Twisted River Read online

  That’s the answer, thought Reuben. He sat up straighter, the electric charge humming in his fingertips. Perhaps the correct response wasn’t the truth, but the ideal. Laurence died with regrets, but he also died wishing he didn’t have any.

  “None of them,” Reuben said with confidence. “If I could redo any day in my life, I wouldn’t change a bloomin’ thing.”

  Mr. Weston folded his hands upon the desk and smiled. “Excellent work, Mr. Radford. You are now the sole heir to Laurence Archer’s remaining assets.”

  THIRTY-TWO

  Those five words—You are the sole heir—felt like a horse hoof to Reuben’s temple. A kick from a dark steed that strongly resembled the phantom from The Legend of Sleepy Hollow yet somehow retained the essence of Laurence Archer. He should stop reading New England folk stories. They were no less disturbing than his boyhood penny dreadfuls.

  “This is absurd!” Maggie cried, “Father only met Reuben twice.”

  “Most importantly, he’s not even Mr. Archer’s child,” Hugo stated.

  Mr. Weston narrowed his eyes at him. “Neither are you, sir. Need I remind you, Mr. Frye, that your involvement is by invitation of your wife. So I suggest you remain quiet else you and your daughter may wait in the corridor.”

  Hugo’s daughter, Reuben thought. My daughter too.

  His spine found the curve of the chair and sank into it until his shoulders butted against the wood. Another figurative horse galloped by with another kick to the skull for good measure. He didn’t know how much longer he could sit in this room without hitting something.

  Tena’s fingers squeezed over his with her usual gentle smile as though she could understand every cause for his current temperament. I’m here, her eyes seemed to say. Then they refocused on her sister, and her touch disappeared as quickly as it had come. Reuben exhaled and pushed himself upright.

  “It makes sense, doesn’t it?” Tena said. “Father needed assurance that his assets would be divided fairly. So he listed Reuben as his heir—a neutral third party.”

  Maggie’s hand rapidly circled her daughter’s back. “He didn’t trust us.”

  Tena shook her head. “No, he didn’t trust Mother. What if the secret he spoke of is as simple as her disdain for us? She had no intention of providing us with our rightful inheritance after father’s death. That’s why he drafted two wills. She would believe she still retained power over us.”

  “Even if that were true,” Maggie said, “that doesn’t explain why he left everything to Reuben. After a year, Mother would never suspect there to be more money. I certainly won’t tell her and I know you won’t.”

  “You’re forgetting something though. Mother was bound and determined to have us both wed and wed well.” Tena said excitedly. “Perhaps that was the secret. Mother chose husbands for us that fit her bill, but not ours. Father knew we wouldn’t take to them, that we would rebel when forced. When we refused, he knew she would disown us. Father couldn’t risk us never receiving the money or having it fall into the hands of an ill-chosen husband.”

  Nestling Abigail closer, Maggie overtly avoided looking at Hugo. “So as I said, Father didn’t trust us.”

  Reuben returned to the window. Just as many people traveled the dreary streets, automobile horns honked, and yet something had changed—him. He now possessed power. Thousands of pounds in his waiting grip to be doled out as he saw fit. Abigail was his daughter. He could provide for her now. Claim her as his own. He had leverage to inflict vengeance on Maggie and earn Tena’s disgust with the wave of his billfold.

  What a despicable thought; he couldn’t believe he even allowed it to surface.

  He ground the heels of his palms into his eyeballs until colors spotted his vision. Turning, he butted against the window ledge. His eyes narrowed at Mr. Weston while his vision gradually cleared.

  “So, I’m the heir, am I?” When the lawyer nodded, Reuben did the same. “Very well, then I relinquish my right to the Archer fortune. Mrs. Frye is correct; I’m not their brother, and I shouldn’t be entitled to what isn’t mine.”

  Mr. Weston leaned forward, his slender fingers nearly reaching the desk’s edge. “Would it make a difference if you heard Mr. Archer’s opinion on the matter?”

  “Not likely.”

  The lawyer withdrew an additional parchment from the file anyway filled with lines of tight erratic script. Holding it up, he cleared his throat and began to read.

  “My girls, Laurence wrote, First, do not punish my memory too severely for the plans laid before you. The decisions of my youth were not easy ones, and I fear that the choices of manhood were more difficult still. Although I hope perhaps, I made them with a touch more wisdom than I possessed at twenty-five. I pray you can understand why I withheld so much from you during my lifetime and why there are one or two items more to reveal.”

  “More?” Maggie asked. “What else could there be? I thought this was all, isn’t it? The terrible secret? The—”

  Abigail’s hollow wail pierced her argument and Maggie gently rocked her daughter against her chest. The shrieks descended with each sway of her mother’s arms and Reuben saw a vision of himself accepting Maggie’s proposal in the café. He would have held Abigail in his arms the day she was born and never had to hide a thing from her. Instead, he made Laurence Archer’s same decision, lying to his daughter until death claimed him.

  He rolled his fingers at Mr. Weston and snapped, “Get on with it then.”

  Mr. Weston shook out the letter.

  “To Mr. Radford,” he continued tersely, “I must acknowledge this. You may believe you have erred in ways you cannot redeem; however, what you do not realize is you were forgiven long ago. The sins of your life were made known to me long before you met my daughters. Desperate to save you from arrest after assailing Lloyd Halverson, your father approached my bank for a loan. Hush money. For a few thousand pounds, he could make all litigation against you disappear. But paying the money brought your father such shame. He desired punishment for Mr. Halverson, not reward, but it was more important to protect you. ‘I won’t see my son in prison for attempted murder,’ he told me. ‘My children’s word against a shipping magnate? If Reuben stands before a judge, he will lose.’

  “I barely knew your father—in fact, our paths didn’t cross again after that day—but mine did cross with yours. When it came to my daughters, I was grateful they made acquaintance with someone who would protect them, a man I could trust.”

  Trust? Reuben forced his expression to remain passive while his fingers clenched his forearms so tightly against his chest that the inside of his elbows went numb. None of this made sense. His father first believing in him as he rarely expressed when alive, then pouring his life story out to a complete stranger, and Reuben consequently earning Laurence Archer’s confidence through an act of violence. Some, including Tena, called his attack on Lloyd Halverson an act of bravery, loyalty, and love for his sister. It seemed Laurence Archer would say the same. But if he had known the things Reuben did on the Höllenfeuer, how he saddled Maggie with a child, or every argument with her since, there wasn’t a chance Mr. Archer would have trusted Reuben—and not a bone in him left unbroken.

  “Shall I continue, Mr. Radford?”

  The room’s unusually hushed tone indicated it had been at that volume some time now. Everyone stared. Tena’s brow furrowed and Reuben relaxed his own.

  “Yes, sir, no need to pause on my account.”

  Mr. Weston continued. “It is unconventional, but I place my wealth in your hands. Divide the assets amongst my daughters as you see fit. Take care of them. It is all I will mind when the end of my life draws near. I cannot see them taken advantage of by their mother; I cannot bear them hearing only her version of my life. Lastly, I offer you the only item you ever asked of me. I leave you my blessing. I couldn’t provide it before and I still believe it was right not to do so. But one day you will find a woman worthy of the kindness, compassion, and love that you have shown both m
y daughters.

  “For you see, I have always seen the truth you try to hide. The fear of losing everything you love is justified; allow no one to convince you otherwise. I have been that afraid for half my life. Even so, if you are reading this letter, the time for even that is at an end. Call it cowardice to die without seeing the aftermath; however, I would rather die with my daughters beside me than die alone. Sincerely, LKA.”

  “Dying alone,” Maggie said dully. She pushed herself from the chair, Abigail still cradled to her chest. “Excuse me, please.” With one hand to her forehead, she exited the room.

  This is wrong, Reuben thought. It was inconceivable that they sat here reliving pains—and guilt—from over a year past. Quite far from offering Reuben comfort that Laurence always stood in his wheelhouse, it made him seethe. Who was Mr. Archer to withhold his confidence all those years when it might have made a difference? He had the power to possibly save Reuben from Mira’s sick mind games, and the infernal man held it to himself. Now he had the audacity to once again demand the burden of his daughters’ safety while granting Reuben his blessing? Too little too late.

  “There must be more,” Hugo said. “You left a document in the file when you removed the will. What does it say?”

  Reuben hadn’t even noticed. Given the circumstances, he was bewildered he still stood straight.

  “That, Mr. Frye,” Mr. Weston said, “is none of your concern. That amendment has already been directed to the applicable party and resolved many months past.”

  “Resolved by whom?”

  “Mr. Frye,” Tena hissed. “If Mr. Weston says we are not to bother, then we should leave it be.”

  Hugo eyed her carefully. “How can it not matter to you when it means so much to your sister?”

  “My sister’s actions might not carry the same weight if you truly knew her.”

  “I believe I do.”

  “Your belief has been misplaced then.” Tena clasped her handbag and stood, holding a gloved hand out to Mr. Weston. “Thank you, sir. I trust you will make arrangements to secure the funds in Reuben’s account?”

  “No,” Reuben spat. He crossed the room to glower at the man behind the desk. “I still refuse my share.” His fist slammed against the wood before he could stop it. His fingers stung.

  “One more outburst, Mr. Radford, and there will be no share for you to refuse.”

  “There will be if Mr. Archer has paid you in advance to do so.” When all eyes turned on Hugo, he guiltily waved a hand and fell silent.

  “As I was saying,” Reuben continued. “You will split the assets thirty percent each between the Archer sisters. The remaining forty belongs to Abigail Frye for her dowry.”

  Hugo shot from his chair. “That’s too much,” he sputtered.

  “It’s what her grandfather would have wanted.”

  What I want, Reuben amended. He couldn’t give a two pence what Laurence Archer wanted anymore. From his vantage point, all Mr. Archer seemed to want was to craft the story of his life how he saw fit, to reveal or disguise truths when they seemed to suit him best. It was little wonder now where Maggie received her own manipulative antics from. Yes, Laurence may have believed that Beatrix disowning her daughters was the worst thing that could happen after his demise, but he should have trusted in their strength as much as the credit he gave Reuben. Those sisters were tough as nails. Together, doubly so.

  Blood pounding in his ears, he strode from the room and slammed the door behind him. Maggie waited in the hallway with Abigail.

  “Come with me,” Reuben said. Not waiting for her response, he marched to the end of the corridor. A window overlooked another street that stretched uninterrupted to the bank of the River Thames. Maggie followed in silence while Abigail babbled her incoherent language and latched tiny fingers onto Reuben’s coat sleeve.

  “Would you like to hold her?” Maggie asked quietly.

  “No.” He jerked his sleeve out of the child’s grip.

  “You act like she’s going to give you the plague.” She paused. “Wait. You’re afraid of her, aren’t you?”

  “Yes. I am. Keep her away from me.” Reuben stepped back and repeated more firmly. “I never want to hold her. If I hold her, I’ll ...” never want to let her go, he finished. If he touched her, she would imprint on his core, and he would lose a bit more of himself every time he handed her back to Hugo. “I can’t.”

  “She looks like you, don’t you think so?” Maggie slipped her finger into Abigail’s waiting grip, and the baby flexed her fingers repeatedly. “She has your eyes.”

  “Radford eyes.” Reuben cuffed his neck. “Maggie, why are you doing this to me now?”

  “Because I’m afraid to say it anywhere else.” There was a lengthy pause, broken only by soft cooing. It was strange to be back in England with her, a woman he once maintained stalwart affection for, an attraction he now found shallow. A woman and her child who belonged to another. Promises to her father he no longer knew if he should keep.

  His lips formed the words he needed to ask, What does this mean for us?, but his throat wouldn’t release them. Whatever it meant for them, it meant for Tena and Hugo as well. Whatever decisions they made about their relationship with Abigail affected their relationships with each other. This was a choice he needed free of their influence.

  “Mr. Radford! Mrs. Frye!” Mr. Weston called from his office door, impatience prominent in his tone. “Do come back. I need your signatures.” Plastering on apologies, Reuben and Maggie returned to the office.

  Two hours passed while Mr. Weston obtained the necessary details related to division of assets until finally only one empty line remained. If Reuben signed, everything would happen exactly as he asked—four-tenths of Laurence Archer’s inheritance would go to Abigail Lorraine Frye’s dowry with the remainder split evenly between her mother and her aunt.

  Reuben’s headache only grew. It took all his effort to ignore Abigail’s incessant noise and focus on the document. So he signed the line and hoped he interpreted all he read correctly. Hugo returned to the office for Maggie’s forgotten handbag and within ten minutes, they clamored into a waiting taxi. Hugo, Maggie, Tena, and Abigail shared the rear while Reuben rode in the passenger seat.

  “The Royal Botanic Gardens, please,” Hugo told the driver.

  “Very good, sir.” Glancing over his shoulder, he shifted the car into the flow of traffic.

  Tena’s hand shot against the front seat. “Wait a moment, please. At the street side there, yes, that will do nicely. Mr. Frye, why do you want to go there?”

  “How do you even know of it besides?” Maggie blustered.

  “Your father’s will.” Hugo lifted Abigail from Maggie’s arms, and with a kiss to her cheek, set her against his shoulder. Reuben averted his gaze out the front windshield. “That is what you wanted,” Hugo asked, “when you pretended to leave your handbag behind? To know what was in the half of the will Mr. Weston left in the folder?”

  Silence followed, and Reuben imagined Hugo’s arched eyebrows and Maggie’s flushed cheeks in response.

  “He would never have left you alone in his office. Your expression had ill intent all over it.”

  “You know me too well,” Maggie huffed. Hugo gave a throaty chuckle as though to say, See, Tena, I do know your sister better than you thought. Reuben supposed that was as close as the man could come to actually gloating.

  “The Royal Botanic Gardens were mentioned on the first page,” Hugo continued. “Your father bestowed a sum of money towards research and maintenance at the Palm House paid out every six months over three years.”

  “Why?” Tena asked.

  “I’m not sure. I only had time to skim. Your father often visited London; maybe he just enjoyed the gardens while he was here.”

  “I don’t think so,” Maggie said. “Father was a man of books and letters. Floral arrangements and frippery didn’t appeal to him. That was more or less Mother’s interest. Not once did he mention visiting either.�
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  “One’s interests can evolve over time,” Reuben said, still adamantly refusing to turn around, the street lamp outside his window suddenly fascinating. “Fascinatin’,” as Hazel would say. He breathed a silent tortured breath. “You can fancy something one day that you never understood an admiration for. Then lose it as quickly the next.”

  He felt Maggie’s eyes on him from the rear seat and pictured her sly smirk in his mind’s eye. There were several things she could accuse him of in that area. But thankfully all she said in front of Tena was, “I suppose that could be true.”

  “Where am I off to, Miss?” the driver asked impatiently.

  Tena sighed. “To the Botanic Gardens then. I won’t wait to be defeated when it’s clearly three against one. Let’s solve the confounded mystery.”

  THIRTY-THREE

  “This would have been far easier if Father simply wrote everything into the letter,” Maggie said. Their feet crunched against the damp gravel path as the group wound around puddles from that morning’s rain shower. Drops lay like jewels on every flowerbed they passed, many of the plants still fighting to break their way through the soil. Beside her, Hugo focused on their steps rather than her ongoing disagreement with Tena.

  “He would have told us if he ever intended us to know, which he didn’t,” Tena countered. “It’s not too late to respect his wishes and go home.”

  Reuben flipped open his pocket watch, holding it out for both sisters to see. “It’s been fifteen minutes of squabble, ladies. Can’t we bring this to a close?”

  Maggie ignored him. “You know I won’t leave, Tena, and you know why. This affects you too, so why won’t you help me?” When would her sister wake up and understand that they couldn’t bury their heads anymore? She may believe that they had already ousted the family secret with Reuben’s inheritance, but the picture was only partially developed. Maggie wasn’t naïve enough to believe their ending up at another garden was a coincidence. Not when the man with the purple flowers continued to plague her nightmares.