by Carla Kelly
He heard her out and picked up the currycomb again.
“You left two items off your list of objections to yourself: ‘She has absolutely no money and is also quite stubborn.’ Onyx, you are a hard one.”
“Someone has to listen to reason,” she said equably, amazed at her own assurance. I don't know why I am not crying, she thought as he watched her. Maybe it's because Jack Beresford is such a blockhead.
They looked at each other. Neither would look away until Jack broke his glance and ran his hand along his horse's flank. “We are at point non plus, obviously.”
“We are,” she agreed.
“A truce?” he asked.
“Possibly.”
“We'll go ahead and fight this out with Adrian, you and I. I don't think Emily can take it, and I'm going to try to bully her out of Sherbourn until we've done the thing. It is my decision.”
“So far, I agree.”
“You'll stay with me through this whole nasty summer, and I won't propose again, or tell you I love you, even though I might tease you occasionally. I'm like that, Onyx. And when it's all over, if your feelings haven't changed a bit, I'll retire from the field.”
“Very well, sir,” she agreed. Why does he have to smile in that maddening way? Then she thought: At least he is able to smile.
He turned back to his horse and finished currying the animal, while she sat back on the bucket, wondering what on earth she had gotten herself into and dreading the coming ordeal less than she would have suspected. Without Jack Beresford, she never would have agreed to stay. With him, the thing might be possible. She knew that he was thinking the same thing. “It's an unhealthy dependence,” she muttered under her breath.
“Hmmm?”
“Oh, nothing. We must develop some strategy, Major,” she said.
“Certainly, Miss Hamilton. To begin with, if you don't stop calling me Major, I'll drop you in the water trough.”
She laughed. “Do you have any strategies, Jack?”
“I have several. You'd be amazed what I thought about on my ride.” He found another bucket, turned it over, and sat next to her. “I would tell this only to you. At first I thought I would just keep riding to Liverpool and join the crew of the next ship bound for America. Then I thought I would run away and rejoin my regiment in Spain.”
“Very cowardly, sir, but justified,” she murmured.
He leaned sideways and touched her shoulder with his. “When you are not close by, I do feel cowardly about this whole scheme.” He rubbed his hands together. “Dr. Hutchins said we could continue the overdose and Adrian would die soon. But, Onyx, I didn't stay alive for four years in Spain to come home to nothing! I want to know my brother again.”
She said nothing, grateful that he was talking again, not standing silent and staring.
“And then I thought a shorter journey than America would be in order. We are going to move Adrian downstairs into the small parlor. Only think how well it will serve. No more running up and down the stairs; a room with a sunny aspect. And when Adrian does come around again—and he will—he will be in the center of the household and involved with us.”
“The room is sunny,” Onyx agreed, “but the light hurts his eyes. You know, if we put a mask over his eyes, we could move him quite close to the window and expose his sores to sunlight.”
“Admirable,” Jack said. “Do you think we can prevail upon the ever-efficient Miss Alice Banner to be Emily's guide and take her on several excursions to—oh, let us think—the York Minster, or the silk warehouses in Leeds, or perhaps some picturesque ruin or other?”
“I am certain she will oblige us.”
“Then let us begin.” Jack's air of enthusiasm quickly gave way to sobriety. “We will lose this war, but I want to win at least one battle.” He stood up and pulled Onyx to her feet. “Let that be a warning to you. I hate to lose.”
The battle began in earnest the next morning with a victory in the first skirmish. Emily Beresford, after gentle but unrelenting pressure from her brother-in-law, agreed to ride into York with Jack's measurements and direction to his tailor. “Provided he is still alive, although when last I saw him, he was healthy. I want a new hunting coat and riding breeches without holes. I am becoming a positive embarrassment to the Marquess and Marchioness of Sherbourn.”
“I will discharge your errand, Jack,” said Emily as she drew on her gloves and then took them off again. “Oh, should I go?”
“Yes, you should, dear Lady Sherbourn,” said Jack as he put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her on the forehead. “Do you want me to disgrace the family at the fall hunt? And when was the last time you went any farther than the front drive?”
“It has been months,” said Emily, pulling on her gloves again. “Please say I may select the color?” She put her hand on Jack's chest. “No one ever looked more dashing in his regimentals than you, but, brother-in-law, I do not scruple to add that you have no style when you are out of uniform.”
How odd, thought Onyx as she watched Jack's graceful tableau with amusement. Jack's shabby, unconcerned gentility is one of those things I like about him. He's so big and comfortable. She blushed then and then turned away to admire an ugly vase on the hall table.
“Yes, yes, by all means select the color, as long as it is a red like Onyx's cheeks,” agreed Jack. He put his hand on the small of Emily's back and propelled her toward the door, Alice following. “And when you have completed that assignment, I am running low on bay rum and would ask you to procure me some. It must be Jamaican bay rum, so you may have to look in several shops.”
“Emily,” said Onyx, “are you subscribers of a library in York?”
Emily turned blank eyes on her brother-in-law. “Are we?”
“Yes, you ignorant widgeon,” he replied. “Chumming's. What is it that you wish, Onyx?”
“I would like, of all things … could you find Pride and Prejudice? It is a new book I want to read.”
“What, a novel?” questioned Jack. “For one who is vicarage-bound?”
“I, sir, am not there yet,” Onyx replied firmly.
“Indeed you are not,” he murmured, brightened, and then pulled Emily around again. “There. That's the exact color I want for my hunting coat. That shade of blush.”
“Jack, you are disgraceful,” said Emily. “I do not understand why Onyx even tolerates you.”
“Neither do I. If you cannot find that book at Chumming's, try Witherill's and tell them to charge it to me.” He turned to Alice Banner, who waited by the door. “My dear Miss Banner, we trust that you will not permit Lady Beresford to abandon herself to dissipation on this day in York?”
Alice tittered. “Major Beresford! You ask such a thing after I have raised Onyx Hamilton!”
He bowed. “That is especially why I ask such a thing.”
Onyx glared at him and Emily laughed. She stopped suddenly and put her hand over her mouth.
Jack hugged her. “There's not a minute's harm in laughter, Emily. We want to hear more of it this summer. Now, go on.”
She stepped back from her brother-in-law. “Yes, I had better leave before the two of you conspirators fob off another errand on me. Before I know it, you will send me to Cornwall for smugglers’ rum!” Her eyes were serious then. “I know why you are doing this, and I thank you. Only please, please, take good care of Adrian. He is all I have.”
The simplicity of her plea went straight to Onyx's heart. “Emily, rest assured of that.”
Emily smiled then. “I will return by late afternoon.”
Jack watched the carriage leave. “She was the prettiest little lady in London,” he said. “I quite lost my heart to her. We all did.” He looked around at Onyx. “She dances divinely, and never once complained when I stepped all over her feet. Onyx, do you dance?”
“No. My stepmama never could see a need for lessons,” she replied.
“I wish you could have seen Adrian and Emily,” he said, starting up the stairs. “Albert ha
s surely set up that bed in the parlor by now. I shall bring Adrian down.”
Onyx went into the parlor, looking over the arrangement of furniture again, plumping up the pillows, smoothing back the coverlet, wondering for the thousandth time if they were doing the right thing.
Jack carried his brother into the parlor and lowered him gently to the bed. “He is so light,” Jack said in a wondering tone. “Like a sack of feathers.”
When Lord Sherbourn had been arranged on his side, Onyx cleaned each of the sores, noticing with satisfaction that some of them were beginning to dry out. When she finished, she folded the coverlet back and exposed him to the sunlight. Adrian twitched and groaned. She covered his eyes with a strip of black cloth.
Jack sat watching her the entire time she nursed his brother. “This is no work for a delicately nurtured female,” he said at last. “My audacity at asking this of you continues to amaze me.”
She regarded him, her hands on her hips. “Your audacity has always amazed me, Jack.” She thought a moment. “ … in all the three weeks I have known you.”
“Three weeks? Is that all?” he asked, pulling his chair close to Adrian's head and resting his hand on his brother's skeletal shoulder.
She nodded, steeling herself as Adrian started to shake.
Without a word she went to the harpsichord by the opposite window, sat down, and rummaged through the stack of music on the instrument's lid. With a smile, she pulled out a sonata by Beethoven and began to play softly.
She was still playing four hours later when Jack finally gave Adrian his first dose of morphine for the day. Within moments, Adrian had ceased his struggles and lay still.
Onyx rose from the harpsichord, took a soft cloth, and wiped the sweat from Adrian's body as Jack sank back in his chair and let his arms go limp. When she was finished, she covered Adrian and turned him onto his back, removing the bandage over his eyes and closing the curtains until the room was in half-darkness.
After several moments of staring at nothing, Jack pulled out his watch. “We are two hours ahead of ourselves, Onyx. If he can go another four hours with only half a dose, we can count ourselves lucky.”
“I wish that he would open his eyes,” she said, hugging her arms around her body as she stood by the window.
“Dr. Hutchins said it might take several days. We have no way of knowing how deep Adrian was sunk in this before I came home.”
She put her hand on Jack's shoulder. “Let me sit with him now.”
He covered her hand with his for a moment and then patted it. “Very well. I have promised Private Petrie that I would escort him around the estate. There is time now before it grows dark.”
“Jack, you should rest,” she said.
“And you should not? I have my reasons. Petrie shows signs of turning into an extraordinary bailiff. He is interested in everything that goes on around this place.”
“Very well.”
“If you should have any trouble, only call for Albert. He will come.” He looked at his watch again. “See if you can hold out until half past four. Then he should sleep through the early-evening hours when Emily is about and sitting with him.” He stretched and started for the door. “It will be a long night, Onyx.”
“We have been through long nights before, Jack, both of us,” was her quiet reply.
She didn't know if he heard her, but he paused in the doorway and blew her a kiss.
HE SUN WAS LEAVING SHADOWS ACROSS THE lawn when the morphine began to wear off. Adrian did not open his eyes, but he tossed his head from side to side with a snapping motion that was almost hypnotic. He plucked at the parchment skin on his arm as if something was shooting fiery darts just under the surface. He spoke for the first time that Onyx could remember, but it was a strange language, low and guttural, as if he had forgotten English. The sound of it frightened her and sent little sparkles of fear up her spine, but she rubbed his arms and his back, talking to him all the while of whatever came into her mind.
Sweat poured off his body as she tried to wipe him dry. His eyes and nose began to run and gooseflesh rose on his arms and legs, even as he sweated and then yawned until she feared he would dislocate his jaw.
She fought down her own panic as she told him everything she could remember about her childhood. She rubbed his arms and legs, speaking in a low voice of Gerald and Spain. When she talked about Jack, he seemed to stop his restless movements and attempt to listen to her. She wished she knew more about Jack, so she told him over and over about the highwaymen and Jack's rescue.
When she didn't think either of them could stand another minute, she heard Jack's footsteps in the hallway. He came into the room and looked at his watch.
“It's half past four, Onyx,” he said. “You've done it.” He reached for the medicine bottle, but then withdrew his hand. “Let's try for five o'clock.”
She nodded, too tired to speak, and moved aside so Jack could sit in her place. He rubbed Adrian's back, speaking softly to him as he twisted from side to side, screamed suddenly, and picked at his skin.
Chalking and Albert came to the door, both of them too polite and well-trained to say anything as they glanced from Adrian to Onyx. Their concern went to her heart. She walked stiffly to the door.
“Madam, is there anything we can do?” Chalking asked in a whisper.
“Just be steadfast. Give us heart,” she whispered back. “And please, please, if Lady Sherbourn should return soon, let us know immediately and do not let her in.”
“We will do that, miss,” said Chalking and left. Albert remained in the doorway, watching Adrian pick at his skin. He stood there a moment in silence, his lips tight together and then he spoke. “Miss Hamilton, if I am not being forward …”
“What is it, Albert?”
“I have some mittens. Perhaps if you put them on his hands, he would not do himself injury.”
“Albert, that is capital!” she exclaimed and touched his arm. “Please hurry.”
He returned moments later with the mittens and took them to the bedside, where he slipped them on Lord Sherbourn's hands and then stood back to survey the effect. Adrian still tried to pull at his skin, but he could no longer hurt himself.
Jack Beresford sat back in his chair and spoke in a careful voice that told Onyx just how close to the surface his emotions were.
“Albert,” he began and took a deep breath, “have I ever told you how valuable you are to me?”
Albert permitted himself a little smile. “No, Major. I can remember any number of occasions when I put you to bed when you were a trifle bosky—pardon, Miss Hamilton—and you did not consider me particularly valuable then.”
“It never ceases to amaze me what a fool I was in my younger years,” Jack said simply. “If you promise to overlook my youthful folly, I promise to remember it. That will do us both good.”
“As you wish, sir. If there is anything else, only call.” The hands on the clock seemed not to budge after four thirty. Onyx could almost feel time perching on her shoulder, weighing her down, teasing her as the clock's hands moved slower and slower. Resolutely she looked away from the clock, ignoring it even as she listened for every tick.
“Can you play for us, Onyx?” Jack asked at last. “If you are not too tired. Perhaps Adrian will settle down.”
She was too tired, but she went to the harpsichord anyway, lighting the branched candles on the instrument and the sconces on the walls between the windows. The flicker of candlelight attracted Adrian's attention for a few moments. He turned toward the candles, twisting his head around, even as his eyes remained closed.
“Jack,” she whispered as she watched Adrian, “I wonder what is going on in his mind. Does he hear us, do you think?”
“I wish I knew. I only hope that cur Marchmount did not physic him beyond his powers to return. We shall know eventually.”
She played Beethoven's Sonata in D, her fingers clumsy on the keys. The second time through was more polished, and by the third time,
discipline took over and she was sitting up straight, curving her fingers correctly over the keys as she had been taught, concentrating on the music, forgetting for a short while the terror for Adrian that ate at her insides. She raised her hands as the final chord died away, conscious only then that her back ached and she was weary beyond words.
Jack looked at the clock. “It is five thirty, Onyx B,” he said, the triumph and relief in his voice almost palpable. He took hold of the medicine bottle and measured a dose into the small silver cup, eyeing the level, pouring a little back and then adding a touch. He raised Adrian up and poured down the morphine, holding his brother in his arms until he relaxed and slept.
“Merciful heaven,” said Jack. He held out his hand for Onyx, and she came to him, sitting close beside him on the little chair.
No words were spoken; there was nothing to say. Slowly Jack raised his arm and draped it over her shoulders, leaning his head against her for a moment. After several long silences, he released her and stood up, stretching and rubbing his back. He went into the hall and then looked back at her as she remained on the chair. “Well, Sergeant Hamilton, we certainly gave no quarter, did we?”
She shook her head.
He came back a few minutes later and took her by the hand, hauling her up from the chair and pulling her down to the library, where he sat her down on the divan and propped up her legs on a footstool. Albert came in with soup and cheese.
Jack rubbed his hands together. “Albert, again your excellence astounds me. Does Adrian pay you enough?”
“Certainly not, sir.”
“Then I will discuss this oversight with him … when he returns to us.”
“Will there be anything else, sir?”
Jack surveyed the tray of food. “Yes. At the risk of offending the sensibilities of my comrade in arms here, I wonder if there might be anything so common as a bottle of beer in this impeccable establishment?” He inclined his head toward Onyx. “It is harder than I realize for an old soldier to abandon all his bad habits.”