An Impossible Deception

Chapter Three: Too Long and Too Close

When Isabella gave Arabella Mr Haythorn's message, Arabella shrugged it off.

"These young men always think they're in love with one," she said with a sigh. "What a nuisance. But don't tell anyone, will you? It's the sort of thing that shouldn't get about. I'll meet him tonight and let him down gently, so he'll stop bothering me."

That came as a surprise to Isabella. She had thought there was love in the way Arabella had laid her head on Charles's shoulder — but perhaps not.

If the arranged let-down was gentle or not, Isabella did not know. She was asleep by ten o'clock that night, and slept fast through until dawn the next morning. After washing and dressing, it occurred to her that Arabella might need waking — Arabella always slept late — for her journey that day. She tiptoed down the hall, careful not to make any noise lest she wake Edwina or her mother and father. Arabella's room was yet in darkness, the curtains tightly closed. Isabella whispered her name once, and, when no answer came, fumbled her way to the bed. She patted across the covers for Arabella. Instead of the warmth and bulk of a body, her hand met only cool, smooth silk. The bed was empty.

Isabella stumbled to the window and threw the curtains wide. Enough pale light came into the room to show it had been abandoned. The chest at the end of the bed stood open, one sleeve of a nightgown hanging forlornly out of it. The usually cluttered dressing table was denuded of all but an empty box of tooth powder, a candle stub — and a letter, lying open between them.

Isabella picked it up with shaking fingers.

Dear Edwina,

I know you'll be furious with me but I can't do it any longer — I can't stay married to that vile man. You must forgive me — or don't, what do I care — but I have fallen in love and gone away with the only man for me in the entire world. You will have to make my excuses to Locke if you care. If you are really as clever as you believe, you will find a way to keep it from him.

Arabella

Isabella sat slowly down upon the bed. Then Arabella had been in love with Charles Haythorn after all — poor Arabella!

But the scandal of it — this could not be hidden! Mr Locke was returning to London this afternoon, and he wanted Arabella to be at home to greet him. Isabella got up and hurried to Edwina's room, where Edwina was yet sleeping, all but her nose buried beneath the covers.

"There's a problem," Isabella said. "Edwina, there's a big problem."

"Go away," Edwina muttered.

"Arabella's run away with Charles Haythorn."

For a moment Edwina was silent. Then the covers heaved as she sat up. "That selfish little bitch!"

"But Edwina, she must love him." Isabella pressed the note into Edwina's hands. "Read it."

Edwina had to squint in the dim light to do so. Her frown creased the lines on her forehead. She scowled and crumpled the letter up.

"I don't know what we'll do now."

"We — we must beg Mr Locke to be merciful to her."

"Pah!" Edwina tossed the note into the empty grate. "Burn that."

"But—"

"Do as I say."

There was steel in Edwina's voice. Isabella went to the fireplace and set the tinderbox to the letter. It blackened, shrunk, and disintegrated to ashes.

"We must prevent Mr Locke from finding out about this," Edwina said.

"It cannot be kept from him. Arabella gave no word of where she has gone. We cannot bring her back. Even if we could, she would only return to him sooner or later."