Dawn in My Heart

by Ruth Axtell Morren

  And now, after six months, her husband—the word caused a frisson of revulsion through her—decided to pay her a visit when he was too ill to walk. What did he want? For her to nurse him?

  Well, he could die upstairs in his damp, unaired room, for all the aid she would give him.

  She took up her book and once more began to read, the words dancing around on the page until she forced herself to focus on each one individually.

  The next day her maid, Katie, began telling her as she dressed Gillian’s hair, “Oh, my lady, you should see his lordship. The poor man, he’s at death’s door—oh, I beg your pardon. I mean, he is so poorly. And all he has to care for him is that giant black man and his heathenish ways.” She pulled at Gillian’s hair, causing her to flinch. “So sorry, my lady,” she muttered, her mouth full of hairpins.

  “What do you mean, his ‘heathenish ways’?”

  After she’d removed the hairpins one by one from her mouth and stuck them into Gillian’s hair, she replied, “Oh, I hear him muttering gibberish over Lord Skylar’s poor sleeping form when he thinks no one’s around. And he’s got something around the poor man’s neck. Looks like witchcraft to me. It’s no wonder the man’s sick.”

  As Gillian was exiting her room later that morning, she started at the sight of Skylar’s valet walking down the corridor.

  She drew back against her door, but stopped when he saw her. His height and breadth overwhelmed her until she remembered who she was. She was mistress of this house. Her heart thumped wildly in her chest, as she realized no one else was about, but she was determined to stand her ground and not let him see how intimidating he was.

  “Good morning, my lady.”

  The man’s voice was low and gentle. She forced herself to look up into his face. She was startled to find green eyes staring back at her from dark brown skin. They were an unusual green, like nothing she’d ever seen before—a mixture of brown and yellow, resulting in a light, golden shade.

  “G…good morning,” she replied.

  “I beg your pardon I wasn’t able to inform you of de master’s arrival. I didn’t know where else to take him.”

  Gillian stared at the man. “What are you talking about?”

  “De master, my lady. This latest bout of fever struck so strong. I done everything in my power. I thought if I brought him here to you—”

  “You took it upon yourself to bring him here?” She looked at the man aghast. “Lord Skylar didn’t ask to be brought to Penuel Hall?”

  “No, my lady. He hardly be conscious. De trip sapped de last o’ his strength. I don’t believe he any idea where he be.”

  “Oh, that’s precious. I’m sure he’ll be most gratified when he awakens.”

  If he noticed her sarcasm, he gave no indication. “If I might, may I beg some help with de nursing? Perhaps one of de maids?”

  “Oh, take what you need. We have a whole troop of servants at our disposal.” She numbered them on her fingers. “There’s old Harold and his wife Edna, the retainers Lord Caulfield has seen fit to leave in charge of this drafty hall. There’s a young girl who comes in from the village and seems incapable of understanding the simplest order. And then there’s Katie, my own personal maid, chosen for me by Lord Skylar before he fell ill. Whom would you prefer?”

  She thought she read sympathy in his eyes. But that was nonsense. What would a black servant from the Indies know about her situation?

  “If you don’t mind lending Miss Katie’s services for a bit, I’d be most appreciative.”

  She smiled sweetly. “So, you’ll take the best of the bunch and leave me with no servant.”

  “Only for a few hours a day, my lady.”

  She shrugged, suddenly not caring what the man did. “As you wish.” She walked past him, but his soft words stopped her before she had gotten more than a few feet from him.

  “Would you like to step in and see your husband?”

  She pivoted back slowly. “No, thank you, I would most certainly not. You had no business bringing him here.” Something else occurred to her. “Did Lord Caulfield know you were bringing him?”

  “No, my lady. He wasn’t around when I decided to bring him.”

  “How long has Lord Skylar been ill?”

  “It been many weeks.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Is this the same fever that struck him in the Indies?”

  He nodded. “Yes, my lady. The fever hit him the first time before we left de island, but it come back since we been in London, but not as strongly as dis time.”

  “You mean he was ill when he was courting me?”

  “At times, but only for a few days at a time.”

  She turned away again without saying anything more. Why hadn’t she been told? She remembered the time she hadn’t seen Lord Skylar for days and then he excused himself with the gift of the jewels and told her he’d been “indisposed.”

  Slowly, other details began to fall into place—how little he ate and drank. Why hadn’t she seen this before? Had her mother known?

  As she descended the wide stairway to the ground floor, the questions revolved in her mind. If she had been deceiving her future husband, had he, too, been deceiving her?

  And now he was here. What would he do to her when he awakened? The terror that had finally subsided after so many months of the solitude of the Yorkshire wilds threatened her again. She looked down at her ring as she thought of the other jewels safely tucked away in her jewelry box. So many times she’d been on the point of pawning them to gather enough money to escape from her exile, but no matter how close she’d come, she hadn’t yet taken that step.

  Perhaps now the time had come.

  But where would she go? That was what had stopped her.

  A disgraced wife fleeing her husband had few choices.

  Her mother wouldn’t have her back. Not that Gillian had any desire to go back home. Her mother had written her a brief missive when she’d discovered Gillian’s whereabouts.

  I don’t know what you’ve done to displease your husband. All he communicated with me was that he could by rights send you back to me.

  If this rupture with your husband has anything to do with that Captain Hawkes, I warned you to stay away from him. He disgraced you before and now it seems he has ruined your marriage.

  I told you one day you’d go too far. Your father overindulged you.

  Your only hope is to get with child by Lord Skylar, but I suppose there is no possibility of that now.

  Your mother, etc.

  Gillian had crumpled up the letter as soon as she’d read it.

  She would be dead before she’d let Lord Skylar ever touch her again.

  The next day, after Katie reported a few more tidbits of information to Gillian on Lord Skylar’s condition, Gillian’s curiosity got the better of her. The irony was too great to miss. Her jailer, who’d exiled her to the remotest corner of his properties, had now become the jailed, confined to his bed, on the point of death if Katie and that valet were to be believed.

  When she was alone, she made her way down the corridor to the master bedroom. At the door she hesitated, but fearing someone would soon come by, she finally opened it a crack. With a quick glance about the room and down the hall behind her, she stepped in, closing the door softly behind her.

  The moment she entered the shadowy, cavernous room, she wrinkled her nose at the musty smell. A large oak bed dominated the room, its hangings a gloomy dark velvet. Old tapestries covered the stone walls. She heard Lord Skylar’s labored breathing, and was instantly reminded of the weeks before her father’s death. The same smell and sounds of death.

  Every instinct urged her to flee the decay. But curiosity and something else drew her forward. At the edge of his bed, she stopped short. She hadn’t been prepared for how he frail he looked. If he’d been thin before, he was cadaverous now. His ebony locks, long and lank, hung from his head.

  “Mmm…no…please…” His mumbled words came out with effort. Gillian l
eaned over the bed and touched his forehead. It was warm. He was indeed feverish.

  Her gaze dropped lower and she spied a cord around his throat at the open neck of his nightshirt. Like a child reaching for something forbidden, she drew it out until she could see what was on it. Two stones, one black onyx perhaps, the other like coral, hung on the thong.

  At that moment she sensed a presence near her. She jumped to find the giant valet beside her. “How did you get here?” she asked him sharply.

  “I come in through there,” he said, motioning to a side door.

  “Oh.” She turned back to Skylar, pretending indifference at the man’s presence. “What is this thing?” she asked.

  “It be a safeguard,” he answered simply.

  “I don’t like it,” she told him. “It scares me.” She began to pull it forward, looking for a knot or clasp. Before she knew it, the manservant had stopped her, covering her hand with his large brown one.

  She gave a shriek then quickly covered her mouth with her free hand. “Unhand me,” she told him behind her hand.

  “Excuse me, my lady, I didn’t mean no harm. But it be better not to remove de necklace. The master be cursed.”

  She stared into those golden green eyes and felt a chill down her spine. “What kind of foolishness are you saying?”

  “He be cursed. This amulet help ward off any evil against his lordship.”

  “What kind of evil?” she asked, remembering the maid’s warnings.

  “Very powerful evil.” His green eyes, fringed by curling black lashes, looked into hers earnestly. “On de island there be many kinds of spirits. They can be sent to harm people.”

  “Is that what has happened to Lord Skylar?” she whispered, fascinated and terrified at the same time.

  He nodded gravely. “I have tried to fight dis evil, but so far, I have failed. The evil must be very strong indeed. I don’t know where we can find a spirit more powerful.”

  She let the thong go and immediately the valet released her hand. She had forgotten he still held her hand. Its warmth had been oddly comforting after her initial shock. Now, the cold penetrated her and she hugged her arms to her body.

  “Well, I must go. I…only wanted to see how your master was doing.” She paused. “He doesn’t look well at all.”

  “No, my lady.” The large man sighed and busied himself rearranging the covers. Then he poured a drink of water from a pitcher by his bed. He raised Skylar’s head with his large hand and put the glass to his chapped lips.

  The man’s gentle behavior astonished Gillian. He wiped the water that had dripped down Skylar’s chin and replaced the necklace beneath his nightshirt.

  Slowly, Gillian backed away from the bed. She let herself out of the room, torn between a reluctant pity for the ghost of a man lying there and memories of his terrifying behavior on their wedding night.

  The second time she went into his room, she was searching for her pets. She had looked for them through the entire manor house and called and called outside. She was beginning to get worried, when Katie told her, “The animals are in his lordship’s room.”

  She quickly went to the master bedroom and paused a second before opening the door.

  This time the valet was sitting at a chair by the bed. There was her dog, lying on the floor beside the large, four-poster bed. Her two cats were curled up at the foot of the bed. Annoyed at the traitorous behavior of her pets, she marched to the bed and gave the valet a brief nod.

  “How is he?”

  “The same,” the valet answered.

  “What is your name?” she asked the black man.

  “Nigel, my lady.”

  She nodded. “Has Katie been able to relieve you?”

  “Yes, she has been very helpful.”

  She reached down to grasp the dog’s soft, red leather collar. She remembered the day she’d received it and how touched she’d been at Lord Skylar’s thoughtfulness. Images of the day they’d rescued Sophie flashed through her mind.

  Her gaze strayed to her husband. How could the two be one and the same man? Without conscious decision she reached out to touch Sky’s forehead. At that moment, he opened his eyes. His deep brown eyes focused on her.

  She stared back at him, wondering if he would recognize her.

  She wasn’t kept in doubt long.

  “What is she doing here?” his voice rasped out. Before Nigel could rise and answer him, he said, “Get her out! Get her out of here!”

  Gillian fell back as if he’d slapped her. Nigel immediately stepped in front of her and blocked Tertius’s view. His soft tone murmured, “Shh! She be your wife. She do you no harm.”

  “I don’t want her here.” Lord Skylar’s agitation grew. “Where have you brought me?”

  Nigel murmured as if to a child, “I done brought you home like I said.”

  As Gillian turned to leave the room, she could hear their two voices, Sky’s demanding answers, and Nigel’s reassuring him without giving any specific replies. All pity her husband’s condition had aroused in her evaporated at his condemning attitude.

  Well, he could rot in that bed before she came in again!

  Chapter Ten

  The next morning, Gillian put on her warm cloak and went outside for a walk. The land was covered in snow and the air was cold, but she couldn’t stand being in that house a minute longer.

  She’d passed a sleepless night.

  She left the stone mansion without a backward glance and walked down the gravel drive, past the frozen duck pond and the bare willow trees surrounding it. She gave a brief nod to old Harold at the stables before exiting through the tall iron gates.

  Not until she was several feet outside the parkland did she breathe freely.

  She had spent the first month of her exile in tears and despair, but through sheer will, she had managed to carve out a routine for herself in this forsaken land just to maintain her sanity. It was too much that now she was forced to live under the same roof as her tormentor and endure his absolute scorn and hatred.

  She must escape. There was no other way.

  An idea, which had been forming in her mind through the long hours of the night, had crystallized by dawn, and now her mind was resolute.

  She walked a mile to the tiny village. Penuel Hall sat high on a hill. Below it, the village was wedged against the hillside above a long, deep valley. From its narrow cobbled street, Gillian could see the outlying buildings of the market town far down in the valley and the silvery thread of the river that bisected it.

  She hated the sight of that town. A large stone mill sat by the river, its chimneys continuously spewing steam. To Gillian it depicted all the ugliness and isolation of the West Riding for a London-bred girl. On the first morning she’d ridden through it before arriving at the Hall, she’d seen only soot-stained stone buildings and sullen-looking children staring at her coach.

  Despite her aversion to the town, she would have to make her way there and find a pawnshop. If no one there would take her jewels, she would have to find her way to the next town. Leeds was not more than half a day’s journey away.

  But she had no way of getting there. She hadn’t a penny to her name. Her wealthy husband had left her a pauper in her exile.

  She walked the stony track through the village. It, too, showed only signs of grim poverty. Tall trees, their stark black branches outlined against the gray sky formed a canopy over her head. All around her, snow-covered fields sloped downward behind the small, stone dwellings lining the street. Beyond, above the village, lay the still more desolate moors.

  The village seemed an unfriendly place to her. She could barely understand the villagers’ dialect with their “mun this” and “mun that.” She rarely entered its few shops, preferring to let the housekeeper make all the purchases.

  A large, stone church and graveyard beside it dominated the village center.

  Evil-looking rooks sat in the black trees arching their spindly branches high over the graveyard, as if
they were keeping the dead confined to their stone graves. Gillian hurried past the cemetery and followed a narrow track leading out of the village to the moors beyond.

  The short scrubby heather, its leaves brown, peeked through the snow. Gillian continued walking until she tired and knew she had to return to the hall. She dragged her booted feet. Since Lord Skylar’s arrival, the Hall no longer offered refuge from the staring villagers.

  She resolved that as soon as she entered it, she would head for her writing table. She would enclose her letter in one to her closest friend, Charlotte, and ask her to send it on to the Guards’ barracks. She had decided last night to send a plea to Gerrit. Perhaps if he knew her true situation, he would rescue her.

  She wondered what he had thought when she had left London so hurriedly. The gossips must have had a field day. If she ever did return to London, her name would be so sullied by then that one more scandal would no longer matter.

  She imagined the stories that would float around. Lady Skylar runs off with an officer of the Guards.

  She was willing to run away with Gerrit if he still wanted her. Anything was better than being shackled to a man who despised her and kept her a virtual prisoner.

  She remembered Skylar’s deathly pallor. What if he shouldn’t survive?

  No matter how much she’d vilified him since he’d banished her, she’d never actually wished for his death. For her own, yes.

  But now, it seemed fate was offering her a way out. Was there hope that she might be free again? Was there a chance for her and Gerrit this time?

  Only one doubt niggled at her. What if Gerrit should leave her as before? Although his reasons sounded noble when he’d told her, a small voice inside her questioned his motives. How could a gentleman take a young lady’s virtue and not stand by her and marry her, no matter what the opposition?

  No, he had only been thinking of her—not himself, she argued against that voice.

  If she were to be widowed, this time she would be of age, with her own fortune. She could marry anyone she pleased and no one could oppose her choice.