Dark Angel (Entangled Edge)

by TJ Bennett

  I gasped at the horror of it. It occurred to me then how few children I had seen amongst the villagers, and no babies. “All of them? But, why?”

  “No one knows, dear lady. But I believe whatever holds us suspended in time bars the babies’ souls from occupying their bodies. And without a soul, or spirit if you will, the body cannot live.”

  “Dear God,” I whispered in dismay.

  “Perhaps, it has something to do with our being outside of time’s natural flow. Perhaps a soul is not permitted to leave the stream of time to cross into the dimension of wherever it is we now reside. And for the same reason, the souls here cannot cross back. For all intents and purposes, we are not only barred from death, but from Heaven’s gate as well.”

  I put a hand to my temple, the enormity of the tragedy making my head pound. Then I remembered Gerard’s comment after the incident with Lucas. “But the people here can be killed.”

  For the first time, Matthew looked uncomfortable. “If the body is torn asunder to the point where it cannot be put back together again, then we can die.”

  “What would become of the soul then, if it cannot cross back?”

  “There are some who claim that the soul of an immortal would linger in limbo, in an agony of pain, experiencing its death forever. In our ancient fairy tales, it is a punishment meted out for the most heinous of crimes. I do not know if it is true, but the very thought of it terrifies me.”

  The thought of being trapped in an eternal damnation of torture and despair petrified me. Did anyone deserve that? “Has anyone here been killed since the change?”

  His gaze flickered. “Dear lady, this is not the sort of conversation we should be having right now. Let us make our way to the vicarage.”

  Frustrated, I started to protest, but the memory of my conversation with the elderly housekeeper diverted me. “Then tell me this: Mrs. Jones said no one on the island mourns those babies more than Gerard does, that he carries a burden about them. What did she mean?”

  A perplexed expression crossed his face. “I do not know. He assists during their time of labor when he can—he takes on their pain so that they will not have to bear it and the knowledge the child they carry will be stillborn. It must be an awful thing for him to endure, because I suspect he feels not only their physical pain but their emotional pain as well. I do not know how he handles it, but as a man I would be a pitiful creature indeed if I had to bear one child, let alone repeated offerings.” He shuddered.

  I thought of all those crosses in the graveyard, and my heart broke for Gerard. What bravery and compassion led him to take on such a burden?

  We hurried through the woods, the fog growing thicker by the moment. I shivered with the cold, my shawl becoming damp, and Matthew put a comforting arm around my shoulders to warm me.

  He stopped in his tracks, his demeanor alert as he swiveled his head to peer behind us. The footmen nearly stumbled into him.

  “Did you hear that?” Matthew asked, his voice low.

  I listened for a moment, hearing nothing. That in itself was odd, for on the way out, we had listened to bird song in the trees, and insects and small animals muttering in the grass, and now I heard only silence.

  It was as though the blanket of fog had muffled all sound—or as if the creatures of nature had quieted themselves in order to hide their presence from a predator in their midst—a predator who even now had us in its sights.

  Chapter Eleven

  I glanced at Matthew, standing still beside me, straining to hear. “What is it?”

  He frowned. “I thought I heard…” He listened for a few moments longer. “I must have imagined it.” He gave me a worried smile and urged me forward again. “We’d better hasten our step. Once the fog comes in, it would be easy to become separated. If we stay on the path, we should be fine.”

  I thought perhaps he was not telling me everything, but decided to save my breath as we were nearly jogging now. The footmen had ranged themselves before and behind us, and a glance back at Bill’s face caused me some concern. He appeared anxious, yet there was a determination on his young face as well. He would do his best to see me home safely, be it due to his master’s bidding or no.

  The hairs on the nape of my neck prickled with awareness, and the sensation of being watched came upon me. Even though it had gone noon, the thickness of the fog and the canopy of trees rendered the daylight ineffectual. I looked at Matthew, whose mouth had taken on a rather grim downward turn.

  “Are there wild animals in these woods?” I asked tremulously.

  He kept his eyes on the path before us, and when he answered, his tone held a note of false jocularity. “What would a wood be without wild animals, dear lady?”

  “Are they dangerous?”

  “Only as much as any such creature should be.”

  Frustrated, I glared at him. “That is not an answer, Matthew.”

  A quick glance behind us, then back to me. “Very well. I’ve no wish to alarm you, but there are stories of a strange creature. Only rumors, reported on by a handful who have had a bit too much of the Irish or whose imaginations have run away with them.”

  I found myself moving closer to him. “What sort of animal have they seen?”

  “Ridiculous, really. Almost not worth mentioning.”

  “Matthew, what sort?”

  He sighed. We had made the farm track, and he waited for me to move ahead of him before answering.

  “A large black cat, but far too big to be that. Bigger than a man, according to the stories. It is supposed to appear from thin air and move so rapidly its image blurs. It has a head twice the size of a man’s, deadly fangs, and long claws, can bend tree trunks and jump incredible distances—so much so that it appears to be flying. Really, it is mythical in its proportions. I’d hardly give it any credence. If such a beast existed, it would have been seen by more than the merest few. I’m certain the story has gained more credence by its repetition than for its veracity.”

  “A large black cat?” I recalled the day of my arrival here, of the sleek beast with its unblinking stare I thought I had spied on the beach. Gerard assured me I had imagined it in my distress.

  But what if he was mistaken? Or lying?

  I offered the vicar a wavering smile. “I must confess, Matthew, I am afraid of large animals. Particularly those with deadly fangs and supernatural abilities.”

  He gave me a genuine smile then. “Never fear, my dear. Any of us would gladly fling ourselves in front of a terrifying beast for your sake. Isn’t that right, lads?” he asked, addressing the footmen.

  Bill answered immediately, “Right ho, ma’am.” A bit more slowly, the other footman affirmed his willingness to sacrifice his body for me with a friendly bluster.

  Matthew patted my shoulder, but just then an eerie, hollow growl erupted from the fog.

  We jumped, to a person.

  “What in bleeding hell was that?” Bill blurted. “Begging your pardon, vicar, ma’am.”

  “Quite understandable,” Matthew murmured, his face pale. He drew me closer to him, and we heard the sound again, a low snarl followed by an insistent, guttural growl.

  I had never heard anything akin to it in my life. Goose bumps raised the hairs along the back of my neck.

  “Where is it coming from?” I whispered. I admit that the sound terrified me to the point where my skin felt too tight across my bones and my knees knocked together.

  “I cannot tell. It seems to be all around us,” Matthew answered. His gaze darted about, peering into the fog. “No sudden movements. We do not wish to provoke it.”

  I swiveled my head to look at him. “Provoke what?”

  “God only knows,” he said softly. He pulled me with him while he slowly retreated, the footmen drawing nearer around us.

  The fog seemed to grow thicker, if possible, crowding us before it like herded sheep. I thought we must not be far from the vicarage, but I could see no more than a few feet in front of me. I am not a missish t
ype, but I had not been lying when I told Matthew I was afraid of large animals. Frigid air crystallized my panting breaths as the temperature dropped lower, and I wondered if Matthew’s mythical creature, the one on the shore, and the one making its presence known to us were the same.

  As if in answer to my unspoken query, a dark, lithe shadow appeared and then disappeared again into the fog. I stared, clutching at Matthew’s sleeve. “Did you see it?”

  He had been facing away from me, his gaze focused forward while mine had been watching behind us. “What did you see?”

  “I-I do not know. A shadow, an impression—a shift in the fog. I am sorry. I could not see it clearly.”

  “Won’t matter what it is if it tears us limb from limb,” muttered the nameless footman.

  “Hush, now,” Matthew admonished him. “You’ll frighten the lady.”

  My teeth chattered. If it was possible to be more frightened than I already was, I did not know how it could be managed.

  The mist shifted again, and a face seemed to materialize from out of the fog—and just as quickly it was gone.

  “There,” I gasped, resisting the urge to shout. We had all taken to whispering now, as though that would prevent whatever beast stalked us from lunging at our throats. And I had no doubt we were being stalked.

  When Matthew turned and put his arm around me protectively, the beast—whatever it was—snarled again. A rush of wind went by us, and the next thing I knew, Matthew went down.

  I screamed. I could not help it, but I screamed like a silly girl and fled up the path, mere steps ahead of the footmen. I only needed to throw my apron, if I’d had one, over my head to make my humiliation complete. Only Matthew’s sharp cry of pain stopped me, and despite the terror clogging my mind, I forced myself to turn around. I could not abandon him.

  I saw him on the ground and hurried over.

  “Bill!” I hissed after the fleeing footman. “Come back. I think the creature attacked the vicar.”

  “No, no,” Matthew said, struggling to stand. “I lost my balance and landed on my knee when I fell. Go on ahead. I will catch up.”

  “Nonsense,” I told him, my heartbeat slowing only marginally. “We will assist you. Bill.”

  I saw a figure materialize out of the fog and my eyes rounded until I realized it was the errant footman. His face was red.

  “Begging your pardon, ma’am,” Bill wheezed, sprinting up to us. “Didn’t mean to bolt on you like that. Thought you was right there with me. Here, sir, let me help you up.”

  Between the two of us, we got Matthew standing upright, but he could not put his weight down on his right leg without flinching.

  “Dash it. I struck my knee against a sharp rock when I went down,” he muttered.

  “You lean on me, sir,” Bill offered. “You’ll be all right.”

  Even though the footman was a sturdy fellow, the vicar was several inches taller, outweighing him by at least two stone, and it was soon obvious Bill would be unable to bear Matthew’s weight on his own.

  Bill looked around, searching for his partner who was nowhere to be seen.

  “Bleeding blighter,” he grumbled under his breath. “Maybe Mrs. Briton could give us a hand, then?”

  “No.” Matthew was adamant.

  “Matthew,” I said, keeping an eye out for our mysterious creature and feeling horribly exposed, “do not be prideful. I am a nurse and quite accustomed to assisting men in this capacity.”

  “I do not object on that basis, Catherine. I believe it, however, does.” At this, he jerked his head toward the woods.

  I stared at him, perplexed. “What are you saying?”

  “Every time I touch you, it seems to provoke the creature. The last time, I believe that—that thing, whatever it is, wanted me to know it disapproved. It leaped between us and knocked me down, although it did not attempt to injure me further. I would have been fine if I had not hit my knee.”

  He pointed down the path to a tree branch, about half his height, on the ground. “Get that, would you, Bill? I can balance on one foot while you—that’s the one, there’s a good lad.” He took the large stick Bill retrieved and used it as a makeshift cane. “Right as rain. Come on, then. Let us make ourselves scarce before it changes its mind and decides it would like a taste of me after all.”

  We inched our way back up the path, Matthew hopping along with Bill’s assistance, all the while keeping a lookout for the creature whose presence I sensed as surely as I saw the men beside me. At one point, I thought the creature appeared again, and then again a face, but it might have been the shifting fog forming itself into fantastical shapes. One’s imagination can play terrible tricks when one is afraid.

  Finally, we made it back to the cottage with no further incidents. We stumbled through the back door, breathing a collective sigh of relief. Bill deposited Matthew on one of the old leather chairs, then fetched a footstool on which the vicar carefully stretched out his leg.

  “I’ll go check on the driver and see if Thom has made it back yet,” Bill announced, referring, I supposed, to our missing footman.

  “They’ll have taken shelter in the church during this fog if they’re wise. Check the horses, too,” Matthew called after his retreating back.

  I was intent on examining Matthew’s injury. “Have you a pair of shears? I shall have to cut the fabric open to have a look at that knee. Your breech leg is too tight to pull up without hurting you.”

  He grimaced in dismay. “Must you? These are my favorite pair.”

  I put on my most professionally stern face, glad to regain a sense of control over our situation. “Either that or you will need to remove the breeches entirely. If you are a modest man, then it must be the shears. Perhaps your cousin can sew them up afterward.” It occurred to me then that Mrs. Howard might wish to be present to tend to Matthew herself. “Where is she? I should let her know you are injured.”

  “She’s visiting friends today. If she has any sense, she’ll wait until the fog clears to head home.”

  “Then I shall have to see to this myself.”

  He sighed. “I suppose if you must cut them, you must. It would hardly be appropriate to drop my breeches in front of you when we are alone, even if you are a nurse and I am a vicar.” He smiled up at me, and for a man of the cloth, the gleam in his eye was decidedly engaging. “I would feel compelled to make an honest woman of you.”

  I tilted my head and gave him a look that had quelled drill sergeants. “The shears, Mr. Pangburn.”

  His eyebrows lifted. “So it’s back to titles now, is it? Very well. There are some shears in that drawer over there, Mrs. Briton.” He gestured to a spindly-legged oak desk, covered with papers and blotches of spilled ink, shoved into one corner of the room. I retrieved the item, and set about splitting his breech leg open to the knee.

  He drew a sharp breath when I accidently jostled him. Despite his jovial facade, the injury had taken a toll. The knee appeared swollen and tender, purple bruising already setting in. I knelt before him and palpated the area gently.

  “The patella is not broken, but I predict a severe ecchymosis before the day is done,” I declared.

  He looked at me quizzically.

  “Deep bruising,” I explained. “We should wrap your knee and elevate the leg. Stay off it for a few days. I can send someone down from the Hall with a tincture for pain I make of strained willow bark if some can be found on the island. I’d recommend immersing the leg in a cool stream to aid in reducing the swelling in the meantime, but I think right now venturing outside again would be more hazardous to your health than remaining indoors.”

  “Yes, Doctor,” he murmured, his blue eyes twinkling.

  After all that had transpired today, it felt good to be doing something useful and ordinary again. But then my mind turned to Gerard.

  “Perhaps,” I said darkly, “your master might wish to come and lay hands on you instead.”

  “Let us not bother him for something so minor. We
cannot have the master running about Ynys Nos for every bump and bruise now, can we? It will heal in its own time.”

  The surrealistic nature of the past few days struck me, and I felt the need to sit down. “I cannot believe the way my life has changed,” I said, sinking onto a nearby settee whose threads were shiny with wear in places. “Here I am, after being chased by some fantastic creature through a mystical fog on an island trapped in time, speaking quite seriously to a one-hundred-thirty-five-year-old vicar about a man who appears to be a-a—I do not know what, but who can heal with the mere touch of his hands and start fires and open doors with his mind.”

  “One hundred and thirty-seven,” Matthew said absently.

  “I stand corrected.” I glanced down. “Or rather, I sit corrected.”

  He laughed. It seemed nothing much fazed the handsome vicar, which, given the shocking confessions he must hear on occasion from his congregation, was a handy trait to possess. I wondered how many of the village lasses appreciated him for more than his piousness.

  “Why is there no Mrs. Pangburn?” I asked.

  The laughter died. I regretted my question immediately. “Oh, I beg your pardon. That was quite rude of me.”

  “No, no. Innocent enough question. You couldn’t know…”

  The blue of his eyes seemed to intensify.

  “Christina, my wife, died in the disaster. She was walking home along the seaside after a visitation with an elderly widow when the great wall of water came in. It carried her out to sea and I never saw her again.” He clenched his hands in his lap. “She was expecting our first child at the time. We’d only just learned of it…” He looked away, blinking rapidly.

  I knew what it was to lose a spouse and a child. What could I say to console him? There was nothing, so I merely rose and went to him, knelt before him again, and took his hands in mine.

  “I am so sorry,” I whispered. “I can only imagine how you must have felt.”

  His gaze returned to me, and he smiled sadly. “I think you can more than imagine, dear lady, from what you have already told me of your own experience.” He squeezed my hands, then patted them gently. “The curtains are open. Best not to get too close. Wouldn’t want that creature to come crashing through the window in a fit of jealous rage.” His tone was only half jesting.