Daughter of Darkness (6 page)

The fact that neither her hand nor her eyes wavered in their intent, convinced him she was telling the truth. He took a hasty step backwards.

Willow had no idea what to do next. Threatening to shoot was one thing, but carrying out the deed in cold blood… ? A delicate shudder trickled through her body as she watched the blood seep from his wound. She had no desire to kill him now she’d gained the upper hand. The scar he’d carry would be punishment enough. When word of the incident got out it would serve as a warning to others who sought to win her father’s purse.

But how could she escape? She was unable to mount Circe unaided, and as soon as she turned away he would be upon her. Already, she could see his mind at work, the confidence returning to his eyes. The solution was so simple she wanted to laugh out loud when it occurred to her. ‘Remove your breeches, sir.’

Hugh Macbride gazed desperately around him as he realized what her strategy was. ‘Let me go, Madam. I’ll ride away and we’ll forget this incident ever happened.’

‘You may, but I will not.’ Confidence restored, she lowered the gun a fraction. ‘Come, Lieutenant, why the modesty? A minute ago you couldn’t wait to get them off.’

The position in which the gun was pointed wasn’t reassuring. His eyes narrowed. Lady Sommersley had a surprisingly sadistic sense of humor. He just hoped she knew her way around a pistol. ‘Isn’t the wound revenge enough? Do you seek to shame me in front of my men as well?’

‘You shame yourself.’ Relief flooded her when Jeffrey came panting into the clearing.

‘Are you unharmed, sister?’ Rushing to her side he gazed with astonished eyes at the cocked pistol, then at the wound on Hugh Macbride’s face. ‘I would have arrived sooner had my horse not become lame. You’ll allow me the honor of finishing him off on your behalf.’ Drawing one of the rapiers he carried from its sheath, he removed the protective tip.

‘I’ll allow you no such thing,’ she snapped. ‘The man is an officer of the King’s own regiment, and disarmed. His death would bring you no honor.’ Recognizing Jeffrey’s need to prove himself she smiled at him. ‘If you could but persuade him to remove his breeches, we could take his horse and escape.’

‘It would not be seemly to offend your eyes with such a sight.’

Hugh Macbride’s lips twitched at Jeffrey’s words. She wanted to grin herself, and only just managed to stifle a giggle.

‘He will disrobe in the cottage and throw his clothes out through the door.’

Jeffrey was given to showy gestures, she realized, when the rapier slashed towards the officer’s discarded coat and neatly severed every button. As a demonstration of swordsmanship it was without par. As a warning, it worked.

Hugh Macbride’s eyes narrowed warily. ‘I’ll do as you ask, but I beg you. Do not leave me without uniform.’

‘Your clothing will be left at the edge of the clearing.’ Taking the pistol from her hand Jeffrey indicated the cottage with it, his eyes flint hard. ‘We will leave your horse on the track to the road. You owe your life to my sister-in-law’s indulgence in this matter, but let me warn you. If you ever set foot on this estate again you’ll draw your last breath before you leave. Is that understood?’

Hugh bowed his head in defeat. Walking into the cottage he closed the door behind him, his eyes smouldering with embarrassment.

Due to his extreme youth it was inevitable Jeffrey would crow about his part in the rescue of his sister-in-law. Just as inevitable—word reached Hugh Macbride’s men before he did. They said nothing when their bloodied officer rejoined them in a foul humor. But when they reached Dorchester and the officer was taken to a surgeon for attention, the tale was told, then retold with gleeful malice at the tavern. From there the story boarded a coach to London. By the time Hugh Macbride emerged from the surgeon’s house, his face crisscrossed by stitches, his treatment at the hands of a young noblewoman whom he’d sought to seduce was well on the way to becoming public knowledge.

Meanwhile, the hapless victim—having been interviewed by the earl and rigorously interrogated by Lady Edwina—was now being subject to the scrutiny of her mother-in-law.

It was a case of instant dislike for both parties.

‘She does not have the refinement of her mother,’ the mistress of the house said. Her fingers hovered over a dish of tiny almond biscuits. Selecting the largest she popped it into her mouth and flicked Willow a disdainful gaze. ‘My mother tells me your accomplishments are indifferent. Marietta had the sweetest singing voice and her embroidery was excellent.’

‘She must indeed have been a wonderful woman,’ Willow muttered, bored to tears with this litany of perfection she was being presented with. ‘Pray tell me she had faults so I may compare myself with her in, at least, one way.’

‘If you insist.’ Caroline’s mouth tightened into a thin cruel, line. ‘Your mother was a flirt. That is… until your father came into her life. After that, she never flirted again.’

‘That’s enough!’ Edwina got to her feet. ‘It does you no credit to speak ill of the dead, Caroline, especially when that ill concerns the innocent child of that person.’

‘Innocent indeed?’ Caroline scorned, counting Willow’s sins off on her fingers. ‘First she traps the heir to Lytton estate in marriage. Now she becomes involved in a situation with an officer, which not only causes Jeffrey to risk his life, but brings shame on the family name. I do not consider that to be the action of an innocent child.’ A sigh deflated her back into the pillows and reduced her voice to a whine. ‘For pity’s sake take the scheming creature from my sight. She’s not welcome here.’

‘Then I will not inflict my presence upon you any longer.’ With all the dignity she could muster Willow rose to her feet. She had done nothing to be ashamed of. She engaged her mother-in-law’s glance coolly. ‘My respects, mother-in-law.’ Making a parody of a curtsy she slowly exited the room, her head held high. Only the spots of color glowing in her cheeks gave indication of her inner turmoil.

Following after, Edwina felt proud of Willow’s courage and control.

Once outside, the control deserted Willow, however. Tears sprang to her eyes and her teeth bit into her trembling bottom lip. ‘What have I done to deserve such dislike?’ she whispered.

‘Nothing, my love.’ Edwina pulled her close, and oblivious to the tears staining her dress she led Willow towards her quarters. ‘It’s herself Caroline despises, and others she blames for it. Come, we’ll take tea together. You will tell me again exactly what took place this morning. As much as I love my grandson, I fear the young rapscallion has a talent for embroidering the truth.’

Despite her tears, Willow laughed. ‘Jeffrey is a fine, brave, boy. Already, I’m growing fond of him.’

‘And he you.’ Lady Edwina’s dry remark brought consternation to Willow’s face. ‘Jeffrey is at an impressionable age. Puppy love can be painful. Be careful how you treat him, my dear.’

‘I’ll try to be considerate of his feelings, Grandmother.’ Willow smiled, grateful for the timely warning. ‘My regard for him will be that of a sister.’

The maturity with which she spoke reassured Lady Edwina. She hoped Gerard would be equally solicitous of Willow’s feelings when he returned. Unless he’d very much changed, she couldn’t see any reason why he wouldn’t be.

At Sheronwood, three new cases of smallpox appeared.

Lady Rosamond sent word to Lytton House via a manservant, who stood some distance from the gatekeeper and relayed the message by word of mouth. ‘The mistress is putting the place in quarantine. No one’s to be allowed in or out.’

‘You’d best be getting back there then,’ the gatekeeper said nervously.

‘Not bloody likely,’ the servant exclaimed. ‘I’m not sick and I don’t aim to get sick. I’m off to London. I hear tell there’s plenty of opportunities there for the likes of me.’

‘Not without money, there ‘aint.’

‘The Marquis Lynchcross will provide the means.’ The man gave a sly wink. ‘I know things he wouldn’t want to become public knowledge.’

‘Such as?’ Despite his fear of the disease the gatekeeper’s curiosity got the better of him. He allowed the servant to sidle closer and listened to what he had to say. After a short while the man’s eyes widened in shock. ‘Does your mistress know about it?’

‘Not her, she’s as deaf as a post. Anyway, nobody visits that part of the house since the estate manager declared it unsafe, except for that hard-faced cow of a housekeeper.’ The servant grinned. ‘It took half a bottle of brandy to loosen her up enough to find out what was going on, but it’s going to be worth it. The marquis will be glad to pay me off, just you wait and see.’

A week later a boat fished the body of the man from the Thames River in London. His throat had been cut.

The cadaver was taken to the morgue where it joined two other bodies taken from the river that day. Without identification, the three corpses were piled on a cart and conveyed to Guys Hospital for dissection by the student surgeons. The morgue keeper jingled the coins in his pocket as he walked happily towards the tavern. It had proved to be a lucrative day.

Autumn -1754—Winter

Smallpox!

Even though she and Kitty had survived a mild case in Ireland, the word sent a thrill of dread through Willow. ‘Can it be caught twice?’

Edwina shrugged. ‘Doctor Tansy says there’s evidence of immunity.’

They were walking in the garden. Autumn had lingered through October and the day was clad in an amber-hued haze. Leaves drifted about their shoulders like russet snowflakes before falling to the ground to be crunched underfoot. The mellow stone walls of Lytton House shone pink, the mullion windows flamed reflections of sunlight. Willow couldn’t believe some of its occupants would be dead before the disease ran its course.

Everything looked so normal. In the orchard workers were picking the last of the fruit for storage, children gathered baskets of chestnuts in the grounds. Honey was being collected, herbs picked for drying. To her left, a thin stack of smoke spiraled towards the sky from a bonfire. She shivered. If the contagion spread the bonfires would be kept stoked with the soiled bedding and clothing of the infected. Nothing could be left to chance.

‘It’s essential the servants are given no cause to panic,’ Edwina said. ‘Ambrose is going to summon them to the great hall and put into action the plan suggested by Doctor Tansy. The diseased will be isolated in one wing. Those who have survived earlier contact will care for those who succumb. A notice of quarantine will be posted on the gate. Deaths must be recorded, the corpses sewn securely into canvas sacks and left at the gate for the cart to pick up.’

‘It didn’t work at Sheronwood,’ Willow pointed out, shuddering at the scenario her Grandmother painted. ‘The servants deserted, leaving Lady Rosamond and those already sick to die alone.’

‘Sheronwood lacked a master, and Rosamond was too weak to enforce her will.’ Edwina sighed. ‘Thank God young Edward was with us.’

‘But now
we
have the infection the Sheronwood heir is still in danger.’

‘Daphne de Vere is young enough to produce another heir should the need arise.’ Edwina frowned in distaste as she added absently. ‘Though rumor has it her husband practices the French fashion.’

‘What is that?’

Sometimes, Edwina forgot Willow was married only in name. She’d be ignorant of such practices. Still, she surmised, what Daphne had managed once with her husband she could manage again. All men could be enticed to do their duty, even those of an effeminate nature. However, it was not her job to educate Willow in such matters. Gerard would not thank her for it if she did. She must remain pure in mind and body until he decided otherwise. Edwina wondered where Gerard was at that moment. It had been two months since she’d received his last letter. ‘Gerard survived smallpox in his infancy,’ she mused. ‘He will not be in danger when he arrives home.’

‘He’s in England? You’ve heard from him?’

‘Not of late. He is
en-route
I should imagine.’

‘Perhaps he’ll decide to stay in London.’

Exasperation gripped Edwina when Willow smiled. The girl reveled in the freedom of country life. Ambrose and Jeffrey adored her. Most of the household was aware she disguised herself as a boy, rode astride, fenced, hunted for rabbits in the forest and behaved in an unfeminine fashion when she thought she wasn’t being observed. The servants talked of little else. All admired her spirit and turned a blind eye to it.

‘Your smile is too smug,’ Edwina warned. ‘Your husband will not be as indulgent with you as his brother and the earl. He’ll have your respect.’

‘That he’ll have to earn.’ Her eyes snapped with defiance at the thought of being told what to do by a husband she hardly knew. ‘I will not be dominated by a man who insults his wife by totally ignoring her for several years.’

I do not doubt that, Edwina thought. Gerard will have to learn how to compromise. The sparkling confidence in Willow’s eyes made her smile. And you will not have things all
your
way missy, and that will do
you
no harm.

Linking arms, she gazed up at the house. ‘I pray God spares the Lytton family and all who serve them from this dreadful disease, be they believers or sinners.’

God, it seemed, was not disposed towards granting favors that day—nor for some time to come.

‘I forbid you to do this, Willow.’ Shocked, Edwina gazed at her ward. More shocking than her actions, was the large white apron worn over a plain servant’s gown. ‘Nursing the servants is not a fitting occupation for a lady.’

Taking one end of a vinegar-soaked sheet, Willow ignored her words, handing the other end to the idiot girl, Nellie. She secured it across a doorway. ‘The servants are dropping like flies, Grandmother. If they’re to survive they need help—if they’re destined to die they need comfort.’

Over the past five weeks the disease had swiftly cut a swath through Lytton House. A third of the servants had died. Most of the family had already been exposed to the disease and had some immunity. The exception was Caroline Lytton, who was locked in her room with her maid, No one was allowed in. Her meals were left outside, the windows kept tightly shut.