In the Garden of Deceit (Book 4) (26 page)

It
was bad enough that Derrick had exposed his presence on the estate,
but to imply that James was having an affair was beyond
reprehensible—and dim-witted. What had he hoped to gain? James
held the purse strings after all. Was his cousin truly that
self-destructive?

“You
know I’m going to strangle him, don’t you?” James
said through gritted teeth.

“A
fate he’s earned.” Aunt Henry moaned. “I’ll
not defend him any longer, James, and so I told my son. You must do
what you must do.”

“Do
you think I should provide him with a place to live after this?”

She
pulled a lace hankie from her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes. “That
is for you to decide. Derrick does not deserve your generosity.”

“Is
he gone?”

“I
believe so.”

“I’m
going to make certain.” His tone was harsh and unyielding.
“Pray that he
is
gone, Aunt Henry, because I won’t
lie to you—his life is in danger.”

***

“Have
you sent him packing, Mother?”

“For
heaven’s sake, James, you are forever making more of a
situation than actually exists.”

Muriel
Tremont was intoxicated, her voice thick, her words slurred. She was
sitting in an armed parlor chair, upholstered in rose-colored velvet,
watching her son pace back and forth. She held a full goblet of
something alcoholic, taking sips as she talked. James fought the
disgust that made his stomach queasy because, at least for the
moment, this was not about his broken association with his mother.
All right, perhaps it was to some extent, but he wasn’t going
to dwell on that right now.

“For
once, discard the evasive talk and answer me.”

He
barked the words at her and she jumped, sloshing her drink over the
rim of her glass and onto her gown.

“Well,
I never! How dare you—”

He
stopped in front of her. “Answer me, damn it!”

She
dabbed at her skirt with shaky fingers, not looking at him. Those
fingers indicated, as nothing else had, just how nervous she was.

“As
far as I know he’s gone. He’s not staying at the dower
house, at any rate. And I must say I’m glad for that. I never
did like him. He’s a most unpleasant young man. Makes my skin
creep.”

“Then
I should think, Mother, you and he were well suited.”

Muriel
did look at him then, her mouth crimping in distaste. “I
suppose I should expect nothing more from you than disrespect. The
last decade has not, as one would have hoped, made you one whit more
pleasant.”

“Are
you saying over time I should have become more pleasant to an
inebriate whose only reason for getting out of bed in the morning is
to pour her first drink? You haven’t changed—why should
I? You were an appallingly poor wife and mother. If I refuse to
pretend otherwise, it’s only what you deserve.”

“I
married a man with no money. How was I supposed to overcome that
disadvantage? I was trapped here in the country, living like a
pauper. I hated it!”

“Then
why did you marry my father? I knew
your
father. He would not
have forced you into a marriage that was abhorrent to you.”

“I…thought
I loved Herbert.” She looked away from him and out the window.
Her voice took on a distant quality as though for a moment she had
moved back in time. Oddly, her face appeared younger, her expression
less embittered as she continued to speak. “I was young and
foolish. Love cannot overcome poverty. I should know—I’ve
tried.”

Perhaps
it was the amount of alcohol she had imbibed that had loosened her
tongue, or beneath all that narcissism there was a person with at
least some depth. But briefly he could almost sympathize with her
situation. Unfortunately, in the next moment she reverted to her old
self.

She
glanced back at him, lip curled. “I see
you
were not
willing to go through life without a full purse.” A nasty
reference to his own marriage…

“Mother,
be careful.”

“Come
back to me in a few years and let’s see how your wife feels
about living with all your strange and destitute family. Let’s
see if she’s as amenable then as she is now.”

“How
can you hate people who have never done anything objectionable to
you?”

“I
never said they had.” Again, that faraway look. “But your
father put every one of them ahead of me. Every one. Our only real
connection was our children, and he subverted them where I was
concerned as well. He made me feel an outsider, and that never
changed.”

“Do
you really believe that was his purpose?”

Muriel
sighed, a disgusted sound. “Herbert was a sweet man but
insensitive. He never understood what he was doing.”

James
opened his mouth to dispute her claim and instead remained quiet. He
suspected that his mother and he would never fully repair the rift
between them, but he would be a fool not to understand the message
she was giving him, whether she intended to or not. As much as he
didn’t want to see his father in any but a perfect light, he
wondered if Herbert had been a somewhat neglectful husband.

Something
to ponder—and an object lesson for certain. James must never
forget the most important person in his life, regardless of his
responsibilities. As his mother had proven, not only his own
happiness but the happiness of his entire family depended on him
understanding his priorities.

***

CHAPTER 17

Late
morning and Amanda stood in the corridor outside her father’s
sickroom, trying to prepare herself for entering. She knew it would
do no good. There was no way to prepare for that moment when all over
again she was accosted by the reality of her only living parent’s
impending death. She did not pretend to herself that he was, by some
miracle, going to get well. The physician had been kind but blunt.
Archie Campbell’s days were numbered, most certainly fewer days
than more.

She
wanted to weep. Her father had been so happy to see her, and they had
shared some brief yet poignant conversations, involving apologies and
forgiveness. He was too ill for more than that, in so much pain now,
the physician was required to drug him into near unconsciousness.
This was almost a relief, as he had developed a horrific cough that
was difficult to listen to. She could not even imagine what it must
feel like to endure such a cough.

Amanda
drew in a deep breath and entered the bedchamber. The room was dark
and depressing. Nurse Bitters was in her usual place, seated to the
right and near the top of the bedstead. Today she was knitting, but
on other occasions, she merely sat, hands folded primly in her lap.
The nurse was austere, and Amanda found her unapproachable. But there
was no discrediting the woman’s sense of responsibility. Archie
Campbell was her prime concern, and she made certain that was
understood by everyone. She slept on a cot in the corner, eating when
her patient slept. She took short respites from the sickroom when
absolutely necessary and only when someone could relieve her.
Therefore, Amanda was willing to forgive her insistence on keeping
the drapes pulled against the daylight, creating a gloomy, depressive
atmosphere.

Nurse
Bitters stood without speaking, nodded brusquely, and left the
bedchamber. As soon as the door closed behind the nurse, Amanda
thrust open the drapes, letting in light and warmth. If she were
lying in that bed instead of her father, she’d want her last
days to be filled with fresh air and sunshine, not a blackened room
that was a symbolic reminder of what lay ahead.

“Papa?”
she said in a soft voice. She didn’t want to wake him but did
want him to know she was there if he were conscious.

Archie
Campbell opened one eye and, after a moment, the other. “Amanda…?”

“You’re
not sleeping?”

“With
that draconian witch…at my shoulder? Hardly.” He spoke
in a strained whisper, but humor touched his words.

Amanda
smiled. “She’s not so awful. She certainly has your best
interests at heart.”

“Huh.
If only she knew what those were.”

“I
thought you might like some light, so I opened the drapes.”

He
nodded without comment.

“Are
you comfortable?”

Her
father hesitated so long she thought he was not going to answer. He
fumbled for her hand that lay on the coverlet. “Dying is not
comfortable, love.”

Her
chin started to tremble. “I don’t want you to hurt.”

Again,
that slight smile as if what she wanted was a naive wish. He released
her hand and patted it. He parted his lips as if to say something and
stopped, closing his eyes. Amanda suspected the effort to speak was
simply too much for him. His hand grew limp and she knew he had
drifted off once more.

She
was relieved. Though she wanted to spend what precious little time
there was left with her father, if that meant he had to suffer while
conscious, she would rather sit with him while he slept. At least
sleep seemed to protect him somewhat from the worst of the pain—and
the coughing. And perhaps on some level he would understand that she
was there and receive comfort from her presence.

Oh,
how she regretted their argument! Amanda had no idea how she could
have prevented it, but that didn’t keep her from feeling
remorseful. Should she have been less angry about a future in which
she’d had no hand? Archie Campbell had raised her to be a woman
with a mind of her own. Perhaps a mistake under the circumstances,
for not even he had expected her to be a docile participant once she
knew what he had done.

But
now he lay dying, and she was grieving already. Nothing he had done
heretofore seemed all that important anymore. The anger and
resentment were gone, and all she presently felt was a miserable ache
in her heart and a wish for more time.

Amanda’s
thoughts naturally turned to her husband and the obstacles they had
been forced to overcome. Her relationship with James was more
complicated than it should have been. Had been from the beginning.
Now she’d had more than two days to ponder Derrick’s
insinuating remarks regarding James’s trip to London. Added to
that was her confusion over why her husband had not simply stated
that Derrick was living on the estate. Would she have been displeased
by his cousin’s presence there? Absolutely. But how foolish not
to realize that keeping her ignorant was considerably more
upsetting—especially after everything they had been through.

She
pulled her chair closer to the bed and laid her head over her hands
on the coverlet. She was exhausted, having slept only fitfully the
night before. Her head was turned toward the window. The sky was blue
and inviting, implying—wrongly, she decided in her disheartened
mood—a beautiful day with hope and possibilities. Outside on
the window ledge several house sparrows had gathered, twittering
happily and pecking at the sill. Amanda heard the traffic below,
people going about their individual concerns, unaware of the tragedy
unfolding in an upstairs bedchamber overlooking the street.

For
the moment, the sadness was nearly overwhelming. She allowed her eyes
to drift shut.

***

James
was beyond weary. He had spent one restless night at Lonsdale before
climbing back on his horse and returning to London. He had stopped at
an inn along the way, sleeping for four hours because he had been too
exhausted to continue without rest.

He
supposed if he were the calloused sort, he would have waited for his
wife to return home. But the assumption was that Archie Campbell was
on his deathbed and would not be recovering. That would leave Amanda
facing her father’s death alone, which he found unacceptable.
When the old man did die, James would be summoned back to London for
final arrangements and the funeral, anyway. All of that aside, he
wanted to be there for his wife at this most painful time.

He
had tried not to think about the one issue that concerned him most,
but it niggled at his subconscious, nonetheless. He didn’t know
what frame of mind Amanda was in. Would she even come home, once she
was able to do so? That was a circumstance he had no intention of
leaving to chance.

James
had arrived at the Campbell household a short while ago, not long
after the noon hour. Because he felt grimy and foul-smelling, he had
requested a bath be drawn and clean clothes set out that he might
enter Archie’s room without being offensive. He was uncertain
whether or not Amanda knew he had arrived. He had not yet asked that
she be notified, and so he assumed she was unaware. Archie Campbell’s
household was very exacting with regard to instructions, unlike his
own unconventional household in the country.

Now
presentable, James went looking for his wife. He had been informed
that Amanda was with her father, thus he currently stood outside his
father-in-law’s chamber, at once nervous. Would Amanda greet
him affectionately as when they had last parted, or would she revert
to her previous attitude of hurt and anger?

He
tapped lightly once and, when he received no answer, knocked again
more forcefully. Still no answer. James opened the door.

The
room was filled with bright afternoon daylight. The smell of
impending death was still there but seemed less overpowering. Maybe
the sun shining through the window had dissipated it somewhat. His
gaze came to rest on the bed. Now he understood why no one had
answered his knock. Archie was asleep and so was his daughter. At
least he assumed Amanda was asleep. She was sitting in a chair, and
all he could see was the back of her head where she had leaned over
and laid it on the bed, hands under her cheek.

Quietly,
he pulled up another chair, placing it next to his wife.
Unfortunately, the chair squeaked as he sat down, and he knew
immediately that he had awakened her. She did not, however, turn to
greet him right away. He sat quietly and waited for her to
acknowledge him.