Page 32 of Break Me: Smith and Belle

“I hate to break up the reunion,” Georgia interrupted, striding over and waving her phone. “But it’s getting late. I don’t know what the roads will be like when we head out this evening, but we should probably get going.”

Clara’s hand closed over mine again as Georgia went to tell Edward. “You can call me anytime. You can tell me anything. I know that sometimes between sleep deprivation and teething and lack of sex it can feel like you’re going crazy. Just remember, I’m always here and I understand.”

I nodded, reaching over to give her a hug. I wish it was as simple as that. Maybe my trip to London was what I needed to clear my head. No more sleeping pills. Different medication. And a reminder of who I was what I wanted.

Yes, London’s always a good idea.

15

Smith

I found Rowan adding a new lock to the Bless office doors. He stepped back and appraised it. “Too much wind,” he told me. “It keeps gusting open. This should do the trick.”

“Thank you,” I said. I hadn’t sought him out because of work, but rather to dig up more information on the history of Thornham. “I was wondering if I could ask you another question about the Thornes.”

He shrugged, leaning to pick up the tools he used to add the lock. “I told you pretty much everything I know.”

“That’s actually what I wanted to ask you about.” I’d been thinking about Rowan’s information all afternoon. According to everyone in town, all of the Thornes disappeared. Even Longborn had seemed shaken when Miranda’s remains hadn’t been with the others. Despite the rumors that seemed to cling to her, it appeared that everyone assumed she was dead, too. In the way of country superstitions, people were just as likely to believe they were seeing a ghost as the woman herself. But if what Rowan said was true, they couldn’t have seen her at all. Miranda Thorne had been locked away in an insane asylum. That left me with one more question for Rowan. “How did you know that she’d been institutionalized?”

Rowan turned, but his beady eyes focused on something in the distance. “That’s not really my story to tell.”

“I just want to find her,” I told him. “Confirm that she’s been locked away. Some of the things that happened since we moved in can’t be explained.”

“I told you that’s always how it’s been at Thornham. Finding Miranda won’t help you with that,” he said in a gruff voice.

“But how did you know that she was alive and in an insane asylum?”

Rowan chewed on his cheek for a moment as if considering how much of the story to share before finally sighing heavily. “I suppose it doesn’t matter anymore. Not with Seth dead.”

“Who Seth?” I asked, feeling confused.

“My brother. He worked here before me,” he reminded me.

I nodded, hoping he would continue.

“He was several years older than me. Twenty-three and with plenty of Scottish charm,” he told me with a wink.

“You can’t blame a Scottish man for that,” I agreed with him.

“You can’t. And you can’t blame a Scottish man for turning a woman’s head — even a married woman’s head.”

I was beginning to get a better picture of life in Thornham years ago.

“Miranda Thorne was a beautiful woman,” he continues. “By all accounts, she loved her husband desperately when they were first married. That’s how they wound up with so many bairns. But sometimes love doesn’t last forever.”

“True love does,” I said softly.

“I hope in your case you’re right,” he said with a shake of his head. “Maybe she still loved him. I don’t know much. They grew apart. By the time I came to work at the house, the marriage was all but over. Then one night, there was a big fight between Mr. Thorne and Mrs. Thorne. Everyone on the estate was talking about it for days. Mr. Thorne left the house, and Mrs. Thorne wouldn’t leave her room. The children were getting into all sorts of trouble, as children often do. Then little Caroline fell off the roof—I told you about that.”

I nodded. He’d also mentioned that some weren’t convinced it was an accident.

“When that happened, Mr. Thorne came back here quickly, and everything seemed to be fine—and then we showed up to work one morning and everyone was gone.”

“That’s when you called the police?”

“Not at first,” Rowan admitted. “Everyone sort of assumed they’d taken the children off for a holiday. But when they didn’t return that’s when the local authorities got involved.”

“They never found anything,” I told him. “Not until we dug up the cellar.”