The Ghost (17 page)

And with the utmost gentleness and caution, afraid it would disintegrate at his touch, he turned the next page, and then he realized what he had in his hand. This was no hymnal. These were diaries, Sarah's journals. His eyes grew wide as he began to read. It was like a letter from her to all of them. She was telling them what had happened to her, where she had been, whom she had seen, what had been dear to her, how she had met Fran+oois ' how she had come there, and from where. And as Charlie began reading the words that had survived two centuries, a tear rolled down his cheek and fell on his hand. He could scarcely believe his good fortune, and he felt a shiver of excitement run through him as he began to read.

Chapter 8

SARAH FERGUSON STOOD at the window, looking out over the moors, as she had for the last two days. Although it was August, the mists had hung low since morning, the sky was dark, and it was easy to discern that there would be a storm before much longer. There was a dark, ominous look to everything around them, but it suited the way she felt, as she stood and waited. Her husband, Edward, Earl of Balfour, had been gone for four days.

He had said he was going hunting four days before, and he had taken five of his servants with him. He had told Sarah he was meeting friends. And she never asked questions. She knew better. She had told the men who were searching for him to look for him at the inn, or in the next town, or even among the serving girls at their farms or on their property. She knew Edward well, had known him for a long time. She knew his cruelty, his infidelity, and his unkindness, the mercilessness of his tongue, and the viciousness of the back of his hand. She had failed him bitterly and often. The sixth child she'd borne him, dead at birth this time, had been buried only three months before. The only thing Edward had ever wanted from her was an heir, and after years with her, he still didn't have one. All the children she had borne him had miscarried or been stillborn, or died within hours of their birth.

Her own mother had died in childbed with her second child, and Sarah had lived alone with her father since she was a little girl. He was already old when Sarah was born, and when Sarah's mother died, he never remarried. Sarah had been so beautiful, so whimsical, and such a joy to him, and he had cherished her. And as he grew older, and became inci'easingly frail, Sarah nursed him devotedly, and kept him alive for years longer than he might have without her. And when she was fifteen, it was obvious even to him that he couldn't last much longer. He knew he had no choice anymore, he could not delay, a decision had to be made. He had to find her a husband before he died.

There were numerous possibilities within the county, an earl, a duke, a viscount, some of them important men. But it was Balfour who was the most anxious, who wanted her so desperately, and whose lands were adjacent to her father's. It would make a remarkable estate, he'd pointed out to Sarah's father, one of the largest and most important in England. Sarah's father had added enormous blocks of land to his own over the years, and she had a dowry fit for a monarch.

It was Balfour who won her in the end. He was too astute, his interest too keen, his arguments too convincing to be ignored. There had been another, younger man, whom she far preferred to him, but Edward had assured her father that, having lived with an old man for so long, she would never be happy with a boy close to her own age. She needed someone more like her father. And Sarah knew so little of Edward, she didn't know enough to beg for mercy, to plead to be spared.

She was traded for land, and became the Countess of Balfour at sixteen. The wedding was small, the estate huge, and the penalties endless. Her father died within five weeks of her wedding.

Edward beat her regularly after that, until she got pregnant. Then he only threatened and berated her, slapping her as often as he dared, and telling her he would kill her if she failed to produce an heir. Most of the time, he was far from home, traveling over his estates, lying drunk in pubs, ravaging servant girls, or staying with friends all over England. It was always a bleak day when he returned. But the bleakest of all was when their first child died within hours of its birth. It had been the only ray of hope in her life. Edward was less distraught than she, as it was only a girl. The next three had been sons, two stillborn, one born far too early, and the last two had been girls again. She had held the last one for hours, lifeless, wrapped in swaddling clothes, just as she had prepared all of them. She had been half out of her mind with grief and pain, and they had had to take the baby from her and lay it to rest. Edward had barely spoken to her since then.

Although Edward was careful to hide his cruelty to her, like everyone in the county, she knew he had countless bastards, seven of them sons, but that was not the same. He had already warned her that if she did not produce an heir, he would recognize one of them in the end, anything rather than pass the title and his estates to his brother, Haversham, whom he hated.

I will leave you nothing, he had spat at her. I will kill you before I let you live on the face of this earth without me, if you do not give me an heir. At twenty-four, she had been married to him for eight years, and a part of her had been killed by him long since. There was a dead look in her eyes that she herself saw in the mirror sometimes. And particularly since the last infant died, she didn't care anymore if she lived or died. Her father would have been beside himself if he had known the fate to which he had condemned her. She had no life, no hope, no dreams. She was beaten, abused, detested, scorned, by a man she loathed, and with whom she had been forced to sleep for the past eight years, and constantly try to give him children, above all an heir.

At fifty-four, he was still a handsome man, he had aristocratic good looks, and young girls on farms and in pubs, who didn't know his ways, still thought him handsome and charming, but within a short time, they would be used and cast aside and savaged by him, and if a child came later of it, Edward had no interest in the girl or the baby. He cared for nothing, he was fueled by jealousy and hatred of his younger brother, and by the greed that caused him to devour every piece, of land upon which he could lay his hands, including her father's lands that became his when the old man died. Edward had long since used all her money, sold most of her mother's jewels, and taken even that which her father had left her. Edward had used her in every way he possibly could, and whatever was left of her was of no interest to him. Still, even now, after so many disappointments, so much tragedy in her young lif-o, all he wanted from her was an heir, and she knew that in the end, child or not, he would see her dead trying. She didn't even care anymore. She only hoped that the end would come soon. Some accident, some treachery, some merciless beating, a baby in her womb never to be born with whom she could slip into another world. She wanted nothing from him, only death and the freedom she would derive from it. And as she waited for him to return now, she was sure that he would come riding in on the spiteful horse he rode, fresh from some vile adventure. She couldn't imagine anything happening to him. She was certain that he was lying drunk somewhere, with a harlot in his arms. And eventually he would come home in order to abuse her. She was grateful for his absence, though this time everyone was worried, except Sarah, who knew he was too mean to die, too wily to disappear for long.

She turned from the window at last and looked at the clock on the mantel again. It was just after four. She wondered if she should send for Haversham, if she should ask him to come to search for Edward. He was Edward's half brother and would have come if she asked him. But it seemed foolish to worry him, and if Edward found him there when he came home, he would be livid, and he would take it out on her. She decided to wait yet another day before she called Haversham to her.

She walked slowly into the room again, and sat down, her wide green satin gown shimmering like a jewel, with a dark green velvet bodice, which molded her lithe figure so tighdy, she looked like a young girl again. And the creamy gauze of her blouse beneath the gown seemed almost the same color as her skin. There was something very delicate, and deceptively frail about her, but she was sturdier than she looked, or she wouldn't have survived the beatings.

The ivory of her skin was in sharp contrast with her shining black hair. She wore it in a long braid looped around several times to form a large bun at the back of her head. Sarah had always been elegant without being stylish. There was a classic dignity to the way she carried herself that belied the despair in her eyes. She always had a kind word for the servants, always went out to the farms to help with the sick children, and bring them nourishment. She was always there to help them.

She had a deep passion for literature and art, and had traveled to Italy and France with her father as a young girl, but she had been nowhere since. Edward kept her locked up, and treated her like a piece of furniture. Her exceptional beauty was something he didn't even notice anymore, it was of absolutely no consequence to him. He treated his horses better than he treated Sarah.

It was Haversham who had always noticed her, and cared about her, who saw the sorrow in her eyes, and was distressed whenever he heard that she was ailing. He had been appalled for years at the way his brother treated her, but there was very little he could do to make Sarah's life less of a hell than it was at the hands of his brother. He had been twenty-one when Edward married her, and by the time she bore her husband their first child, Haversham had been deeply in love with her. It had taken him another two years to tell her, but when he did, she had been terrified of what would happen if she reciprocated his feelings. Edward would kill them both. She forced Haversham to swear he would never speak of it again. Yet, there was no denying what they felt. For long years now, she had also been in love with him. But she kept it a secret. She would never, ever have told him, for to do so would have been to risk his life, which seemed far more important to her now than her own.

They both knew there was never any hope of getting together. And four years earlier, he had finally married one of his cousins, a foolish but well-intentioned seventeen-year-old girl named Alice. She had grown up in Cornwall, and was in many ways far too simple for her husband, but it was a good match economically, their families had been pleased, and in the past four years, she had given him four adorable little girls. But other than Haversham himself, there was still no heir, and Haversham's daughters did not solve the problem, since women could not inherit land or titles.

As the light began to fade, and Sarah quietly lit the candles, she heard a stirring in the courtyard, and closed her eyes as she trembled, praying he had not returned yet. As wicked as she knew it was of her to think so, her life would be forever blessed if indeed something had befallen him, and he never came back at all. She could not bear to think of spending the rest of her life beside him, however short it was, it would be far, far too long to be beside Edward.

Setting the candle down, she walked swiftly to the window, and then she saw it, his horse, riderless, being led by half a dozen of their men. And then behind them, she saw his body laid out on his cloak, on a farmer's cart. He looked as though he were dead. Her heart pounded like a bird in her chest as she waited. If he was dead, they would remain solemn, and someone would come to tell her. But they began running and shouting for help almost as soon as they entered the courtyard. Someone was sent to fetch the doctor, and four of the men set him on a board, and began carrying him into the house. She had no idea yet what had happened to him, but her heart sank as she realized he was alive, and they were still hoping to save him.

God, forgive me ' she whispered as a door exploded at the far end of the huge drawing room where she had been sitting, and his men carried him in. He looked dead to her, but she knew he wasn't.

It's his lordship, he's fallen, they said urgently, but Edward never stirred. She motioned them to follow her upstairs to his bedroom, and she watched quietly as they set him down on his bed. He was still wearing the clothes he'd worn when he left, and she saw that his shirt was torn and dusty. His face was gray and his beard was full of brambles.

He had started his journey with a woman at a farm nearby, and he had sent his men on to an inn to await him. And they had waited for him patiently there for the better part of three days. It wasn't unusual for him to take that long to dally, and they only laughed and joked as they waited for him, and drank gallons of ale and whiskey. And then finally they went to find him again, only to discover, when he did not surface, that he'd left the woman on the farm three days before. They called the sheriff out and began a search for him, and it was only that morning that they had found him. Edward had fallen from his horse and had lain delirious for days. At first they thought his neck was broken, but it wasn't. He had come to his senses once for a moment on the way home, and then fallen unconscious again, and now he looked as though he were dead as he lay there. To Sarah they said only that he'd had a bad fall and, they suspected, hit his head very sharply.

When did it happen? she asked quietly, and she did not believe them when they said that morning. He had blood and vomit caked on him that looked several days old. She knew almost nothing to tell the doctor, when he came, and the men took him aside and told him quietly what had happened. He was familiar with these things. His lordship's wife did not need to know where he'd been or what he'd been doing: What he needed was to be bled now, and some leeches, and they'd have to wait for the outcome. He was a healthy, vital man, with a strong constitution, and even at his age the doctor thought it was possible, though not certain, that he might survive his mishap.

Sarah stood next to him dutifully while they bled him, and he never stirred. It was the leeches she hated most of all, and when the doctor left finally, she looked almost as ill as Edward as she left the room. She went to her desk and wrote to Haversham then. He needed to know what had happened, and if there was any danger that Edward might the during the night, he should be there.