Mr Simon stared at her for what seemed an age, but then nodded.
‘You said you found him in time. So, what happened?’
‘It’s my fault he got that far.’ His voice cracked, haunted by the memory. ‘I mean, I work out here. And I didn’t see him.’
‘I’m sure you cannot be held responsible—’
‘Xavier found him.’ Mr Simon cut her off, thrusting his chin toward the fig again. ‘Up there. Tied one end of a rope to that big bough and the other around his neck.’ He swallowed and turned his face to the ground, kicking at the sods. ‘He was about to jump when Xavier caught up to him. I heard Xavier trying to convince Uncle Eddie to come down. I climbed up while my brother kept him talking.’
‘What did Mr King say? Did he give a reason?’ Serena’s stomach clenched at the thought of what these men had suffered.
Mr Simon shrugged, a helpless expression. ‘The same old ramblings about the curse and how everyone would be better off without him. How nobody understands or cares and that he’s a burden on all of us.’
Serena reached out and touched his forearm. There were no words to bring comfort. But she understood. Oh, she understood.
‘Persuading him was hard, but we eventually got him down.’ Mr Simon pressed his lips together then rubbed his hands over his face.
Serena waited for him to continue, but he had closed the door on the conversation.
‘So, where is Mr King now?’
Mr Simon’s face hardened, his eyes burning into hers. ‘You don’t want to know.’
He turned his back and started to trudge back to the house.
Serena scrambled to her feet, lifted her skirt and ran after him. ‘Why don’t I? Tell me where he is. You’ve told me everything else. Why stop now?’
The young man halted in front of her, nearly causing her to collide with him in her pursuit. Mr Simon tilted his head back and closed his eyes. The air whistled in his nose as he drew in a deep breath. ‘We saw Caleb Moncrief running from the gardens. No doubt he’d been watching Uncle Ed. He saw everything.’ Mr Simon faced her again and gave an intense gaze.
That could only mean ...
‘They called on the magistrate. Before we had a chance to settle my uncle, they came and took him away to Bedlam Point.’
‘The Asylum?’
‘Tarban Creek Lunatic Asylum. Yes.’
30
Edward was in the lunatic asylum and it was her fault! It must be her fault. If she’d never met him, none of this would have happened. He was fine before she arrived at Aleron, before he became attached to her, before she fell for him. He would have been fine if he remained with his family and no one else.
If only Papa never came to Aleron House. If only she’d come back earlier. If only she’d said yes to Edward’s proposal to begin with. If only she were here when he climbed the tree. If only, if only, if only ... Serena’s mind screamed for a solution.
Serena dropped to her knees right there in the grass, careless of whether Mr Simon remained or not, and prayed like she’d never prayed before. Silent whispers beneath her breath. Desperate whispers. Pleading whispers. Tears ran unchecked down her cheeks as she recalled stories from the Scriptures where the Messiah had healed. She prayed them as reminders to herself and perhaps to God of what He could do.
After long moments, Serena sensed movement beside her as Mr Simon knelt and joined her. Together they lifted their voices in supplication for God’s intervention in Edward’s life. When at last she opened her eyes, a new sense of peace washed over her. A peace that went beyond her comprehension.
‘He will be all right. It’s going to be fine.’ How she knew this, she couldn’t say, but there it was—a confidence deep in her soul. She breathed in and felt the chill air deep inside her lungs, like fresh life.
Simon stared at her, his face still grim, but he nodded. Then he jerked his chin toward the house. ‘Here comes Mother.’
Serena turned as the woman strode up to them.
‘Are you ready for some tea?’
Serena looked at her, considering for a moment. ‘Actually, I should like to go to Mr King's room. May I do that?’
Mrs Jones shrugged. ‘I don’t see why not. Take care though, as it’s still a mess.’
Serena pushed to her feet and brushed off her damp dress. With a nod and a small smile, she headed back to the house. Why she wanted to be in his room, she couldn’t say. With deliberate, slow steps, she climbed the stairs, each one a reminder of those nights rambling through the house with Edward, dancing in the ball room. He was so dear to her, she couldn’t imagine life without him in it, no matter how absurdly he behaved. She loved him, she knew that now.
The kind of love that Papa had pressed her about. If Edward remained brain sick for the rest of his life, she would stay by his side. She would encourage him as best she could and support him through the worst of it. Not because he needed her, and not because she thought she might save him, but because she loved him.
Edward’s room was, indeed, still in chaos—clothes strewn haphazardly, dirty dishes, discarded and crumpled pieces of paper. Edward had lived under torment for too long. Serena sighed. What was she doing here? What was she looking for?
She made her way to the small room which held his art. An unfinished mural covered part of one wall, and she immediately recognised herself as the central focus of the painting. It was beautiful. Her chin wobbled as tears threatened. It overwhelmed her that he esteemed her enough to paint her on his wall.
She
