to care for Wade and Ella, but I do not know if her sister will be willing to keep them long-term. You will need to make arrangements for them in the coming months."
The room flashed in and out of focus, dark spots dancing across his vision. Rhett had been the one to tell his stepchildren that he and their mother had divorced. In a letter. He was suddenly too overcome, too overwhelmed. "Of course," he said quietly, pulling his hand from between his mother's. "I need a moment, please."
The constable nodded and stood, clasping a hand on Henry's shoulder. "We will take this advertisement to the newspaper for expedited printing in their next paper. We will be at the Charleston Hotel this evening after five o'clock. I suggest you stop in to continue our conversation."
Rhett sat immobilized, on the verge of shattering as he watched his mother escort the two men to the door. His breathing became heavier as he continued to gasp for breath. Panic gripped him and he had the terrifying feeling that he was dying.
Eleanor turned to him once their guests were out of earshot and made to embrace her son. Rhett shook his head numbly, "Please, I…" he trailed off unable to finish his sentence; he made to grasp at his chest trying in vain to fill his lungs. She nodded and slipped quietly from the room.
It wasn't until the door clicked shut behind her that she heard the distinct sound of shattering china and a deep, guttural wail.