even knew your name, dear Andrew. This is why you are reading this letter at this moment.
I am not the person you think I am.
I have signed a letter of annulment so that you may move on with your life, but in truth, I do not think you will need it. We are not truly married, as I am already married to someone else. His name is Angus Ravenhouse and he is a monster.
You must know that the beast I was forced to wed stole everything from me when my father died: my life, my father’s estate, and my father’s good name. I do not love Angus. I married him six months ago to protect my mother from ruin and despair, but she died of a broken heart within weeks nonetheless. With her safe in heaven, there is nothing to keep me in the prison that is my marriage. Escaping Angus is my only goal. I had to leave England in a way in which he could not trace me, and get to America, where his money and influence meant nothing. I needed to have a different surname so that Lily Ravenhouse wouldn’t appear on a passenger manifest. There are only so many ways to get a new surname. . . .
I fled London for Liverpool two months ago with the terrible hope that I would meet someone who could help me, knowing full well that only through deception could I get that help. I didn’t have time to wait for you to get to know me, though when I met you on the street the day you got the letter from your brother, I knew you were the kind of man who would help me if you were able. I had to be on the ship with you, as your wife, with your name as my name. And you were leaving in such a short amount of time. So I led you to believe I had fallen in love with you in a matter of days, and I hoped against hope that you could believe it was possible. I could not extend to you then the honesty that you deserve. But I am extending it to you now.
I never wanted to hurt you. I swear before God I never wanted to hurt you. You deserve someone who loves you the way a man should be loved. I am not that person.
I am bound for the West and I ask you not to inquire about me, not that you should.
There is nothing in this trunk I need. You can do whatever you wish with its contents. If it helps you to forget me, burn it.
But please do not hate me for very long. I have lived with hate for six long months. It is like poison, black as pitch, and too dangerous to harbor.
I am and will always be in your debt.
Lily Broadman Ravenhouse
The book of poetry lay open on my lap, and the certificate of annulment rested on its pages when I finished reading the letter. A stunning chill had sneaked in around me and I shivered, the thin paper of the letter rattling a bit and reminding me that I held it.
The weight of what I now knew astounded me. I could see in my mind’s eye how Lily must have envisioned her plan playing out. Making port with Andrew at New York Harbor and then Ellis with their trunks in tow. Processing through immigration. Boarding a ferry that would take them to Manhattan. Meeting Andrew’s brother at the docks. Hailing a cab and stowing their trunks. Arriving at Andrew’s brother’s place. Unloading the trunks. Lily, who runs back out to the street to retrieve a forgotten glove, is counting on Andrew and his brother to be distracted with maneuvering the trunks inside. She pays a beggar woman or a young boy on the street to give the man with the black felt hat a message when he comes out. She steps into the cab to retrieve the glove and instead pays the driver to make haste to the train station.
When the trunks were at last inside the flat, Andrew would look for Lily. He would head back outside but there would be no sign of her or the cab. He would look up and down the street, calling her name, perhaps. Then the paid messenger would approach him, saying he had a message from the lady with the orange scarf. “Look inside her trunk.”
Andrew wouldn’t believe this person at first. He would ask where the lady went. The person would shrug and repeat the message.