The Dark Regency Series: Boxed Set

by Chasity Bowlin

  Spencer was in the lead, his hands beneath the young man’s shoulders while another older and much heavier man hefted the footman’s legs. The staircase they’d carried him up must have been too narrow for any sort of litter or board.

  Larissa eyed the injured men with a sinking feeling. His head was bleeding badly. In fact, she’d never seen so much blood. Not even during the violence that had occurred at Briarwood during the confrontation with Melisande’s murderer.

  “Is he…” She stopped. It seemed a bad omen to utter the word. She was becoming as superstitious as everyone else at Kinraven.

  Spencer turned toward her for only a second, their gazes met and she could see the banked fury in him. “He lives. For now. I know little about head injuries save what I managed to glean from Michael’s tutelage during the war. According to our friend the physician, it is better for them to bleed out through an open wound than for the injury to be closed.”

  “But so much blood!” she protested. “Where are you taking him?”

  “There’s an unused room just off the kitchen,” the heavier man offered. “There’s a bed there but not much else.”

  “Not much else is needed,” Spencer said and gave a curt nod.

  Larissa followed behind them and as she entered the kitchen she noted that the cook was already boiling water and preparing linens. “Is there something that I can do to help?”

  The cook looked at her askance and then bobbed her head. “Aye, miss. There be a bottle of herbs in that cupboard called shepherd’s purse. It’ll help to slow the bleeding.”

  Larissa retrieved the bottle and noted the many others that were present. “Who is so familiar with herbs that they’ve prepared all these for you?”

  The cook, Gertrude, continued to cut the strips of linen as she answered. “All the folks here about know a bit about herbs, though no one is better versed in them than Miss Katherine… exceptin’ maybe Miss Finella. She’s got a keen mind, that one!”

  Something about that statement struck her as odd, but Larissa couldn’t quite put her finger on it. As she helped Gertrude transfer the boiling water to a small basin, she filed her question away. It would be addressed later when they had the luxury of time. Poor John and his grievous injury would not wait.

  While the cook carried in the heated water, Larissa grabbed the stack of bandages and followed behind her. Spencer and the other man had stripped off John’s clothes and had him tucked into the bed. Larissa stayed back as the cook carefully began cleaning the blood away from his wound.

  “It’s a fair gash he’s got, but I don’t think he’s got his skull cracked, at least… though won’t know that till this evening perhaps.”

  “How would you be able to tell?” Spencer demanded.

  “If both his eyes go black, then we’ll know,” the other man replied.

  “Thank you, Seamus, for your assistance,” Spencer said.

  The other man ducked his head. “Thank you, m’lord, for keeping a cool head down there. I’m not ashamed to admit that damned place is enough to make me near wet m’self!”

  Cook glared at him over her broad, meaty shoulder. “Seamus Fenton, you watch your tongue! There’s ladies present!”

  Seamus looked back at Larissa and blushed. “Beggin’ your pardon, miss. Meant no offense!”

  “None taken, Seamus. Where were you that prompted such fear?” she asked as she stepped closer to the bed and prepared the linen strips for binding John’s wound.

  “’Twas the dungeons, miss. Leastways they used to be. That’s where the prisoners were held… and then where the witch was kept,” he replied.

  Cook glared at him again.

  “I know the story,” Larissa said in the hopes of avoiding an argument between the two. “The Countess of Kinraven who was accused of witchcraft and burned at the stake here in the courtyard?”

  “Aye, miss that be the one … though she weren’t burned. They were to burn her, but she just left… disappeared, like. Was down there in that dungeon for weeks and then all of a sudden, the day they went to get her, they found nothin’ but the gown she’d worn when they tossed her down there,” Seamus said.

  “Oh. That’s quite a different version than what I was told!” she exclaimed.

  “’Tis what we’ve always heard growing up in these parts, miss,” Gertrude said calmly as she placed a folded linen square over the wound she’d packed with the herbal remedy.

  “As interesting as all this is,” Spencer said, “We’ve other matters to deal with at the moment. Where is Fergus?”

  Cook looked at Seamus with wide eyes and then turned to Spencer. “He’s got rooms above stairs, m’lord. His chambers are in the tower.”

  Larissa frowned, “Why do we need to see Fergus?”

  Spencer’s expression was grim as he met her gaze. “Did Mary not tell you? It was Fergus who convinced her to drug me, though with what, I still have no idea.”

  “She said as much, though she never identified him by name. She was nearly hysterical,” Larissa replied evenly. She recalled the looks that had passed between Fergus and Katherine. Of course, she’d also seen a strangely intimate encounter between Fergus and Mrs. Agatha. The information that cook had uttered earlier, the part that had seemed so out of place to her finally made sense.

  “Walk with me,” she said to Spencer.

  He must have understood the urgency in her voice for he didn’t question her as they left the small bedchamber. She directed him to the narrow pantry and the cupboard inside it that was filled with herbal concoctions.

  “What is it?” he demanded.

  “Gertrude—.”

  “Who is Gertrude?”

  Larissa sighed. “Your cook. The woman we were just conversing with! Do you not know your own servants, Spencer?”

  “No! I know hardly anyone here. I can’t remember anything, Larissa. There are huge holes in my memory from the moment I came to Kinraven.”

  Larissa’s eyes widened. “I think I know what they were drugging you with… but I’ll need to be certain before I say anything more about that. What I can say with certainty is that Finella lied! Gertrude just told me that the only person more skilled in herbalism than Katherine is Finella! But only yesterday Finella told me she’d never had any interest in learning about herbs and magic… she also told me a very different version of the story about the former Countess. She told me that the woman was burned at the stake. There was no mention of her escaping. Why would she do that, Spencer?”

  “It’s a question that I will put to Fergus,” he replied evenly.

  “I’m coming with you!”

  He shook his head vehemently. “Absolutely not. If he’s cornered, if he feels he’s about to be caught, he’ll be even more dangerous. Clearly the man is not above murder. I don’t know what precisely happened down there in that dark place, Larissa, but I’ve never encountered anything like it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Spencer looked away. “I know that I’ve been out of my head for months, but that isn’t the case now!”

  Larissa gripped his hand with hers and with her other hand, turned his face back to her. “I believe you. More importantly, I believe in you. Tell me, describe it to me.”

  “I heard a voice … distant. Chanting.” He drew in a deep breath and let it out on a heavy sigh. “It had power, Larissa. Whatever or whoever was down there, they are more powerful than either of us can imagine. As soon as we had Mary safely out of that chamber where she’d been left to die, the shaking of that room stopped. Not another stone fell once she was out of there.”

  Larissa shivered. She wasn’t even entirely certain of what he was talking about, but she had told him he had her faith and her trust, and she meant it. “Then we will be cautious in all of our actions from this point forward. We bide our time and let them make the first move.”

  “Fergus?” he demanded angrily. “You think I should let him remain here after all that he has done?”

  Larissa stepped
closer to him. For a moment, she needed to feel his strength. She wanted to feel safe and no one had ever made her feel as safe as he did. “I know your pride and honor balk at such a tactic, but he did not act alone, Spencer. He has allies in this house and our best chance of finding out who they are is to carry on as if we know nothing.”

  “How will you explain poor Mary? They’ll know she’s been taken to your chamber,” he protested.

  “We’ll say that she’s been unconscious all the while or at the very least insensible, and that much is actually true. John is clearly not speaking, though I doubt he knows anything of use anyway. For all intents and purposes, they will be the bait in the trap… It pains me to use them in such a way, but I have no other notion of how to make all the villains reveal themselves!”

  Spencer stared at her for a moment and then shook his head with resignation. “I know that you are right, but it goes against everything in me… I want to call him out. I want to drag him from this house and see him in a noose or on a transport ship. He’d be dead either way!”

  “Soon… For now, let us get Seamus and go see to Mary. Her shoulder needs to be put back in place and neither Dorcas nor I have the strength to do it.”

  Chapter Nine

  It had been noon before Spencer finally found his bed. The sun was setting when he finally rose from it again. As he sat on the edge of the bed, he could still recall Mary’s screams as they’d rotated her arm back into the socket of her shoulder. He thanked God that Seamus had been there. If it had been left to him, he wasn’t sure he could have done it. The poor girl had cried so piteously and was so clearly terrified even with the laudanum she’d been given, that it would have taken someone with a much harder heart than he possessed to be unmoved by her.

  Spencer rested his head in his hands, the confusion and delirium that he’d experienced from whatever drug he’d been given had faded, and a new sort of confusion had set in. At one time, he’d been cold and contained. Nothing had ever rattled his iron will and his control. Now, he’d become sentimental and soft-hearted and hadn’t the faintest idea where it had come from. Well, he had some idea. It was as if unlocking the truth of his feelings for Larissa, as if letting that tiny shred of hope flare to life in him, had unlocked everything else as well.

  Slowly, he rose from the bed and crossed to the bell pull. He’d bathed before going to bed, needing to wash the blood and the damp, musty traces of the dungeon from his body. Now he needed warm water for shaving and he needed food; for the first time in days, he was starving.

  The door opened after only a few moments and Forrester entered carrying a tray laden with fresh baked bread, a plate of sliced ham and cheese and a pot of hot coffee. It made his mouth water. Behind him, came the young footman from earlier, Colin, with a pail of hot water.

  “How is John?” Spencer asked immediately.

  Colin stared at the floor. “Still not sensible, m’lord. Hasn’t roused at all though I heard Cook say she got a bit of broth down him earlier and his eyes fluttered a bit. Beyond that, nothing.”

  “And Mary?”

  “Awake, my lord, and understands that she’s not to say anything about who directed her actions. She’s keeping quiet,” Forrester answered. “Miss Walters has made sure of it.”

  Spencer seated himself at the small table where Forrester had deposited the tray and began to eat with more gusto than manners. “And where is Miss Walters? She’s to stay out of trouble and out of harm’s way, Forrester.”

  “Right now, I believe she’s in the library, reading. Her companion is with her, though she’s less than pleased about it. Mary is in a room off the kitchen… next to young John. That way Cook can keep an eye on things. She knows that no one save you, herself, Miss Walters, Dorcas or myself is to attend either of them.”

  Spencer nodded and took a healthy gulp of the dark and bitter coffee. “That’s well enough then. Colin, you should take the rest of the evening to recover. You were up at all hours with us, and I know it’s been a trying day.”

  The young footman nodded his thanks and left the room. When he was gone, Forrester looked back at him and said, “Will we go back to London, m’lord? When all this is done? I fear Scotland has near done us both in!”

  Spencer gave a noncommittal shrug. “I can’t say yet. We’ll have to see what happens from this point forward. If you’d like to go, Forrester, once the weather clears, I can send you on. I can attend my own bath here and my clothes will survive a short time without your tender care.”

  The little man drew himself up to his full, yet diminutive, height. “I wouldn’t dream of it, m’lord. I’m no coward to run away.”

  “Very well then. You may go about your business for the evening. Once I’ve dressed, I’ll seek out Miss Walters and ascertain what she may have learned when she was undoubtedly going against my advice and judgement today.”

  “Your advice, m’lord?”

  “To stay out of trouble,” Spencer finished briefly, before he gulped the last of his coffee.

  The valet left and Spencer shaved quickly. It might not have been fashionable, but it had always seemed a bit risky to trust such a nervous fellow as his valet to hold a blade to his neck. After completing the mindless task, he dressed quickly, not bothering with a frock coat. Out of deference to propriety, he did don a poorly tied cravat and waistcoat. He headed directly to his study where he found Larissa seated at his desk surrounded by papers and books. On a small settee in the corner, Dorcas snored loudly. A bottle of what appeared to be homemade whiskey had rolled from her lax fingers.

  “Your companion seems to have availed herself of the local spirit of choice,” he commented drily.

  Larissa shrugged but did not look up from her book. “You didn’t have any gin.”

  “We shall have to remedy that, if it can keep her quiet.” That did prompt a smile from her and she looked up at him over top of the book she was so engrossed in. “What is it that you’re reading?” he asked.

  “It’s a book about herbs and medicines… specifically, I am reading about an herb called Devil’s Trumpet. Have you heard of it?”

  “Of course not. What the devil are you talking about?”

  She tapped her finger on the page just above an illustration of a plant that looked as if it had been drawn by someone with as little skill as he possessed.

  “It is a flower native to all of Britain. When burned and the smoke inhaled, it can have great benefit for lung ailments. But if the leaves are boiled or consumed in their raw state, it can cause violent visions and dreams, a total break from reality, it raises the body temperature, causes the heart to race, and results in significant memory loss. I told you that I thought I knew what substance they’d been drugging you with,” she said and closed the book with a satisfied thump.

  “And you’re certain this is it?” he asked, though the symptoms she had listed quite effectively covered his malady.

  She nodded. “When my father was studying herbs … well, more like consuming than studying, he experimented very briefly with Devil’s Trumpet. It only made things worse for him, and I recall specifically that he complained of memory issues related to it. I cannot find another herb that would cause all of the symptoms you experienced. Unless it’s a mixture of multiple herbs, though I can’t imagine that such a sinister brew could be anything but deadly.”

  The chair across from the desk was littered with books and papers. Larissa occupied the chair at his desk and Dorcas had managed to sprawl so effectively that the entirety of the settee was unavailable to him. Out of necessity, he perched on the edge of the desk but it placed him far closer to Larissa than was wise. Given what had almost transpired with them in the wee hours of that very morning such proximity was dangerous indeed, especially if she’d managed to come to her senses.

  “You said that your gift, though I’d hesitate to call what you do a gift,” he said as he recalled the toll it had taken her in Mary’s room, “Is all but useless here. Are there herbs in that book w
hich could account for it?”

  “There are, but I would have to ingest them for them to be effective in that way… and most of them would create a surfeit of other problems that are frankly far worse. Whatever is responsible for my inability to connect to people here, that began, Spencer, before I ever left England… I dreamed of you there,” she admitted.

  He’d dreamed of her, as well, so many times that it would be impossible to count them. “How so?” he asked, fairly certain that her dreams had been far more innocent than his own.

  She turned her face away, staring into the fire that burned low in the hearth. “I would see that night in the library at Briarwood Hall sometimes… at other times, I’d see you standing far away from me, surrounded by dark swirling mist. I couldn’t get close to you and other than the certainty that you were in danger, I never saw anything else.”

  The hair raised on his arms much as it had when he’d been alone in the dungeon. “I saw that mist… so many times that was part of the visions or hallucinations, if you will. And when I was in the dungeon this morning—it was there, Larissa, and it was real.”

  “There is more at play here than simply herbs and spells,” she said as set the book aside and folded her hands on the desk. She stared at her clasped hands for a moment, and then haltingly, began to speak again. “What if—is it possible that the curse they spoke of is real?”

  At one time, he would have easily dismissed such notions. Given his experiences first at Briarwood and what he’d heard from Michael of the occurrences at Blagdon Hall, he could not be so certain. “I cannot say. I am out of my depth here. I do know that as soon as the roads are clear, you should leave. Kinraven is not safe for you.”

  “It is not safe for you either,” she protested. “And I’m not leaving you here alone until I know that the threat is passed.”