Rowena's Hellion

by Velda Brotherton

  She watched him in silence, ignoring the food on her plate.

  After a while he picked up one of the carefully cut triangles and took half of it in his mouth. “They’re good. Eat.”

  She jumped, as if returning from another place. “Are you all right?”

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “I have no idea. It’s so good to have you join me for tea.”

  “I apologize for my treatment of you lately. I’m afraid I allowed Wilda’s bad behavior to influence my own. You’ve been good to me, and I’ve treated you abominably these past few months.” He sipped at his tea, intense dark eyes watching her over the rim of the cup. Measuring her.

  Tears glistened in her eyes, but she blinked them away. “I’m so happy to hear you say that.”

  “Oh, then you agree that I’ve treated you badly?” He meant it as teasing, but it didn’t come out that way, and her eyes darkened.

  “No, of course not. No.” She looked down, played with her sandwich.

  “Rowena?” He laid a hand over hers. “I want us to be friends. I truly do. I’ve been a bastard, which I readily admit to. I’ll try to do better, if you’ll forgive me.” If that damn darkness doesn’t come over me.

  The feel of her hand under his sent a jolt straight through him, and he pulled away. This was too fast. He must be careful not to rush her…or himself. Take his time. Not hurt her. God, what was he thinking? He couldn’t start this with her. Getting too close to this woman would be a mistake, just as getting too close to Wilda would have been. Yet she wanted him, he could sense that. Wilda had taken an instant dislike to him, so it was easy to push her away. Not so with Rowena.

  From somewhere in the house came a loud crash. Simmons hurried to cross the room toward him. Rowena looked up. The room exploded, as if hit by a cannon ball. Her lovely face disappeared into a cloud of black smoke.

  Gunfire rumbled in the distance. Men screamed. Closer and closer came the booming of cannons, until he could no longer catch his breath. The stench of death filled his nostrils. Blood marred his vision. Where was he?

  He stumbled to his feet, the napkin floating to the floor, one foot catching the table leg so it jarred, spilling tea onto the white cloth. “Good Lord, they are everywhere. Get down, get down!”

  Hands covering his ears, he bent over and staggered toward the doorway. Turning for one last look, he expected to see the dead and dying. Through a curtain of blood, he saw instead Rowena, frozen in place, her expression one of horror. He cried out, reached toward her, had to save her, help her flee the ensuing battle. He had killed and mutilated so many he’d lost count, and now they pursued him up the incline into the darkness, where he crouched in terror. He’d lost his weapon, had nothing to fight back with.

  They came for him, blades hammering, voices shouting, and he curled into a ball in the shadowy corner and took their brutal blows. Hoped for death to put an end to this horrific battle. Once and for all.

  ****

  Blair’s shouts and stumbling footsteps disappeared up the stairs before a startled Rowena could bring herself to rise. Simmons ran out the door behind his lordship. Her napkin fluttered from her lap to the floor as she hurried across the room, sliding in spilt food and tea.

  What had happened? Had she said something, done something?

  Simmons stopped her at the doorway, touched her arm. “I’ll see to him, madam. He would not want you to see him like this.”

  “What is wrong with him? Please, can’t you tell me? What happened?” Tears spilled down her cheeks, but she ignored them. “Please. What is wrong? What did I do?”

  “Nothing, madam, you did nothing.” He lowered his gaze. “I must go to him.” From upstairs came crashing and the sound of glass breaking. “I’d better go. You might get hurt, and he would never forgive me or himself.”

  He wouldn’t hurt me. He wouldn’t. She was crying so hard the words didn’t come out but remained in her heart. Yet she could not forget the man marching up and down the dark hallway, swinging a sword at anything that moved.

  Simmons disappeared into the shadows at the top of the stairway. At that moment Tyra appeared, taking the steps two at a time. “What’s going on? Such a ruckus. Who’s being killed?”

  She ran down to meet Rowena and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “What is it? What’s happened? You look like death warmed over.”

  More yelling, then a sinister silence. Rowena stood frozen in place, Tyra’s embrace all that kept her from toppling.

  “If you don’t tell me what’s up, I’m going up there.”

  “No, don’t. Please.” Rowena took a deep breath. “It’s Blair. Everything was fine. We were having tea, visiting, talking about the harvest dance tonight, and suddenly, he exploded. It was horrible. He was terrified of something, covering his ears, speaking words I didn’t understand. Oh, I wish I could help him, but I don’t know what’s wrong.” She pinched her mouth with spread fingers to keep from crying out.

  “Oh, honey,” Tyra said. “My goodness. You love him, don’t you?”

  She nodded, unable to say another word. A sickness roiled in her stomach, and she fought nausea.

  “Let’s go to your room. I’ll help you. Come on. We can talk about this.”

  Sitting on her bed, dabbing at her eyes, Rowena stared at her cousin. “You look beautiful. So beautiful. Stay at Fairhaven, please. I need you.”

  “I will, at least for a while. I don’t suppose you had a chance to talk to him about Lizza?”

  With a sniff, Rowena nodded her head. “Lizza? Oh, yes, your unfortunate friend. I did. And he said he wanted to meet her. If she could come here where he could speak with her, he’d see about helping her. But, now, I don’t know.” She stuttered the words out, two and three at a time, before she covered her face with both hands and wept.

  She awoke sometime in the night lying across her bed, not knowing how she got there. Tyra was curled in the big chair nearby, sound asleep, red hair tousled all around her face. She wore one of her simple evening frocks bought by Blair, and looked more like the child who had accompanied her and Wilda on the year-long trip from Ireland to America than she resembled the rough-and-tumble American she had become.

  Blair. Poor Blair. What demons haunted him? What had set him off? There had been a loud noise from somewhere in the house. No doubt a servant had dropped something. But why would that upset him so badly? She sat up on the bed, yearned to go to his rooms, wrap him in her arms. Her heart ached so for him.

  Outside the windows, a bright moon shone, and she slipped from bed and padded across the room to lean on the sill and stare out into the night. A figure moved across the lawn and toward the large stone barn, recently completed. The drifting dark form resembled a wraith. Hugging herself, she stared until her eyes blurred. It must be Blair, but she could not be sure. On the verge of moving away, she caught sight of a horse and rider as they emerged into the dappled light and galloped off across the prairie.

  No doubt Blair, fleeing whatever pursued him. She whispered a prayer recalled from her days with the nuns at St. Ann’s, then crept back to bed, where she lay for a long while before going back to sleep. Thinking of Blair. Wondering if there was anything she might do to help him.

  The next thing she knew, sunlight lay across the bed, warming her. Tyra was no longer in the chair, but a note lay on the table nearby. Taken from her stationery drawer, the piece of paper was folded once. She opened it and saw in Tyra’s perfect penmanship a few words: I’ve gone to fetch Lizza. Be back soon. Love, Tyra.

  Oh, no. She shouldn’t have. Surely she understood that Blair might not be up to a visit from this poor girl, no matter how urgent it might be.

  Touching up her hair and ignoring her wrinkled clothing, she hurried downstairs to find Simmons. He was in the library, supervising a new servant in dusting the bookshelves that lined all four walls. The girl looked to be all of fifteen, and she was tanned and fit, like so many of the young people living on the plains.
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  “And you must be quiet while working here. Noise cannot be tolerated by his lordship,” he was saying when Rowena burst into the room.

  Both turned to stare at her. “I apologize if I interrupted anything. Could you tell me how Blair is this morning?”

  “His lordship,” said Simmons, emphasizing the title, “has not awakened. And I would appreciate it if you did not disturb him.” The tone of the man’s voice surprised her. She had thought they had become allies, but obviously not.

  “Then could you tell me if you have seen Miss Tyra? Has she gone already?”

  “She took that strange little spotted horse from the barn right after breakfast and rode away. She did not bother to tell me where she was going.”

  Rowena wanted to reprimand him for speaking to her so sharply, but didn’t. It was not worth the effort. “Then, if you would not mind, I’d like to use the buggy this morning. Would you see to that for me, please?”

  Without waiting for a reply, she whirled and left them staring at her, ran up the stairs, and went to her room to dress for a trip to town. She donned a clean frock and did the best she could to pin her unruly hair into a knot, not wanting to beckon Annie to help her. Out in the hallway, she hesitated for a moment at the top of the stairs, then turned.

  Simmons be damned. She had to make sure Blair was well. At his door she hesitated and, as was her habit, listened a moment before knocking. She could hear something like the drone of someone talking. At least he was calm. Did he have visitors?

  Tapping gently, she waited, heard everything go silent but no bid to enter, then tapped harder. “Blair? It’s me. Rowena. May I come in?”

  “Not now. Go away.”

  “Who is in there with you?”

  “I’m alone. Go away, Rowena. Please, just leave me be.” He sounded rough, angry, hurt.

  “I just want to make sure you are all right.”

  “I am.”

  With one hand, she twisted at the doorknob. Locked. “Blair, please.”

  “God dammit, I said go away.” Then softly, so she could scarcely hear, “I am sorry.”

  For a long while she waited, forehead against the cool wood paneling. She was doing no good hovering there like a complete fool. He didn’t want her, didn’t need her. Tears in her eyes, she turned and walked away down the stairs to wait for the buggy to come around. It was only then that she remembered the harvest ball they were supposed to have attended the previous night. Before Blair had that dreadful attack.

  Marguerite must come to Fairhaven and see to him. Clearly he needed more than Simmons’ stoic restrictions, and someone had to help him, though he did not appear to want help.

  Victoria City was bustling, this mid-morning—well dressed English men and women walking the boardwalks, in and out of establishments, many chatting about the celebration the evening before. Rowena alighted from the buggy, told the silent Grady she would soon return, and hurried straight into the Chesshire’s shop, where she found her friend busy with customers. Marguerite raised one hand and gestured for Rowena to go to the back of the shop. She did so, and saw the bolt of blue silk she’d chosen earlier standing in the corner. This time she would remember to take it with her, though why she desired a new dress, under the circumstances, was beyond her.

  While she waited she wandered the aisles and found spools of matching thread, a pair of shears, needles, and a thimble. These she would need if she were going to take up sewing herself.

  It was nearing noon before the store emptied of customers and Marguerite joined her.

  With a hug and a kiss, Marguerite remarked, “You look wan, child. Would you like some tea?”

  Rowena nodded, eager to get on to the reason for her visit. But her friend was not to be rushed as she put water on, spooned leaves into the teapot, fussed about with a tray of biscuits and jam, then poured the hot water into the pot and covered it with a cozy.

  At last seating herself, she said, “It’s good to see you, child. I had hoped you would attend last night’s celebration. It was an enormous success. Nearly everyone was there, and several asked about his lordship. You look upset. Is Blair still causing you problems?”

  “It’s not so much that. Blair has problems and I want to help him, but he won’t let me.”

  “Then what do you propose I do? I have told you how I feel about inserting myself in his business.”

  Before Rowena could reply, the front door flew open and Tyra hurried inside. “Rowena, you’ve got to come. Right away. I saw the buggy outside. I’m so glad you’re here. Please, hurry.”

  She grabbed Rowena’s arm and pulled her from her chair.

  “Whatever is the matter, child?” Marguerite said. “Slow down and tell us.”

  “No time. Come on! It’s Lizza. I think… I mean… Please come. Now.”

  “I’ll be back shortly, Marguerite.”

  Tyra dragged her from the store and out onto the boardwalk. “This way. Hurry.”

  Trotting along at her side, Rowena said, “I wish you’d tell me what’s wrong.”

  “I’m not sure. I went to get Lizza.” She grabbed her arm and steered her into the alley. “I found her lying in her bed. Rowena, I think she’s dead.”

  Rowena stopped, tugged Tyra to a halt. “Dead? My God, what happened?”

  “I don’t know. Come on!” Again the tug of war, which the frantic Tyra won. “I think he killed her.”

  “Oh, surely not. You need to tell someone.”

  “I am. I’m telling you.”

  “No, I mean the sheriff, the law. Isn’t there law in this town?”

  “There’s a county sheriff over in Hays, but Grant doesn’t like him sticking his nose into our affairs. Just as well, since he’s the one who treated Calder with such contempt. Poor Wilda. That was a dreadful time.”

  Did the founder of Victoria have that much power, to turn away the local law?

  Tyra halted. “Here. This is her flat. Through this door and up the stairs. They live over the millinery.”

  “Let’s tell someone. What if we go up there and whoever killed her is still there? Are you sure she’s dead?”

  “For the last time, no, I’m not sure, but she looks dead. I need you to tell me for sure. Then we can tell someone.”

  “Tyra, make sense. We need to get someone who will know. There’s surely a doctor in town.”

  “No, no.” The child screamed, tugging at Rowena’s hands and dragging her up a few steps.

  The door to the millinery shop swung open, and inside a bell tinkled. A petite woman stuck her head through the doorway to the stairs. “What’s going on? Sounded as if he was killing her up there.”

  “Why didn’t you do something?” Rowena accompanied the excited Tyra up the stairs, and the small woman shouted an epithet in a Cockney accent. Obviously a servant.

  The flat was strewn with clothing and trash. A slight, pale girl lay on a dirty mattress, one arm hanging down to the filthy floor. Rowena hurried to her side. There was no blood, but her face was bruised and so was her frail body. Her clothing had been ripped to shreds. One small breast was visible, and it had a bite mark on it.

  “Oh, dear,” Rowena murmured. She leaned her ear to the battered chest and heard a steady heartbeat. Slow breaths huffed from the open mouth. “She’s alive, Tyra. Do you know where the doctor’s office is?”

  Shifting from one foot to the other, Tyra nodded, eyes wide.

  “Well, then, go fetch him, girl. And stop acting so idiotic. Go. Now. I’ll stay with her.”

  She sank to the floor, took the small hand in both hers, and spoke softly to the girl. “Don’t worry, no one will hurt you again. Help is coming.”

  A whimper was all the response she received.

  Poor wee mite. How could anyone be so cruel to someone so small and frail?

  Steps pounded up the stairs. Thank goodness, the doctor had arrived. She leaped to her feet and ran to the door, only to meet up with a rough-looking man who shoved her aside with one sweep of his
large hand.

  “Who are you, and what are you doing in my house?” He headed for the bed and the unconscious girl. “Get your ass up from there and stop playacting. Time you got to work.”

  When he grabbed the girl’s arm, Rowena launched herself across the room and leaped on him as hard as she could. “Leave her alone. Can’t you see she’s injured? I’ve sent for the doctor. Let her go.”

  She pulled at his arm to make him release the girl, but he backhanded her. His hard knuckles caught her jaw. Pain blossomed, and her face felt as if it had been struck with a poker. She hit the far wall and slid down to sit on the floor, blackness closing in around her. The room swayed, then fell from under her. Spiraling, grasping for a hold, crying out. From somewhere voices shouted, boots scuffled. All she could do was cradle her head and deal with the throbbing pain.

  Chapter Three

  A shadow hovered over Rowena, hands trapped her. Fighting did no good, though she struggled with all her power.

  A voice, distant and far off, said, “Rowena, don’t try to get up.” Tyra. But what was going on, and where was she?

  Others fussed about, peered down at her through a wavery haze. She cried out and cupped a hand over each ear, as if to shut out the excruciating pain. It didn’t help. Humming low in her throat, squeezing her eyes shut, neither did any good. Her face throbbed with every movement. The world around her continued to whirl. Why didn’t someone do something? Tell her where she was, what had happened?

  Help me, please help me. The words ran through her head but wouldn’t come out. What had happened? Where was she? Opening her eyes to look wasn’t an option, the pain in her face, her head, was too intense to make the effort. Something or someone had hit her. Hard. But who and why and when?

  Oh, dear God. Was she back at St. Ann’s, lying on the cold stone floor, her back afire?

  After a while that seemed an eternity, a lean man knelt beside her and eased her hands away from her face. “Caught you a good one, didn’t he?” His fingers tenderly massaged the area. “Nothing broken, but you’re going to have a shiner and some bruising.”