Of Moths and Butterflies

CHAPTER three





S IMOGEN LEFT the city behind her she drew in a great breath. But the fear and doubt, the sorrow and guilt, did not abate with the release of it. She had bought a ticket to Kent, simply because it was the first train leaving. From there she had chosen a small, out of the way town to which no one would think to go and where no one could possibly arrive by chance. No holiday spot, no thoroughfare to bigger and better places. But now she must think what she was to do once she got there.

What little she had brought with her—borrowed from her uncle’s cash box—would not keep her long. But this was no great obstacle, so long as she could find work. For a woman with no practical skills however, there were not many opportunities open to her. Yet she was not without experience. Her uncle had always had a difficult time retaining servants, but of late his temper had worsened, his habits had become blacker, his language bluer. Imogen, finding it necessary to lend a hand now and then in order to keep up the proper appearances, had contributed where and how she might. She had found the occupation a comfort. Such work allowed her to forget her worries and, better yet, had provided her with an excuse to avoid serving her uncle in far unworthier respects. The most difficult of chores had been denied her, it was true, but she had watched, and in theory, at least, she knew she was capable. Neither did she feel herself above it. Perhaps once. Not so now.

She considered, too, that there was possibly a certain safety to be found in such a position, for the merits of so humbling herself had already been tested. The men who had come to do business with her uncle had taken much interest in his refined and charming niece. In her labours assisting the staff, wearing a borrowed apron, with her hair untidied and her hands begrimed, she found herself beneath their notice. In this manner she had found safety. Could she find it again?

Through the train’s window, the great rolling countryside spread out before her. The fields and hedgerows, the houses placed at great distances one from another, and now and then, the quaint little village, all welcomed her with a promise of room to move and fresh air to breathe—a place to lose oneself entirely.

The appearance of a large country estate, a few miles outside of Ashford, provided Imogen with her first introduction to the small village that would be her new home. Soon another, and then another appeared. And when the most charming of these, a large abbey converted into an elegant country house, came into view, her decision was confirmed. It was here she would seek employment.

* * *

“Where has she gone, Roger?” Muriel asked upon entering her brother’s house that morning.

“Imogen, you mean?” Julia answered in astonishment. “Is she not here?”

“You must know where she is.”

Roger, puzzled, took an instinctive glance up the stairwell before turning his attention back to his aunt’s sister.

“Where are the servants?” Julia asked. “Where’s Mary?”

“Sobbing in the kitchen, I suppose. There is no one else.”

This was greeted by questioning looks from both Julia and Roger.

“Why is Mary crying, Muriel?” Julia asked when no answer seemed forthcoming.

“She says she doesn’t know where Imogen is. That she took her breakfast up to her and she wasn’t there. I’m afraid I rather interrogated her.”

“I’m not sure that was necessary,” Julia answered.

“And now I’ve been left to wait, alone, for nearly an hour, with no one here but…” She pointed toward the floor above and her brother’s room.

Roger turned to Julia for some answer, but she had nothing to suggest. Determined to learn what he could, and to waste no time about it, he climbed the stairs to Imogen’s room. Sure enough, the tell-tale signs of a sudden and hasty departure were present. Though most of her clothes remained, her necessaries were gone, as well as her heaviest mantel and a leather bag she used when she travelled—and that wasn’t often. This was a bitter pill to swallow, and he was forced to ask himself some very hard questions.

What would make her take such drastic steps? Could her decision to leave, and so abruptly, without any warning at all, possibly be to avoid his enduring petitions? Or was it simply in desperation to escape the prospect of living under her aunt’s tyranny with a fortune hanging over her head and everyone bearing down upon her to fight for their share of what she so desperately did not want? The first possibility left him humbled and disappointed. The second made him livid. That circumstances, that her own family, should oppress her to such an extent that she would take flight... He sat down on the bed to collect himself properly before going downstairs with the news that, to all appearances, his cousin, his dearest friend, the woman he loved, had fled home, family and fortune.

Roger returned to the parlour to find the aunts had gathered. All were waiting for him, it seemed, and some news of Imogen. Mr. Watts was there too, having recently arrived. Stoic and ashen-faced, Roger delivered his report.

“Gone! Could she be so ungrateful?” was Muriel’s reaction. “With her uncle lying in state and not even a word to tell us where she’s gone or why!”

“I think it’s fairly clear why,” Roger replied.

“Would you mind enlightening me?”

Roger turned to Mr. Watts. “You have come, I believe, to read the will?”

Mr. Watts cleared his throat. “Mmm. Yes.”

“Should not my niece be here to hear it?” Muriel inquired.

“Miss Everard has already been informed of the provisions made for her.”

All eyes were fixed on Mr. Watts as he took his place at the table. From his portfolio he withdrew several documents, which he examined before at last deigning to proceed. The will was read. The truth was revealed.

A single, sharp intake of breath was heard. And then the room fell deathly silent.

“You will wish to contest, of course,” Mr. Watts said after several minutes had passed, wherein Lara had looked up from the little dog on her lap, hardly seeming to have found the proceedings remarkable at all.

Julia’s fan fluttered at blinding speed.

Muriel sat rigid and fuming. “Most certainly I wish to contest. This is absurd! There must be some mistake.”

“Considering the precarious circumstances in which your niece has been left, and I dare say not by Mr. Everard’s carelessness alone,” he added rather pointedly, “I think it quite understandable that he would wish to provide her with some means of security.”

“She has taken it, then. She has taken the money and fled.”

“She has not taken it, Mrs. Ellison. In fact, I believe she has gone with the hope of escaping it, and the temptation it will undoubtedly provide to those who would further oppress her.”

“She has fled to escape it?” Muriel repeated to herself, or to a spot on the floor, it was uncertain.

“I believe so, yes.”

She lifted her gaze to meet the lawyer’s, a distinct air of hope prevailing in both look and tone. “She has forfeited it?”

“That’s not possible. She is not yet of age. She has, I believe, something over a year before she will have the power to make any decision whatever regarding it.”

“Unless she were to marry,” Julia suggested, offering Roger a knowing look.

He took her meaning, but what was the use? She was gone. That’s all he could think of.

“We have to find her,” Julia said.

“Yes, of course,” Muriel answered, her eyes flashing with renewed purpose. “She must be found. Of course she must be found! There can be no question of that.”

The air of determination in her voice ought to have given Roger hope. Instead it made his blood run cold.

“Do you have any idea where she might have gone?” Julia gently asked of her nephew.

Slowly, he turned his gaze upon his aunt. “I wish to God I did.”





From his portfolio he withdrew several documents.