“Of course,” Charlotte said. “And thank you.”
“Mr. Davies?” Marcus quizzed as soon as they were alone again.
Charlotte shrugged. “Seemed better than using your actual name and them having heard of you.”
“True.” They started back toward the carriage. “I suppose we’re off to George Street now?”
“Yes. Let’s hope it’s not too far. It would be nice to find the right house without much trouble.”
Two hours later, after the coachman had figured out how to locate George Street and they’d made a few inquiries themselves, Charlotte and Marcus were shown into Mrs. Callanach’s tiny drawing room by a maid. The lady of the house herself stood upon their arrival, and gestured for them to sit. To Charlotte’s surprise, the maid – an older woman with graying hair – took a seat at the table with them.
“Mrs. Callanach does nae speak,” the maid explained, as if sensing Charlotte’s curiosity over the unusual etiquette. “I’ll answer any questions ye may have to the best of my ability and for the sake of efficiency since she would otherwise have to write her responses.”
Taken aback, Charlotte glanced at Blayne’s mother, then back at the maid. “Why won’t she talk?”
“Because she cannae, miss. Her larynx was crushed years ago. She never recovered her voice.”
“Dear God.” The situation was worse than Charlotte had imagined. Most likely more severe than Blayne even realized since there had been no reference to such an injury before. Surely if he’d known, he would have mentioned it to Guthrie? “I’m terribly sorry.”
Mrs. Callanach gave a slight shake of her head as if to convey it was quite all right.
“Losing her son was much worse than losing her voice.”
Charlotte’s heart clenched. “I cannot even begin to imagine the pain she must have endured.”
“Ye said ye had information about him?” The maid proceeded to pour everyone a hot cup of tea. “Mrs. Callanach is hoping ye ken where he might be buried so she can visit the site.”
“Buried?” Charlotte blinked. “She thinks her son is dead?”
The maid went utterly still. “That is what Seamus told her. James fell off his horse while attempting to flee and broke his neck. The horrid man refused to tell Mrs. Callanach anything more. As ye can imagine, it has been the source of great distress for her, not knowing what happened to her dear boy.”
Charlotte could only stare at the woman in dumbfounded silence.
Marcus eventually cleared his throat. “I believe Mrs. Callanach may have been severely misled by her brother-in-law.”
The maid stilled. “What are ye saying?”
Charlotte and Marcus shared a glance before Charlotte carefully said, “James Callanach is still alive.”
Mrs. Callanach’s teacup and saucer clattered to the floor.
The maid rushed to clean up the mess. “Ye mustnae say such things unless ye are certain.”
“I am,” Charlotte said.
Mrs. Callanach snatched up a notepad and pencil, wrote with jerky movements, then showed Charlotte her question. How?
“I met him in St. Giles a little over two months ago. He was running a tavern there and, as I would later learn, living in hiding. The two of us were about to get married when Seamus showed up to ruin it all.”
Tears filled Mrs. Callanach’s eyes and her lips began to tremble. She pressed her hand to her mouth to stifle a sob. Charlotte averted her gaze to allow the woman a moment of privacy. Learning the son she’d thought dead for nineteen years was, in fact, very much alive must be overwhelming. Blayne had stayed away out of fear, but in that moment Charlotte wished he had found a way to inform his mother of his well-being. It wasn’t right that she should have suffered such grief when it could have been prevented.
“Where is James now?” the maid asked while Mrs. Callanch gathered her composure.
“I’m not sure exactly. He went with Seamus willingly, partly out of resignation I imagine, and partly to save me from marrying a murderer.” When outrage hardened Mrs. Callanach’s eyes and she looked like she meant to try speaking in spite of her handicap, Charlotte hastened to say, “I know his situation is not what it seems. While Blayne – James, that is – believes himself to be guilty, I think his memory of the events that took place are so fuzzy and distorted he’s turned himself into a monster. But based on what I have learned, I believe he acted to defend you from a man who clearly would have strangled you to death had he not been stopped.
“The true murderer was your husband, whose crime Seamus also pinned on James.”
Mrs. Callanach made another note. I never tried to fight it. How could I without a voice? As an adulteress, my reputation was in tatters. No one would have listened.
“I know.”
A brief silence passed before Marcus asked, “Why did you take a lover?”
“That is a highly inappropriate question,” Charlotte said and immediately apologized to Mrs. Callanach.
“The answer could be helpful,” Marcus argued. “If there’s some way for her to gain compassion from the public, her testimony would probably get more traction.”
“Nevertheless,” Charlotte said, “we have no right to—”
Mrs. Callanach snapped her fingers to draw attention. She held up her hand, motioning for them to wait, then proceeded to write. When she was done, she handed her note to Charlotte, who proceeded to read.
“My marriage was one of convenience, completely devoid of love. Bruce Callanach was a violent man who had no qualms about striking others. He whipped my son…” Charlotte swallowed hard in an effort to tamp down her rising fury. “And he would often strike me for the slightest offense. Since he had his own lovers, I saw no reason not to seek comfort in the arms of another. In retrospect, it was foolish. I played a dangerous game with my husband – one in which a man was killed.”
“A good solicitor might be able to use this to gain some sympathy for you,” Marcus said. “Especially if there were witnesses to your abuse.”
“I saw the master strike her on numerous occasions,” the maid said. “So did the butler.”
“What about James?” Charlotte asked. She couldn’t believe he wouldn’t have done something sooner to try and help them both out of such an awful life. Of course, she reminded herself, he’d only been a boy and not a very tough one either, until circumstance had forced him to change.
Mrs. Callanach shook her head. She wrote another note. I did my best to protect him from the truth. It’s possible he viewed me as a weak woman who lacked the strength to stop her husband from beating her son, but the truth is, I tried, and was always punished as a result.
The image Mrs. Callanach painted of a home ruled by tyranny, caused Charlotte’s heart to ache. “And Seamus?”
“He idolized his brother,” the maid responded. “And did his best to absolve him posthumously by pinning the murder of Mr. Hollander on James. As soon as Master James ran, Mr. Callanach ordered Mrs. Callanach removed from the premises immediately. After applying to her brother for help, she was set up in this house.”
Charlotte drew a tight breath. “And her brother?”