Forgotten, and other Heartless tales by Jaimey Grant

Author:Jaimey Grant
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Ah, men. Hélène sat on the front step of the pawnbroker’s, her fingers wrapped around the brooch she’d found. She’d forgotten about the thing in all the upheaval of realizing her husband’s love would never be hers, not while he clung to the perfect memory of his perfect bride. The brooch winked up at her, the answer to a prayer she’d not hoped to have answered.

She studied the bauble. There had been a visitor to the tavern once, long before Hélène had found Gabriel, a lady fleeing her tyrant of a husband. Clasping the edges of the lady’s light cloak, the brooch had blinked in the many candles from the chandelier. Hélène greeted her, sensing the woman’s tension from across the room.

“Ah! Yes, I need a room, woman. Immediately.”

Hélène felt a thrum of annoyance at the lady’s condescending tone. But she dipped her head, and made sure the woman was as comfortable as could be expected.

That night, Hélène heard a commotion. She slid from her bed, careful not to jar her husband awake. The window was open, allowing any breath of air to dissipate the abominable heat. A shout, a curse, and the neighing of a horse sent Hélène to the window. She saw the lady shoved into a carriage and a man climb in after her. The woman’s cloak was gone.

Hélène found the garment the following day when she entered the room to clean. The brooch was still attached, a brief note pinned between it and the heavy cloth.

Many thanks for your kindness.

She’d secreted it away, touched and apprehensive, forgetting all about it in time. Her mind hadn’t pondered the thing for years, only returning with the sudden appearance of the lady’s husband. It had taken him years to pry the information from his wife and Hélène shuddered to think what the woman must have endured.

The lady was free now, if she still lived. Hélène pondered the wisdom of seeking her out, returning the brooch, and somehow letting her know that her husband would not be returning to England’s shores.

She shook her head on the thought. It was best to leave well enough alone. She could not explain how she knew he’d expired and if she said anything, Gabriel’s efforts in disposing of the bodies would be for naught.

Opening her fingers, just a bit, Hélène watched the sun twinkle on the diamonds. She knew little of jewels, but she suspected the brooch was real and very valuable. She also assumed it was well-known. There were too many diamonds, most of them blue, in too specific a pattern, for it to be anything but specially made for a special lady.

A sigh rattled up from deep within as her fingers again concealed the brooch. She could pull it apart, sell a diamond here and there, make her way somewhere, anywhere else. But she didn’t, plagued by the unshakable belief that the bauble meant something to someone once. It was a silly, romantic notion without a shred of practicality, a notion she hated, but it remained something she could not dismiss.

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