Broken. The perfect word to describe things. “She isn’t my friend.” It came out a murmur, one that she prayed the wind wouldn’t take to where Mabena strode ahead of them. “I suppose I never should have thought she was. Perhaps Mama was right. Perhaps there can never be true friendship between employer and employee.”
Mama had actually expanded it to “between people of different stations,” but Libby couldn’t go quite that far.
And she felt Oliver’s fingers stiffen on her arm. “You can’t believe that.”
“Not for the reasons Mama said. Not because there’s any natural superiority. But because there’s something about the nature of the relationship that must make it too hard to trust.” She sighed, trying to watch Mabena on the path ahead of them, even though it was hard to see her through the night. “Or maybe it’s just me. Maybe she just can’t trust me.”
“You can’t believe that either.”
“I must believe it. What other reason is there?” She might have banished that first renegade tear, but now more stung her eyes, and she had to blink furiously to keep them where they belonged. “I suppose I’ve never been anything to her but an employer. An unusual one, which is probably why she’s lasted this long with me when it’s clearly not what she ever meant to do for any length of time. But still. In her eyes, I’ve never been anything but the reason for her position. An outsider when it came to anything that mattered to her. A—what is it you call tourists? In-something?”
“Incomers.” She could hear the smile in his voice, and the sorrow, without looking at him. “What makes you think she thinks of you that way, my . . .”
My lady, he was going to say, as he always did. The familiarity forgotten already. Two words to prove again that she wasn’t one of them, didn’t belong here, where the only gentry or nobility were tourists, or else a Dorrien-Smith.
“. . . Libby?”
A balm. A bandage. And even something that made her lips want to smile. My Libby. If only. But that could never be either. She shook her head. “She told me, the other night. After Beth came. She told me the truth. That she’s your cousin. That she knew all along something was wrong and that’s why she convinced me to come here. After Beth’s letters stopped.”
She’d assumed he’d known it all, since obviously he knew they were cousins. But his hiss of breath said otherwise and brought her gaze around, danger of tears be hanged. “You didn’t know?”
“Suspected.” Even in the moonlight she could see his eyes snapping. “But she swore to me it was only that you needed to get away.”
And so she had spilled Libby’s secrets rather than her own. Strange how it chafed in one direction and yet soothed in another. At least Libby wasn’t the only one she’d lied to.
“As for the relationship.” He pulled her to a halt and turned to face her, angling them both so they could see each other’s faces in the silver light. His gaze sought hers and held it as gently as his fingers did her elbow. “I didn’t know why she wanted it kept secret. Not from you. But I didn’t think it mine to tell. I’m sorry for that, if it’s hurt you in the slightest. That’s the last thing I meant to do.”
She could appreciate that, even as she doubted it. Maybe he didn’t want to hurt her more than he wanted to hurt anyone, but facts were still facts. “You’ve known me only three weeks, Oliver. She’s your cousin. Your loyalty belongs first to her.”
“Does it?” His expression, as he cast a glance toward where Mabena had disappeared, was so very normal in its frustration that she felt a bubble of mirth rise. It popped before it could emerge as smile or laugh, but even so. It was good to know he wasn’t as perfectly empathetic and bighearted as he seemed. “Funny, just now I’d rather toss her in the drink and side with you.”
“Oliver.” It was nearly the same tone she took with Lottie, though far more amused.
“Oh, it would be all right. She can swim. But if I may return to your other point.” Did he truly step closer? Lean in? Or did it just seem that way when he returned his gaze to her face? “We’ve known each other two years, not three weeks.”
“Do you really think an hour’s conversation two years ago counts?” She hoped it did, given the many times she’d thought of him since. Wondered who he was. None of her conjecture had done him justice though. Because she hadn’t known to imagine him here, but the islands were such a part of who he was. She hadn’t been able to see him clearly without the Scillies as a backdrop.
“When it was a more meaningful conversation than any to be had in a drawing room or on a dance floor, I absolutely do.” He stepped to her side again, urging her onward. Making her heart sag again. “It was a seed of friendship, well planted. It needed only a bit of water and sun to sprout and grow, flourish and thrive. The seed may be the plant only in potential, but without it, there would be no plant at all. Ergo, it is without question the beginning of said plant, as you can clearly see.”
“Clearly.” Though she had to wonder, and chide herself for wondering, if a seed of friendship could grow into something . . . more. She was a fool for even wondering it, she knew. And yet—no, and yet nothing. That’s what would come of it.
They walked in silence for a few minutes more, her thoughts as restless as the waves that rolled onto the shore a few feet away. The entrance to Piper’s Hole loomed ahead of them, blacker than night and far more menacing, given their purpose there.
It had once been a mine, Mabena had said. Hundreds of years ago. Then just a favorite haunt of the locals—a place to explore. In the last several decades, as more tourists came to the islands, it had become a regular place for visitors as well. A boat was always kept at the little pool, and sometimes locals even lit it all up with candles, making a grotto that was quite romantic.
There were no lights tonight. No romance. Just now, all locals thought of when the cave was mentioned was Johnnie Rosedew’s tragic death, and they’d even told the tourists it was off-limits.
“They proved that with Johnnie.”
She could still hear Beth’s panicked voice, the timbre unfamiliar but that note in it undeniable. Beth thought that Johnnie’s death was no accident. That it was caused by the very people who were now demanding silver from Libby.
She’d brought some with her tonight—some of what Mama had sent. Just pounds sterling, coins. Nothing special, not all that much. It wasn’t what they’d meant—she knew that very well. But it may lure the fellow into spelling out what it was he did mean. That was what they needed.
“Libby.” Oliver halted her again before they reached the entrance to the cave, into which Mabena had disappeared. He turned to face her again. “Much as we’ve tried to mitigate the danger to you tonight, there is still some. And I don’t want you to step into such a situation with this burden on your shoulders. Please. Tell me what’s weighing you so.”
She’d said enough that he could no doubt piece it together if he wanted. There was no need to bare her soul to him.
And yet there was no one in the world she’d rather bare it to. She let her eyes slide shut, let her chin dip down. Let all the aches of the last two days—no, of all her life—swim to the surface. “I’ve never had the sort of friends you have here—Enyon and the others. It was just me and Edith at home, a few neighbors and cousins, but . . . but they never understood me. I never fit with them. I thought when Mabena came . . . I thought I finally had a friend. A true one.”