Edwin was just getting ready to head out, feeling that this day was bound to bring something new, something that would take him one more step closer to finding Rachel. He couldn’t help but feel more hopeful than he felt in ages. He knew that he had Lydia to thank for this newfound sense of purpose and mission.
He had to admit that he had fallen into a rut and slowly started to succumb to the frightful notion that Rachel might be lost forever. The thought gnawed at him little by little, demanding his attention, torturing him with its prospects. He endeavored to fight it for as long as he could, but after two years of finding nothing that would shed any light on the mystery of his sister’s disappearance, he was starting to lose all hope.
Now, that hope was back. It was shining like a beacon of light in the darkest of all the tunnels he ever had to walk. Yet, he could see the path ahead. He could see where he was going with Lydia by his side.
Suddenly, a knock on the door interrupted his hurried preparations.
“Yes?” he called out with one hand in the sleeve of his coat.
The door opened. His butler, a man who was Edwin’s senior by at least forty years and who had also been with the family for as long, peered through the half open door.
“I apologize for the intrusion, Your Grace, but you have a visitor,” he announced.
Edwin frowned. “I am unable to see anyone right now, Collinsworth. Tell whoever it is to come tomorrow. I am on my way out as you can see.”
“I told the lady that,” Collinsworth said apologetically, turning his good, left ear to Edwin. It peeked out of a bush of greying hair. “She urged me to tell you it is of the utmost urgency. It concerns a certain letter.”
The mention of a letter immediately made his curiosity peak.
“A letter?” Edwin repeated, ceasing to put on his jacket.
“Yes,” Collinsworth nodded again. “She said you would understand.”
“Send her in,” Edwin instructed, taking off his coat and letting it rest on a small sofa in the corner of his study.
“Right away, Your Grace,” Collinsworth agreed, bowing courteously, then left the room.
Edwin felt as if the entire floor was covered in hot, molten lava, and he couldn’t stand in one place without feeling the burn of it. He had to keep moving, like a caged tiger waiting for the cage to open.
He heard the noise of the door and lifted his gaze in that direction. Collinsworth ushered in an evidently distraught woman, who was clutching something in her hand. Edwin immediately recognized her as the mother of Miss. Geraldine Livingstone.
“Mrs. Livingstone,” he greeted her cordially, approaching her, then continued only after he heard Collinsworth close the door to his study. “How may I help you?”
He knew that he had promised Lydia he would come for her first thing in the morning. This, however, was something unplanned. He knew she would understand.
“I…” Mrs. Livingstone seemed a bit distraught as if she only now saw where she was and had no idea how she ended up here. “I know my husband wasn’t very helpful yesterday when you came to inquire about Geraldine…”
He understood this as an apology. “It is quite all right, Mrs. Livingstone,” he assured her. “I completely understand the distress your family is in. I know because I was going through the same thing. I still am.”
“You said, your sister has been missing for two years?” she asked.
“Yes,” he nodded, glad to see that she was listening to him even if her husband was not.
“Does… does it get easier?” she asked with a whisper. She sounded desperate for reassurance, but he could not give her that. He could not lie to her like that.
“No,” he shook his head. “It doesn’t.”
She sighed heavily, looking down at her feet then at whatever it was she was clutching. She raised her gaze once again.
“I found this in Geraldine’s room,” she started with a trembling voice. “I didn’t tell my husband. He… he wouldn’t understand.”
Edwin was more than certain that he would not. He was of that make, believing that a man needed to have the last word over a woman, and he lacked understanding regarding any womanly predicament. It was, after all, a patriarchal society they lived in, but Edwin never considered himself such a man. He had not been brought up as one while Mrs. Livingstone’s husband obviously caused his wife and daughters to be afraid of him. Edwin could not imagine feeling that way about a member of his own family.
He looked at the woman in front of him. He wondered how much courage and defiance she must have had to keep this letter hidden from her husband, and not only that, but to also come here without him knowing, come to a complete stranger and share this with him. That took a lot of courage. Much more than her own husband had, Edwin was certain of that.
He took the letter and read it quickly. Immediately, he recognized the handwriting. It was the same as from his sister’s letters. That meant only one thing. It was the same man. The same man was courting Rachel then Geraldine and who knew how many women in between them…
“You cannot let anyone know about this,” she said, fearful for so much — for herself, for her daughter. “This letter… it proves that Geraldine went to see this man. She saw him, alone and unchaperoned. If he finds out, her father will immediately think she is a ruined young woman. Not only him but all of London will think that. They will say she… she gave herself to this wretch of a man, and she went with him of her own accord. I… I could not bear to see that happen.”