by Olsen, Lisa
There on the coverlet sat a black leather bound book that hadn’t been there minutes before. “Katie?” Sara called out softly, wondering if the maid had been in her room while she was in the bathroom, but the only sound that came back to her was the crackling of the fire. Embossed on the front cover, in weathered gold were the words Holy Bible. “Thanks, Gemma,” Sara murmured, picking up the bible with trembling fingers.
A casual flip through the worn pages revealed the standard bible text, nothing out of the ordinary. Turning to the front pages, Sara found neat entries of names and dates, just as Will mentioned, detailing the family’s history, going back all the way to 1797. But beyond names and dates, there wasn’t much of a history recorded there; there wasn’t even a cause of death listed by the names. The closer Sara looked, the more a pattern began to emerge in the simple entries; children were listed in order of birth, no strange thing there, but they were numbered; one, two, three… etcetera. All of the first born had the number one beside their name, and all of them died before any of the other children, without fail.
While she knew infant mortality was high so long ago, it seemed an odd coincidence that every single first born would be the first to die in each generation. And as the dates grew more recent, surely some of the deaths might have been preventable, shouldn’t they?
The last entry was her own name and date of birth, with Jack’s below it, the number one written next to it.
One.
All at once it clicked into place, that’s why Jack was in danger, he was her first born!
“Will!” Sara tore into the adjoining bedroom without bothering to knock, getting halfway into the room before she realized it was empty. The bedside light was on, but the bed was undisturbed. “Will?” she checked the dressing room, but there was no sign of him, anywhere.
Unable to settle down, she waited for him to return, figuring he might have gone down for a late night snack, or possibly a drink. She could use one herself, if only to steady her nerves as she paced back and forth, clutching the family bible to her chest.
A creak of the floor had her throwing open the bedroom door, eager to find Will out in the hallway, but the hall was dark outside the bedroom. The creak sounded again, and her head canted up, trying to place the source of the sound. Halfway down the hall, she knew where she was headed; quickening her pace as she took the stairs up to the third floor to check on Jack.
Half afraid to open the door for fear of what she might find, Sara sucked in a deep breath, turning the knob as silently as possible. Despite her best efforts, it squeaked loudly, making her wince as she stepped into the room, finding Jack fast asleep in his bed. Letting out the pent up breath, she stood by his bedside, gently touching his face, reassuring herself that he was fine and healthy.
The creak sounded again, louder this time, drawing Sara away from his bedside, back out into the hall to explore further down the corridor. Regularly rhythmic, again it put her in mind of an old rocking chair sitting on a wooden porch, but in the darkened hall there was nothing soothing about it. The sound seemed to be coming from the room at the end of the hall. The second her hand closed over the knob, it stopped, leaving only the sound of her harsh breath as Sara realized she was breathing harder than she had to and forced herself to relax.
Heart pounding in her ears, she turned the knob, not sure if she was disappointed or relieved when it wouldn’t turn. “Locked,” she breathed, trying again as if she might be able to suddenly jar it open by magic. Standing in the deserted hallway in the dark in a nightgown with bare feet, Sara started to question what the heck she was doing up there, and turned to leave.
Not three steps away, the creaking sounded again and Sara stopped with a snort of disgust. “Really?” she muttered, turning back to see the door swing open all by its lonesome.
Chapter Nineteen
“Hello?” Sara called out softly, frozen in place. Was there someone in the room messing with her the whole time? She didn’t put it past Mrs. Poole to have a person stashed up on the third floor out of the way, assuming she might never even know about it in a house so big. The creaking sound continued, louder with the door open, leaving no doubt in her mind it originated from the room. “Is someone there?” she asked a little louder, and the sound immediately ceased.
Approaching slowly, she stepped into the room, lit only by the moonlight streaming through the dirty windows. Shadows crouched at every step, casting the room in murky gloom. An old wrought iron bed sat pushed into the corner, the bed clothes faded and worn with age. Other than the bed, a lady’s dressing table stood beside the barred window, the only other furniture a carved, wooden rocker in the center of the room. Despite the fact that the room was completely deserted, Sara couldn’t help but feel a presence, or was it only her imagination?
Moving forward to inspect the window, she frowned at the ugly iron bars. What were they for? The creak of the rocker startled her, and she spun, hair flying in a dark cloud, to find the chair rocking steadily, completely empty. “Gemma?” she breathed, taking a step closer, then another, hand outstretched to see if she could stop the motion. Her hand reached a pocket of cold air as it slid over the center of the rocker, as though she was reaching into the freezer and Sara snatched it back, pressing it to her hot cheek. “Gemma, is that you?” she asked nervously, voice barely above a whisper. “You have to stop,” she pleaded, lips trembling as she reached forward again. “Please stop…”
Her hand connected with the back of the rocker and the motion stopped. Letting out a breath of relief, Sara froze as the room changed in a flash, and she found herself standing in the room as it was a hundred years ago. Light spilled soft and golden through the cheery yellow curtains which matched the bed, piled high with pillows. The floor was immaculate and sported brightly colored rugs beside the bed and table which held an ornate silver hairbrush and a scatter of lady’s toiletries, the mirror polished to a bright sheen.
Only the bars remained unchanged, lending a stain of menace to the otherwise comfortable room. The creak of the rocker drew Sara away from her study of the room and she saw a woman’s figure in the chair, lazily rocking as she sang a child’s lullaby, her arm curved protectively around her swollen belly.
“Gemma…” Sara approached her slowly; unsure if what she was seeing was in any way real. “Can you hear me?” The woman gave no sign that she could see or hear Sara, continuing to rock until the door opened, and a grim faced woman came in, carrying a tray of food.
“Please, take it away, Mrs. Poole. I can’t eat until midday, you know that.”
Stunned by the name, Sara watched in fascination as the scene played out before her. Was the woman somehow related to her Mrs. Poole?
“You have to eat; you’ll make yourself sick and the babe as well,” the maid insisted, setting the tray on the dressing table and fussing with putting away the scattered paraphernalia.
“What difference does it make when you’ll only take the child away from me?” Gemma replied glumly, refusing to look at the food.
“Don’t be daft, girl. No one is about to do any such thing.”
“Then why not let me go?” Gemma sat higher in the chair, turning to face her. “If it’s truly as you say, then why keep me here?”
“You know why, you’re not to be trusted, you’ve proven that,” Mrs. Poole replied, busying herself with preparing a cup of tea.
“People will talk, someone will find out you’re holding me here eventually.”
“No, my Lady, you misunderstand. There is no secret; everyone knows you’re being kept up here for your own safety. There is no rescue at hand. The sooner you leave off the melodramatics and take care of yourself, the sooner you’ll earn the master’s trust again. That is the only way you’ll see outside these four walls again,” she held out the cup of tea, but Gemma refused to take it.
“I won’t eat; you can’t make me,” her chin thrust out pugnaciously.
“No, I can’t,” Mrs. Poole sighed heavily. “But do you r
eally want me to bring him here?”
Gemma blanched, fingers trembling as she reached for the cup and saucer. “I truly can’t manage anything more than tea and toast. You know it’ll come right back up,” she said meekly.
“No, don’t drink it,” Sara called out, having a bad feeling about the tea. “Gemma…” Reaching for the cup, Sara’s fingers connected with the china saucer, sending it crashing to the floor with a splash of hot tea.
“Ugh, you clumsy girl…” Mrs. Poole scowled, catching up a cloth to wipe up the mess. “I thought you were going to cooperate; now I’ll have to tell him about this.”
“No, it… it was an accident,” Gemma stammered, face white as a sheet. “I don’t know what happened. Please… if you bring me another cup I’ll drink the whole thing down, I promise!” she pleaded.
“As if I don’t have anything better to do,” Mrs. Poole muttered, picking up the broken pieces of china. “When I come back, you’ll eat everything on the tray, I don’t care if it makes a repeat performance or not, else I’ll be informing him of your behavior straight away.”
Sara backed away from the scene, not quite sure what had happened there for a moment. Had she somehow made contact with an event that happened in the past? Did that mean she could affect something else? Looking to the open door, she wondered if she could find some way to help Gemma; it was worth a shot, and she had to leave before the door was locked again. Throwing a quick glance over her shoulder, she darted for the door, shrieking as she came into contact with the solid form of a man’s chest and the golden light faded, instantly shrouding the room in darkness. Strong fingers encircled her wrists as she flailed to get away and Sara opened her mouth to scream only to have a hand clamped over her mouth.
“Sara it’s me, Will,” his familiar voice washed over her and Sara stopped struggling. “What’s come over you? Are you alright? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”
Sara buried herself in his embrace, letting out a hiccupping sound somewhere between a laugh and a cry at the tumult of emotions that threatened to spill everywhere at once. “A ghost? I… I don’t know what I’ve just seen. Maybe I’m cracking up… I don’t know.”
“There now, it’s alright, there’s nothing to be frightened of, I’m here.” Will held her tight, hand running soothing circles over her back until the storm of emotions subsided. “What are you doing up here? It took me forever to track you down.”
“She led me up here; I think she wanted me to see where she was kept.”
“Gemma?”
Sara nodded, pulling back to look at the dingy room. “They kept her here when she was pregnant, I think the second time. Will, something awful happened in this house.”
“What makes you say that?”
Words tumbling one on top of the other, the story spilled out of what she’d seen in the room, knowing he probably thought she was dreaming it all up, but needing to get it out. “But that’s not the worst of it. Here… see?” Picking up the bible which had fallen to the ground, she pulled him out into the hall where there was more light and flipped it open to the beginning. “Every single first born child died.”
“Of course they all died, the family goes back hundreds of years.”
“No, I mean they all died right away, before every other kid in the family. Every single one. See the number one?” she pointed to the page with Jack’s name on it. “Just like Gemma said, whatever’s going to happen, it’s going to happen to Jack because he’s my first born.”
“But that’s crazy, if something happened to every first born of the line there wouldn’t be a line to continue,” Will frowned.
“That’s just it, in each case the heir becomes the second son. This is what Gemma’s been trying to warn me about. She doesn’t want what happened to her to happen to us.”
“But how could that be? Does it say how they died?”
“No, just the dates. Is there a local recorder’s office where we might find out more information on how they died?”
Will rubbed the scruff on his chin as he thought the question over. “Not in the village, but maybe in Dorcester.”
“I think we should look into it more, don’t you?”
“I think… you should get some rest,” he laid his hands on her shoulders, concern deeply etched in his features. “You look quite done in.”
“I don’t think I could sleep knowing there’s something out there that wants to kill Jack for being the heir.”
“You don’t know any such thing. Just because something happened in the past doesn’t mean it’ll happen again, especially not in this day and age. You’ve seen how much we all dote on Jack, he’s in no danger. Sara, I give you my word, I won’t let anything happen to him. Let’s get a good night’s sleep and we can sort it out in the morning.”
Sara allowed herself to be led back down the stairs, still holding tight to the bible as the only source of proof to her theory. Maybe Will was right? Maybe she was tired and overreacting? Short of taking Jack away, there wasn’t anything she could do about it in the middle of the night anyway. Still, she was loathe to climb into bed and try to sleep after what she’d been through, and found herself lingering in the hall.
“Will?” she held onto his arm when he bid her goodnight.
“Yes, love?” he paused,
“I know it’s a lot to ask…”
“You want me to go and fetch you some hot milk?”
“No… not exactly.”
“A brandy then?”
“No…”
“Something to eat?”
“No, it’s nothing to eat or drink; it’s more of a personal favor to ask.”
“You want me to check on Jack again? He’s fine, I tell you.”
“No, I know he is.” Sara struggled with how to say it the right way and gave up, blurting out, “I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind coming to bed with me?”
Will’s brows rose and his mouth opened, but no sound came out at first. Letting out a long breath, his head canted to one side as he studied her in puzzlement. “I thought you wanted to get some sleep?”
“I do, I didn’t mean… I just… I don’t want to…”
Understanding dawned on his face as he filled in the blanks for himself. “You’d rather not be alone right now, is that it?”
“Yes,” she breathed a sigh of relief. “Is that too much to ask?”
“No, Sara, it’s not too much to ask at all. I’d be happy to keep you safe until the morning comes.”
“Really?” God, did that make her sound desperate? Luckily, Will didn’t seem to notice or if he did, he didn’t mind.
“Really,” his lips curved up into a lopsided grin. “I’ve been looking for a way to get you into my arms without sounding selfish, so it’s more than fine by me. Unless you want me to sleep over there?” his head jerked to the seats in front of the fireplace.
“No, of course not, I want you to be comfortable. I’m pretty sure we can handle sleeping in the same bed together, right?”
Will’s lips quirked into a half smile as he followed her into the bedroom. “Whether we can or not, I’m dying to find out.”
*
Will was already gone when Sara woke, but she had a vague memory of the rasp of his cheek from a brief kiss before he left early that morning. No nightmares or strange visions sent from Gemma plagued her dreams while she slept contentedly in Will’s arms, and she woke feeling much better rested than she would have thought possible.
Still early, she picked up Gemma’s diary, intent on finishing the last few pages before she began her day, desperate to learn more about her cruel treatment at the hands of the Nine, whoever that was. There were more gaps as the entries became few and far between, entire weeks skipped, until Sara found a particularly heartbreaking passage about Malcolm being taken away from her. The tearstained pages offered little in the way of details, but Sara gathered that the baby died the same night he was taken, and she’d moved into a room up on the third floor to better keep
watch over Matthew.
The final entry was difficult to decipher, as though she’d written it in a hurry.
25 January, 1918
It is clear to me now that only I know what is best for my child. To remain here is to invite folly. I know now what I must do, the only way to keep my sweet Matthew safe. If I do not take courage and act now, I will only have myself to blame when he is lost to me forever.
G
What had she done? Was Gemma talking about the scene she’d glimpsed in her dream about sending Matthew to America? Only the first born children seemed to be dying at an early age, not the rest of the children. Why would she need to send Matthew away? The questions plagued her all through the shower and going through the motions of getting ready for the day. The biggest one being… was Jack truly in danger?
He wasn’t an infant; none of the children who died had ever made it past the age of two. Was baby Malcolm taken away from Gemma because he was sick and dying anyway or was there something more menacing involved as she thought? How much of it all was actual danger and how much was panic made up in the mind of Gemma Darling? Reviewing the conversation between Gemma and her Mrs. Poole, was there anything sinister afoot, or was Gemma being watched over so carefully because she’d already acted rashly, costing them baby Matthew?
And even if there was… even if Sir Edward was a cold, heartless bastard who was in some way responsible for his firstborn’s death, he was long dead. What could that have to do with Jack now? In the light of day, Sara was hard pressed to figure out what could possibly happen to Jack by staying in the house.
Heading upstairs to wake Jack up and go through their morning checklist, Sara was surprised to see the nursery already empty. “Jack?” she called out, ducking her head into the bathroom door, finding it was empty as well. Deciding he must have gone down to breakfast already, she picked up his dirty clothes out of habit, dropping them into the hamper. On the way out, she noticed the window was ajar, and Sara hurried to close it; no sense in letting out all the warmth.