A Lady Under Siege (21 page)

“Say something from the heart,” Sylvanne urged him. “And I promise this time, we won’t make fun.”

Thomas hesitated. “Yes. Well.” A distant look came to his eyes. Sylvanne and Daphne waited. He put his hand to his chest, and said, “I’ll beg off, if I may, for I’m afraid my heart’s a little tender, just at the moment.” His voice trembled slightly. “My dear Daphne. With your hair up like that, you look so much like your mother.”

“Daddy. I’m sorry,” Daphne said softly.

“Don’t be. I’ll leave you two now to your fun.”

Sylvanne stood quickly and took hold of his wrist to stop him from going. “No, no. It’s really time for her to take a rest. I’ll leave you two.”

Thomas looked down at where her hand touched his skin, and felt a tingle surge through him. Her eyes were two pools of sparkling, radiant light. “Your demeanour is so altered these past days that I can scarce believe you’re the same person, Lady Sylvanne,” he said. “You’ve captivated my impressionable young daughter, and caused this room to ring with girlish laughter for the first time in many a moon. I thank you.”

“She’s good company,” Sylvanne said modestly, letting her hand fall from his wrist. “She brightens my days, as well.”

“I do wonder at this sudden change in your deportment, however,” Thomas continued. “It seems to signal a change of heart, and the abandonment of your husband’s wishes. Or could it be playacting, a ruse, an emotional Trojan horse by which you hope to penetrate my defences?”

Sylvanne didn’t flinch. She met his eyes squarely. “The only person in the world I trust at the moment, my maid Mabel, has advised me to look for trust in others, by granting trust to others. So I’m giving myself up to you—in hope that your actions in bringing me here were for an honourable end, and that I might in some way help you achieve them.”

Thomas studied her. “Nothing would please me more than to return that trust,” he said. “Customarily, in listening to the words of others, I can only guess at their true feelings. But in this case, I expect I’ll discover the truth or falseness of what you say, in my dreams. For I have an ally, a spy in your mind, fair Meghan, your twin.”

“Then I pray this Meghan is not a liar,” Sylvanne said.

“No. She has nothing to gain by that,” said Thomas. “She’s a truth-teller, and a mind-reader, inside you even as we speak.” He looked directly into her eyes again. “Just now I think I see her in there with you. It’s as if your eyes are the windows to not one soul, but two. Can that be true? Or is it because when I dream, her eyes are as beautiful as yours?”

“You frighten me.”

“Don’t be frightened. There’s nothing you can do to change the truth.”

“Pray, let her read my mind, and make her report. Call for the guard, for I’ve grown suddenly weary, and wish to retire to my room.”

Thomas walked her to the door and watched as the guard led her away. He was still tingling from the radiance of her eyes, so powerful he’d put it down to the presence of two souls. He asked himself again, Could it really be that I saw Meghan in those eyes?

“Daddy, will we go riding tomorrow?” His daughter’s voice returned him to the moment.

“First we need a horse, before we make plans about riding one.”

Daphne picked up a comb and ran it through her long hair. “Do you like Lady Sylvanne?” she asked.

“I do like her,” Thomas replied. “I’m not sure I trust her.”

“I wish you would,” the girl said.

“And why is that?”

“Because you’re in need of a wife.”

“A few days ago you were terrified of her,” Thomas reminded her.

“She’s different now. And you’re in need of a wife.”

“You’re in need of rest. And you’re awfully young to be a matchmaker.”

“Mother told me something, before she died. She said she hoped you would marry another, to give me sisters, or a brother.”

“Did she? That sounds like something she would wish for. Thinking of others, even at the end.”

“Can we go riding tomorrow?”

“You’ve asked me that. Don’t mount the saddle until there’s a horse underneath.”

28

“H
ow did Derek react, when you told him you knew that his wife and child had died?” Anne asked. Meghan had come for her second session.

“He told me the wounds have healed, but he has scars.”

“What do you think he meant? Keeping in mind that there are many levels of meaning.”

“He meant end of topic. Change subject now. He didn’t want to talk about it. He said he was open to talking about it, but he didn’t want to talk about it.”

“Do you think the wounds have healed?”

“Maybe they don’t. His little girl must have been about four when she died. I think of Betsy, when she was four, to lose her like that…” Meghan shivered at the thought.

“Humans are often surprisingly resilient when tragedies happen. We’re animals like all the others—priority one is to keep living. And if you’re going to live, you may as well try to find happiness. Or re-find it.”

“That’s true.”

“Other people do move on, and rebuild their lives.”

“That’s true too.”

“How does he react to you when you try to talk to Thomas through him?”

“Well, he’d been resistant, but at the same time kind of humouring me, partly because he finds me attractive. But when I told him about his wife and child, he started to wonder. He agreed to read the medical texts I gave him, so that’s progress.”

“He finds you attractive. How do you know that?”

“I eavesdropped on him the other night. I didn’t do it deliberately, I was trapped in my back yard, not wanting him to see me.”

“Why was that?”

“Because he was drinking, as usual. He had a friend over, and I thought if he saw me he would say something idiotic, something to ridicule or mock me just to entertain his friend, so I sat on my little patch of lawn, out of sight below the fence, waiting for him to be distracted so I could slip back inside the house. I couldn’t help but listen. He called me gorgeous.” She smiled, a little embarrassed.

“And how did that make you feel?”

Meghan broke into a wide grin. “That’s the all-time classic therapist’s line, isn’t it?”

“These things are classics because they’re tried and true,” Anne smiled. “So. How did that make you feel?”

Meghan thought a moment. “It’s funny, you know. Coming from someone I’d been thinking of as kind of a loser, like Derek, I was flattered, but not totally flattered. He is good looking, I guess—I mean if I thought he was ugly I wouldn’t have cared less what he thought of me. But,” Meghan hesitated a moment. “I don’t know. If Thomas were to say it, I would feel totally flattered.”

“Why?”

She thought a moment, then said suddenly, “Am I in love with Thomas?”

“Only you would know. Are you?”

“Oh my God. I admire him, and feel such sympathy for him—his daughter has been so sick, and he’s so desperate to make her better, working so hard to help her get well. I want to comfort him, give him hugs. And then, just looking at him, apart from all that—the way he carries himself—it affects me, somehow. He’s very proud, I would say. Strong. And honest. And serious. I just wish I could
be
with him.”

“And what does Thomas think of you? Does he ever say?”

“He has. Several times. He’s called me a beauty, and also said he likes the way I carry myself. He thinks I walk elegantly, like a young doe.” She paused, enjoying the warmth of a pleasant reverie. She could see Thomas clearly in her mind, standing by the fireplace in Daphne’s chamber. “Now that Sylvanne’s making nice to him, he’s able to look at her more naturally, more comfortably. Last night they locked eyes, and it was eerie, but I felt he was looking through her, and seeing
me
. It was the first time I felt that.” She felt her pulse quicken, remembering and reliving that moment. “It’s just so totally unfair. Why do we have to be centuries apart? If he were here, I’d give him my love in a second.”

29

A
small brook meandered across a field of golden wheat shimmering in the autumn breeze. Daphne rode in front, on her horse, her very own horse, a sweet old chestnut mare named Mathilde. Despite her protestation that she was a young lady, and should ride as ladies do, Thomas had insisted she wear a boy’s breeches and ride like a boy, straddling the saddle, that being the safer technique for a novice. Behind her he rode next to Sylvanne, who sat side-saddle on her big black horse, as a lady is expected to. Daphne reached the brook, and Thomas called out for her to wait there. When they caught up he allowed his horse to dip its head to the water and drink. He dismounted to take a drink himself in cupped hands.

“My mount is forever thirsty,” he said. “Look how he sucks it up by the gallon, like an elephant’s trunk.”

“Mine wants only to run and run,” Sylvanne replied.

“Let her run toward home then. It’s time we turned back.”

“One more jaunt!” Daphne pleaded excitedly.

“This is far enough,” he told her. “Beyond here the path narrows, the woods grow dense and wild.”

“Oh
please
, Daddy?” she begged.

“All right,” Thomas relented. “But this may be your last time riding in that fashion. Next time we’ll have you adopt the proper posture of a lady on horseback. Now take your mount no further than that first copse of alders. Then you turn around smartly and come straight back.”

He and Sylvanne watched her horse step cautiously across the rocky, knee-deep stream. On the far side she kicked her heels into its belly, and it began a disciplined canter away over the open field toward the trees. “This outing has brought colour to her cheeks,” Thomas observed. “My physician tells me that’s a bad thing. I wonder what our friend Meghan would say?”

“Perhaps you’ll dream the answer,” Sylvanne smiled, mirroring the look of ease and contentment she saw upon his face.

“I do fall asleep these nights hoping for answers,” he replied. “Last night I was eager to see Meghan, that she might help me to solve the puzzle of your change of heart.”

“And what was her verdict?”

“None. I passed the whole night with Master Derek, for she paid him no visit. To give him credit, he diligently and devotedly perused the medical books Meghan gave him, offering commentary of his own as an adjunct to the texts, addressing me as if I were an old friend. He read deeply on the subject of something called tuberculosis, but neither Daphne nor my wife could be said to perspire much in the night, which is a primary symptom of that malady. Crohn’s disease, and Multiple Sclerosis, if I pronounce it correctly—he seemed to think auto-immune conditions of that sort might be responsible for my poor daughter’s state, but I can only wonder at the meaning of auto-immune. Much of it was lost on me, I’m afraid. Quite frustrating. And on top of it, as I said, I wanted to see Meghan, so she might tell me what you’re up to.”

“Poor thing,” said Sylvanne teasingly. “Left to your own devices to determine my sincerity.”

“I do know what I wish the answer to be,” he said, and for the first time she caught a hint of flirtatiousness in his voice. But just at that moment the mood was shattered—they heard the startled scream of a horse, and in the distance saw Daphne’s mount rearing on its hind legs, terrified by the sight of a wild boar darting out of a nearby thicket. The horse bolted, galloping in full flight toward the woods. They saw Daphne’s feet slip from the stirrups, her body slide dangerously from the saddle, her hands desperately clinging to its mane.

In a blur of movement Thomas pulled his horse from the water and climbed aboard, urgently sending it to a full gallop. But Sylvanne, already aboard her mount, had a head start, and as she turned her horse to the chase she expertly hauled up her dress and swung a leg over the beast to ride full saddle. It was she who reached Daphne’s horse first and, grabbing hold of the reins in one hand, expertly turned the horse’s head, forcing it to take on the pace of her own mount. The horses slowed from gallop to trot, and soon enough to a tranquil standstill. “There, there,” she cooed softly. “Are you all right, dear girl?”

“She wouldn’t listen,” Daphne whimpered, tears streaming down her face. “I don’t like this horse at all.”