Echoes in Stone (13 page)

After the upsets of the day, Jessa was glad to be in a room she found familiar, although her last memories of being here made her squirm in embarrassment.

“I believe a dash of brandy is in order, Miss Palmer, while we wait for the tea.” Winston poured a small amount into one of the ever-ready crystal glasses, sitting it on the table at her elbow. “I’ll just go check on that tray.” His glance swept her from head to foot. “I’m sure you’ll appreciate the privacy to compose yourself.” With another of his condescending bows, he departed.

Understanding dawned. Oh heavens, no wonder the servants had stared at her that way.

Her hair hung straight down her back, bare of cap or pins. She combed through it with her fingers, dislodging bits of twigs and leaves that must have become entangled in it as she lay in Dash’s arms. The heat rose in her face as the memory returned. With no mirror in the room, she could only guess what smudges and streaks must be on her face from her bout of tears, her mad dash to retrieve picnic items, and her hell-bent race for Tremayne Hall .

She twisted her hair into a loose knot at her nape, then jammed a pencil she found on the desk through it in chopstick fashion to hold it in place. She glanced down.

Two of her buttons were done up wrong. She corrected that problem, while peeking furtively at the door, awaiting Winston’s return. She shook more small bits of debris from her skirt. She wasn’t surprised to come upon Dash’s sodden, ill-used handkerchief stuffed into the waistband of her skirt.

No sooner had Jessa settled on the sofa than the study door opened to admit Winston, followed by Mrs. Penrose bearing a large tea tray. Winston took a seat in one of the gold wingback chairs opposite the sofa, while the housekeeper set out the makings of afternoon tea.

“Can I bring you anything else, Miss Palmer?”

“I’m quite all right, Mrs. Penrose, but I’m worried about the captain. We enjoyed the lunch Cook provided. Please be sure she knows that. Then the illness… It came upon him so suddenly. Just as it did to me.” She shook her head. “I just don’t understand.”

“His lordship will be fine,” Winston said. “When I checked, he was in bed. One of the maids was on her way with something soothing. He has a strong constitution. I’m sure he’ll be back to normal by breakfast. You must put your mind at ease on that point.”

He turned to the housekeeper. “If you will excuse us now, Mrs. Penrose, I’d like a few words with Miss Palmer, then I’ll send her upstairs to rest. With the captain indisposed, I’m sure she’d prefer a tray in her room this evening.” Winston turned back, cocking an eyebrow at Jessa. “If that’s acceptable to you, Miss Palmer?”

She nodded. She wanted to be alone. Away from prying servants. Especially away from the suspicious eyes of this annoying, high-handed factotum.

The quiet click of the door indicated Mrs. Penrose’s departure.

Jessa lifted her chin, gazing at the man seated across from her. Cousin or no, he was a servant in this house, and she was the master’s sister-in-law. A tremor quaked through her.

Good heavens, what had she been thinking? She’d kissed Lily’s husband. And more. She had— No. She wouldn’t think about it. Not now. Not while she was being stared at by this inquisitive manservant.

“Miss Palmer, I see you haven’t tasted your brandy. Really, I believe you’d find it soothing. You look as if you’ve had quite an upset today.” He cocked an imperious eyebrow at her. He didn’t do it anywhere near as well as Dash. Something about his fair skin and pale blond brows rendered the gesture innocuous.

“I prefer tea, Evers.”

“If you don’t mind, Jessa—” He cleared his throat. “I mean, Miss Palmer, I would appreciate knowing what happened today. You set out for a simple drive and a quiet picnic. You return hours later, disordered, driving the carriage, and the master exceedingly ill. If we are to treat whatever this is, we must have all the information you can give us.”

The tone of his voice, obsequious and yet chilling, grated on her. Really, the man overreached himself. She imagined how Dash would tell the story, if he were a man given to explaining himself to anybody.

“It’s a simple enough tale.” She made her voice as emotionless as she imagined Dash’s would be. “We drove for a bit, until we came to a place where the trees were charred. The captain told me you are familiar with that place, and of your…charity to him that night.” She had the satisfaction of seeing him wince. She recounted the rest of the events in terse sentences, providing only the bare facts of the picnic and Dash’s sudden illness.

She left out any mention of undone buttons or forbidden kisses. The man was not a fool. No need to belabor the point.

Jessa sat back against the cushions on the sofa, casually sipping her tea. She looked away from Winston, pretending not to notice the way his clench-fisted grip on the arms of his chair belied his otherwise calm demeanor.

For reasons she couldn’t begin to fathom, he irritated her. High-handed. Overly familiar. His hostility toward her came in almost palpable waves, but she was at a loss for an explanation. Something about him provoked her.

“Miss Palmer, I sense we are on awkward footing with one another. Dashiell Tremayne has not only been my employer, but my friend, for many years. And of course, we are blood relations.”

Winston leaned back, relaxing his grip. “I acted as his steward while he built his shipping company. I managed his estates. I was the person who stood by his side, as his best man, when he spoke his marriage vows to your stepsister. Where were you then, Jessa?” His words snapped at her, but without the whip-like lash Dash’s voice would’ve had.

Exhaustion was taking its toll on her. She was tired of explaining herself. Tired of veiled hints and barbed words. “I was eighteen then, Winston, finishing up my last year of school at Miss Elizabeth Hill’s Academy for Young Ladies. The wedding occurred rather quickly. It was too far to journey on such short notice, if word had even reached me beforehand, which it didn’t. Lily wrote to tell me about it afterward.”

How much explanation did she owe him? He was the captain’s man. In spite of his apparent courtesy, an undercurrent of antagonism came from him in waves whenever they were alone. Why did he dislike her? It couldn’t be jealousy of her relationship with his master. In spite of a few shared kisses, she and Dash were at odds with one another more often than not. Perhaps he simply reflected his master’s suspicion of her.

“Although Lily and I were not close,” she said, “we wrote one another often.” She stopped short of telling him about the letter that had brought her here. She hadn’t told Dash yet. If she asked Winston about it, would he tell her the truth? Not likely, given his unexplained animosity.

“I only ask,” Winston said, “because I do not wish to see my cousin harmed any further. I’m sure you realize, your stepsister and my cousin did not have the happiest of relationships. Not only her death, but also the manner of her death, added an even greater burden of pain. I wish only to see an end to it for him.”

Winston leaned forward, elbows on knees, his hands clasped. “Your presence here concerns me only in that it cause my friend more troubles—your unannounced arrival, your sudden illness, and now his. He questioned me when I checked in on him, about your nightmare of some vagrant woman trying to kill you. He’s concerned; and what is of concern to Dash, is of concern to me. Particularly if you will be spending time with Holly.”

Winston poured himself the cup of tea Jessa had failed to offer him. He deftly managed the pot and delicate cups, his well-manicured hands pale, wholly unlike Dash’s large, dark ones.

No. It wouldn’t do to think about the picture of her white breast in Dash’s dark hand, or the way—.

“Miss Palmer,” Winston said. “I would ask that you consider what your visit here is doing to Dash and Holly. I wouldn’t care to see either of them suffer more grief because of a member of the Palmer family.”

“I appreciate your position on this matter, Evers, but you forget that although her name is Tremayne, Holly is also a member of the Palmer family, and the only one that matters at this moment.”

Winston blinked. In spite of claim of friendship and blood, he was as well-trained as any other servant in hiding his true emotions. He rose, tugging his waistcoat into place. “I need to check on his lordship now, and arrange for your dinner. Please. I encourage you to avail yourself of the warmth offered by the brandy there at your elbow. I’ll have a bath sent up to your room.” He waved his arm, indicating the book-lined walls. “Feel free to select something to read in your room this evening. Now, if you will excuse me?” Winston turned on his heel, exiting without waiting for a response.

Jessa leaned back on the cushions, taking a final sip of tea. Well. The man had essentially told her to go to her room and stay there. If the day had not been so long, so upsetting, she might have defied him, simply to demonstrate her independence.

But the day had worn on her. She was tired, filthy, and had far too many things vying for her attention. A warm bath sounded heavenly. She left the brandy untouched, her single act of defiance.

Mrs. Penrose was just coming down the stairs as Jessa went up them. “The captain sends his regards, Miss, and hopes you have a quiet evening. He asked me to tell you he’ll not be with your for breakfast, but would like you to join him in the nursery tomorrow morning. He thought you’d like to spend some time with your niece.”

“Thank you. That sounds wonderful. I did miss seeing her today. Good evening, Mrs. Penrose.”

During her illness, Jessa had been moved from her blue room in the guest quarters to a gold and red one nearer Dash’s rooms. It was highly improper,  but had been deemed more practical to have her in the more occupied portion of the house, given the paucity of staff and her need for ‘round the clock care. Tonight, Mrs. Penrose informed her, her things had been moved back to the blue room. A bath was on its way.

Too tired to unpack her wardrobe again, she left the small trunk sitting where she found it, near her door. Her sensible flannel nightgown and blue plaid robe had been laid out for her upon the counterpane.

She undid her mud-spattered skirt, dropping it to the floor, then fingered a tear in the sleeve of her blouse. She sighed. Dealing with the hazards of Tremayne Hall was wearing out more than just her nerves.

JESSA DREAMED OF LILY. Of course she would. In her dream, she stood on the empty road, staring at the blackened trees, the shattered carriage lying on its side. Fire blazed around the vehicle, the caustic odor causing her nose to twitch and tingle. Flames twisted up into the night sky, like the claws of a demon. From the heart of the fire, Lily came to her.

“Jessa, you must come with me. You must leave this place. It isn’t safe here for you.” Lily looked older, but still lovely. She’d wrapped a shawl over her shoulders and head, half hiding her face. But there was no mistaking those beautiful green eyes. They sparkled in the flickering light of the fire behind her. Tears streamed from those eyes now. She reached out to touch Jessa.

The dream was so real, Lily’s hand on her arm so warm.

“Jessa.” Lily turned to look behind her at the bonfire made by the carriage. The trees around the carriage made a popping, crackling noise as the timbers were consumed in the jaws of the devouring beast of the fire. The taste of smoke tickled her throat, made her cough.

Lily turned back to her. “I’m so sorry, Jessa. When I sent that letter— I never really meant for you to come here. This is a wicked place. There’s nothing you can do. Please Jessa, you must come with me.” Lily tugged her arm again, frantic.

“Everyone here is infected with evil. It gets in one’s bones, twists them, turns them into monsters. I thought you could help somehow. But there’s no hope for anyone who enters here. Even the child is lost.” Lily hung her head, muffling a sob with her hand. The nails, always so beautifully kept, were dirty, ragged.

The smell of the smoke was stronger now. The fire burned so hotly, Jessa’s skin tingled with the heat as the flames from the carriage crawled across the blackened ground toward her, as if seeking her.

Lily yanked her arm once more. “He’s going to kill you, Jessa. He never lets go of what belongs to him. You’re trying to take something of his. I died in the fire on that lonely road, with no one but Susanna to hear my screams, or my pleas for mercy. And him. He was there that night as well, Jessa. He watched me die and did nothing.”

Jessa tried to turn away. The flames were larger behind Lily now. Distant screams, the pounding of a horse’s hooves on the dusty road. He was coming. He would let her die, let the flames consume her, just as he’d watched them destroy Lily.

Lily turned, as if she too once more heard the galloping horse. Closer. Closer. She cried out. “I’m sorry, Jessa. It’s too late. He’s too late. Again. I’m sorry. Being dead is not so bad Jessa.” Lily lowered the shawl from her face.

Jessa screamed. Not Lily. This was the same woman who’d come to her once before. Susanna. Her triumphant smile and glittering eyes chilled Jessa, even as the heat from the flames grew closer.