Page 13 of Taken to the Grave
The girl jumped up and did as her mother ordered, closing the door to the drawing room behind her.
“Gwendolyn?” Mrs. Bertram gave an imploring look at her remaining daughter.
The young woman hesitated, her own color rising. She looked as if she’d have liked to flee the room just as her sister had.
“I demand you speak now if you know anything about this…this scandalous thing,” Mrs. Bertram said, her horror increasing.
Gwendolyn jumped from her seat. “I…I didn’t think she would go through with it.”
Audrey stood as well. “Go through with what, the elopement?”
The young woman’s dark hazel eyes went slightly blank as she looked at Audrey, but then she blinked and nodded. “Yes. That’s right. The elopement.”
Mrs. Bertram covered her face with her hands. “Oh! This is terrible. Simply terrible! Who is the young man, Gwendolyn? You must say everything you know. Poor Mrs. Silas!”
Something about Gwendolyn’s blank stare a moment ago bothered Audrey. It was almost as if she’d been thinking ofsomething else, but then grasped onto the offered explanation. Audrey fumed at herself. She should not have led the girl on with an answer but instead allowed her to find it for herself.
“I believe his name is Mr. Comstock. Mister Travis Comstock,” she said, wrapping her arms around her middle, as if she had a stomachache.
“The wretched man. Who is he? Who are his people?” Mrs. Bertram stormed as she shot up from the sofa and began to pace. “Oh, Mr. and Mrs. Silas must be devastated. And their reputations! Shredded into tatters!” She lamented some more as she paced in a frothy panic. A maid entered with tea service, but Mrs. Bertram clucked at her to set it down and be gone.
“Mother, please?—”
“How could you have known about this and said nothing?” Mrs. Bertram shouted.
“She begged me not to say anything!”
“What is their plan?” Audrey intercepted before the girl’s mother could tirade against her some more.
Gwendolyn stared blankly at her again. “Their plan?”
“For after,” she clarified. But still, the young woman appeared confused, and Audrey had to explain further. “After their elopement.”
“Oh. Oh! Yes. Well, I’m not sure…” Gwendolyn laced her fingers together and began to fidget.
“I see,” Audrey murmured. “Miss Bertram is there any chance that she has not eloped with Mr. Comstock?”
Based on her distracted reactions so far, she was beginning to think Gwendolyn did know something about her friend’s disappearance, but that it might not have anything to do with a scandalous wedding.
Mrs. Bertram halted her pacing and stared at Audrey. “Where else could Bethany be?” The woman then paled and swayed on her feet before catching herself on the back of thesofa. “You don’t mean to suggest…that they…they are living together in sin?”
That wasn’t at all what Audrey was suggesting, though this time, she kept her lips sealed and allowed Gwendolyn the chance to respond for herself. The rattled fluttering of her eyes as they skipped from her mother to Audrey, then to the floor, said multitudes even before she spoke.
“I really do not know anything further.” Her voice was weak and soft. “Bethany had something planned but she didn’t share every detail.”
“You should have talked sense into her, Gwendolyn.” Mrs. Bertram fanned herself as she staggered to sit again upon the sofa. “Oh, Your Grace, what disappointment in us you must feel. I do apologize for my daughter’s silence. Please convey to Mrs. Silas my deepest concern and regret.” She closed her eyes and fanned herself some more.
Audrey tried to meet Gwendolyn’s gaze, but the young woman focused all her attention on her mother, who appeared ready to faint. No doubt she was avoiding having to look at Audrey.
It was time to leave, and with nothing new to go on. No facts. Only more speculation—speculation that Gwendolyn was lying. Audrey thanked them for their help and took her leave, neither Bertram ladies paying her much mind as she did.
With sinking spirits, she exited onto the front step, the maid closing the door firmly behind her. She hadn’t gone three more paces toward the waiting carriage, Travers already opening the door for her, when the door to the Bertram’s home opened again.
“Your Grace,” a young voice called, and out onto the front step rushed Flora, her arm raised. In her hand was a single pink kid glove. “You forgot your glove, Your Grace.”
Audrey turned. “My glove, you say?”
Not only was it pink—a color Audrey almost never wore—it was also much too small. In fact, it appeared to be sized for Flora herself. When the young girl’s hazel eyes sparkled with a bit of mischief, Audrey caught on. She checked the door, which Flora had closed behind her.
