The cane crashed to the floor as Maude covered her face with her hands. Beneath her cotton dress, her bony shoulders shook with silent, racking sobs.
Terrified and resigned, Tristan crouched beside her chair. "Maude? What is it?"
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," came a muffled wail through her fingers. "It was a mistake, I swear it."
"Of course it was a mistake, but that doesn't make me any less guilty." Ignoring Alexandra's gasp, he eased Maude's hands away from her face. "Whether intentional or not, I'm still responsible for his death."
His life was over. Or at least it was meaningless, which was the same thing.
"I'm s-sorry," Maude repeated. She stared into space, tears rolling down her parchment cheeks. "It was a mistake."
Except for the painful knot, he felt dead inside. So dead inside he wouldn't have thought he'd have it in him to feel sympathy for her. But she seemed so damned miserable. "What was a mistake, dear lady?"
Her tears flowed faster. "The l-laudanum."
Tristan dug a handkerchief from his pocket. "The laudanum?" His memory flashed on the nearly empty bottle he'd taken from his uncle's rooms and tried to give to Alexandra. You'll want to take only a little, he'd told her. You can overdose on laudanum.
He hadn't thought the knot could tighten more, but it did. He must have poisoned his uncle with that very same bottle.
"I just wanted him to stop hurting." Maude took the proffered white square and dabbed her eyes with it, then balled it in her fist, staring at her hands in her lap. More tears splashed down on them. "H-he was coughing. He couldn't sleep. I gave him too much. Too much. I used all of it." She was babbling so fast Tristan couldn't seem to keep up. "Perhaps I gave it to him twice that night. I didn't intend to. I couldn't remember. I'm old."
"Could you mean…" Her words were confusing. A mist had obscured his brain. He'd stopped breathing again. He took both of Maude's hands. "Do you think you may have accidentally caused my uncle's death?"
She nodded and met his gaze, her eyes reddened. "I should have died instead of him."
"No." He couldn't catch his breath. His vision clouded. His pulse felt thready and weak.
"I told you," Alexandra murmured.
He was innocent. He hadn't killed his uncle, after all.
Relief flowed through him, blessed relief after all these years. He felt a different kind of weakness now, and lightheadedness, too, and giddiness, like Alexandra when she drank too much wine.
Alexandra. She'd had faith in him all along.
"Maude." He swallowed past a lump in his throat. "Will you tell this to the authorities?"
She looked back down at her lap. "Th-they're going to hang me."
"I won't let them." His knees hurt, but he remained crouched there, holding both her hands, when all he wanted was to collapse in relief. "You did your best, didn't you? Always. You cared for my uncle when he was a child, then his children, then him again. No one will hang you for doing the best you could. Everyone makes mistakes."
He heard a little noise from Alexandra and turned to see her. A fat tear rolled down her cheek, cracking his heart.
"They're going to hang me," Maude repeated.
"No." He looked back to the older woman. "I won't allow it. I promise your safety, Maude, if you'll only explain what happened to the authorities."
She stared at her lap. "You promise?"
"I do. No one will hurt you. You can come back to live at Hawkridge, if you'd like. We'll take care of you."
A long moment passed when all Tristan heard was the beat of his own heart pounding in his ears. At last Maude lifted her red-rimmed gaze to meet his, her eyes filled with gratitude and relief of her own.
"I'll talk," she said. "I lied to the sheriff before, but this time I'll tell the truth."
FIFTY
WHEN MAUDE'S door closed behind them, Alexandra and Tris paused on the garden path and turned to each other. And just stood there, looking at each other, for a very long time.
"Alexandra," Tris finally murmured. He took the basket from her hand and set it on the gravel, then cupped her face in both hands. He searched her eyes, rubbing his thumbs beneath them as though gently swiping away tears. "I've never seen you cry before," he said softly.
"I wasn't crying," she said as her eyes glazed, proving her a liar. "It was just that when you said everyone makes mistakes…well, I'm sorry for mine, Tris. I'm sorry I was so obstinate that I drove you away."
Slowly he shook his head. "I'm not sorry you were obstinate. Look where it led. I was too obstinate to see you were right." He shook his head faster, harder. "I even thought Maude was telling me I was guilty."
"Everyone makes mistakes," she reminded him with a watery little chuckle. She blew out a shaky breath. "Goodness, Tris, we did it."
"You did it," he said. "By God, you did it." Then he swept her up to twirl her in a wide circle right there in the cottage's little garden.
Her heart soared. "I told you," she crowed. "I told you that you weren't responsible for your uncle's death." He set her on her feet, where, unable to help herself, she rose to her toes and pulled his head down for a smacking kiss. "I knew you couldn't have hurt him. And you haven't done anything to hurt me, either."
"They were accidents. You were right about that, too." He yanked her close and squeezed her so hard she felt every one of her unhealed bruises.
"Oof!" she said with another laugh. "Maybe now you have hurt me."
"I'm sorry." He set her carefully away and bent to retrieve her basket. "But I've never been so happy to hear I told you so in my entire life."
He led her back to the curricle and helped her climb up. Then he clambered up beside her and pulled her
