Dark Angel (22 page)

“I did, and threaded the drawstrings through the tops, as you can see,” she pointed out.

She’d done an excellent job, and I told her so. She beamed heartily. I tried to hand her the container back, but she waved it off.

“That’s yours, ma’am. Seeing as how you started me in a new venture and all. Gift of the house.”

I flinched, then thought of Gerard’s plans for me. “I-I, well, if you wish, I will take them as a gift, but I’m sure I have no use for them.”

She shrugged and winked. “I’ve kept a few to test out myself. In the interests of medical science.”

I looked at her for a moment, my mouth hanging open. “Oh, well, I hope Mr. Blackpot enjoys—that is, finds them beneficial and useful.” I cringed. Well, how else does one discuss such a subject?

She laughed her donkey’s laugh and slapped me on the arm. Wincing, I resisted the urge to rub the stinging spot.

“Oh ho, you’ve a sense of humor, you do! Mr. Blackpot? He’s been dead since before the Great Disaster, and was too old to raise
that
feeble sword more than once a year even when he was alive. No, just between you and me, I’ve a
real
man now, if you know what I mean.” She winked again.

I nearly choked. That was far too much knowledge of her private life for my taste. However, it did remind me of the man I’d seen outside.

“Were you expecting anyone just now, Mrs. Blackpot? There was a man who appeared to be coming to your cottage, but I think my presence may have frightened him away. If so, I do apologize.”

Her gaze narrowed. “What’d he look like, then?”

“I couldn’t really tell—the sun was in my eyes. He was a tall fellow, but he had a hat pulled low over his forehead.”

Her lips tightened, her glance sliding away. “He’s none of your concern. Keep to your own side of the fence, Mrs. Briton.”

I bristled at her tone. She was definitely warning me off of whoever the man was. I changed the subject. “Back to the reason for my visit. I’ll have your promise again, Mrs. Blackpot, that you will not charge more than each client can afford to pay. A fair price for everyone according to their station, and for the poorest, free, as agreed.”

She nodded briskly. “As agreed.”

Gerard had explained to me that, since there was no fiscal authority to manage the production of coins and notes here, the island operated principally on a system of trades and credits. Services were often given in exchange for goods or other services. Precious metals and gems were still highly valued, of course, but not everyone had them. Most of the wealth was in land, stock, or crops, and whatever material goods had survived the catastrophe or could be fabricated in Gerard’s two manufacturing facilities.

I had seen the water-wheeled factories the first time I visited the village, sitting on either side of the wide stream running through the center of town. Many of Gerard’s inventions, which he licensed at reduced rates to the town’s merchants, allowed life to proceed as normally as possible on the island. I wasn’t certain how Mrs. Blackpot’s clients might reimburse her, but I prayed she would keep her word to me and not overcharge them.

The sale of the prophylactics should improve her obvious economic straits, while at the same time helping the women of
Ynys Nos.

We said our farewells, after which I slipped furtively out the back door to the carriage. Relieved our business was concluded, I made my way back toward Alexander Hall.

The carriage passed the market square where the villagers festooned harvest decorations for tomorrow’s festivities. Women in country aprons tied bundles of wheat and shafts of barley with festive ribbons and handed them up to sturdy-looking farmhands on ladders to hang in every conceivable eave and rafter. They’d set up several wooden stands to serve as selling booths around the square. Someone had tied swags of berries and flowers to the church door, and even the window ledges were used to display the results of the season’s harvest.

I eagerly anticipated meeting the people of
Ynys Nos
. I’d begun to accept this was to be my new, and permanent, home, and that I might someday become its mistress by marrying Gerard.

Still, I had no idea how I felt about marriage to anyone at this point in my life, let alone Gerard. I had assumed marriage was no longer a possibility for me due to my age and my occupation. Happiness had not been an option for a very long time, so I no longer pursued it. But now, happiness shimmered in the distance, just beyond the horizon.

As the carriage approached the vicarage, I saw Mrs. Howard outside talking to a man on horseback. She was dressed for walking and carried a covered basket, which she clenched tightly before her. She kept trying to pass, but as she made to do so, he moved his horse to block her.

I could not be certain, but I believed it to be the same man I had seen near Mrs. Blackpot’s. I realized now who the man was: Roger Howard. And, I took note, Mrs. Howard did not speak to him, but rather he spoke to her. She was quite distressed, and I told my driver to stop as we passed.

Mrs. Howard looked both surprised and grateful to see me.

“Good day to you, Mrs. Howard,” I called, deliberately ignoring her erstwhile husband. “Are you going visiting? Might I give you a ride to your destination?”

Her relief was palpable. She glanced over her shoulder at Howard, who glowered at me.

“If my
wife
needs a ready ride,” he remarked, “she knows I’m always happy to oblige.” The cunning look in his eyes indicated his double entendre had been no mistake. “Don’t interfere.”

Mrs. Howard shaded part of her face from the sun with the brim of her bonnet, but I could see her cheeks were pink with embarrassment. “I accept your kind offer, Mrs. Briton. I was going out to one of the crofter’s cottages, if that is not too much trouble.”

“Not at all. I’m sure it is on my way,” I said firmly, and one of the footmen climbed down and helped her into the carriage. Howard sat upon his bay gelding, discouraged, no doubt, by the size and number of footmen from trying to stop her. His gaze bored into our backs as, having given the driver the address, we trundled away.

I watched Mrs. Howard out of the corner of my eye as her husband finally turned his horse and galloped away, his horse’s hooves throwing up angry clods behind him. She sat stiffly, spine erect, her hands still clasped over the handle of the basket. Even after he left, she did not relax her demeanor.

I waited, deciding to let her tell me whatever troubled her in her own time.

“I was intimate with him,” she finally blurted, her voice low enough so the driver would not hear.

“I beg your pardon?”

She looked at me, and her cheeks grew pinker. “The master, I mean. We were—intimate. Before.”

I raised my eyebrows, surprised she would declare her encounter with Gerard so boldly—and wondering why she did so now. “Indeed? Why are you telling me this?”

She shifted in her seat, facing me with an earnest expression on her face. “Because you must know the sort of man whose roof you are living under. I would never have said anything otherwise. I am terribly ashamed of myself. Despite my circumstances, I am still married to Roger, and I knew better.” She shook her head in bewilderment. “I
did
. Which makes what happened even more extraordinary.”

I tried not to reveal by my expression that I already knew her secret. “Do not berate yourself over what you cannot change. Anyone can make a mistake. Gerard is a very attractive man—almost overwhelmingly so—and you have been alone for a very long time. To slip up once is forgivable—”

She looked surprised. “Oh, it wasn’t just once, dear lady. It was many times. Although you understand, I am not boasting. I have carried this burden for so long. I must confess it, and of course, I can hardly do so to my cousin. There is no one else I can trust.” Her misty-eyed gaze slid away, then back. “I think you—being in a position to understand—might have some sympathy for me.”

“It wasn’t just once?” A chill slid down my spine. “Are you saying you had a long-term affair?”

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Yes. I could not help myself. He pursued me so intently, and when he succeeded in seducing me…he was as you said. Overwhelming.” She lowered her head, and a glittering tear fell down one cheek. “
He’s so beautiful,”
she whispered. “I never dreamed a man like him could desire me. But he seemed to. When I look back on it now, I can hardly believe it. It’s as though it was a dream.”

The earth did not yawn open and swallow me whole, though I prayed it would. The indifferent world continued to spin upon its axis, in violation of my wishes. Still, for me, everything stopped, and my heart turned black.

He lied to me. And I had been foolish and smitten enough to believe him
.

“I-I think he bewitched me,” she continued. “It was as if my will was not my own. I was afraid Roger might find out, and how awful would that have been? He has been unfaithful to me time and again, but even so, he is so jealous of any man who even glances my way. Can you imagine? Jealous of
me!
He thinks he still has a claim on me, in spite of his infidelity and our separation, and he can be…cruel. Oh, I’m so sorry to burden you with all of this,” she sniffled, and another tear slipped down her cheek.

“That’s-that’s quite all right,” I choked out.

Dabbing at her wet eyes with her gloved fingertips, she whispered, “When I began to suspect what he was—the master—I feared him. I finally found the strength to end it, but he was so angry. He may have known of my suspicions—it is difficult to hide anything from him. I think he stalked me once or twice. He did not want to let me go.”

She reached over and clasped my hand in hers, her words coming from a tunnel far away. I was dimly aware of the carriage slowing down, of the driver calling out that we had reached the crofter’s cottage.

She gazed at me urgently. “I’m sorry I had to tell you this. If I thought there was any other way—” Her voice shook. “You must think me the most awful person. But I had to tell you in hopes of saving you from a similar fate. It’s not too late, is it?”

“No. It is not too late.”

She breathed a sigh of relief.

I do not know how I spoke to her. I wanted to slap her, to push her from the carriage, and yet comfort her, too. I could not imagine the distress she must be feeling if she was compelled to reveal this to me.

“You cannot stay with him any longer, Mrs. Briton. If you need a place to live, our home is always open to you.” She climbed hastily from the carriage, taking her basket with her, and looked back at me. Tear tracks marred her pale skin, and her blue eyes seemed huge in her face. “Forgive me, Mrs. Briton, but this is for your own good.” Bowing her head, she turned and hurried away.

If it was for my good, then why had she hollowed out my heart with her words?

…

I went back to Alexander Hall, for in the end, I really had nowhere else to go. I stifled the thunderstorm of tears swirling in my head, bit back the howling storm of epitaphs I wanted to shout to the sky. Unnaturally composed, I watched the approaching edifice of Alexander Hall and imagined it filled with lies and subterfuge. Beautiful on the outside, but decaying on the inside, governed by a master who knew how to manipulate pathetic women like me to get what he wanted.

This was not my home. I had no home left.

Oh, I was angry and hurt—unimaginably hurt. But worst of all, I was disappointed. Not only in Gerard, from whom I had expected more, but in myself. I had allowed him to make a fool of me. I had wanted to see him as some sort of hero from the beginning, even when the evidence consistently pointed in the opposite direction. He was just a man—even if his veins did possess magic.

And even with all that, I still wanted to look into those gray eyes and believe the best of him, not the worst.

I wanted to believe there had been some kind of mistake, that Mrs. Howard had lied, and Gerard was the one who had told me the truth. And I was angry with myself for wanting it.

And yet… I had been convinced when Gerard told me of their encounter that he spoke the truth. Why did I doubt him now? Was it my own insecurities, and not Gerard’s character, which caused me to doubt?

I could not understand why either of them would lie to me, and yet one of them had. Mrs. Howard’s antipathy toward Gerard could not be the result of jealousy, for it was obvious she actively disliked him. She gained nothing by speaking untruths, and experience had taught me even a good man’s word could not always be trusted.

Did I know, after all, what kind of man Gerard truly was?

And how could I again marry a man whose loyalty I had cause to doubt?

I was preparing for bed with Mrs. Jones’s help when the door to my bedroom swung open and he stood on the threshold, all dressed in black save for his silver waistcoat. His gaze swept over me. He slid a meaningful glance to the elderly housekeeper and, without another word, she left, closing the door quietly behind her.

I knew better than to try to call her back. The woman knew where her loyalties lay.

I hastily pulled a wrap on over my chemise, tying the sash with studied care, and ignored the pounding of my heart. Sitting at the gilded vanity table, I picked up one of the hairbrushes and began to brush out my hair. “I thought we had agreed you would knock.”

His image in the mirror lifted an insouciant knuckle and rapped it against the doorjamb twice. He arched an eyebrow at me in wordless inquiry.

My fingers tightened on the hairbrush. I refused to demean myself by throwing it at his head. “I meant
before
you entered, Gerard.”

“I thought we had dispensed with such formalities. I can see I was mistaken.”

He sauntered toward me, the heat of him reaching me before he did. He’d been raking his hands through his hair again, for the sleek black locks lay wild across his forehead.