An Ever Fixéd Mark (25 page)

“
That sounds interesting,”
Lizzie swallowed another mouthful from her glass to shield the
honesty of her reaction. She forced a moderate smile as Paula
handed her a manila envelope. She was impatient to see the picture
of Ben and to read the proof of the connection to Oliver… if it
really was any sort of proof.

“I didn’t look through all of it. It seems
like some information was swept under the carpet. You said your
friend was related to the mill owner, right? Or was it the
girl?”

“The owner,” Lizzie said shortly as she
pulled out the papers. It was difficult to focus and read in the
light of the bar. She paused at the series of photographs. There
was one with a number of workers and Ben was in the middle, in a
long black coat and bowler hat. Lizzie looked up at Paula watching
her. “He looks a lot like him,” Lizzie felt the lie form on her
lips instantly. Paula would have seen the pictures and had a sharp
enough mind to notice the resemblance to Ben… if she ever had the
opportunity to meet Ben. “My boyfriend. I guess they are related.
They even have the same name.”

“Huh. Then he’s related to both owners,”
Paula let out a breath and glanced towards the bar. Lizzie welcomed
her distraction and tried to look closer at the picture. He had the
same strong shoulders and serious expression. She wondered if he
was thinking about Maria when that picture was taken. Lizzie set
down the paper and watched Paula’s focus on the bar. She wondered
if there was someone in particular, or if she was just that
uncomfortable being with Lizzie.

“Too bad nothing that mysterious or
scandalous ever happened at the Fulton House,” Lizzie called her
attention back to the table. “No murders of poor innocent
girls.”

“Huh? Oh yeah, I don’t think so,” Paula
looked at Lizzie, her restraint relaxed by her beer. “I don’t know.
I can’t imagine John Fulton killing one of the house maids.”

“Or Margaret.”

“Definitely not Margaret,” Paula perked up
as the waitress came to collect Lizzie’s empty glass. Lizzie nodded
to her gesture about a refill and watched Paula dodge her eyes.

“She’s cute.”

“Yeah, but not…” Paula drank some more of
her glass. “I also photocopied something I found in the archives
last week.”

“What?” Lizzie sorted through the papers
again.

“It’s just a tiny paragraph about Horace
Fulton’s wedding to Charlotte,” Paula explained. “Thanks to your
detective work with Gerard Fulton, I was able to find this article
from the Boston Examiner.”

“In 1815,” Lizzie briefly
scanned the article describing the wedding celebration held at 127
Brattle Street on April 22
^nd
. The groom was the son of
John and Caroline Fulton. The bride was the daughter of Ephraim and
Jane Chester of New York. Several notables were in attendance to
wish the couple well. Lizzie got the gist of those details and
decided to revisit it and the other papers when she was alone in
Ben’s apartment. She knew there was a bottle of wine to keep her
company with Maria’s ghost.

“Didn’t Harriet write about a Mr. Chester in
that letter?” Lizzie took a sip of her fresh beer.

“
Yes, she did,” Paula
looked back towards the bar, making Lizzie realize she was glancing
at a clock. “I assume that was Charlotte’s brother.”

“Oh,” Lizzie breathed out slowly. The fact
Paula openly made an assumption about Fulton history and the
constant glances at the clock showed that Paula didn’t intend to
stay at the bar much longer. “Well, it’s all pretty interesting.
Thanks for the info, Paula.”

“Sure,” Paula nodded as Lizzie drank more of
her beer quickly.

“And thanks for coming out with me,” Lizzie
smiled. “But I should probably head out.”

Paula looked at the half full pint glass,
but wasn’t able to mask her relief. “Yeah,” Paula nodded. “Happy
birthday, Lizzie.”

*****

Lizzie took the mail out of Ben’s box and
balanced it with the bags and leftover cake in her hands. She
juggled the objects as she turned the keys in the lock and shut the
door. She managed to cart everything down the hallway into the
kitchen, where she saw Ben staring out the window over the back
yard.

He turned to her and smiled. “Happy
birthday, Elizabeth.”

“Ben,” she stood still with her hands full
in the doorway of the kitchen. She felt her breath leave her body
as Ben left the window and went directly to her. Lizzie dropped
everything and grabbed hold of him as he leaned in to kiss her. She
felt the ache of longing to be in his arms that resonated in the
quiet moments of every day of the past two weeks. She didn’t let
herself think how much she wanted him there on that day until he
was there, kissing her and holding her in his arms. She pressed her
body towards his as he completed his embrace. “You’re home,” Lizzie
whispered when she pulled herself out of the kiss.

“You have to get dressed,” Ben kissed her
again. “I am taking you out to dinner.”

“What?” Lizzie asked breathlessly.

“For your birthday,” he cupped her chin in
his palm.

“I don’t want to have dinner,” she kissed
him and jumped up to wrap her legs around him. Ben caught her and
balanced her all the way to his bedroom. Then he let her go and
made her stand up at a distance from him.

“I am supposed to bring you to your favorite
restaurant.”

“What do you mean supposed to?” Lizzie felt
the one and a half beers swim in her head as the oxygen slowly
returned her thoughts to speed.

“Meg arranged a little something… but I
didn’t tell you,” Ben managed a confident smile in spite of his
struggle. She saw the burning in his eyes and knew he hadn’t made
it home in time to visit the clinic.

“Meg?” Lizzie wished she hadn’t had those
beers.

“I’m only telling you so you won’t… tempt me
to stay home,” Ben presented a bag branded with a name of some
designer she vaguely knew from conversations with Andrew.

“This is from your harshest critics,” he
winked. “The box inside is from me.”

“But you weren’t coming home until…” Lizzie
pulled out a red dress and a velvet box.

“I wouldn’t miss your birthday, Elizabeth,”
he watched as she opened to see two ruby studs.

“They are beautiful.”

“You got home later than I expected.”

“I had drinks with Paula,” Lizzie looked
back at him, overwhelmed and still slightly buzzed. “How long have
you been planning this?”

“I haven’t been planning this,” he smiled.
“It’s all Meg. For about a month now. My only part was getting the
band. I have a connection.”

“Jack?”

Ben grinned broadly. Lizzie threw herself at
him again, not giving him much opportunity to resist her grateful
kiss. He started to lift her shirt over her head and finally
stepped back. “Now get dressed,” he showed his struggle through his
gleam.

Chapter
Eighteen

Lizzie wasn’t surprised to find Ben absent
from her side when she finally opened her eyes at noon. He hadn’t
fed and was more restless – in spite of the fact the party didn’t
leave the restaurant until midnight and then continued at Andrew
and Davis’ apartment. She imagined quite a few people stayed after
she and Ben made an exit some time around three. She didn’t
remember shutting her eyes until after six, completely missing her
normal run time.

Lizzie hastily put on a tank top and walked
into the kitchen, where Ben sat reading at the peninsula. She
thought it would be appropriate for him to have a cup of coffee and
then focused her brain back to clarity, remembering he didn’t drink
coffee. She sat on the stool opposite and rested her chin in her
hand to gaze at him happily. She didn’t think it would be difficult
to coax him back to the bedroom when she was just wearing her tank
top and boy shorts. She wondered if he was hungry enough to forgive
her lower red blood cell count.

Ben met her eyes, but didn’t return the
smile. Lizzie looked down and saw the pile of mail he was reading.
On top of the bills and junk mail he sorted, Lizzie recognized the
papers Paula gave her at the pub. Lizzie straightened her smile and
recoiled her posture away from him.

“Elizabeth, I understand,” he said softly,
but couldn’t completely disguise his sadness.

“What do you understand?” she asked quickly,
not sure if it was motivated by self defense or shame.

“You want to know things.”

“These are from work,” Lizzie sheepishly
pulled the papers away from him. It wasn’t a complete lie. There
was an article about Horace Fulton’s wedding.

“Elizabeth,” Ben spoke in a tone Lizzie knew
was of consequence. She looked up and met his eye, which did not
offer the consolation of levity.

“I need coffee,” she got off her stool.

Ben quickly presented her with a steaming
mug. “Elizabeth.”

“I….” she took the mug from his hands and
went back to the stool.

“I’m not angry with you.”

Lizzie set her cup down and looked at the
papers, then Ben. “There’s a picture of you.”

“Not much different. I’m glad hats aren’t a
necessity as they once were.”

Lizzie stifled the urge to laugh. She knew
there was something much more grave coming. “Ben…” she stopped
herself, feeling the need to say something but unable to say
anything… really.

“Oliver killed Eloise.”

Lizzie couldn’t look at him, but felt his
stare watching for her reaction. She breathed in deeply and took a
sip from her coffee. It was still black and too strong for her
preference. She didn’t want to leave her stool to get the milk in
the refrigerator. The silence settled between them, disturbed only
by the hum of the appliances. Lizzie glanced again at the papers,
but they blurred in her focus. “I know,” she muttered, even though
she didn’t realize her intention to say those words.

“How?” Ben sat across from her again.

Lizzie lifted her eyes suddenly and saw the
intensity of Ben’s stare. “I don’t know.”

“Elizabeth,” he touched her hand, saying her
name for the third time.

She curled her fingers into her palm under
his touch. She knew she should feel ashamed, but his sympathy
startled her more than the anger she feared would. She did not
settle her eyes away from him, nor did she respond to his call of
her name.

“I want you to know,” Ben wrapped his
fingers into her clenched palm. “I just… don’t want to overwhelm
you. I don’t know how to begin.”

“Oliver…” Lizzie muttered, wondering if she
should say he contacted her.

“I feel responsible for him, Elizabeth,” Ben
sighed. “He tries to do the right thing. But he hasn’t had as much…
his sense of discipline is different than mine.”

“There is a sort of sibling rivalry between
you?”

“I guess you could say that,” Ben let go of
her hand. “But… Elizabeth, what do you know about Eloise
Hutchins?”

“She worked in your mill.”

“Is that all?”

“She was young,” Lizzie felt her mind cloud
and the words jumble together in her brain.

“She was… is that really all you can think
of?”

“She had red hair,” Lizzie didn’t know where
that detail came from.

Ben leaned back and smiled, but stopped it
as if it was painful. “There isn’t a photograph of her in those
papers.”

“Maybe I’m wrong,” Lizzie rested her fingers
around the handle of her coffee mug. She wanted to tell him she
guessed the color of Maria’s hair, but didn’t think that was an
appropriate argument. She looked at the black coffee, tempted to
drink in spite of its bitterness. She didn’t know what to say next,
but was more afraid of the silence that hung heavy in the air. “Are
you going to tell me what happened?”

Ben looked at her, as if expecting her to
answer her own question. He slowly pulled one of the pages out from
the pile. It was the article about the wedding. “Why is this
here?”

Lizzie clenched her jaw. She didn’t want him
to avoid the truth any more. “Paula copied it for me,” Lizzie
hissed. “We were trying to figure out who Charlotte was. But that
has nothing to do with Eloise Hutchins.”

“It has a lot to do with Eloise
Hutchins.”

Lizzie took the piece of paper back from him
and reread the article, not deriving any clearer detail in her fury
than she did after a pint in a noisy bar the night before. She
couldn’t imagine what a fourteen year old mill worker in 1889 had
to do with a Cambridge wedding in 1815. She scanned her memory of
the Fultons’ history to determine if they had any dealings in
western Massachusetts. Her head clouded more and more, aching with
each additional thought.

Ben breathed out slowly. “You asked me if I
believe in reincarnation.”

“Are you telling me that Eloise Hutchins was
Charlotte Fulton?”

“No,” Ben said quickly, almost angrily.

“Horace Fulton?” Lizzie tried to laugh, but
fell short.

“She lived with the Fultons,” Ben looked
directly at her.

“Oh,” Lizzie felt her whole body grow cold.
She drank her coffee all the way to the bottom of her mug. She was
still cold. She rubbed her bare arms and avoided Ben. He got her
another cup of coffee. Lizzie decided to maintain the silence and
get the milk. She kept quiet as she slowly blended her coffee and
drank half of the mug again.

“How do you know these things?”

“There isn’t an easy way to explain it. I
honestly don’t know if I can put it into words, Elizabeth.”

“Were you at the Fulton House?” Lizzie asked
suddenly, not feeling warmer in any part of her body in spite of
the scalding on her tongue from her coffee.

“Briefly,” Ben didn’t blink.

“Why?” Lizzie gasped.

“Because Charlotte Fulton was a vampire. She
was the vampire who changed me.”