The Soldier's Dark Secret

Realising that she was clenching her hands so tightly together that the knuckles showed white, Celeste hid them under her painter’s smock. She ought to look him in the eye, but she was sure if she did Jack would know she was lying. She was not a good liar. She was good at keeping silent. She was very good at hiding her feelings, but she was a terrible liar. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said. ‘Forget I asked.’

She could have bitten her tongue out, realising only at the last moment that telling Jack Trestain something didn’t matter was a sure-fire way of alerting him to the fact that it did, though he said nothing for so long that she began to hope he had done just as she asked. At least she was a step further forward. She had no idea what a Bow Street Runner was, but she could find out. She prepared to get to her feet. ‘I should...’

‘Sit down.’ His grip on her arm was light enough, but one look at Jack’s face, and Celeste thought the better of resisting him. ‘Who exactly is it you’re trying to trace? A lover? An errant husband, perhaps?’

‘I have no husband, errant or otherwise, and as to a lover— No, not since before— Since— It has nothing to do with affairs of the heart.’ She sounded defensive. She was getting upset. And Jack was not missing any of it. ‘It is nothing,’ Celeste said. ‘I regret raising it.’

Jack gave her a neutral look. ‘You know, you’d be taking pot luck by employing a Runner. Some of them are excellent chaps, but some— Frankly, I wouldn’t trust my sister alone with them. Not that I have a sister. Have you? Or a brother? Is it a sibling you’re seeking?’

‘I am not so fortunate as to possess either,’ Celeste said repressively.

Jack nodded. ‘So, it’s not your parents or a husband or a sibling you’re trying to trace. Who then?’

He was not going to give up. Celeste shook her head and folded her lips.

Once again, Jack failed to get the message. ‘Now I come to think about it, you weren’t clear if it was a person or a thing. Is it stolen property then, jewellery? Or the family silver?’

‘Mon Dieu, Jack, I wish you would leave the matter alone!’

‘You ask me for advice but now won’t tell me why. Don’t you trust me, Celeste, is that it?’

‘I don’t trust anyone. I find it is safer that way.’

‘That, if I may say so, is a fairly bleak philosophy.’

‘You may, since I suspect it is also yours.’

He looked quite taken aback. ‘Irrespective of the veracity of that statement, you would admit it is a philosophy which makes finding your missing person or whatever the hell it is rather problematic.’

‘I told you, I was merely speculating.’

‘And I told you, I don’t believe you,’ Jack said, his tone conciliatory. ‘Look, it’s obviously important to you, whatever it is. It’s clear you need help, and I assure you, you can rely on my discretion.’

All of which was most likely true, but it was such a big step to take. Celeste wrapped her arms around herself. What should she do?

‘If it’s difficult for you to tell me, imagine yourself faced with a complete stranger.’

‘Why are you so keen to— Of what possible interest is it to you?’ Celeste cursed under her breath and jumped to her feet. ‘You wish to know? Vraiment? Very well then, I will tell the truth and shame the devil. I have come to England to find out why my mother killed herself! Are you happy now?’

Jack’s face was a picture of shock. Celeste, even more shocked than he at her impulsive admission, sucked in great breaths of air.

‘I’m sorry,’ Jack said after a brief silence. ‘Celeste, I’m so very sorry.’

He reached out, as if he would put his arms around her. For a brief moment, she was tempted to accept the comfort of his embrace, and that shocked her almost as much as her blurting out the shameful truth to a man she barely knew. She pushed him away, rather too roughly, though she was beyond caring about that. Then suddenly quite drained, she sank on to the bench beside him.

* * *

Suicide. Jack could think of no subject more guaranteed to engage his attention and his sympathy. He clenched his fists. He would try his damnedest to help this woman. That would, at least, be something.

Beside him Celeste was pale, angry and on the verge of tears, though she seemed absolutely determined not to cry. She was looking at him very warily too, most likely already resenting him for forcing her to blurt out something so private and shocking.

‘You can trust me,’ Jack said once more. ‘If I am able to help you, I will.’

‘Why would you?’ she demanded baldly. ‘You’re virtually a stranger.’

He pondered how to answer this without arousing her suspicions. It had cost her a good deal to ask for help, which made him wonder that someone so beautiful and so attractive and so talented should be so bereft of confidantes. ‘A stranger with too much time on his hands, and not enough to occupy his mind,’ he said, which had the benefit of being true. ‘A stranger who has had some experience in such matters,’ he added, which was, tragically, also true.

‘What experience? Jack? I said what experience?’