Echoes in Stone (33 page)

“Yes, I do believe, Captain Tremayne. I believe Lily is alive, somewhere in this house. I believe she’s completely mad. And I believe you are equally as mad Captain, if you think for one instant I’ll run off, entrusting Holly’s care to servants while Lily is so sick, and possibly a danger to herself—and others.” She drew a breath, then glanced down at her frock.

“I also believe I am dressed inappropriately for a house where a young woman just died. If you gentlemen will excuse me, I’ll go change.” She turned, stalked to the door, then turned back just as she reached it. “We’ll continue this discussion later, Captain. After I’ve looked in on my niece and ensured her well-being. Trust me. This conversation is not over.”

“I already told you Jessa, I will never trust you.”

The only response was the crack of the slamming door.

42.

Did they bear some seed of madness in their blood?

JESSA STOOD IN the middle of her room, quaking in fury. Drat the man! He didn’t trust her? Fine! No more did she trust him. Or that oily, supercilious little servant of his, Winston. Both of them, standing there looking down their noses at her. As if she couldn’t care for Holly. As if she couldn’t make her happy.

She caught sight of herself in the full-length mirror. Her cheeks were crimson with fury, her eyes glittering. It wouldn’t do to let Holly see her in this state. She exchanged her dimity for a maroon skirt trimmed in black, and a plain white blouse. Why hadn’t he told her last night a woman had died? And what did he mean when he said someone attempted to harm those he loved? No one had yet attacked Holly. Only she had been the victim of the accidents. Did he mean her? Was she among those he loved?

She shook her head. It wasn’t possible. Just because she’d fallen in love with him didn’t mean he returned her feelings.

Love?

She stumbled to a chair, collapsing before her knees gave out, shaken to her core.

Dear God, when had that happened? When had she fallen in love with Captain Dashiell Tremayne? That bitter, angry, taciturn man. Had she lost her mind? Is this what happened to Lily? She’d let her passions run away with her. Then look what had happened to her.

Nothing made sense.

Lily had fallen in love with Dash. She’d borne him a child and now walked these halls, still trying to protect that child. And Lily was—without a doubt—insane.

Jessa laid a hand on her belly. Did she even now carry Dash’s child? She rushed to the mirror. Would it show, that she’d lain with him? She turned sideways, examining her figure for any hints.

If anything, she was thinner than when she arrived. Her stiffness and soreness showed only in the faint lines at the corners of her eyes. The long-sleeved blouse covered the bruises on her arm. She’d left the bandage off her wrist this morning. The bruises on her ribs were painful, but not unendurable.

Only the faint purple shadows beneath her eyes gave testimony to her sleepless nights, her pain, her worry. And now she’d been so foolish as to fall in love with Captain Dashiell Tremayne. A viscount, no less.

Her half-sister’s husband.

Acid churned in her stomach. She was grateful she hadn’t yet breakfasted.

Lily’s husband. If Lily still lived, then Dash was still her husband. And last night she and Dash— Her gasp grated in her ears, followed by a ragged laugh, sounding more like a sob. She sank to the floor in front of the mirror. She stretched out a tentative finger to touch the image.

So this was the face of an adulteress. This woman, staring back at her, had lain in the arms of a man and allowed lust—passion—to override her senses. A married man. Worse, a man married to her half-sister. She’d kissed him. Taken him inside her body. Then she’d committed the greatest sin of all.

She’d fallen in love with him.

Susanna was right. She was a Jezebel. A harlot. A sinner. No. Not Susanna.

Lily.

She nibbled her lip, finding it impossible to reconcile the haggard, pinched, scripture-spouting Susanna with her memories of Lily. Lily, the glittering center of every gathering. Susanna, grim and deadly. They were one and the same. They had to be.

What was it Dash said last night? Something about there being two sides to Lily. One, sweet, demure, ladylike. The other Lily came out in the dark; that side was reckless. Wanton. Cruel. Just like the girl she’d grown up with. A fey, beautiful child, who’d come after her with scissors, intent on harming her.

Marguerite had the same traits. A loving, gentle mother, and yet, she’d given Jessa away. Prone to unexplained illnesses, she locked herself in her rooms for days on end. Had Marcus Wilkerson done this to both women? Or was it something born into them? Did they bear some seed of madness in their blood? Something she, herself, may have inherited?

Jessa stared at the woman in the mirror, tears flowing down her cheeks. Was she becoming like her mother, locked in her room crying? Was she any better than Lily, writhing in the darkness in the arms of a man who wasn’t her husband?

Lily must have loved Dash, to chase after him the way she’d done. Had that love for him been her undoing? The man was capable of great passion, but love? Did he even love Holly, or was she just another of his possessions, to be kept under lock and key, just as he’d locked Lily in her rooms?

Jessa surged to her feet, spinning away from the mirror. Enough. She had no time to sit here on the floor, wallowing in doubt and self-pity. Dash didn’t know she loved him. She wouldn’t tell him. If she hid her love, he couldn’t use it as a weapon against her. She’d get over this silly schoolgirl crush that much sooner.

She stopped in her headlong rush to the door. Unless the seed Dash planted took root. Unless she carried his child.

She stamped her foot. No. If she were pregnant, Dash would never know. She’d been born a bastard. She’d survived. Any child of hers would survive as well. Luther would help her. And Uncle Stan. They’d raised her. They’d help raise any children she bore. No matter what, she wouldn’t hand a child over to Dash Tremayne.

She plucked up her black pelerine, flinging it over her shoulders, shivering in spite of the early summer day. Another child was already in danger. Holly.

She headed down the hall toward breakfast. Dash must be made to see reason. Put Holly’s well-being first. And if not? It didn’t matter. She’d take Holly, flee before anyone could take the choice away from her.

Before it was too late to escape.

43.

Mama’s dead because she was a bad girl…

JESSA FOUND HOLLY having breakfast in her nursery. Instead of running to greet her, as she usually did, the child remained in her little chair, desultorily pushing her oatmeal around in her bowl. The ragged doll, Susanna, lay in a crumpled heap on the floor at her feet.

Jessa knelt next to Holly with a cheerful smile. The child gave her a wan smile in return. Jessa picked the doll up off the floor, dusted it off, and straightened its ugly little dress. She set it on the table next to Holly’s breakfast tray.

“Poor Susanna. Perhaps she’d like to share your breakfast?” To her utter surprise, tears rolled down Holly’s cheeks. She flung herself into Jessa’s arms, wailing.

“Don’t like Susanna! Susanna made Mama dead. She’s gonna make more people dead.” The sentences tumbled out of the child with hardly a breath between them. She sobbed, wretched in Jessa’s arms.

Jessa snuggled the little girl into her lap, rocking her.

Holly only wailed louder. “I don’t want you dead like Mama, Auntie Jessa.”

Jessa hugged her closer, stroking her hair. Alarm spiked through her. “Whatever gave you that idea, my little love? As you can see, I’m just fine.”

“Susanna said so. Susanna said bad girls get dead. That’s why I have to be a very good girl. Have you been bad, Auntie Jessa?” Holly sniffled, her bright blue eyes gazing into Jessa’s.

Jessa soothed the child, hiding the chill wrapped around her own heart “Oh, Holly. Why on earth— Wherever did you get that idea? Why would you think your doll—”.

“Not that Susanna. The other one.”

Dear God. Ice trickled through Jessa’s blood.

“Susanna comes to play with me,” Holly said. “Susanna says Mama’s dead because she was a bad girl. Sometimes she wears Mama’s red dress, and then she laughs. It’s pretty, but she won’t let me touch it. She says it’s a bad dress. Only sinful girls—” Holly snuggled deeper into Jessa’s arms, then looked up at her once again.

This time, the guilt written on Holly’s face could not be mistaken. Her little bow mouth turned down, her lower lip trembling. Her voice came out in a whisper. “Sometimes I’m scared of Susanna. She makes me hold that old doll. She says bad things will happen if I don’t. The bad man will hurt me. She wants me to hide sometimes, too, so the bad man won’t find me.”

Jessa rose from the floor, the child clutched in her arms. Thank God she’d sent the maids into the hall for a break. Anyone listening to this child would think she was mad.

Like Lily.

Jessa trembled. Did Dash know about this? Did he know his daughter was being terrorized? Drat it, Dash needed to do something about this. Now.

She needed to get Holly away from here. Someone had an unhealthy influence on the child, whether it was truly Lily, or as Dash believed, someone impersonating Lily. She dried the little girl’s tears, soothing her, distracting her with a silly song. When Holly had calmed, Jessa sat her back at the table, then jollied her into eating a few bites of breakfast.

Before leaving, she snatched up the ugly Susanna doll, stuffing it into a toy box in the far corner of the room.

Holly returned her kiss on the cheek with a grateful, albeit watery, smile.

Jessa called the maids into the room. “I know you’ve been taking good care of my niece. Please. Be very watchful of her today.” An icy shiver of fear crawled down her spine. She couldn’t shake the feeling that time was running out.

“I CHECKED ON Holly before coming to breakfast. I’m worried about her.” Jessa lifted her gaze to the haggard man seated across from her at the table. In spite of his natural swarthiness, he looked pallid. Purple shadows gathered under his eyes. He stirred the food on his plate, but lifted little of it to his lips. Those hard lips, which could grow so soft against her own.

Jessa’s thoughts darted about like a flock of aberrant sparrows. The events of the last few days, conjoined with the shattering events of the nights, were taking a toll on her concentration.

Dash stared into the distance, his gaze unfocused. Only his coffee held any interest to him.

“I said—”

“I heard you, Jessa. I checked on her as well. She seemed reasonably well. Perhaps she’s simply picking up the mood of the maids.”

His silver eyes met hers. She’d drawn him back from whatever far-off dark place he’d been dwelling in for the last ten minutes.

It wouldn’t do to sound irrational or hysterical. Dash was too quick to tar her with the same brush as Lily as it was. She must remain calm. She had to make him listen. A frisson of temper shivered through her. Drat it. What did she have to do to make him trust her?

It was a measure of Dash’s mood that he’d not risen when she entered the room or offered to fill her plate.

“Dash, we really need to talk about Holly. Now, rather than later.”

Dash cut her off with a gesture. “Don’t underestimate my concern, but please, can this wait for a few hours?” He sighed, wiped his mouth with his napkin, and stood. “The doctor arrived earlier, along with the mother of the young woman who died. I’ve been with them for the last hour. They’re taking her back to the village this afternoon for burial in the churchyard. Most of the staff will be going with them. I’ve given them the day off tomorrow to attend the services. You may go as well, if you like.”

Jessa looked up at Dash.

He did not stand rigid as he usually did, but leaned with one hand on the back of his chair, weariness written on his features.

“And you, Captain? Will you be going as well?”

“No. I can’t expose Holly to that kind of thing, and I refuse to leave her here in the house with only a few servants. I’ll be staying right here.” His mouth was set in a grim line; the creases bracketing the corners deepened.

Jessa’s heart went out to him. Beset by worries on all sides, yet he continued to try to do the right thing for all of them. He might be possessive, and a stubborn mule, but a deep love abided in him as well. He’d do his best to protect those in his care. Even if he went about it all wrong. If only he’d let her help him, instead of rejecting her at every turn.

If she confessed her love for him, would it lighten the weight on his heart, or only add to his burden? The words lay on her tongue, but before she could give them utterance, Dash turned from her, heading to the door.

“When you’re finished with your meal, Jessa, please join me in my study. There are things I need to discuss with you, but I’d prefer to do so in private.”