A Rose at Midnight

by Jacqueline Navin

  His brother’s next words nearly knocked Magnus off his feet. “Of course she is, any idiot could see that. Are you telling me you didn’t know?”

  “I guess this idiot didn’t see it.”

  “Magnus, I would have thought you would have realized it most of all. She is devoted to you.”

  “I can hardly believe it is sincere. Do you expect me to trust her after she has lied and cheated me?”

  “Well, you said she had a reason. And your reputation certainly wouldn’t have encouraged her to come to you with her troubles.”

  Magnus grunted. “That’s what she said.”

  “Do you love her?”

  Magnus glared, staring hard so that David would regret his impertinent question and not press for an answer. He should have known better. David said, “Well, do you?”

  “I am not the type of man who falls in love.”

  It was not an answer. They both knew it.

  “So, what are you going to do now?” David asked.

  The silence stretched long. The sound of the grandfather clock became a deafening rhythm. Finally, Magnus answered. “Damned if I know.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Magnus had elected to meet Caractacus Green in his offices on Burton Street. A not so elegant part of town, but not shabby either.

  The damn fool had tried to keep him waiting, a mistake Magnus had quickly rectified by storming into the man’s office and telling his other client to get the hell out.

  Green was outraged. “I don’t get paid enough for this kind of harassment, even from an earl.”

  “You get paid plenty, more than my own solicitor. Now, where the hell is that report?”

  Mr. Green grumbled as he sorted through stacks of papers. “I couldn’t find anything. I did, however, manage to get the names of all of the men who proposed marriage to her during her two seasons. By the way, there was never the slightest hint of scandal during that time. All of the men involved were gentlemen of quality. No evidence can be found that they are involved in any way with the countess, even as far back as last year. You’ll see—”

  “Yes, it is all here,” Magnus said, frowning as he flipped through the carefully scripted pages. “What about that one fellow I told you. about?”

  “William Linny? Perfectly respectable. Fifth son to a duke, poor as a church mouse until he turned an old mill his father bought him into a decent moneymaker. Does well enough.”

  “Tell me about the brother.”

  “James Wembly, yes. Seven years old. Been sick since he was a small child.”

  “Why is it this fact was not picked up in your initial report?”

  Mr. Green gave as good as he got, staring at the irate earl without flinching. “They kept the boy away from people. As they did not socialize with their neighbors, not many knew. When I got hint of it, it was hard to track down. His doctor wouldn’t talk to me, but I got a few gossipy neighbors to tell me about the Wemblys. Seems they weren’t well liked in their neighborhood. People got the idea the Wemblys thought themselves too good for the east end.”

  “East end! My God, man, that is where they lived?”

  Mr. Green wrinkled his fastidious nose. “You should see it. My runner tells me it was positive squalor. Every cent went to the boy’s medicine, you see. When they were in Cambridgeshire, there were folks at the Barrister’s Ordinary that saw him, and report a boy in significantly better health than what was said about him in London. Now, he and his mother are at a sanatorium in Switzerland, but they are planning a visit to London.”

  “Yes, my wife has mentioned they are coming.” Actually, it was one of the few things Caroline had said to him in the last two weeks. Since he had challenged her, she had kept mostly to her room. He had moved to another bedroom. They avoided one another.

  That wasn’t completely true, he amended. She had made attempts to speak to him. And he had been unforgivably rude.

  His fist crumpled the pile of papers Green had given him. “This tells me nothing I did not know already. I paid you handsomely, Green. I want information.”

  “I cannot help it if the information you already have is accurate. These are the facts.” Mr. Green sniffed. “And you are not paying me all that handsomely.”

  This was the second time the man had said this. Was he mad? Magnus was distracted by Green’s next words. “Did your wife tell you about her father?”

  “I know he was a bounder.”

  “More than that, the man was of horrendous moral character. He had a sick child at home, and he spent all his money on women and drink. He left them destitute, which is how they ended up in the east end. Mrs. Wembly took in laundry while Caroline Wembly accepted a position as clerk at a bookstore. That was a rather well-kept secret, the laundry. But not much escapes notice when families live, literally, on top of one another. The bookseller’s shop was respectable, though. It was from one of the countess’ fellow workers I gleaned an interesting piece of information.”

  What he was hearing made Magnus cringe. He didn’t like the way it made the coldness inside him ache.

  Green leaned forward. “Lucy is a friend of one of my young apprentices. She told him that the countess hated her father so vehemently, she could barely stand to hear him even referred to.”

  “As well I can imagine,” Magnus said.

  “Yes, well, there was a particular comment Lucy remembers the countess saying, one which she could not recall in its entirety. However, she clearly remembers the countess making reference to her father keeping his hands to himself. Lucy was left with the distinct impression the countess,” Green paused, a delicate womanly blush tingeing his neck, “was referring to herself.”

  “You mean her father—” Magnus broke off the thought, not able to utter it aloud. His mind reeled. He knew that such things were, tragically. not unheard of. Not that he had ever thought much about it before. But now, the thought of Caroline in the hands of an incestuous father made him want to roar in outrage.

  He stood. “I’ve heard enough. We need to settle your fee now, for I won’t be needing your services any longer.”

  Magnus’ brain was too befuddled to register the fact that Mr. Green’s fee was, indeed, much lower than Magnus would have thought based on past transactions. After he paid him, he grabbed the report and stalked out of the office.

  On the way home, Magnus read the entire report in the back of the carriage, glad he had arranged for a driver today. His stomach clenched as he read the part about Louis Wembly. He read it through again, very carefully.

  On impulse, he directed his driver to go to the east end of London. The man gave him a dubious look, but Magnus did not have to repeat himself. They rode down squalid streets amid a stench so choking he could barely breathe.

  “Find this address,” he instructed the driver. Within minutes, they pulled up in front of a row of houses built in the Elizabethan style of each story overhanging the other so that hardly any sunlight reached the refuse-strewn street.

  “Here, your lordship,” the driver said.

  Magnus stared, caught in the grip of incredulity and disgust.

  He sat back, turning away from the window. “Home.”

  Louis Wembly had reduced his family to this. He had done worse than that. It was a good thing the wretched man was dead, because Magnus had no doubt he would dispatch him to the bowels of hell himself if the lecher had still been alive.

  As sick as he felt on Caroline’s behalf, Magnus was even more put out with himself. She had tried to tell him how her father had clouded her judgment when it came to trusting. Magnus had taken it personally, too wounded by her betrayal to see it. Yet, who could imagine such a horrible thing?

  When he arrived home, he was actually reluctant to go inside. He felt as if he needed more time to digest the shattering discoveries of the last hour. As luck would have it, Caroline was in the yellow parlor when he entered.

  “Early for tea,” he said, hovering in the doorway.

  “I get hungry
more often,” she said. He still could detect no change in her figure, other than a more pronounced fullness to her breasts. Her waist was still slim. It seemed like ages since he had seen her undressed. “Would you like to join me? I have your favorite Danish.”

  That bit of thoughtfulness made him smile. Against the proddings of that primitive isolate in the back of his brain, he stepped into the room and sat down.

  “What’s that?” Caroline asked as she poured him a cup of Indian tea. She motioned to Green’s report. He had forgotten he still had it in his hand.

  “Business papers,” he said, tucking them under his seat. When Caroline passed him the tray of sweets, he noticed her hand was shaking. So she was nervous. Blast, so was he. It had been a long time since they were easy in each other’s company.

  “When are your mother and brother due to arrive?”

  “In a week’s time.”

  “I shall be able to meet James.”

  “Yes, he is an enchanting boy. I hope you will like him.”

  “I’m sure I shall.”

  Inane! He wanted to shout—Caroline, tell me about what your father did to you. Is that why you couldn’t believe in me?

  Or was it my own fault?

  That was really the crux of it. He had railed against her not being willing to trust him. The true issue was—was he worthy of that trust? Would he have turned away a woman because of an ill brother?

  He didn’t know. The man he was recoiled in horror at such a thought. But the man he had been might just have been that selfish.

  Caroline was watching him. “Magnus?”

  He knew she was worried about his health. She always got anxious whenever he got pensive. It must resemble the early stages of an attack.

  “I am fine. Just not hungry.” He was surprised when she put the last morsel of one of the large, doughy pastries that were made up just for him into her mouth.

  Noticing his look, she smiled sheepishly. “I’m developing a sweet tooth, I suspect.”

  “My son is the one with the sweet tooth, and he is making his mama give him what he wants.”

  She looked startled. It had been a long time since he had said something light and teasing. Her lashes lowered quickly, but not before he saw the sparkle of moisture in them.

  Feeling awkward, he stood and retrieved the document he had stored under his chair. “I’m really not hungry after all. I have some work in the library I had better see to.”

  “Very well.” She appeared stricken. He walked out, fearful an emotional scene was about to erupt. He was not ready yet for that.

  He had only closed his door for a few minutes when an earsplitting scream rent the air. Racing out to the hallway, he almost collided with Dorothy, a servant, who was standing in the doorway of the yellow parlor. He caught her up against him to avoid knocking her down.

  “The mistress!” she cried, grabbing two handfuls of his coat. “In there. On the floor.”

  Simultaneously, Magnus’ heart dropped to the pit of his stomach and his feet moved, racing past the terrified maid and into the parlor.

  Caroline was lying on the carpet, curled up in a tight ball. She didn’t move when he shouted her name. He dropped down beside her, frantically feeling for her heartbeat. His relief was tremendous when he felt the steady flutter at her throat.

  “Send a footman to fetch a doctor. And none of the nincompoops who attended me. Find someone new. Now, woman!”

  Dorothy was off in a flash, and Magnus scooped his wife up in his arms and hurried her to her bedroom, taking the steps two at a time.

  He quickly loosened her clothing, not knowing at all if it would help. She was sweating and thrashing. She was hot to touch.

  When she opened her eyes, Magnus said, “Cara, darling, it’s me. It’s Magnus. Can you hear me?”

  He recognized the green color that had oozed into her face as a precursor of stomach ailment and managed to get a clean chamber pot to her before she succumbed. He held her head, murmuring soft words, telling her it was all right, that he was here and he wouldn’t allow anything to happen to her.

  When she was quiet, he stripped off her clothing and tucked her into bed. He had Jaudanum in his room, but hesitated to give her any. She seemed to be sleeping well without it. The sudden thought that perhaps she had slipped into unconsciousness made him shake her awake.

  “What? Who.?” Her head lolled, her words were slurred.

  “Cara, my love, it’s Magnus. You are safe. Sleep now, I’m sorry I disturbed you.”

  “Magnus?”

  “Yes, darling. I’m here.”

  “You don’t hate me?”

  His heart flipped in his chest. “No, Cara mia, I don’t hate you. I never hated you, darling. I just didn’t understand, that’s all.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Shhh, rest now, sweetheart. Rest.”

  She relaxed, soothed by his endearments and the softness of his voice.

  She retched three more times within the next hour. By then Magnus had realized that Caroline’s symptoms were precisely his own.

  Mad, insane thoughts flooded his brain. He had never thought to ask if his ailment could be contagious. But that was absurd, heart ailments were not transmittable things.

  Yet how could it be she was experiencing the identical illness? Then he remembered something, something that knocked the wind out of him and left him gasping for air.

  Lord, it was so obvious, so utterly and completely plain to see, and he was experiencing the strangest inability to comprehend it.

  Wait. Wait. He cautioned himself to push the implications aside. When the doctor arrived, he would ask him. For now, Caroline was gravely ill, and he could barely think straight with his near panic over her and the child.

  The doctor was not long in coming. A Josiah Hebbs. He seemed a competent fellow, and Magnus was immediately heartened at the short man’s quiet self-assurance and concerned manner.

  Magnus refused to heed the physician’s gentle requests for privacy while he examined the countess. Not that Magnus openly rebelled. He simply ignored him until Hebbs went ahead and pulled down the coverlet. He listened to her heart, then examined her body for any marks. “How long has she been running a fever?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. I only just came home. Less than an hour ago. Maybe longer, I don’t remember. We had tea. She looked all right then.”

  “Did she make any complaints?”

  “Only of being hungry.”

  The physician nodded slowly. “It seems she may have eaten something that disagreed with her.”

  Magnus’ insides twisted. His breath shortened as his blood pumped furiously in his veins.

  The doctor continued, “Perhaps some spoiled meat, or a bad piece of fish.”

  “She was eating pastry.”

  “Pastry? If it had cream in it, it could have been spoiled. Hmm.” Hebbs’ voice trailed off as he shook his head. “Not the right symptoms, though. Similar, but not.”

  “Mr. Hebbs.” Magnus motioned him to the corner of the room, lest Caroline awaken and overhear. “My wife’s symptoms are remarkably like my own when I am in the grip of one of my attacks. If indeed she ate something to make her ill, could it be,” he paused, a plethora of hope balanced on the next word, “poison?”

  The physician frowned. “Poison?” He looked over his shoulder at his sleeping patient, walked slowly back to her side. He lifted her eyelids and listened to her heart again. When he lifted his head from her chest, Magnus could see a disturbed expression on the older man’s face.

  He came away. “It could be digitalis.”

  “Is it dangerous for her? For the baby?” Magnus felt as though he was holding onto sanity with a thread. Please, dear God, you have been surprisingly generous with me so far. Just this one last thing.

  “It shouldn’t be. Digitalis can be fatal, but she would be showing worse symptoms by now if it were a seriously large dose. She is sleeping peacefully, and her heartbeat is strong. As for
the babe, it is too soon to tell. There is nothing to be done but wait and see if she begins to miscarry.”

  Magnus bowed his head, breathing hard against the terrible weight pressing down upon his chest.

  “I’ll look in on her first thing in the morning,” Hebbs said, putting his instruments back in his black bag.

  “I need to speak with you,” Magnus said. The doctor looked at him as if he had been expecting as much. Hebbs had probably heard of his case from his colleagues. Magnus could see understanding in his eyes. Hebbs shook his head. “Not here, and I doubt you wish to leave her.”

  “No.” Magnus glanced over at Caroline. She hadn’t moved. “Tomorrow, then.”

  “Yes, my lord.” He left, closing the door behind him with a soft click of the latch.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Caroline awoke confused and disoriented. When she saw Magnus sitting by her bed, she asked, “What happened?”

  Magnus had spent his night pondering that very question. Sometime after midnight, he had forbidden his mind to dwell on it anymore. After all, he could not be certain his suspicions were founded. He wouldn’t know anything until he talked to Hebbs.

  “You were taken ill yesterday. The doctor says you ate something that didn’t agree with you.” Which was not a lie.

  She lifted a hand to her head. “Headache?” he asked.

  “A touch.” She then took notice of her state of nakedness. Her eyes widened, and she blushed.

  “I undressed you. The doctor examined you for bites or rashes that might have indicated why you were ill. He found nothing.”

  “Oh,” she said, drawing up the coverlet to just under her chin. It amused him, this modesty she was displaying all of a sudden. Not only had he viewed every inch of her body, he knew it by heart. A joking comment was on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed it just in time. He had almost forgotten the state of affairs between them.

  That amazed him somewhat. The Earl of Rutherford never forgot a grudge.

  “Are you feeling hungry?” She nodded. He rose and yanked on the bellpull.

  “Did you stay here all night?” she asked. Her voice was timid. She didn’t know quite how to take him.