Page 58 of One Last Goodbye

Sean keeps his gun on her until she’s in handcuffs. Then he holsters it and moves to my side. “Are you all right, Mary?”

Please do not judge me when I tell you I throw my arms around him and kiss him squarely on the lips.

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

I take another sip of my tea and close my eyes as the warmth of the brew suffuses my very soul. Truly, there is nothing on Earth so glorious as a hot cup of tea on a cold winter’s day. Say what you will about British cuisine, we understand the value of simple culinary pleasures, and Earl Grey is one of those pleasures.

Hugo sips his own tea from across the table. I look at him and weigh the benefits of apologizing now. I will have to at some point, of course. I nearly drove the poor man to his death, and hestillsaved my life.

It might as well be now. “Hugo?”

He turns to me. He’s still shivering, but far less than before. His nose is red, but it’s not frostbitten. He’s gotten lucky. So have I.

“I’m so sorry. I was wrong. I should have…” I decide it’s best to just leave it simple for now. “I’m sorry.”

He nods and turns away. Well, that’s probably more than I deserve.

The door bursts open, and Catherine and the children rush in. The children rush to my side. Catherine rushes to Hugo’s.

“Mary!” Ethan cries. “Are you all right?”

“Did she shoot you?” Olivia asks. “You’re bleeding.”

I remember my shoulder and look at the wound. I am not bleeding anymore, but I’ve stained the left sleeve of my dress red. I smile at Olivia. “It’s not serious. She missed.”

Tears well in her eyes, and she hugs me again. “Oh, Mary!”

I feel a lump form in my throat as I set my tea down and return her embrace. “I’m all right, dear,” I tell her. “I’m okay.”

Ethan hugs me, too, and we spend a moment enjoying the fact that we're all alive. Over their shoulders, I see Catherineweeping on Hugo's neck. I feel another stab of guilt, but it's slightly alleviated when Hugo catches my eyes and gives me a half-smile.

People are odd creatures. I thought I knew them well, but it seems I don't understand people as well as I believed. I thought Hugo a weak, selfish fool of a man and Sophie a paragon of simple English virtue. Yet Sophie was a murderer, and Hugo risked his own life to save the life of a woman who accused him of a murder he didn't commit.

I can’t hate Sophie that much, though. I have experienced a small taste of what it’s like to be a servant, and if I’m being honest, I’ve been a very privileged servant. But I have money, and at any time, I can choose to leave this life. Sophie endured a life she hated for decades only to have the future she strove for taken from her so Frederick could cover a debt arrived at through his own foolishness. I can’t condone her choices, but I can understand them, or at least the mindset that arrived at them.

And now she’ll never have her freedom. She has gone from servitude to imprisonment. It’s her own hand that did this, but when I think sympathetically on the death of Frederick Jensen, it’s his children I have sympathy for, not the man himself.

The children pull away after several minutes, and Ethan asks, “Will you stay with us, Mary?”

I am spared the discomfort of answering that question when Detective Dubois walks in with Sean. Sean nods at the strangers in the room, but before he can introduce himself, Dubois speaks.

“Sophie Lacroix is on her way to the Genthod station. She’ll be held there until the storm passes, then she’ll be transported to the Canton jail and charged with homicide in the second degree and attempted homicide in the first.”

“We’re sure that she killed Frederick?” Catherine asks. She glances at me. “Very sure?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Dubois replies. “We have her confession recorded thanks to Miss Wilcox and her friend here.”

Catherine seems to notice Sean for the first time. “And you are?”

Sean clears his throat. “Sean O’Connell, ma’am. I’m a private investigator.”

Catherine looks at me. “So youarea detective.”

“No, ma’am,” I reply. “Just a woman who believes that everyone deserves justice.”

She holds my gaze for a moment, and her eyes soften a little. We will never be friends, and after nearly getting her lover killed, I am certainly still fired, but I think she feels a little more kindly toward me now.

Perhaps it’s just wishful thinking. Much as I wish that everyone would have the same sense of justice that I do, there are some who want only for their lives to be perfect, no matter how it affects anyone else’s lives.

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