An Innocent Affair

XXXIII

"Beware of those who don't fight back. Sooner or later, they will." Joyce Rachelle

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XXXIII.

It arrived. Jem had been waiting weeks for this letter. He had written in hope shortly after he had begun courting, or rather the façade of courting, Miss Zara Delaney.

The charade had allowed Jem intimate and frequent access to Cressie's drawing and parlour rooms, where they had been able to converse freely. Of course, the conversation could only flow as freely as Cressie could manage, and over the weeks she had begun to share more and more of the prison marriage that she had been kept in by her scoundrel of a husband.

It had become clear to Jem that Everett Delaney viewed Cressie as some sort of caged bird, a pet, whose wings he'd clipped out of sheer delight to keep her solely dependent on him.

Despite being separate from him in London, Cressie still very much felt the bars of the cage around her, and her wings had no strength. Her maid, Jem had learned, was an extension of her husband, employed essentially as a spy. Letter travelled back and forth detailing Cressie's movements and habits, and Everett would write to say if he approved or not.

And all Jem could do was sit and listen to her and wonder at how this wicked man could possess such a woman as Cressie was, and could be again, and treat her thus. How could anyone know Cressie's spirit and not love her? To snuff her spirit, to snuff her soul, was a crime.

Everett Delaney would never again lay his hands on Cressie. Jem had already decided that. But he had not forgotten his conversation with his brother prior to learning the truth of Cressie's situation. Cressie was still the legal possession of her husband, no matter how abhorrent the notion was. Things would not be as easy as Jem simply snatching Cressie away and refusing to give her back.

Jem had returned from his daily visit to the Delaney house to find that a letter had arrived after that morning's usual post. And it had been the one he had been waiting for. Jem broke the seal in the entry foyer and began unfolding the letter as he bounded up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He could hardly read for the speed in which he was moving, and yet, he managed to focus on the neat and elegant script of Mrs Martin.

Dear Mr Denham,

I can hardly believe that I have just addressed this letter thus. It has been such a long time, and yet I find myself filled with equal parts hope and anguish at the prospect of our correspondence.

I am truly grateful to you for sending me word of Cressie. You cannot know my grief at being separated from her all these years, with barely a scrap of news as to her wellbeing in letters than can hardly be described as such. I have wanted to travel to see her, but I have been unable to leave.

When Mr Delaney established me in Suffolk, he told me that if ever I were to leave this house, that it was forfeit. He promised me that Cressie would be well taken care of and I truly have prayed every day for this to have been the case.

I have written Mr Delaney dozens of times over the year begging for him to send Cressie to me for a visit, or to allow me to travel to Yorkshire to no avail. Cressie's letters to me are re-written, and I receive no answers to my questions. I can only presume that she does not receive the letters I write.

At first, I was able to convince myself that Cressie was swept up in marital bliss and had no time to write to her dear mama. That notion allowed me to sleep at night.

But it has been a long time since I have slept well, and your letter has confirmed my deepest fears.

You must know that I only ever wanted the best for my daughter. I only ever wanted to secure her future so that she never had to worry about where she was going to find her next meal, or her next bed.