Shades of the Past (19 page)

"The present church is a mixture of architectural styles," Lawrence continued.  "It has been destroyed and rebuilt many times.  In fact, the original Norman tower collapsed altogether a little less than a hundred years ago."

They moved beneath elaborate vaulting, supported on massive piers and viewed the bishop’s throne.  From there, they made their way to the ornate shrine of St. Thomas de Cantelupe, once bishop of Hereford but also, purportedly, England's Grand Master of the Order of Knights Templar. 

"The cult of St. Thomas and his shrine were once as famous and well-visted as that of Becket's at Canterbury," Lawrence apprised.  Turning to Vanessa, he tucked her hand in his arm.  "Come.  You cannot leave without seeing the Chained Library.  I promise, you'll find nothing comparable anywhere."

Lawrence's solicitousness continued to surprise Vanessa.  His charm had grown so thick and polished throughout the day, she wondered whether he was endeavoring to mend her image of him or possibly be wooing her. 

He brought her to an exceedingly narrow staircase, spiraling upward in a cramped turret.  As they began to mount the stone steps, her concerns multiplied.  Despite the cathedral's overall size, it seemed Lawrence now led her to a sequestered corner, away from others.

The stairway, itself, was so confining two people could not pass.  One was forced to keep moving toward their destination without stop in order to clear it for those kept waiting.  But Vanessa perceived there was no one caught in that dilemma, though she'd seen another group precede them.  She found herself grateful to know of their presence.  Otherwise, she'd suspect Lawrence meant to trap her alone at the top.

As they finished the long climb, however, she was immediately struck by a most fascinating sight—at least a thousand books, stored row upon row, their leather bindings secured to the shelves with long chains.

 "There are over fifteen hundred volumes in the collection," Lawrence informed, his hand lifting casually to her waist as they came to a stop.  "Some date back as early as the eighth century." 

A tremor of unease passed through Vanessa at his lingering touch.  Seeing the other visitors departing, and trying not to appear overly anxious, Vanessa stepped from his side and suggested they descend.  He appeared surprised she did not wish to linger among the ancient texts.

"There is still much to take in before meeting Cissy," she asserted, her words rushing out.  "You mentioned there being tombs with colored effigies.  I'd very much like to see them now."

Vanessa moved quickly to the top of the stairs, but as she began to step from the landing, her toe caught in the hem of her skirt, pulling her off balance and pitching her forward.  Lawrence instantly lunged, seizing her by the arms and jerking her back and away from the treacherous staircase.

"You little fool!" he shouted, whirling her around to face him, his fingers digging into her flesh.  "Are you so desperate to flee me?  You could have broken your neck!" 

Vanessa stared at him, aghast.  His eyes burned a brilliant, fevered blue in a face that had gone stark white.

"It's Adrian isn't it?"  He barked, giving her a firm shake, his fingers pressing deeper.

"Lawrence, stop . . . You're hurting me."

The look in his eyes changed from one of fury to shock.  He instantly released her and stepped back, his features transforming themselves into a cast of repentance.

"Vanessa, I—I'm sorry.  Forgive me.  I don't know what came over me.  You started to fall and I . . . God, I feared you were going to kill yourself."

Vanessa's heart hammered against her ribs.  Were all the Marrable men given to such gross overreaction? 

As she glanced up at Lawrence, she could not deny the alarm imprinted on his face.  How could she doubt the sincerity of his words, even if not all of them made perfect sense? 

What was it mothers so often said?  Something about their children frightening them so badly that, once they knew their child was safe, they tasted only a white hot fury for having been so scared.  Fear and anger were two emotions that often ran together, entwined.

As Vanessa's nerves calmed, a twinge of guilt rose inside her at the troubled look still creasing Lawrence's eyes.  She laid a hand to his arm and gave it a gentle squeeze. 

"Lawrence, there is nothing to forgive.  I owe you my thanks.  You did save me, after all."

He dropped his gaze to her hand and, covering it with his, nodded.  "Let's get down from here, Vanessa.  The library can wait until another time."

Lawrence insisted on preceding Vanessa down the twisting staircase lest she misstep again.  That way, he explained, he would break her fall should she misstep.

With the time left to them, they made their way among the tombs, some mere slabs, others fascinating for their reposing, full-size sculptures of the occupants within. 

Entering a side chapel dedicated to St. Ethelbert, Vanessa paused at the tomb of a noble couple, bearing colored effigies.  The woman appeared very young and an infant lay swaddled by her side.  Chrism marked the babe's tiny forehead, confirmation of the child's baptism before its death.

Vanessa touched a hand to the sculpture, feeling a great sadness here.

"This is the tomb of Alexander Denton and his wife—his first wife.  She was an heiress and only seventeen when she died in childbirth."  Lawrence released a long breath.  "Whenever I see it, it reminds me of Clairissa."

Vanessa glanced to him at the mention of Adrian's first wife.  "And was she buried with hers and Adrian's child?"

Lawrence nodded.  "Yes, a son.  I didn't realize you knew how she died."

Vanessa drew away her hand from the sculpture.  "I know little more, except that she died in great pain.  Her suffering was beyond the pale, I was told." 

"That is true.  Quite true."  A grave look entered his face.

Vanessa gripped her hands together, unsure she should venture her next question.  Yet it refused to remain locked inside.

"I upset Adrian horribly yesterday.  I have no idea why he reacted as he did, but I suspect it is linked somehow to his past—my guess is, to his wives.  Everyone at Sherringham tiptoes around that subject, yet I believe it is the source of his moods.  Though, I am aware of the circumstances of Olivia's death, I cannot help but wonder if is there is something I am missing about Clairissa's—or something about Adrian himself."

"'Adrian' is it?"  An odd gleam appeared, then disappeared, in Lawrence's eyes.  He drew his brows together in the semblance of a frown.  "What precisely did you say to him?”

Vanessa stepped away from the tomb and moved toward the chapel's entrance, Lawrence following at her side. 

"He agreed to sit for his portrait for the mourning album.  When he arrived, he was already in the blackest of moods and scowling.  I tried to encourage him to improve his expression—not to smile, just to appear moderately pleasant . . ."

"Yes, but what did you say?"

She fidgeted with the button at the waist of her jacket.  "That if he continued to look at the camera as he was, he'd crack the lens."

"Is that all?"

"No.  I said he looked ready to murder someone."

Lawrence halted in place.  "My dear Vanessa.  That was possibly the worst thing you could have said to him.  I don't quite know how to tell you this about my brother, but he was—
is
—under suspicion of having murdered both his wives."

Vanessa's breath left her, the shock of his words jolting her to her core.  "That cannot be!  It's a lie!  Surely, it’s a lie."

Her cry drew the attention of a nearby workman and a half-dozen of the faithful scattered in pews, praying before the nave's central altar.  Vanessa crossed her arms over her stomach.  For a moment she thought she might become ill.  Lawrence quickly led her down the side aisle to a bench at the back, away from others. 

"We all wish to believe Adrian is innocent.  Things have a way of working themselves out."

"You speak as if you have doubts."

Lawrence's silence was damning.  "There are things you do not understand," he said at last.

 Vanessa began to tremble, anger and frustration overtaking her. 

"I
understand
his first wife died of natural causes in childbirth.  I
understand
his second wife died in a carriage accident.  Neither of those are uncommon in any way.  They happen every day.  If there is something I don't understand, then pray enlighten me, but do not leave me in the dark to have my head snapped off by your brother!"

Lawrence held her gaze a long moment.  Finally, lacing his fingers together, he braced one arm on the back of the bench and nodded. 

"Very well.  It's not fair to leave you uninformed, vulnerable to Adrian's shifting moods and temper.  Let me begin with Clairissa." 

He rolled his eyes to the vaulting overhead and back again as he chose his next words.

"Clairissa was a small, delicate thing—petite, fragile, like a doll.  She stood just under five feet."  He sighed heavily.  "Need I expound on the difficulties such women have in childbirth, their hips often too narrow to deliver a babe?

"Clairissa labored three days.  You would have had to have known her to understand how much she loathed the least physical pain.  You can imagine her screeching—and shall I add cursing—that the pain of her labor wrought.  Her screams could be heard throughout Sherringham. 

"I stayed with Adrian much of the time, outside her bedchamber.  The attending doctor was not her regular physician.  He had been drawn out of town on personal matters.  The doctor who arrived—a Dr. Anderson—was visiting from Edinburgh. 

"Deep in the hours of the third night, he came to Adrian with grim news.  Clairissa and their child would be dead by morning unless something drastic was done or a miracle intervened.  She was exhausted and weakening by the minute.  To be blunt, she could not pass the babe.  Dr. Anderson suggested a radical procedure, which he claimed to have seen used on occasion.  He proposed breaking the mother's pelvic bones to deliver the babe.  With luck, he could save both his patients." 

"He broke her pelvic bones?"  Vanessa's blood ran cold.   "How ghastly.  Did Adrian agree?"

"He had no choice.  He was about to lose them both either way." 

Vanessa closed her lashes against the image, her hand moving to her throat.  "Poor Clairissa."

"As you can well imagine, the events of the night utterly destroyed Adrian.  To his credit, after he’d given the doctor approval to go forward with the procedure, Adrian never left the corridor outside Clairissa's room."  Lawrence shifted, and glanced toward the altar.  "I confess I was far less noble and could not bear to stay.  I can still hear her screams.  I'm sure Adrian does, too."

Vanessa fell silent beside Lawrence.  She understood now what Adrian had meant when he said Clairissa cursed him still. 

"And so the procedure failed and mother and child were both lost," she commented softly, stating the obvious.

Lawrence released another, deep-held breath.  "Yes.  Only later was it discovered that the doctor had been drinking heavily at Clairissa's bedside.  Neither Adrian nor I guessed it.  He didn't appear inebriated nor did we notice the smell of alcohol.  But hell, we'd been drinking ourselves."

Vanessa digested this, careful to form no judgments.  "I imagine Adrian blames himself for Clairissa's death, not only for getting her with child, but for approving the doctor's plan and not knowing he was drunk."

"Yes, very much so."

She wet her lips.  "That still doesn't explain how anyone could accuse him of murdering Clairissa."

Lawrence looked at her squarely, holding her gaze.  "The suspicions arose after Olivia's death.  That is when the first accusations began to surface about Clairissa.  It was no secret their marriage was troubled.  Clairissa made sure of that."

"I'm not sure I understand."

"You would have to have known her.  Clairissa was raised like a princess of royalty and used to having her perfect world and everything in it perfectly her own way.  She thought Adrian perfect, too, which is why she pursued him with such zeal.  But no one told her about the realities of marriage until the morning she was deposited on the church steps."

Lawrence studied his fingertips a moment before looking back. 

"Pardon me for being blunt, but she did not cope well with that particular reality.  She discovered that one thing she could not change was nature itself.  Nor could she totally deny her husband his marital rights, though it is my impression she tried mightily.  Her hysterics were real enough, and I'm sure she deemed herself misused.  What I cannot forgive her for was trying to convince others that Adrian was brutalizing her.  Most saw through her complaints.  They were as transparent as air and had just as much substance." 

Lawrence wiped a hand over his face, as if wishing to forget it all.  "Sorry, I suppose I'm the one becoming the gossip now, but you wished to understand.  The short of it is, Clairissa made the most wretched of wives.  Some even thought her unbalanced.  And later, others believed Adrian took the chance offered him, knowing full well the doctor was drunk and incompetent and that the procedure would fail."

"That is reprehensible," Vanessa protested.  "Did they also believe he meant to kill his own child?"