Page 90 of The Maid's Secret

I don’t know how I did it, but I escaped my father’s grasp. I wriggled free and I ran from his office. I hurried down the grand staircase and out the glass doors of the conservatory. I ran without thinking, over the lawns, through the garden gate, down the pathway, past Mrs.Mead’s cottage to the knotty oak tree that bordered the property next to Papa’s.

When I arrived, I wasn’t alone. John was sitting under the tree. He’d changed out of his funeral clothes and was wearing a work shirt and overalls. He was holding something in his hands. It glinted in the fading light.

“Flora?” he said, surprised to see me.

I was bent over, catching my breath.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yes,” I replied. “No,” I said, changing my mind. “I have no idea.”

He patted the long grass beside him. I sat down, leaning against the massive trunk, my shoulder touching his.

“Where’s your father?” I asked.

“In town,” he replied. “He’s staying there tonight. He couldn’t take it—the cottage. Too many memories.” As he said this, he turned over the shiny object in his hands. It was a gold Claddagh ring, with a heart in the middle held by two tiny hands.

“Your aunt’s?” I asked.

“Her wedding ring,” he replied. “When her husband died, she took it off and never wore it again. But I know she cherished it. It reminds me of her.”

I took John’s hand and slipped the ring on his pinkie finger. “There,” I said. “A perfect fit. You should wear it for her.”

He nodded, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he tried to keep the emotion down. “Where were you running off to?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I replied. “All I know is what I’m running from.”

I told him then—about Penelope’s assault in the laundry room, about how she suspected Algernon had stolen art from the baron, and about Algernon threatening her at the funeral. I watched as his jaw clenched.

“So that’s why my aunt was running—to tell us everything Algernon had done.”

“She didn’t want him to get away with it.”

John was speechless for some time. At last, he said, “He shot her, but we’ll never be able to prove it. He saw her coming, that’s for sure. Maybe she confronted him in the woods. Somehow, he knew she was about to spill all his dirty secrets. My aunt always knew more than she let on, Flora. Maids take care of one another. There’s a whisper network among them. The Farquars’ maid told her Algernon had made unwanted advances on the Farquars’ daughter. He was kicked out of college for that. The girl’s parents went to the police, but the Brauns paid them off to make it all go away. People like the Brauns can weasel out of anything.” John’s shoulders slumped. He picked at blades of grass in the small space between us.

“You tried to warn me, John. So did your aunt. This is all my fault,” I said as I broke down in tears.

He took my hands in his. “No,” he said. “The blame rests on the Brauns, not on you. My aunt loved you like her own daughter. She would have done anything for you, and there’s nothing you could have done to stop her. There was something she wanted to give you, but she didn’t quite know how.”

“What?” I asked.

He stood. “I’ll go get it,” he said.

He walked to the cottage, appearing a minute later with a leather-bound book under his arm. He sat down beside me, his back against the tree, his shoulder touching mine again. “It’s a diary,” he said, “with a lock and key. She wanted to give this to you as a gift for passing your exams, but when you…”

“When I blew my education entirely,” I offered.

John smiled meekly. “She didn’t know what to do with this after. But I know she wanted you to have it. She told me so.”

He passed me the diary. I turned the key in the lock, and the book clicked open, revealing page after enticing blank page. “I will cherish this always,” I said. “Whatever will I write in it?”

“Your life story, maybe?” John suggested.

“As if anyone would be interested in that,” I replied.

“I would be,” he said, turning his beautiful brown eyes to me. “Except I’d rather be in it than read about it.”

I stared at him for a good, long time, drinking in the sight of him. There he was, my beautiful John. How was it I had not seen earlier the vast difference between a frog and a prince? All that glitters isn’t gold, Molly, and I learned that from John. He’d always been there, steadfast and true, not ostentatious or showy like Algernon and his kin. I’d mistaken the replica for the real thing, but in that moment I knew the difference. John was nothing like the Brauns, and he was most certainly nothing like Algernon. The man under that tree, even in mourning, was my heart’s true desire, the love of my life. The light was fading, dusk on the edge of night.

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