Before they left for the Abbey, Wynne had them send for Dr. McKendry.
Struck down by apoplexy from the shock she'd brought on herself, Mrs. Barton was attended by physicians, first by Dermot and then from the village and from Aberdeen. After two days, their diagnosis was hardly optimistic. The old woman was conscious, for she could blink her responses to simple questions even though she could not speak. But she'd been left with no ability to move or perform the simplest of tasks. Leana Barton would lie in her bedchamber indefinitely, stripped of the dignity of living as she had lived, sentenced to imprisonment within her own mind.
After what had occurred at Tilmory Castle, Jo was relieved when her father expressed his wish to remain at the Abbey. Charles had given up Tilmory Castle as his home long ago.
Rooms for him had been arranged near her in the north wing. With the assistance of an attendant, she was certain she could manage his ongoing recovery.
Charles faltered in his efforts to speak, a continuing problem that frustrated him. But when the words failed him, he picked up his pen and wrote out his wishes, for his comprehension was improving daily. His memory contained great lapses, but Dermot told him not to despair. Others before him had recovered fully, and they would keep at it.
Three days later, Graham asked for an opportunity to explain his side of things, so Jo and Wynne took her father by carriage back to Tilmory Castle.
"There could be no punishment worse than what your mother has been sentenced," Graham said to Charles. They were sitting in the library again, and a steady rain was beating against the windows.
"For myself," Graham continued with a glance at the others, "I fear for my everlasting soul."
Jo was stunned by the change in the man in such a short time. Since their first meeting a fortnight ago, his straight back was bent with age, and he favored one leg when he walked. The lines on his face were deeper. His eyes had lost their fire.
"For years you stayed away from Tilmory Castle, from your mother and me," Graham said in a hushed tone. "I know you thought we drove Josephine away. And you were right. Your mother bullied and threatened her until she ran, but I'm as responsible for it. I stood by in silence, tending to my work overseeing the farms, even though I knew what the lass was suffering. I did nothing to stop it. I didn't raise a finger to help her until it was too late."
Charles would not look at Graham, and he said nothing.
"M'lady, your introduction to this family, to your own family has been . . ." The older man faltered and moved restlessly in his chair, searching for the right word to say to Jo. "Ghastly. But before I say another thing, I need to tell you how sorry I am for treating you as I did the day we met at the Abbey, and for wrongly holding my tongue since then."
"What I have to forgive is nothing compared to what you did to my mother and my father. It was their futures that you destroyed."
"I know," he said grimly. "I know."
More than apologies, she wanted answers. "Two brothers and a sister. My father has conveyed to me some of our family history. What he can recall."
Perhaps it was the day Charles jumped into the pond hoping to save her. Or earlier, when Stevenson was released from his night restraints and dealt her father a blow as he slept. Perhaps it was the accumulation of many things, or even just the passage of time. There was no way to know, but a fog had cleared in her father's mind and he was undoubtedly improving. And wanting to spend time with Jo, talking of the past, was his favorite pastime these days.
"You were the youngest," she continued. "You've remained a bachelor your entire life, serving the family at Tilmory Castle. And I know that Mary, my grandmother, was the middle child. She was married and lived on a farm in Garloch, where she gave birth to Josephine."
One day, she'd like to see that place. Ezekiel Sellar had invited them when they met, but there wasn't time then.
"What I can't understand is why Mrs. Barton hated my mother so," she told him. "It can't simply be she was jealous of the attention of other men in her family."
The older man stared into the air for a long moment. Jo's father had hinted to her that Graham never married because he'd always loved Leana Barton.
"It was . . ." Graham finally broke the silence. "You have to understand it was her need to be the center of things, to control everyone. That's what drove her always. She was raised in the fashionable society of Edinburgh. She always threw it in Ainsley's face that she married down in marrying a Highlander."
How much pain in the world was caused by the religious belief in the superiority of the rich with its oblivious ignorance, its warped and misplaced values, and its tawdry fashions.
"Arriving here at Tilmory Castle, she saw all of us as a challenge. Her intention from the very first was to elevate the Bartons to a place that was deserving of her. And that's where she immediately ran into trouble with Mary. She was set on marrying Sellar. He was a gentleman, but still a farmer. Leana had other plans. She saw our sister being sent off to Edinburgh and introduced into finer society. But Mary got what she wanted and married for love in the end."
Jo had learned from her father that the first time he met Josephine was when she came to live at Tilmory Castle after her parents died. This explained the families' estrangement.
"Ainsley and I thought the bad blood died with the passing of Josephine's parents," Graham told her. "But we soon learned different when your mother arrived here at Tilmory Castle. She had the temperament of an angel. Cheerful and kind. It was impossible not to love her. But of course, Leana saw nothing but our sister, Mary, in her, and she was after her from the very first day."
Thirteen, a difficult age. Not a child and not completely a woman. Jo now knew that her mother lost both parents and came under this roof when she was thirteen years old. A year later, she lost Ainsley, her uncle and guardian.
Graham's attention shifted back to Charles. "I knew about you two. I saw how your feelings for each other grew more with time. I lived in dread of the day your mother saw it too. For I knew Josephine would be facing so much more trouble."
Charles started saying something but, overwhelmed with emotion, he couldn't utter the words. Instead, he scribbled them on a sheet of paper.
"We married on her sixteenth birthday in Garloch," Wynne read as he sat by Jo's father.
He wrote more and passed it on again.
"I was to retire from the service. Return to Scotland," Wynne read again.
Jo knew this already. Her father's plan was to leave the navy. They wanted to settle as soon as her mother was old enough to control her own inheritance.
"War," Charles said, his eyes pooling.
He'd also told her that they were planning to leave Tilmory Castle and live on the farm her parents had left to her. They wanted to raise a family in peace.
"You were off fighting the rebels in America when your mother found out that Josephine was with child," Graham said. "Of course, the lass proudly told her the two of you were married, that it was your bairn she was carrying. But you knew all along that Leana had other plans for who you'd be marrying."
"Her . . . plans," Charles hissed. "Not mine."
He wrote ferociously on the paper and handed it to Wynne.
"Your job was to protect my Josephine."
Hot and bitter tears welled up in Jo's eyes as she imagined the abuse her mother must have endured at the hands of Mrs. Barton.
Graham's body began to rock forward and backward in his chair, his anguished gaze was fixed on a vacant space on a far wall. He was remembering it all, she thought angrily.
"Why did she run away?" she asked, forcing Graham's attention.
"Leana lied to her. I didn't know what she'd done until after the lass was gone." He stared at Charles. "She told Josephine you were dead. That your ship went down, and you were lost with the rest."
His rocking increased, and his face was about to crumble.
"She told the lass she would take her bairn away from her, fix it so no one would ever know of the marriage. Then she'd turn her out into the fields for a whore. So she ran away. It was just what Leana wanted."
And where would Josephine go, but her own home.
"And I swear to you, I had no part of that. I had no idea your mother would stoop to a deceit so low. A terrible storm had been battering us for days. The third in as many weeks. When I came back to the castle, the poor thing was gone. And when I heard what happened from servants who were there, I knew what they said was true."