The Dark Unwinding (24 page)

“I went to the rose garden,” he said finally, “and saw the broken glass.”

I didn’t answer.

“You’re hurt,” he said, reaching for my cut hand.

“It’s nothing.” I crossed my arms, and said quickly, “I want you to know that it wasn’t his fault. Davy, and the opium, I mean. He didn’t want to. Ben was … he was making him.”

Lane put his hands back in his pockets, and I listened to the long, slow release of his breath. His anger seemed to have the ability to change the air. I could feel it on my skin. But he only said, “And you’re certain that he wanted that fish to explode, and that he was taking it to Paris?”

“Yes. The stuff was like cotton that hasn’t been spun, and it had blown a hole in the floor of the cellar. There was a cask of it on the boat. I suppose that’s what … And Ben told me once that France was making ships encased in iron, ships that could not be sunk with cannon fire.”

Lane ran a hand through his hair, thinking perhaps, as I was, of how the iron boiler of the steamboat had flown into the air in pieces. “My father,” he said slowly, “he used to talk all the time about the war, and the sea battles between the British and French. If France had had ships that England couldn’t sink, or if they could’ve sunk all of England’s, then …”

Then this garden would have belonged to France. All of Britain would have belonged to France, and Europe with it. I understood it well. I remembered Ben’s look of satisfaction when he’d said that ideas could be rewarding. “I think he was expecting to be very rich, indeed,” I whispered. And then I shuddered. That other look of satisfaction had come unbidden to my mind, when Ben had kissed me and then thrust me aside, just before his almost friendly suggestion of my suicide. The tension I could sense in the shadows before me suddenly intensified.

“Did he hurt you?”

I shook my head, and the shape in the darkness came nearer, until I could smell the river water and silt and the unmistakable scent that was Lane. He reached again for my hands, and against every wish of my being I took one small step back. He stopped and went very still.

“I see,” he said simply.

I closed my eyes. How I wished I’d never come to Stranwyne Keep. Mrs. Jefferies had been right. I had been the one to make it difficult. I had ripped myself into tiny pieces, and a hundred years at Aunt Alice’s could have never hurt me so badly. But my course was now set.

“When Mr. Babcock arrives,” I said, measuring my words, “he will manage the arrangements for repairs.”

I could feel the gray gaze on my closed eyelids. “And then you will go,” he said.

“Yes. I’ll do as he asked from the beginning. I’ll go back to my aunt and tell her as many lies as I can think of. It won’t last for long, but I will make it last … for as long as I can.”

“Katharine,” the low voice said.

I opened my eyes. I couldn’t help it. The wind gusted around my back.

“I would have taken care of you. Both of you.”

I looked back into his shadows, at the dark brows and unshaven chin, and knew with the same unyielding certainty as on the night of my birthday that Lane was telling me the truth. He would have cared for us as long as we needed him, and not only for the sake of my uncle. He would have done it for me. “I know,” I whispered. “I know you would have. And now, let me do the same for you, and for Uncle Tully. There’s nothing more important than keeping my aunt away from Stranwyne Keep.”

Instead of answering, he came nearer, near enough that I could hear his breath, feel the cool of the darkness change with his warmth as a hand came near my cheek. I took a step back, my insides splitting in two, and then took another, and another before I broke into a run for the kitchen. When I put my hand on the latch, I heard him coming after me, fast on the gravel. I yanked open the door, not wanting him to make it any harder than it was, not wanting him to see me cry, but my gaze went straight to Mary. She was pressed flat against the kitchen wall, eyes round amid the freckles, her chin jerking frantically toward the hearth. I turned, and up from the smoky shadows rose Alice Tulman.

I
stood absolutely still, my breath cut short, the shock of seeing my aunt in that moment, in that kitchen, like a physical blow. Lane ran up behind me, grabbing my shoulder as if he would turn me around, but he stopped, and I could feel him near my back, tense and unmoving. He dropped his hand.

“Katharine,” Aunt Alice said.

She could put many meanings into my name. She could say, “You shock me,” “You disappoint me,” and “You are a worthless excuse for a person,” all with two simple syllables. It was efficient of her, really, and jarring compared to the way I had last heard that word spoken in the garden. But it brought me back to myself. We had lost, everything was lost, but despair would have to be dealt with later.

“Aunt,” I replied. “What a surprise to see you here.”

“I’m sure,” she purred.

I came into the kitchen and untied my kerchief. “Please, do sit down, Aunt. You must have had a tiring journey.”

She took in my state of dress, and then Lane, dirty and wild-headed, filling the darkness of the doorway to the lintel, and lowered herself back into the chair. I saw she was sitting on the very edge of it, to save the purity of her traveling costume, and I vowed to keep her there as long as possible. It gave me pleasure to imagine her with an aching arse. Lane shut away the night noises of the garden and came to stand beside me, arms crossed.

“Aunt, this is Mr. Moreau. Mr. Moreau, this is my aunt, Mrs. Tulman. Mr. Moreau is my uncle’s … apprentice, Aunt.”

Lane inclined his head slightly, and Aunt Alice just deigned to do the same. Mary was still jerking her neck at me, this time toward the corridor. Evidently she had something to say.

“And I suppose you have met Mary Brown, my maid. And hello, Hannah. I had not seen you there.” On the hearth stool in the corner was poor Hannah, Aunt Alice’s personal maid, whom I’d always suspected of lasting so long in my aunt’s service because she was so very good at cringing. She gave me a weak smile.

“Dear Katharine,” my aunt said, straightening the lace at her sleeve. “You are quite friendly with the help here. How pleasant. But I must admit I am concerned by your appearance, my pet. You seem to have been in some sort of accident. It was truly kind of you not to write and tell me all about it. Obviously you wished to spare me worry on the subject.”

I’d forgotten the cut on my forehead. I smiled at her. “I am always happy to spare you any discomfort, Aunt. And indeed, I do wish that you could have written to me …”

Aunt Alice raised a carefully plucked brow.

“… so that we could have been best prepared for your comfort now.” I glanced again at Mary, who I truly thought might injure her neck, while Lane’s appraising gaze moved back and forth between all of us. “Excuse me for one moment, Aunt. Mary and I will just discuss the preparations for your room.”

Mary was out the door like a shot, and I ignored my aunt’s indignation to follow, Lane coming just behind. Mary pulled us both down the corridor as soon as the kitchen door was shut.

“What to do, Miss, what to do? I was coming down to get you and what do I find but her ladyship in the kitchen!”

“All right, Mary. I know.” A stampede of village children came down the hall then, seven of them breaking around us like a wave as they played a game of chase through the corridors. If Aunt Alice was listening at the door, I hoped their noise might mask our conversation. “We’ll just have to put her in my room, it’s the only decent one in the house, and —”

“But Miss! It’s Mr. Tully! He —”

I turned to Lane. “Is there anywhere else he would be comfortable? He can’t be near her….”

“Miss!” Mary was nearly jumping up and down with impatience. “I’m trying to tell you Mr. Tully won’t talk. He won’t even move, Miss! I was checking on him this morning, and then this afternoon, and I thought to myself, ‘My, how he’s sleeping!’ But now he’s just lying there, staring and staring, and … I think he may have,” her voice dropped to less than a whisper, “
soiled
the bedclothes, Miss!”

I stared at her, then looked to Lane.

“I thought he was sleeping earlier, too,” Lane said, and so had I. Had he really not left that bed all day? My feet moved, taking me straight to my uncle, but Lane put out a hand.

“No. Deal with her.” He glanced toward the kitchen. “You’re the only one that can. I’ll go to Mr. Tully.”

I bit my lip. He was right. “But what could be wrong with him?”

The gray eyes looked full into mine. “You know. The workshop is gone.”

Now that all I wanted in the world was to save my uncle, everything I did seemed bound to destroy him. “Mary,” I said after a moment, “run down to Mrs. Jefferies’s cottage and tell her what has happened. Between the two of you find somewhere for my aunt to sleep and fix it up as best you can. I don’t care if there are six children in there already, just make it at the opposite end of the house from my uncle. I’ll keep her in the kitchen as long as possible. And tell Mrs. Jefferies to bring breakfast to the drawing room at seven sharp. To the drawing room, mind you, and have a fire built there.”

“I’ll do that,” Lane offered.

“We don’t want her wandering the house if we can help it. Perhaps we can feed her and she’ll go.” But I knew this was not so. My aunt smelled blood, and she was ready to spill it. “And let’s keep Mr. Lockwood away, too, if we can. No one but the three of us, and Mrs. Jefferies, is to know where my uncle is, is that clear? If they cannot find him, they cannot take him. Are we clear?”

Mary nodded, saucer-eyed, and started at a trot back the way she had come.

“I’ll come up as soon as I can,” I told Lane, and took exactly one step back toward the kitchen before he reached out and took my face in his hands. Before I could think or even speak, he had his lips on mine, my head held so tight that I could not have gotten away if I’d wanted to. But I didn’t want to. My arms wound around his neck, my fingers twining into his hair, and faintly I heard Mary’s snort of “Lord!” come from somewhere down the hallway. His hold on my face gentled, and he let go of me first, reaching back to untangle my fingers.

“Go, now,” he said, and put his lips once to my forehead. It was like a benediction, in case that chance should never come again.

I watched him sprint away to my uncle, my breath coming hard, and when he’d disappeared into the darkness of the corridor, I turned and found Aunt Alice in the doorway to the kitchen. Her mouth wore a tight, pinched little smile, a smile that told me just how much she’d seen, and just how much she was going to enjoy taking everything away from me. I lifted my chin, and she let me brush past her, back into the kitchen.

“I was just telling my dear niece what a free and easy way you have here at Stranwyne. It’s all so very friendly, indeed.”

Mrs. Jefferies was in the kitchen now, evidently of the opinion that I needed protection from my aunt more than Mary needed help with a bedchamber. She’d come straight from her cottage in her dressing gown and with her hair half-pinned.

“Of course it is!” Mrs. Jefferies huffed, busily removing dishes from my aunt’s reach. “Our little Katie’s a right friendly girl!”

She patted my cheek as she passed, and I tried not to grimace. Bless her, but she was not helping my cause. Aunt Alice simpered, her small eyes on me.

“So it seems. I am so looking forward to informing Mrs. Hardcastle and the other ladies of the very special friends you have made during your stay. I’m sure they will enjoy hearing of it very much.”

I met her gaze with equanimity. The children from earlier were somewhere above us now, jumping up and down on the floor, little bits of dried onion skin floating down from the braids on the ceiling to decorate my aunt’s hair. I picked up her teacup. “Do you still take two lumps in your tea, Aunt?”

“Yes, Katie dear.”

I put in three and stirred vigorously before she could do anything about it. I hoped Ben Aldridge had doctored them. I set the tea in front of her, piping hot, and said, “Toast, Aunt? I could build up the fire.” I could see that she was perspiring, her fringe of curls clinging to her forehead.

“No, thank you, dear. You are too kind.”

I came around the table as unobtrusively as possible, and handed poor Hannah a cup of her own while Aunt Alice perched on the edge of the chair, brushing onion skin from her skirt. Hannah sipped quickly, before my aunt could decide to take it away.

“Katharine,” Aunt Alice said suddenly, “where is your uncle?”

I saw Mrs. Jefferies go stock-still at the washbasin, and then look to me in alarm. I smiled sweetly at my aunt, sat down at the table across from her, and changed my expression to one of concern. “You are probably not aware, Aunt, that there has been a … catastrophe at Stranwyne. I’m afraid that’s why we were not prepared to receive you properly. The entire lower portion of the estate has been flooded, and the people there displaced.”

“Oh?” she said. “The servants were displaced, were they? How dreadful.”

“Yes. Some are even staying in the house now, temporarily.” The children upstairs squealed.

“And just how many servants were displaced, Katharine?”

I folded my hands in front of me. “All that lived there, Aunt. And my uncle is, of course, very distressed and tired from the execution of his duties. He is … ill, as a matter of fact.”

“Ill? Then perhaps I should go to him now, to see if there is any relief I could offer him.”

“No need for that!” Mrs. Jefferies interjected. I held in my sigh.

“You are always kind, Aunt. But he is resting at the moment, and it would be harmful to disturb him, I’m sure.”

Mary burst through the door, remembering, rather late, to drop my aunt a curtsy. “Your room is ready, Miss, uh, Ma’am,” she said, panting.

“Thank you, Mary,” I said quickly. “My aunt is undoubtedly tired and will wish to retire at once. We shall have breakfast in the drawing room at … eight o’clock, Aunt.” I decided to give myself a one-hour margin. “I shall send Mary to fetch you. And Aunt, I do wish to warn you that some of the lower portions of the house are in water, as I referred to earlier, and other parts are now sheltering the displaced, and other places are possibly … unsafe. So I wouldn’t wander about, if I were you. And if you should hear things in the night — odd noises, howling, screams, and such — please do not distress yourself. But do lock your door, Aunt, merely as a precaution, I assure you. Good night.”

Aunt Alice’s eyes were wide. I bobbed her a quick curtsy and left the kitchen, waiting in the shadows until Mary had taken both my aunt and Hannah away, somewhere down the corridor in the opposite direction. I would not risk Aunt Alice seeing which way I turned to go to my rooms.

Upstairs, my uncle’s blue eyes were wide and unseeing, staring into the canopy. “Uncle,” I whispered. “Uncle Tully?” He blinked once. I took his hand and put it on my cheek, but when I let go it dropped like a stone to the bedclothes. He was wearing my nightgown, I saw, and Lane had somehow managed to change out the linens. The others were in a pile by the door.

“I’ll try wrapping him,” Lane said, “but that works when he’s upset and thrashing. I’ve … never seen this.”

I nodded. “Tomorrow I will try to make my aunt go and convince her to leave me here. But this … will not be successful. Most likely I will have to go with her, and she will start the proceedings to take Stranwyne, if she hasn’t already. I’ll give you all the money she gave me to come here, and you and Mrs. Jefferies, you’ll have to take Uncle Tully away somewhere and hide him.”

“Come with us.”

I shook my head. “I’m only another mouth to feed until someone finds work. If she’ll keep letting me do the accounts, then I can change the numbers, and if I can change the numbers, I can get you money. It’s what I was going to do for myself … before.” That “before” seemed like an age ago. And I would have to make very sure Aunt Alice believed that I hated, detested, and despised keeping those books. After what she had seen in the hallway, she would need new ways to punish me. “Keep in touch with Mr. Babcock,” I said, “and I’ll do the same. He’ll pass the money along. Otherwise none of you will have anything to live on.” Mr. Babcock would be on the side of whoever was helping my uncle, I was sure of that.

“I don’t know if he will live,” Lane said, “if he has to leave here.”

“He has to.”

He looked long into my face. “And you will live with that … woman.”

I took a deep breath. “Yes. I have to.”