Bewitching the Baron (31 page)

BOOK: Bewitching the Baron
5.89Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

“Thomas,” Theresa said softly to Lord Carlyle, apparently unsurprised to see him at her bedside. “It is good to see you.”

“Shall I fetch a doctor?”

Theresa smiled at him. “No. It will not be long now.”

Nathaniel went and rebuilt the fire, then came back to the bedside, his agitation only growing. “Where is Valerian? She should be here, caring for you.” When he thought that she had been happily accompanying him at the ball last night while her aunt lay here dying, it made him sick inside. It did not fit with what he knew of her, but the evidence before his eyes appeared irrefutable.

“She is needed elsewhere.”

“By whom? Who could be more important? How could she leave you?”

“Nathaniel,” Lord Carlyle said. “This is no time for arguments.”

“Valerian is the one person who could save her,” he bit out, then turned again to Theresa. “Why is she not here?”

“Hush,” Theresa ordered him, a hint of her old authority in her rasping voice. “She has followed my wishes in all things. She does not know how close my time is, and you will not tell her.”

“Like hell—”

“No!” Theresa ordered, and Nathaniel snapped his mouth shut. “There is nothing she could do for me,” Theresa explained more quietly. “And there is much she can do for Charmaine. She has been brought to childbed too soon, and Valerian labors to save both her and the child. Would you have me give up my daughter and grandchild for an hour more of my own life? I will not have her distracted by worry over me.”

“And how will she feel when she finally returns and finds you dead?” Nathaniel asked.

“That will not happen. You will see to it that she is not alone when she hears of my death.”

He looked into her eyes for a long moment, and then could only nod in silent assent, feeling some of the anger drain out of him. He did not have it in him to argue with the wishes of a dying woman. If Valerian had indeed followed Theresa’s wishes in all things, then it could have been Theresa’s idea to keep her illness a secret. His anger would do nothing to help Valerian when she learned she had lost her aunt. “What can we do for you?”

“Stay with me.”

Nathaniel almost smiled at that, suspecting she did not trust him not to fetch Valerian. He dragged two chairs over to the bed. Lord Carlyle did not release Theresa’s hand as he rose from his knees to sit in the chair.

Theresa’s eyes closed and she seemed to drift off to sleep. Neither of them spoke, watching, listening to each of Theresa’s labored breaths. The shadows grew deeper, and Nathaniel rose to light candles and add more wood to the fire.

Nathaniel did not know how much time had passed when Theresa opened her eyes again, but it felt like hours.

“Still here, are you?” she asked Lord Carlyle.

“It was wrong of me to abandon you the first time. I would not do it again.”

“Oh, Thomas,” she said on a sigh. “Have you been feeling guilty all these years?”

“I could have done more for you.”

“You gave me more than you will ever know.”

“I loved you. I love you still.”

“No, Thomas, you do not.”

“You cannot know what is in my heart,” he protested.

“Can I not? Do not confuse guilt with love. Do not confuse decades of regret with decades of pining for a woman. You do not love me, Thomas, except as a reminder of the pain shame can bring.”

“You are wrong,” he said, and even Nathaniel could hear the thin thread of doubt in the words.

“I never thought ill of you, Thomas. And it was a very fine horse you gave us upon which to escape.”

Lord Carlyle’s lips quirked at that, and Nathaniel saw their eyes meet in silent communion as understanding and forgiveness passed between them.

Theresa’s eyes closed again, her breathing slowed, and then stopped. Lord Carlyle released her hand, and lay it gently on the counterpane.

Theresa Harrow was dead.

Chapter Twenty-four

Valerian felt tears of frustration start in her eyes, and sniffed them back with determination. Aunt Theresa would not cry. Aunt Theresa would not let the situation get the best of her. She would do something about it.

She stood still and blocked out the sounds of Charmaine’s howls of pain and terror. She summoned all her reserves, drawing from deep within herself the love she felt for her parents, her aunt, and the people of Greyfriars, her love of mountains and ocean and green growing things, her love of Oscar and the animals of the forest and the meadow. She drew on the tenuous bond she held with Nathaniel. She drew on it all, to a depth she had never before attempted, and let it fill her body, then flow down through her hands.

She approached the bed, and Charmaine huddled away from her, her eyes glassy, her limbs too weak for her to escape. Valerian lifted her hands and placed them both over Charmaine’s eyes. She saw light glowing around her hands, then spreading over Charmaine’s face and down her body.

Valerian could sense her cousin’s dark illusions, and feel them slowly giving way under her touch. The ergot was still active, but under the influence of her healing touch the images metamorphosed into sunlight and heavenly creatures, there to help and not to harm.

She lifted her hands away, and saw that the terror had left her cousin. Her eyes were still lost, but in a place of light rather than darkness.

Another contraction came and Charmaine whimpered, her jaw clenching, but she did not fight it. Valerian knew the time had at last come, and she helped her cousin out of the bed and to the low, crescent-shaped birthing stool that stood beside it.

The birth itself did not take long, and Valerian helped ease from Charmaine’s straining passage the small, misshapen body of her children.

For it was not one child, she saw now, but two, twins who had not separated in the womb as they should have, and were forever melded into one form. She felt the life ebbing from the surviving child, and with the touch of her hand sent love and quiet peace to its fragile consciousness as it slipped away.

She wrapped the children in a blanket and set them gently aside, returning the focus of her concentration to Charmaine. Once the placenta was delivered, she helped her cousin back to the bed, washing her, and changing her sleeping chemise.

“My baby?” Charmaine asked on a whisper, her eyes heavy with weariness.

“They sleep with God,” Valerian said softly. She kissed her cousin on the forehead, sending her into a deep sleep of her own where she could begin to heal, and where she could avoid for at least a time the loss of her babies.

Valerian’s own strength began to fade, now that the crisis was finished. She cleaned up the floor as best she could, and washed her hands and forearms, bloody from the delivery. She looked at the small bundle lying on the floor, then went and picked it up, sitting down in a chair.

She pulled back the cover of the blanket, looking at the two small faces, touching one downy cheek with the tip of her finger. They were so small, so fragile. Their life had been taken before it could even begin. Tears slipped from her eyes and rolled down her cheeks, dripping onto the blanket, and she covered the children once more. She would have to tell Howard.

But first, for a moment, she would rest. She was so tired. Her eyelids drooped shut, and she let her head fall forward, resting her chin on her chest. Just a moment of rest, just a moment . . .

The pounding of many footsteps rushing up the stairs woke her with a start. For a minute she was disoriented, blinking at the dim room, then at the bundle on her lap, held there by the weight of her arm.

The door flew open, banging against the wall, and a group of villagers piled in, led by Alice and a confused Howard. The quiet in the room brought them to a halt, and for a long second they were frozen there, taking in Charmaine’s quiet sleep, and then the bundle on Valerian’s lap.

“Hush,” Valerian said softly, and gently shooed the crowd back. Bewildered by the peaceful scene, they obeyed, murmuring lowly, and Valerian followed them out of the room, for the moment her only concern that Charmaine not be disturbed.

Once down below in the kitchen, voices rose in volume, arguing over the peaceful scene above. Obviously, there were no demons tearing at Charmaine now.

Valerian held the bundle close to her chest, and as she felt the unnatural form through the blanket it dawned on her what danger she might be in if these villagers asked to see the baby. Eddie’s imagined groin ailment was as nothing compared to concrete proof that evil was at work.

She wanted to believe that here in her cousin’s house, she was safe. And she could be, if she handled this well with Howard.

There was no space to speak privately with him in the kitchen, so she led him into the shop in front while the others continued their debate. Alice made as if to follow, but Howard, perhaps having had enough of her, asked her to wait. He looked nervous, although whether of the group in his kitchen or of Valerian herself, she could not be sure. She had known him as a gentle man, but never known him well. She did not know how thoroughly he might share Charmaine’s dislike of anything bordering on the supernatural.

“Charmaine?” he asked.

“She sleeps. She is well,” Valerian said. She saw some of the tension leave his eyes. A good sign.

“The child. It was too soon,” he said, looking at the silent, motionless bundle she held, the light from the open kitchen door catching in the folds of the small blanket. He blinked several times, as if clearing tears from his eyes.

“They did not survive,” Valerian said. “I am sorry.” It would be easier for her if she did not tell him the whole truth, if she offered to take the babies away unseen. It might even be easier for Howard and Charmaine.

“They?” he asked, surprised for a moment out of his grief.

She swallowed against the tightness of her throat. “Yes, they. Girls. Twin girls.” She took a deep breath. It was only right that she tell him the full truth. “They could not have survived, even if brought to term.”

Howard looked at the bundle, and she almost felt as if she could hear his thoughts. Infant death was no rarity, the causes often unknown and unknowable, and it was almost unheard of for twins to be born healthy. He nodded his head in understanding, and Valerian gave a mental sigh of relief. He would not ask to see their little body while the villagers were here. There would be time enough in private.

“I will prepare them,” Valerian said, referring to the children and their burial.

They went back into the kitchen, the milling group waiting expectantly. “Frank,” Howard said to the carpenter. “We will be needing two small caskets.”

Valerian opened her mouth to protest they only needed one, but shut it before the words came. A rustle of discomfort went through the gathering at the news. No one seemed inclined to press the issue of Alice’s demon, not when Howard stood before them, his grief in his eyes. If he of all people was not going to accuse Valerian, then they had no right to do so.

A few made their apologies and left through the back door, but Alice stood staring at the blanket-wrapped children in Valerian’s arms. Valerian tucked the bundle more closely to her chest.

“Where is the other child?” Alice asked, as more people left behind her.

Valerian watched the others go, silently urging them out. “They are both here.”

“In one blanket?” Those remaining in the room turned their heads, their interest stirring. Howard sat at the kitchen table, his head in his hands, oblivious. “They are very small,” Alice said and came up to her, reaching out a hand to lift the blanket. “Let me see them.”

It was on Valerian’s lips to deny the request, and she looked to Howard, but he was lost in his own world. If she said no, Alice’s curiosity would only be the stronger for it. She turned slightly away from the group and lifted the edge of the blanket, arranging it so that only the two small faces were showing. It looked like they were snuggled against each other.

She turned back, and watched Alice’s face as she examined the babies. A mix of emotions played there: disappointment, pity, and the faintest hint of tenderness. She touched one of the little faces with a fingertip as Valerian herself had done, and then there was a growing hint of suspicion in her expression. Before Valerian could discern her purpose and stop her, she grasped the blanket and jerked it down, revealing the body that the twins shared.

Her horrified gasp drew the attention of those left in the kitchen, and before Valerian could cover the twins again, they had seen.

“ ‘Tis the seed of Satan!” Alice proclaimed.

“No!” Valerian protested, already knowing it would do no good. She saw the kindling light of fanaticism in Alice’s eyes, and saw the fire spread to the others in the room. It was the confrontation at the smithy again, only she knew it would be worse this time. Much worse.

With a horrid sense of déjà vu, she turned and stumbled through the kitchen doorway to the shop, and then to the front door. She struggled for long moments with the lock, the children clasped in her other arm making her clumsy. She whimpered with frustration, and then with a quick apology to the souls of the twins, set the bundle on a nearby work table.

“The devil himself was at the birth,” Alice was saying in the kitchen to her followers, her voice rising. “Sitting upon her shoulder, then clawing to get at his child through the very womb of their innocent mother. If ’twere not for my reciting of the Lord’s Prayer, the demon child may have lived. What further proof do we need of the witch’s evil? We must stop her, before she finds another in whom to implant the devil’s spawn!”

The door came open under Valerian’s hands as she heard a rising murmur of agreement from the kitchen. She ran out into the darkness, her long heavy skirts and the unfamiliar tight stays of the silk dress hampering her movements.

Despair pulled at her, weakening her even more. There would never be a place she could live in peace as another face in the crowd. There was no place she could live without fear of discovery and hate. Not here, in Greyfriars. Not with Nathaniel, where to meet his friends she had to don a mask. There was nowhere for her.

Other books

The Primal Blueprint Cookbook by Mark Sisson, Jennifer Meier
The Captive Celt by Terry Deary
The Breaking Point by Mary Roberts Rinehart
Shift by Kim Curran
The Cardinal's Blades by Pevel, Pierre, Translated by Clegg, Tom