by Jo Beverley
Upon the place beneath: it is twice blest;
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes:
’Tis mightiest in the mightiest: it becomes
The throned monarch better than his crown….
She held the silent room in thrall, but perhaps also she was asking for mercy for herself and Dare. Blanche left off the ending, specific to the play and concluded with the lines:
Consider this,
That, in the course of justice, none of us
Should see salvation: we do pray for mercy;
And that same prayer doth teach us all to render
The deeds of mercy.
She bowed her head, and the room broke into rapturous applause. Mara thought of the mercy offered Major Berkstead and poor Madame Clermont, and squeezed Dare’s hand. Revenge and even justice were often poor coin.
Blanche retreated, soon to emerge back in the ball-room on a proud Hal’s arm, and receive further accolades.
Mara said, “I wish…” but stopped her own words. Society had endorsed Dare by coming here tonight. If doubts lingered, there was nothing more to be done about it. Probably no one on the chaotic battlefield had clearly seen what happened to Dare anyway.
Dare led Mara out into a waltz just as clocks chimed midnight. It was as well that the dance didn’t require any change of partners for they became lost in a world of their own, one populated by moonlight faery dancers, and perhaps by Oriental arts.
When the music ended, he said, “The Rogues are to take supper together now,” and they walked toward the ballroom door. Just outside it, they encountered a striking man with dark hair and eyes and an impressive aura of vigor. Mara tensed, for there was something antagonistic about him.
“Canem,” Dare said, pleasantly enough but not as if addressing an old friend.
“It’s Darien now,” the man said with a smile that didn’t show in his eyes.
Please God, Mara prayed, let nothing new go wrong.
“I’m sorry,” Dare said. “Father and two brothers?”
“One by illness, two by lightning. Clearly the family motto should apply to us, not to our enemies.”
Dare turned to Mara. “My dear, I present to you Lord Darien. Darien, my future bride, Lady Mara St. Bride.”
Lord Darien bowed pleasantly enough, but there was still something amiss.
“Lord Darien and Lord Darius,” Mara said. “Now there’s a scene for confusion.”
“Fortunate that I didn’t have the title at Harrow,” Lord Darien agreed. “I was plain Karvay then.”
Mara tried to keep the tense conversation flowing. “What is the family motto, my lord?”
He repeated his name, but then she realized. The family name and motto were both Cave, the Latin for “beware.” She knew of the Warwickshire family who had a snarling dog on their crest and, she remembered, were known as troublemakers. They needed no more trouble.
“I have only recently arrived in Town, Debenham,” Lord Darien said, “and didn’t know about the rumor. It has shocked me. And I want it known that I saw you shot down at Waterloo.”
“That’s wonderful,” Mara said.
“Thank you,” Dare said, but with reserve.
“I’m not making the story up,” Darien said rather stiffly. “Justice must be done.”
Dare smiled, and perhaps colored a little. “Yes, of course. I’m sorry. One doesn’t expect so many blessings on one night.”
Lord Darien’s lips twisted slightly. “That’s probably the first time in generation a Cave’s been described as a blessing. I’ll make sure people know.” He bowed and walked into the ballroom.
Mara watched him go. “He’s an enemy?” she asked.
“No, not that. Come. The others will be at supper already.”
As they went downstairs, Dare said, “It’s an old story, but old hurts can rankle, and I made it worse by carelessly calling him Canem.”
“It’s not his name?” But then she realized. “Cave canem? Beware of the dog?”
“Exactly.” They threaded their way, smiling and bowing, through the crowded house toward the garden room, where supper was laid out. “Cave was a year younger than I at Harrow and arrived small for his age and ready to fight anyone over anything. He picked a fight with me and I tried to deflect it with humor, saying cave canem.”
“The phrase would come to mind,” Mara said.
“Yes, but he’d already made enemies and boys began to call him Canem, and not in a kind way. The Rogues tried to help, but I think he resented that, too.”
Mara paused outside the supper room. “I’m surprised you called him that when it would sting.”
“I didn’t think it would. He was generally known as Canem in the army. ‘Canem Cave,’ and with a blisteringly fine reputation as a cavalry officer. It’s probably only me he resents it from now.”
She touched him in comfort. “It could only be a fleeting irritation, and he is the witness you needed.”
“Yes. It really does seem that the minor troubles are over.”
She knew he didn’t mean that they had been minor, especially the struggle over Delphie, but only that the final battle with opium loomed over all.
They continued into the room, where the Rogues and associates were gathered around a long table. When Dare told them the latest development everyone raised their glasses in a toast.
But Con said, “So Canem Cave’s in the peerage. Beware, my friends, beware. He’s the sort who needs a war to soak up his energy.”
After supper, Mara and Dare explored the garden, made magical at night by lanterns and a concealed wind trio. Then they returned to the ballroom to dance until dawn.
When the final guests were drifting out, or in some cases being carried to their carriages, Dare took Mara into the library.
She knew before he spoke. “You’re going to stop now.”
“Yes.” He unstoppered the blue bottle and upended it. A solitary drop fell and he watched it disappear into the carpet. “To have none, and no prospect of any feels like being naked in a winter storm. I have to leave London, or I’ll crawl off to a shop for some.”
“I want to go with you.”
“No.”
She took his hand, which still gripped the empty bottle. “I want to be with you and I want you to do this at Brideswell.”
He laughed bitterly. “You don’t understand.”
“I do. I talked to Ruyuan. You can have the place almost to yourself. I can persuade my parents to stay here, and to have Jenny and Lucy join them. They’ll enjoy the cork exhibition, and the monkeys at Astley’s.”
“What about the rest of your family?”
“Everyone else will be welcome in nearby houses. I gather a week will suffice, for the worst?”
He shook his head. “An eternity, but yes.”
“Brideswell is special, Dare. You know it is. It’s a sacred place and it will help you.”
He pulled free of her and turned away. “But do I want a special place to bolster me? I need to do this on my own.”
Mara kept her voice calm. “You will be on your own, because no one can take this journey for you. But if you need Brideswell you will always have it, because you will always have me.”
He turned back and took her outstretched hands to kiss each and then draw her into his arms.
“And if I—” But he broke that off. “No, I will not fail.”
“No,” she said. “You will not.”
Chapter 31
They left the next day. Mara was surprised at the lack of objection from her family, but they understood. Salter traveled in the coach with them. Ruyuan and his musician followed in one close behind.
Dare seemed tense but normal at the beginning of the journey, but then turned restless and abstracted. He said, rather too often, “It’s not too bad at the beginning.” She tried bright conversation, but even to herself it felt like a fork squealing on a plate. She suggested reading to him and he agreed, but she wasn’t sure he hea
rd her.
He ate at the first stop, but then vomited an hour later. Mara let Salter assist him. Perhaps she shouldn’t be here. Perhaps she was useless, or even a burden. She stopped the reading and he didn’t seem to notice. He was a constant restless fidget that made her want to scream, so she turned away. She’d danced late and they’d left early and she eventually fell into a doze. She woke when the coach stopped in front of Brideswell.
It was dark and only two lights showed in the windows. When they all entered, Mara wondered if she’d made another mistake, for the silent, deserted house didn’t feel like Brideswell at all. What if the magic, if there was any, came only from the people who normally lived here?
She guided Dare up to Simon’s room, then showed Ruyuan the one next door.
“What do we do now?” she asked him.
“You sleep, Mara. There will be plenty to do when you wake.”
She had to ask. “Is Brideswell special?”
He smiled. “Very much so. The chi here is remarkable.”
“Even without people?”
“People come here and stay here because of the chi. Good people enhance it, but the pure energy comes from elsewhere.”
“It will help him?”
“Immeasurably.”
That allowed Mara to go to bed. She’d deliberately dressed so she could manage for herself, but she missed Ruth’s fussing as she tumbled into sleep. She woke to sullen light and heavy rain, which seemed an ill omen, but she dressed herself and hurried to Dare’s room. He wasn’t there.
The exercises. Where would he do those? There was no ballroom here. She ran around the house, discovering only the three servants in the kitchens, the ones who’d stayed to take care of them.
Growing frantic, she raced back up to Dare’s room—still empty—but then she looked outside and saw him and Ruyuan on the lawn, drenched by pouring rain. Ruyuan flowed like water. Dare fought him with clumsy violence that achieved nothing.
Then Dare coiled in on himself and crumpled to the ground. Mara ran out of the room and down the stairs feeling as if her feet hardly touched ground, and then she was at Dare’s side, hearing his choked gasps of pain. She moved to hold him, but he began to beat his body on the ground as if he’d kill something, or himself.
Ruyuan hauled Dare to his feet. “We run!” he said, and dragged Dare off. After a few yards Dare was running on his own, or staggering, off into the pouring rain.
Mara sat and let rain wash over her. What was she doing here?
Eventually, she sloshed back to the house and up to change, then carried her soaking clothes down to the laundry, where she rinsed and wrung them herself before draping them over a rack by the fire to dry.
When she emerged into the kitchen, the cook asked, “Breakfast, milady?” Mrs. Keating was trying too hard to act as if nothing was unusual.
Mara’s instinct was to say no, but she realized she ached with hunger, so she sat to eat eggs and bread and drink strong tea. She took her time because she couldn’t imagine what use she was in this war. Then Salter came in and calmly began to draw hot water from the big cistern.
“What’s that for?” Mara asked.
“A bath, my lady.”
He went off with two buckets and Mara followed. A bath sounded normal.
Was everything all right now?
Salter had set up the big bathtub in Dare’s room and lined it with cloths. He poured the hot water into it and then left to get more. By the time he returned for the third time and the bath was half full, Dare staggered in, mostly supported by Ruyuan, who stripped him and settled him into the tub like a child.
As soon as he was in the water, Dare stilled, though he still breathed in shallow gasps and his eyes were shut. Ruyuan poured some oil into the water and strange aromas rose. But then Dare began to twitch and gripped the sides of the tub to try to stay still.
Mara hovered, wondering what she could do. Ruyuan was massaging Dare’s shoulders and chanting to him. It seemed to work and Dare yawned. Then he yawned again, and it wasn’t sleepiness. The next time his mouth stretched, a cry of anguish escaped.
Mara backed out of the room and fled. She had nothing to offer in this battle, not even the courage to watch. She returned to the kitchens and poured her frantic fears into kneading bread. When the rain stopped she walked, almost ran, and her feet took her to St. Bride’s. She fell to her knees in front of the altar and prayed.
She had no idea how long she stayed there, but Mrs. Ludlow came in to put flowers on the altar, which drove Mara out. What would the woman think of her there, bareheaded and in prayer?
The village would know, of course. They’d know everything. She took back paths to the house, but still met a half dozen people, who wished her a good morning but looked at her with concern. She prayed they wouldn’t hold this against Dare. Perhaps she shouldn’t have brought him here. But Ruyuan said the chi was strong.
She would be strong, too. She returned to the house and tidied herself, and then went to Dare’s room. Ruyuan met her outside the door.
“I ran away,” she said.
“It is hard to see those we love suffer. It is better now.”
“Already?”
“No, not in that way, but I have given him herbs to help him sleep for a little while.”
“Is there anything I can do that will help?” she asked.
“To take away the struggle, no. But you help him fight. He will win this time, for you.”
Mara realized she was crying again and brushed away tears. “I wish he didn’t have to.”
He led her gently into her room and to a chair. “That is foolish and you know it. You did not make his prison, but he is locked in it. If he does not fight he cannot escape. Would you condemn him to perpetual imprisonment for fear of pain?”
“I’ve heard people can die of it.” She’d not realized she held that terror inside until it escaped.
“He will not die, Mara. Those who try to go from a great dose to nothing, they can die of it. But Darius has followed the difficult path almost to the door.”
Mara looked down at her twisting hands. “What is it like? The pain?”
“I have never taken opium,” Ruyuan said, “so I have never had to escape it. But they say it is like acid in the blood, and torment in the belly, along with the worst possible pain in joints and head. It comes in waves, and all the organs rebel.”
She stared at him. “Dear God. And what can bring him ease?”
“Movement, sensation. Anything to distract or overwhelm, but it is little enough. The herbs help, but only to a point—crutches that let a man walk, but not without pain.”
“Is there anything I can do?” she repeated.
“In a while, I will massage him. You will assist.”
It was an order, but Mara welcomed it. If Dare had slept, it had been briefly, but he was still on the bed. His sheets were soaked with sweat and every muscle seemed tense. He saw her and closed his eyes.
“Not too bad,” he gasped.
“Liar,” she said, stroking wet hair off his face.
Ruyuan rolled him and began the pummeling massage. “Take up that switch and hit him with it,” he instructed.
Mara looked at the twig doubtfully.
“It will not hurt him. It will distract his nerves.”
So she began to tap the stick up and down Dare’s body, working around Ruyuan’s rapid hands, and Dare did seem to relax. Perhaps become still was a better term, for she knew pain still twisted through him. Just maybe it was submerged.
But then he choked and grabbed his belly, becoming a rigid ball.
Ruyuan said, “You had better go now, Mara.”
Mara hesitated.
Dare screamed.
She fled, fled out of the house entirely, unable to block the screams even when they stopped. She ran the half mile back to St. Brides and collapsed near the altar there, weeping and praying until she simply lay there, exhausted. Her uncle Scipio found her and took her into his ar
ms.
“I’m so weak,” she wept. “I ran away.”
“It’s hard to see those we love in pain.”
The same words Ruyuan had used.
But then her uncle added, “Come and have a cup of tea, my dear.”
Mara laughed at the St. Bride solution to everything, but a cup of tea in the sanity of the vicarage, which was almost as crowded, chaotic, and blessed as Brideswell, did set her straight again.
When she left, her uncle walked back with her. At the gates to Brideswell, she asked, “Could I bring Dare to the church when he’s able, Uncle? It is a special place.”
“Of course, my dear. You know that at night the key hangs under the sheelagh.”
That made her laugh, for the sheelagh was the strange naked female figure carved into one of the massive stones to the right of the church doors. Typical of Brideswell to keep the key there.
Mara slipped back into the house, testing the atmosphere. At least all was quiet. She crept upstairs and again found only empty rooms. When she looked outside, she saw Dare running, oh so clumsily, but as if pursued by demons, and Ruyuan, fleet and tireless at his side.
That set a pattern that paid no heed to night or day. Dare ran outside or paced the house, sweating, trembling, often unaware of where he was or who was with him. Sometimes Salter had to stop him beating his head against the wall, or trying to pound or kick his way through it. Sometimes Dare simply screamed, a howl of agonized despair, and often, Mara knew, he didn’t only because he knew she was somewhere nearby.
Mara forced herself not to run from the screams, but she huddled, hugging herself and crying, praying that his pain stop. How much torment could mind and body take before they shattered?
She saw no way to get Dare to the church yet, so she went herself each day. Ruyuan spoke of the chi, and if it existed, it was even stronger in St. Bride’s than in Brideswell. So she prayed, holding on to the yin-yang disk, certain that these mystical matters crossed all religious boundaries, and tried to gather blessings in her heart.
She helped with the massage, trying to working blessings into Dare’s shuddering muscles as she might work butter into bread dough, dizzy herself from incense and aromatic oils and floating flute music, saying over and over and over, “I love you, I love you, I love you.”