by Lilly Gayle
Fear coiled like a serpent in Jack’s chest. Had he not met and married Abby when he did, Daphne Dupree would most likely have taken Will the moment he was born. That would explain why she had not given the reverend mother Abby’s letter or contacted Abby’s father. It made more sense than her wanting to keep the money Jack had given her for her unwed mothers “charity.” There was no charity. Daphne Dupree was not performing good works or helping her sister. Millie had been dead for six years, and her brother believed Daphne had killed her.
Was she now luring unwed mothers away from the convent and keeping the babies? She did not spend enough time in Shrivenham to care for them herself. But she could be taking money from the mothers and allowing the babies to starve as Amelia Dryer had done. Or was she killing them outright and “sending them to Jesus?”
Yet, she had not taken any money from Abby. So, what was Daphne Dupree doing with the children? And what had happened to the mothers?
Fear rode Jack like a storm at sea, chilling his blood as he raced back to his waiting coach. He had to get to Shrivenham and find Daphne Dupree. Her own brother believed she was insane, and Jack couldn’t shake the feeling that Abby was in danger.
Chapter Thirty-One
Her head ached, and her stomach cramped. Was she losing the baby? No. She had already given birth.
“Will…” Abby moaned, and her eyelids fluttered open. She blinked, trying to clear her vision when Sister Mary Daphne came into focus.
The nun smiled. “I see you are finally awake.”
“Yes.” But why had she been asleep? And where was she? She had been in the garden and…
She was still in the garden. Lush grass cushioned her back and a canopy of colorful leaves sway overhead. Sunlight flickered in and out of her eyes making it even more difficult to focus. She blinked again, noting a slight pounding in her head as her memory began to clear. She had been holding Will in the garden when Mr. Piebald appeared. Now, Sister Mary Daphne was kneeling over her and… Will was gone.
Forcing herself to remain calm, she pushed herself up into a seated position. Bracing one hand on the ground and one on an upraised knee, she took several deep breaths until the world around her stopped spinning. Then she took a deep breath and met Sister Mary Daphne’s intense gaze. “Where is my son?”
The nun smiled. “He is sleeping like an angel, gathering his strength for the journey ahead.”
“Journey?” Abby rubbed her temples. Her head pounded as if someone had clubbed her over the head with a mallet. She looked around the garden, a lush green and gold oasis filled with blossoming fall flowers and foliage. A beautiful, secluded garden that was not her father’s. “Where am I? We were in my father’s garden, and then Mr. Piebald arrived.” Fear shortened her breath. Her pulse hitched, and she started to rise. “Did he take Will? I must find him!”
Sister Mary Daphne placed a hand on her shoulder and held her down. “Do not attempt to rise. Your muscles are too weak.”
The truth hit home as Abby crumbled back to the ground. Her legs tingled, and her feet felt numb. “I must find Will.”
“He is fine. See?” Sister Mary Daphne rose to her feet and pointed behind her. Will lay wrapped in his blanket beside an autumn Damask rose bush. Blossoming pink flowers with darker pink centers gave off a sweet fragrant aroma that normally soothed Abby’s soul. But Will lay still and quiet beneath the fragrant blossoms, and Abby could not tell if he was breathing.
She rose up on her hands and knees, determined to crawl toward her son, but Sister Mary Daphne shoved her back onto her haunches. “Leave him be! The boy is resting.”
Abby scrambled back to her knees and choked back a sob. “He is too quiet. I must see to him.”
The nun hunkered down low enough to cup Abby’s chin in a cruel grip. “I gave him the quietness to help him sleep.” She smiled, but her eyes appeared glassy and unfocused. “Just a few drops of laudanum to help him rest.”
“No!” Dosing babies with laudanum was dangerous. What if the nun had given him too much? What if Will never opened those dazzling blue eyes again?
Her heart slammed against her ribs, and her breath caught in her lungs. She shoved the nun aside, knocking her off balance. Sister Mary Daphne fell sideways, catching herself with her hands as Abby scrambled to her feet and staggered to her son.
His respirations were slow and shallow, but Abby’s sigh of relief turned to a cry of pure terror when she noticed the pile of dirt beside him and the gaping hole on the other side of his small body. The depression in the earth looked like a shallow grave.
“No!” Abby cried again as she collapsed to her knees and reached for her son. Before she could scoop him into her arms, Sister Mary Daphne grabbed her from behind and dragged her to her feet.
Tightening her arm around Abby’s throat, Daphne pinned Abby’s back against her chest. Her lips brushed Abby’s ear, and her warm breath sent a chill down Abby’s spine. “I said leave him be!”
“Will!” Abby struggled against the nun’s stronghold until the woman pulled a knife from the folds of her rough brown robe and held the blade to Abby’s neck.
Abby’s heart slammed against her ribs, but she ceased her struggles and held perfectly still in the nun’s arms. Despite the ache in her throat, she managed to whisper past raw emotion. “What do you want?”
“Your repentance.” Sister Mary Daphne gripped her by the chin and forced her to turn. Abby craned her neck to keep an eye on her son but was unable to maintain visual contact.
Struggling for control, fighting fear and fury, she bit the inside of her cheek until it bled. Then she took a shuddering breath and spoke through her tears. “I repent.”
The nun squeezed her jaw and shook her face. Abby’s neck popped and pain shot down her left arm. “You are a whore and a sinner. Repent for your wicked ways so I might save your soul from perdition.” The same note of insanity ringing in her voice loomed in her eyes. “Admit your sin and ask the Lord to forgive you.”
Once more, Abby ceased her struggles. “Dear God, please help me,” she prayed aloud, “and spare the life of my son.”
“No!” Sister Mary Daphne lowered her hand to Abby’s shoulder and shook her fiercely. “You gave yourself to a man before you were wed, and for that you must repent!”
No matter how often Jack had told her she was not to blame for what happened with Drury, Abby had always blamed herself. Had she not flirted with him, had she not wished to marry above her station, he might never have taken notice. But she had flirted. She had wanted more than she deserved in life, and for that, she was truly sorry.
Guilt tightened her throat, and the words nearly choked her. “I was naïve and did not know where my flirtations would lead, but you are right. I sinned against God, and I should be punished, but please do not hold my son accountable. He is innocent. You said so yourself in the convent garden.”
Sister Mary Daphne raised her hand, and Abby cringed, but the slight brush of her fingers against Abby’s face was as gentle and unsettling as her smile. “He was born innocent, only because the viscount married you. But Lord Ardmore no longer wants you or the boy. So, it is up to me to save the child’s soul.”
“No.” Abby shook her head as tears streamed down her face. “Jack did not abandon us, and my child does not need saving.”
“You silly girl.” The nun made a tsking sound in the back of her throat. “A child needs both parents to keep him safe, and your husband no longer needs you. He got what he wanted, and then he returned you to your father’s hearth. Now, it is up to me to send your child to Jesus before something bad happens to him. You do not want your son to suffer. Do you?”
A shiver snaked down Abby’s spine. Had the nun been watching and waiting all this time, waiting for an opportunity to take Will? “I am only visiting my father while Lord Ardmore attends to business matters at Ram’s Head. When he returns, we will move to Ridge Point, and I will take my place as his viscountess.”
In the blink of an eye, t
he nun’s expression turned bitter, and her gaze narrowed. “Stupid, stupid girl. You no more deserve to be a viscountess than I deserved to be the wife of a knight.” She grabbed Abby by the arm and dragged her across the garden to a small pond nearly overgrown with water lilies, their dying blossoms fading in the cool autumn air.
“My son drowned there.” She nodded toward the pond. “My sister and her husband locked me in the convent and took him from me when he was born. They were supposed to keep him safe, but then Harold died, and Millie took in whores. She stole my son but helped them keep their children. And while she was watching the bastard offspring of one of her girls, my son drowned. Without Harold, she was unable to keep him safe.” She shook Abby hard enough to rattle her teeth. “Is that what you want for your son? Is it?”
The fear and misery clogging Abby’s throat prevented her from responding. The nun snarled and jerked her forward. Half-dragged, half-walking, Abby followed the nun down an even narrower path to a small clearing containing three gravestones. The nun pointed to a small headstone with a carved lamb resting on top.
“My Micah is buried there between my sister and her husband, but he was not their child. He was mine, and they allowed him to suffer. He should not have been anywhere near that pond. But he was, and he entered the water, knowing it was wrong.” A sob escaped, but it did not elicit any sympathy from Abby. The nun’s anguished cry sent fear coursing through her blood.
“My son should have been made an angel before he had a chance to sin.” She swiped at her tears and thrust Abby onto the ground. “Born in sin, die in sin. I was too late to save him. But I have saved other babies.” She pointed to the rose bushes planted around the small graveyard. Some were flush with autumn blooms; others had faded with the warm tide of summer. “There are so many babies now; I have run out of room. Your son will be the first angel I bury where my Micah died. He will be special. And I will cleanse you in blood so you might see him again in heaven.”
Fear and confusion muddled Abby’s thoughts, but they did not dampen her motherly instincts. Scuttling backward, she jumped to her feet and ran toward the pond. Her feet felt weighted and her head spun, but she pushed onward, desperate to reach Will. Sister Mary Daphne was upon her before she made it to the clearing by the pond.
The nun shoved Abby to the ground and then rolled her onto her back. Crouching beside of her, she held a knife to Abby’s throat. “I did not explain my mission to the others, but you are special. I saw you bring Will into the world, so I need you to understand that I am doing this for you.”
“No!” Abby struggled to sit up, but the nun threw one leg over her body and straddled her hips. Then she pressed the tip of her blade against Abby’s throat, pricking her skin. A warm trickle ran down the side of her neck, and cold slithered into her heart.
Fear pulsed through her veins. “Please, do not hurt him. Kill me if you must, but do not harm my son.”
“I am not going to hurt him.” Sister Mary Daphne smiled the smile of the insane. “I am going to give him to Jesus, just like all the others. Jesus loves his little angels more than their mothers ever could.”
Terror settled over Abby like a dark cloud, hovering, and waiting. The oppressive weight made it difficult to breathe. Had Sister Mary Daphne killed Lydia and her baby? “Where is Lydia?”
“Why, she is here.” Daphne’s smile would have looked radiant had it not been for the madness shining in her eyes. “After I cut the babe from her womb, I cleansed her in the sacred, motherly blood of the afterbirth. Then I stopped sin from entering her daughter’s body by holding my hand over her mouth and nose until she stopped moving. And with the mother’s blood still running down my arms, I held the baby girl up to Jesus. He took her soul, and I buried their bodies.” She looked once more at Abby and smiled. “The world does not need any more bastard children, but Jesus always needs angels. Don’t you see?”
Abby could not see anything. Blinded by tears and swamped by terror, she opened her mouth and screamed.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Jack didn’t take time to locate his driver. He ran from the tavern and climbed into the box himself. Then with a flick of the reins, he set the coach in motion. He drove the animals hard, forcing them to run at a punishing pace along the rough, rutted path to Shrivenham. He took one curve too fast and nearly lost the coach as it tilted to one side, the wheels briefly leaving the road before he brought the team under control.
When the coach righted, Jack slowed the animals, but his pulse still beat at a punishing rate. He had nothing to go on but a hunch, but his gut told him Abby was in trouble.
The nun had seemed distressed when Jack took Abby and Will away from the vicar’s house. She had alternately coaxed and demanded that Jack not force mother and son to travel so soon after Abby had given birth. Then, she had willingly agreed to let Jack take Will, but insisted he leave Abby behind. Why?
Nobles had taken advantage of both Abby and Daphne Dupree, and both had been sent to The Sisters of Mercy. The families of both women had wanted to protect their daughters from scandal. The nun’s sister had taken her child as her own. Abby’s father had planned to find a family to raise Will until he came up with a better plan that would allow his daughter to keep her child. But that plan had included marrying Abby off to that lecherous old fool, Lord Ruston. Then the nun offered Abby a better alternative. Only, the nun’s sister was dead, and the boarding house had been boarded up for years.
So, what had the nun planned to do with Abby and her son? And what had she done with Lydia and the other unwed mothers she had lured away from the convent?
The possibilities were as chilling as they were endless, and it was clear now that the nun had some sort of plan for Abby. But Abby was wed now, and her son was not a bastard.
Still, Jack couldn’t shake that gnawing in his gut that told him Abby was in danger.
Then why go traipsing off to Shrivenham after some crazy woman dressed as a nun? If he truly believed Abby was in trouble, shouldn’t he ride to her father’s house posthaste to ensure her safety?
“Shrivenham is closer,” he said aloud as he flicked the reins and set the horses into motion at a slower pace that allowed him to think more clearly.
Mr. Dupree had told him the boarding house was on Ashe Street. If Daphne Dupree was there, he would ask her about Lydia and her baby. If she wasn’t there, he would ride as fast as he could toward London, praying all the way that Abby and Will were safe. Because no matter how many times his rational mind told him Abby and Will were not in danger, he could not shake that damn gnawing.
The soft thump of the horse’s hooves on the hard ground changed to a rhythmic clip clopping when they stepped onto the cobbled roads of Shrivenham. The town was a blend of old world structures with thatched roofs and newer, stone buildings with slate shingles. To the right were rolling hills and grazing sheep. And to the left was a shady lane with the name Ashe Street carved into a wooden post. Per Mr. Dupree’s instructions, Jack followed the road out of town and turned down a long, winding driveway at the end. Ahead, a two-story stone house with a tile roof came into view.
Hidden by large, stately oaks and covered in thick ivy, it took a moment for Jack to notice the windows were shuttered and the doors were boarded over. Despite the quiet solitude surrounding the property, a chill settled over him as he pulled the coach around to the back of the house, climbed down from the driver’s box, and hobbled the horses.
His heart in his throat, he approached the house, circling around to the right until he had made a complete circuit around the building. The place looked boarded up tight, and there was no sign anyone had attempted to break in or use a key to get inside. He sighed and his shoulders slumped. His gut might be a reliable indicator of danger at sea, but apparently, he had the instincts of a skittish old woman on dry land.
Abby wasn’t in danger, and he was a fool for believing otherwise. A chuckle escaped. If she ever found out what a nitwit he had been, he would never hear the end
of it.
“Damn.” He shook his head. He couldn’t even go back to London yet because he needed to stop in Bandbury to retrieve his driver. The poor man was probably still waiting for Jack in the servants’ room at the Hog and Heifer.
Disgusted with himself for allowing his fears to get the better of him, Jack turned toward the horses and bent forward to remove the hobbles. His hand stilled, and his heart slammed against his ribs when a terrified scream rent the air.
He bolted upright, his heart in his throat as he stopped to listen. From which direction had the scream come?
The sound of a softer, muffled cry sent him bounding off down a small, twisting path behind the house. The faster he ran, the harder his heart beat and the shorter his breaths came. His heart all but stopped when he came upon Abby lying on the ground with Sister Mary Daphne straddling her. A trickle of blood ran down the side of Abby’s neck, and Jack saw red.
With a roar befitting the lion some say he resembled, he launched himself at the nun, slamming her onto the ground. The knife flew from her grasp, and a crack echoed through the trees as Jack’s knee dug into her ribs. She released an anguished cry, but rather than sagging limply against the ground, the crazed woman fought him with a strength born of desperation.
Scratching and clawing, she fought until he had finally had enough. With another roar, he drew back his arm and slammed his fist against her temple. The nun stilled, and color bloomed on the side of her face.
Heart pounding like a violent storm surge against his ribs, he checked for a pulse. The nun was still alive, but she would have one hell of a headache when she regained consciousness.
Knees still shaking, Jack pushed himself to his feet and turned, fully prepared to take Abby into his arms, but she was racing down a path that led further into the woods. “Abby!”