Romance: Detective Romance: A Vicious Affair (Victorian Regency Intrigue 19th England Romance) (Historical Mystery Detective Romance) (44 page)

“It brought me to Lollie,” he said. “And it bade me return here after so many years. Yes, I trust it.”

“And you, daughter of the sea, LollieMcArkam, do you trust the kelpie?”

“I do,” Lollie said. “I want to be with this man, in the eyes of the kelpie.”

Lollie, more forward and confident than any lady back home would have been allowed to be, reached out and grasped his hand. Elias gripped her hand and squeezed. He had never been so full of impending contentment in his life. All his life lay before him in one long contented breath. He was looking forward immensely to teaching Freddie how to build rudimentary things from stone. He was looking forward to sharing Lollie’s bed every night. He was looking forward to becoming a family.

Miss Colquhoun leaned over and touched Elias’ head. “You are a child of the kelpie now, and so you must obey its laws. You and this woman are united in the eyes of the kelpie, and you shall never part, even when the kelpie grants you death. In the realms of the crashing waves, you shall entwine
eternal
.”

Miss Colquhoun then took her hand from Elias and placed in on Lollie’s head. “You, too, are a child of the kelpie.Obey its laws, for you and this man are united in its eyes. Never shall you part; when death takes you to the realms of crashing waves, you shall entwine
eternal
.”

She brought her hands to her chest and closed her eyes. “The connection is almost made,” he said. “If you would deny it, throw yourself off Finger Rock.”

Elias looked to Lollie, half-afraid that she might do just that. But instead she smiled at him. The two of them stayed silent. The bond was made. They were married.

“We will make that place of yours a home,” Lollie whispered into his ear. “Aye? Make it a lovely home.”

“I’m never going back to England,” Elias said, stroking her hair. “There is nothing left for me there. A ruined name, a lifetime of training to restrict
myself
in almost every way.You do not realize how lucky you are up here.”

“So we shall make it a home?” Lollie said, kissing his chin.

“We shall,” Elias said. “Yes, me and you and Freddie.”

He smiled.

*****

They obtained permission from the village council to officially move into the McGregor house. Lollie watched with a profound sense of pride and completion as Elias set to work on it. He had housed himself in a room at the back, which was quite sturdy. But the rest of the house was full of holes and instability. Elias, when he was not working on the lighthouse, threw himself into these tasks. He would return from the lighthouse and take Freddie around the house, explaining what he was doing. Freddie had even helped with some minor tasks.

Months passed, and the stone house became a home. A great fire burned in the fireplace, and she lay in Elias’ arms. The lighthouse had been built, and soon Englishman would be here, fishing, mixing. “Won’t you be tempted to go back?” Lollie said. She often asked him this. She couldn’t help it. Their life must’ve seemed simply when compared with England. “Won’t your countryman find your way of life odd?”

Elias laughed, as he always did. And then he brought her hand to his lips and kissed them tenderly. Freddie slept contently beside the fire, his back to them, rising and falling with his precious breaths. “They
will
find it strange,” Elias said. “They would find everything about us strange. The way we met, the way I returned here, the marriage ceremony. But I don’t care, my love. I used to think the kelpie was a silly story – as did you, and as will they –but I believe in it now. The kelpie brought me here. It must have. What are the chances of me coming here twice, in such mad circumstances?”

“Low,” Lollie whispered. She smoothed her hand through his hair. Was this a good time? Lollie didn’t know if any time was a good time. She would just have to go for it. “Elias.”

“Hmm?”

“I am with child.”

She didn’t know what to expect. He hadn’t been here when Freddie was growing inside of her. But she needn’t have feared. He jumped to his feet and then pulled him up with her. “You madman!” she cried.

He lifted her off the ground and hugged her tightly to him. “This makes me the happiest man alive,” he said, kissing her over and over, on the neck, on the cheek, on the lips. “Not just the happiest Englishman in Scotland. But the happiest man alive!”

They shared a long kiss. Then they stared at each other, deeply, intensely. They were smiling. Lollie thought the baby in her belly was smiling, too.

1815.

Dolores Sykes gazed out of the window as her late husband’s nephew approached. Mervin Sykes was here, she knew, to try and rob her of her home, of her security. Mother and Father had married her off to the old man because they’d wanted to secure her future. But they hadn’t counted on the one certainty: that eventually the old man would die. She shivered at the mere thought of Thornton Sykes. He’d been a fat, old, depraved man. She was two-and-twenty. He’d been five-and-sixty. When he’d looked at her, it was like watching a farmer evaluate his livestock. And when he’d taken her to bed . . . She shivered again. And finally, after two years of marriage, he was dead. The fat, old, depraved man had died. Dolores didn’t weep. She had never loved Lord Thornton. Only her parents had, or, at least, they’d loved his income.

Soon the footman announced that the nephew had arrived. Dolores stood up and stared at the door, standing as straight and unflinching as she could. Here was the man who wanted to take her home, to leave her penniless and alone. To leave her to retreat to Mother and Father, who were old, and didn’t want the burden of an unmarried daughter. She could already hear Father’s words.
“Why can’t you just be like your sisters? They’re all married. And they don’t make a fuss. Why did you have to return?”

For some reason, she’d expected Mervin to be around the same age as his uncle. She knew it was foolish, but she had never met a young Sykes. But when he entered the room Dolores was greeted with a man of around thirty years, with deep brown hair and earth-brown eyes. His body was muscular, his arms out to his sides as though preparing for combat. His face was strong, his jaw square. He wore long-tailed jacket, high-knee boots, and tight britches that accentuated his muscular legs.

Dolores curtseyed. “My lord,” she said, not daring to say more.

He looked at her, and then spun on his heels. “Where is Uncle?” he said.

Dolores hurried after him. “At the funeral parlor, my lord,” she said.

Mervin nodded and then returned to the drawing-room. “Last time I left he was in fine health. Am I to believe that he simply collapsed from—from what, precisely? What, exactly, am I supposed to believe?”

That he was old. That he was an old man and he’d lived out his putrid years.
“He was over sixty, my lord,” Dolores said quietly.

“Yes, I know that,” Mervin snapped. “But he was showing no signs of degeneration. What am I to think, hmm? What am I to assume?”

His tone was every bit as supercilious and suspicious as she’d expected it to be, judging from his letter, in which he’d all but accused her of murder. “My lord, won’t you take some tea?” Dolores said, trying to return things to a sense of normalcy.

Mervin looked at her for a few moments, and then turned away. “I will see you at dinner,” he said. She heard his footsteps as he ascended the stairs.

Dolores had some tea herself, trying not to be afraid.

*****

Brickwall Manor stood at the top of a steep, finger-like hill, overlooking the town of Wells. When ascending this hill, one had the feeling of being in a fairytale, and half-expected to find a trapped damsel at the top. The feeling was not diminished by the Manor itself. It was old, with gray stone walls which were covered in creeping ivy. The windows were ornate glass, and the main doors were like a castle drawbridge, their size intimidating. In past generations it had been used by the Sykes’ to house their most privileged guests. Now it was just a home.

Dolores would often climb the steps of the Manor to the uppermost room and look out upon the country and the town below. The July sunlight was exquisite causing the landscape to burn golden yellow. The country rolled in soft hills, the green so sharp it almost blinded the eye, the trees tiny, like children’s constructions. The buildings, too, appeared like the playthings of a child, or a giant, depending on how one thought and felt. At the edges of the hill, the ruins of the wall from which the Manor had taken its name marked the land like pebbles.

She was about to turn and leave the attic when she heard steps behind her. Mervin stood at the top of the stairs, watching her. She started, and then grabbed at her chest. “How long have you been watching me?” she breathed.

Mervin shrugged. There was something like pity on his face. But then it vanished, and was replaced with coldness. “I am going into town today to make inquiries,” he said.

“About what, my lord?” Dolores said, her voice calmer now.

“About you and Uncle,” Mervin said. “I need to know what kind of relationship you had. It is my understanding that he had some friends in the town with whom he was close. And I need to see the body on any account, and talk to the doctor.”

“I will answer any questions you have, my lord,” Dolores said.

Mervin grinned, and then shook his head. “If you want the truth of the relationship, never ask the wife. If she is a bad wife, she will make her husband out to be a demon, even if he is a saint. If she is a good wife, she will make her husband out to be a saint, even if he is a demon.”

With that he left, pounding down the steps. Dolores listened to him go. “How very profound,” she muttered sarcastically. She watched him ride down the lane, toward the steep decline of the hillside path, and then out of sight. When he was gone, Dolores went downstairs and broke her fast.

Her heart was pounding madly in her chest. Mervin wanted to oust her from Brickwall Manor, to send her home to Mother and Father, the disgraced widow of a horrid old man. She took a deep breath, willing calm to descend over her, willing her heart to stop beating so rapidly, willing her hands to stop shaking.

But she could not rid her mind of Father’s accusing face, or Mother’s disappointed shaking of the head.

*****

She didn’t speak to Mervin for four days. He seemed very busy in trying to make her homeless. She saw him a couple of times, but only from behind. He never stopped to greet her, and it seemed he purposefully ate his meals in Wells, so he didn’t have to speak with her.  She felt snubbed, angry, offended. He was in
her
home – for it was her home now – and he was treating her like this. It was understandable, she supposed. Thornton had never made a will gifting his estate to his
beloved
nephew Mervin. In name and deed it belonged to Dolores. And Mervin wasn’t happy about that.

On the fifth day, when she was sitting in the drawing-room trying and failing to focus on the book before her, Mervin entered. He said nothing for a time, only seated himself opposite her and laid his hands upon his knees.

“I have heard troubling things about my uncle,” Mervin said, at length.

“You have, my lord?” Dolores said, keeping her voice level. She would show no fear, no desperation, to this man. She would keep herself as calm as water, as still as a stone. If he wanted to steal her money, her home, fine, but he would not steal her dignity.

“I have, my lady.”
My lady
was said meaningfully, with an inclination of the head. He was addressing her properly again. Something had changed.

“What have you heard, if I may ask, my lord?” Dolores said.

Mervin took a deep breath, and then leaned forward on his knees. “I have heard that you were rarely seen in town, though he was seen often. I have heard that when you did appear, it was with bruises on your face, poorly covered with powder. I have heard that he was wont to brag about his young bride, and say—dishonorable things. I have also heard that, in this past year, he has smoked, eaten, and drank to excess. All of this I have heard. Can you confirm any of this, my lady?”

Dolores was about to talk when something occurred to her. She would gladly set the record straight about the lecherous old man, but this could easily have been a trick. Mervin could be lying, to make her say something disparaging about her late husband, and so build a case of slander against her. It would not look good, a Longford lady spreading rumors about the noble Sykes.

Dolores shook her head. “I cannot speak of that, my lord,” she said, keeping as impassive as possible. She looked straight ahead, and didn’t move her head, her hands, her feet, at all when she spoke. Still as a stone.

“You will deny it, then, my lady?” Mervin said.

“I cannot speak of it, my lord,” Dolores said. “It would be wrong of me to speak in that vein of my late husband, who has so recently past.” She made a small gesture to her attire. “Can you not see that I wear mourning colors?”

“And you’re smart to do so,” Mervin muttered. “There are those who would say the old man had every right to do anything to you.” Mervin leaned forward. “Let me tell you how things are, my lady. My mother sent me here to try and dislodge you from your home. She is furious that Uncle did not leave her anything more substantial than two rather nice chairs. She wants it all. She wants me to break you, cast you aside, and claim this place for our own. She wants, specifically, for me to prove that you murdered the old man.”

Dolores said nothing, just watched him. More tricks? More lies?

Mervin looked at her for a moment, and then smiled ruefully. “You’re being careful. That is good. You have taught yourself well. Okay, just listen, then. I have no desire to cause you any more harm. Here is what I think. Uncle beat you, abused you, used you, hurt you, humiliated you. I think he did all of this because he was a bad man. Yes, I could not say it publically, but he was a bad man.”

“What has caused this change, my lord, in your perception of your uncle? Not a week ago you were eager to see his body, and your voice was ever so full of remorse.”

“I had to act, did I not, as though his passing troubles me? And I had to keep my plan in mind. I had every intention of taking this place from you.”

“
Had
, my lord?”

“Yes,
had
, I don’t want this place, not if it means further hurting you.”

“I apologize, my lord,” Dolores said. I do not understand. Why are my feelings of any concern to you?”

Mervin grinned again. “You don’t remember, do you?”

“Remember what?”

He laughed. When he laughed, he looked so young Dolores could weep. She had spent so much time around Thornton, with his wrinkled, grasping hands, and his gravelly laugher, and his mean, sunken eyes. To be with someone closer to her own age was like a blessing. But she would not allow it to show,
mustn’t
allow it to show. “We’ve met, before,” he said. “About four years ago now.We didn’t speak. Perhaps that is why you don’t remember. You were in London, for your sister’s wedding. I was also there. I knew the husband. We touched hands briefly, and said our helloes, but we didn’t speak further.”

Dolores straightened her back even further, looking down at him. She couldn’t recall the incident. It could’ve easily been offended. “If we presume for a moment that this is true, my lord,” she said, “it still does not explain why you care
for
my feelings.”

“Yes, it does,” Mervin said. “Because I remember thinking that you were the most beautiful lady I had ever met. And now you look scared, and you’re all closed up. Something dreadful happened to you, did it not?”

Dolores didn’t say anything. Mervin nodded. “You don’t believe me. I cannot blame you. Well, here is what I propose. Mother expects me to stay for around a month. In that time I’ll either be able to prove your complicity, or I will have to return, defeated. I plan on doing the latter. I could stay in Wells, but it may arouse suspicion if Mother ever hears of it. I wish to stay here for a month, waiting out the allotted time, and then returning. You will not lose your home; I will not lose whatever small inheritance Mother has rabbited away for me.”

“What will you do, my lord, whilst you are here?”

“Rest, my lady,” Mervin said. “A year ago I was in France, being shot at, stabbed at, being dragged from town to town for battle upon battle. The idea of rest does not disturb me in the least.”

“You were in France?” Dolores said, unable to hide her excitement. She had grown up with the war in France looming in the background, but she had never heard much about it. It wasn’t for the youngest daughter of a middling family to worry about things like that.

“I was,” Mervin said. “And, you know, that is the first hint of emotion I have heard in your voice since I arrived.”

Dolores forced coldness back into her voice. “So you will stay, then?” she said. “Of course, you are welcome to. My home is open to you.”
My home.

Mervin stood and bowed. “My thanks, my lady,” he said. When he bowed, Dolores say that he had a scar on the side of his neck, like a lover’s bite. He saw her looking, and bared his flesh, showing her in more detail. Despite herself, she leaned forward. It was fascinating. “Cannon fire,” he said. “It hit a support for a shack, and the wood flew outwards. Caught me in the neck.”

“Were you close to death?” Dolores said.

“No,” Mervin said, standing up. “It wasn’t as bad as all that. Hurt, though. If you like, whilst I am here, I can tell you more of the war. You seem interested.”

Dolores was extremely interested, but she didn’t want to give this man anything. Perhaps what he said was true, or perhaps he was just spinning heratale to win her confidence. Perhaps all of this was a performance to make her lower her guard. “If we can find the time, my lord,” Dolores said, forcing the formality back into the conversation.