“I’ve managed this long,” Blythe replied. There was a blueberry bush behind them, sad and dying despite the warming weather. She looked to the bush as she spoke, skimming her fingers over its bare twigs. “Though there is something I’d like to speak with you about.”
Blythe had never seen anyone swallow a frog, but she imagined that if she had, they would look like Charlotte did in that moment. “Oh?” Her eyes strayed toward the direction in which Everett had hurried off. While Blythe would have loved nothing more than to ask about what she’d witnessed between them, Charlotte was far too proper to be comfortable knowing that anyone had been privy to such a moment of fondness.
“I’d like for you to walk me through everything you saw the night of my brother’s disappearance.”
Charlotte’s relief was so intense that Blythe could almost feel it easing her own tired muscles. “No good can come of this conversation, Blythe. We’ve been over this already.”
They had been. Still, Blythe pressed, “Oblige me once more. I promise this will be the last time I ask.”
Charlotte sighed as she led Blythe to a nearby bench beneath the shade of a great maple tree, away from prying ears. “I’ve told you everything I know. I saw Percy briefly in the woods, heading toward your mother’s garden. He hardly acknowledged me when I said hello, and—”
“How did he seem?” Blythe interrupted, squinting hard at the ground to visualize the scene in her mind. “Was he in a hurry? Was he walking slowly?”
Charlotte’s dark eyes cut to her with alarming severity. “He seemed like everyone who runs out of Thorn Grove talking of ghosts. If you want me to be frank with you, he sounded half mad. He told me he was headed to the garden—that’s it. Our conversation was brief.” She told Blythe then of how Signa had gone after him, and how Charlotte herself had made haste to Thorn Grove to warn Elijah.
“And then the smoke started, right?” Blythe asked. “We must be missing something! Percy wouldn’t just run off into the forest. He wouldn’t just disappear like that, especially not when—”
“When you were sick?” Charlotte didn’t wait to see Blythe’s face fall before she scooted close and laid a hand on her lap. “If he truly left of his own accord, then there must have been a good reason for it.”
It was the same story that Blythe had heard a thousand times over. The same one that Signa had shared. Percy was paranoid that someone was after him after being poisoned at the Christmas ball. Because Elijah had made it clear that Percy would never take over Grey’s, he had no reason to remain at Thorn Grove. He fled for his safety. The story, in every respect, fit.
Except for one thing—why had Percy never tried to contact them? Not for money, not to share his whereabouts, and most painfully, not to check on Blythe’s health and ensure she was still alive. Perhaps he was worried that contacting anyone would endanger him, but… wouldn’t he have at least tried?
Perhaps Percy truly had started a life under a different name, someplace where their family wasn’t a constant target. Blythe, however, couldn’t ignore Byron’s notes or the crossed-off maps. The Hawthornes’ resources were infinite.
Charlotte was tentative when she next spoke, her words low. “If Percy moved elsewhere, they should have been able to find him.”
“What do you mean, ‘if’？” Blythe pressed, her mind unable to stray from that single word. “If he didn’t leave on his own accord, then what do you think happened?”
Charlotte glanced over her shoulder, as if to ensure no one was approaching. “It’s not my place to speculate.”
“Of course I want you to speculate! That’s why I’m here—”
This time when Blythe’s words cut off, it was because Charlotte pressed her hand over Blythe’s mouth, smothering any sound.
“You are glossing over an important part of what came next, Blythe. The part where I ran into your cousin. It’s hardly me that you should be asking these questions—I wasn’t the one who ran toward the fire that night.”
Blythe tore herself from Charlotte, wiping her mouth. “You think Signa is the reason for Percy’s disappearance?” Blythe’s laughter was a harsh, cleaving sound that had Charlotte sitting stiffly upright. “What do you think she could have done to him? Run him out of town? Do you think she’s strong enough to have killed him?”
Blythe was a coiled snake ready to strike the hand feeding her. She knew full well that she had no business behaving like this at Charlotte’s own home, and yet she couldn’t withhold the anger that festered within her. She was used to people backing away when she bit; it was how she protected herself from whatever she didn’t care to face. So when Charlotte sat tall and unflinching, it was Blythe who began to shrivel, panic settling in.