by Silver, Lily
Kieran disliked this room immensely. It held the aura of death in it.
“Perhaps you’d like to visit your sister.” Barnaby suggested, noting his unease. “The count allowed her to go downstairs today. I believe she’s in the salon.”
“No.” Kieran whispered, glancing at the sleeping count. “The quicker we reverse this spell, the sooner he can go back to sleeping at night instead of here. It looks uncomfortable.”
A jerking movement across the room signaled that their host was waking.
“Milord.” Barnaby made a creaky bow to the man who remained in a perpetually irritated state since the night Elizabeth was attacked. “We found a way to appease the ghost, thanks to your foresight in allowing us to peruse this journal.”
“Speak, man.” As his head lifted from his forearms, the austere blue eyes flashed his fury. “Or do you require money to loosen your tongue?”
“No, sir. Yes, sir---I mean, of course not my lord.” Barnaby blustered.
The master of Ravencrest released a long, weary breath and thrust his fingers through his disheveled hair. “I didn’t mean to be so sharp, Mr. Barnaby. Have a seat.”
Barnaby took the chair opposite the desk. Kiernan stood behind his mentor as the old man explained the curse they discovered, ending with “Lady Elizabeth is the key. We need her assistance to undo the curse.”
“Is this going to be upsetting to her?” The count’s tone grew predatory once more.
“Milord, there is no other way. My lady has to confess what occurred on the night her mother died to someone with the power to seek justice on behalf of her mother.” Barnaby gestured to their host. “Put simply, it means that by telling you or her grandfather what happened her part of the curse should end, provided that the party she tells will set the wheels of justice in motion to avenge Mrs. Fletcher’s murdered soul.”
“Murdered!” Count Rochembeau stood slowly and leaned purposefully over the desk. His crisp blue eyes fixed upon Barnaby. “My wife had nothing to do with her mother’s death. Should you try to convince me or anyone else otherwise, you’ll be facing me at twenty paces.”
“We aren’t implying she’s responsible.” Kieran countered. “Elizabeth is being attacked because she knows the truth about what happened.” He paused, choking on the words he would deliver next. “Granny Sheila cursed Elizabeth along with our mother.”
“Not intentionally, my boy.” Barnaby turned in his seat to place a comforting hand on Kieran’s arm. “Your grandmother was upset. She didn’t stop to consider the consequences of what she was doing or how it would affect your sister.” Barnaby placed the opened book on the desk. He turned it and pushed the page opened to the curse toward the count, encouraging him to read it for himself.
The count read the page before him, and his scowl deepened.
“There are two things we know of a certainty.” Barnaby went on in the confident, steady voice he used to calm hysterical clients. “Mrs. Fletcher’s death was no accident. And someone witnessed her murder. That someone, my lord, is your wife.”
*******
They were gathered in the cheery yellow salon; Elizabeth, Chloe, Uncle Gareth, Michael, his tutor, and even Grandfather Wentworth. Her grandfather had been carried downstairs in a chair by two footmen. As the house was in a morose mood after the incident on the stairs, Elizabeth decided she might arouse some levity amongst her guests by decorating the downstairs rooms for the Christmas holiday. Since the family and the staff seemed determined to hover protectively over her every waking moment, Elizabeth informed them they must all help her with the task. As she was their hostess none dared oppose her edict.
It turned out better than she expected. Everyone began sharing Christmas memories as they worked and the atmosphere became cheerful instead of grim as it had been previously. Elizabeth and Chloe were fashioning garlands from grape vines and tropical flowers that Chloe and the maids collected from the garden earlier. Elizabeth was painting sugar paste over the green leaves with her good hand, trying to mimic frost, while Chloe tied the flowers to the greenery. The maids attached the bows Michael was cutting from red silk fabric to the green garlands they created. Grandfather strung some red berries on heavy thread with more patience then Elizabeth thought possible for a haughty, self important earl. His fingers were stained red, but he did not utter a complaint.
Uncle Gareth and Mr. Marceau had their heads together in the far corner. They were compiling a schedule of entertainments for Christmas Eve. Even Gus O’Leary, Elizabeth’s somber bodyguard, had been enlisted to help twist wire loops at intervals in the garlands the women made so they could be hung over the mantels of every room and the staircase banister.
Elizabeth wished Donovan were here to share the festive mood, yet she knew she must accept his strong aversion to social gatherings. Being shoulder deep in unexpected guests and forced to endure them throughout dinner and the evening hours was trial enough for him. Given his abominable mood of late she could not expect him to spend the entire day with her relations.
Her elder brother had become reclusive as well. Kieran disappeared directly after breakfast each morning with Mr. Barnaby in tow and they did not appear again until dinner. Elizabeth wondered why Kieran seemed so determined to avoid the family. Was it grandfather or Michael that he wished to avoid? Well, he would continue to feel an outcast in the family for as long as he chose to absent himself from their company. The only way to overcome his uneasiness with Grandfather and Michael was actually spend time with them.
Dismissing Kieran and his ill behavior, she hummed a Christmas carol as she painted the leaves with one hand. Elizabeth was looking forward to truly celebrating the holiday this year, with all the trimmings, all the festivity and food that had been denied her in years past. This year, she was celebrating with her new family and her husband for the first time, and she was not going to allow anyone’s pouty demeanor to spoil it for her.
“Where shall we hang this, my lady?” Chloe asked, giggling.
Elizabeth considered the ball of leaves and berries tied together with a red silk cord. It was a kissing ball, made of some local plant she didn’t recognize instead of mistletoe. “Do you think you have enough berries, Chloe?”
Her friend giggled impishly. The woman put together the kissing bough with mostly berries and few leaves, just enough to accent the heavy concentration of red berries.
“Are you planning on kissing the entire household staff and then the stable boys? You’re only allowed to kiss someone once, according to tradition.”
“Oh, tish-tosh!” Chloe returned, giving Donovan’s uncle a hungry look. “I do not hold to your strict English traditions, my lady. I’ll share the berries with you.” She said with a gleam in her eye. “But I do not believe your man needs any encouragement to steal a kiss.”
At that, they both giggled. Donovan was hopelessly unconventional. He kissed Elizabeth whenever he pleased, no matter who might be nearby.
“Have a care, Chloe, it works both ways.” Elizabeth cautioned, “A man can entice a woman under the mistletoe. As you’re the only single woman here, you may be tricked into kissing men you’d rather not.” She leaned closer, whispering, “Like Mr. Marceau!”
Chloe gasped in mock horror, and they giggled some more.
“In that case, I’ll recite the rule of one kiss per customer.”
Pearl entered their salon and gazed about with amazement for several moments before delivering the message that his lordship required Lady Elizabeth’s presence in the laboratory.
She rose and dipped her good hand in the bowl of water to rinse the sugar paste from it. Chloe stood and patted Elizabeth’s hand dry for her with her apron. Pearl, always full of childlike wonder, asked what they were doing. Chloe enthusiastically began to explain their labors to the Indian and by the time Elizabeth left, Pearl had taken her place at the table.
“Mind if I tag along?” Michael was quick to make his escape. “I’ve cut dozens of strips from the fabric since luncheo
n. See, I’ve a dent in my finger from the scissors.” He said, showing her the affliction. “I’ll just have a brisk ride about the island and leave you love birds to your afternoon tryst.”
“I should be so lucky.” Elizabeth muttered as she paused at the oak door that formed a barricade to her husband’s sanctuary. She couldn’t escape the feeling of being summoned like a child to receive a scolding, as happened on her first day here. Donovan had been so moody and withdrawn of late. “Michael, I think it might be better if you go in with me, if you don’t mind?”
“Been a bad girl, have we?” Her brother smirked. “Right then, I expect I owe you for the times you interrupted Papa when he was thrashing me. You were my hero. You would waltz into the study while everyone else was cowering behind closed doors, make some outrageous remark to the old boar and then he’d forget me and chase you up to the attic.”
“And then I ditched him.” Elizabeth put in. “He was easy to confuse when drunk.”
“I hope this whipping boy bit won’t become a habit. I do bruise easily.” Michael quipped, feigning a helpless, wounded expression. Behind the teasing, she sensed a real fear in her brother. Donovan was now his official legal guardian so it was only logical her brother would be uneasy, considering Donovan’s ability to intimidate most mortals when he was vexed.
“Donovan isn’t like Papa.” She paused with her hand on the knob. “Oh, he can be intimidating.” She admitted, “He’ll expect you to give him an accounting of yourself for what you’ve done if you cross him, but he just talks, Michael. There is no reason to fear him.”
“Been through this a few times, have we, sis?” Michael’s eyes gleamed with laughter. “I’ve got to see this. Doesn’t he even toss a few curse words at you?”
“Of course not, he’s a gentleman.” She laughed as they entered the laboratory.
Donovan and the other men rose at her entrance. At the severe look on her husband’s face her uneasiness returned. “Pearl said you wanted to see me?”
“Yes, darlin’.” Donovan was quick to come around the desk to embrace her as if they’d been parted for a very long time, not mere hours.
Elizabeth welcomed his possessive embrace. She had become accustomed to his displays of affection in front of others. As a solitary man, Donovan did not care what anyone thought of his behavior. Even Grandfather seemed to sense that her spouse was not a man to be trifled with and refrained from directing any withering remarks toward his host. Unfortunately, the rest of the family was not so privileged as to be spared censure by the elderly tyrant.
Donovan led her to his chair behind his desk. “Michael, this is a private matter. Run along. We’ll see you at dinner.”
Michael appeared hurt by Donovan’s curt dismissal. He eyed Kieran and Mr. Barnaby with resentment. “I’ll just be off to the stables.” He mumbled, closing the door.
Donovan gestured for her to sit in his chair behind the desk. She did so. He stood behind it, leaning over with his forearms dangling above her head, reminding her of a hawk perched on a nest protecting its young. Something nasty was in the offing. Mr. Barnaby, who was always a very pleasant fellow, looked exceedingly grave. Kieran, too, gazed at them with a severity.
Elizabeth’s mind sprang into action, immediately fashioning an escape. She could plead a headache and retreat to her room. She considered the idea. The large hand caressing her temple settled the matter. She would not resort to lying to this man who loved her so fiercely. Donovan worried constantly over her health and she’d given him enough anxiety on that account without needing to fake a complaint and alarm him further.
No one spoke. The two men kept looking at her, as if waiting for a signal to proceed.
“Your brother and Mr. Barnaby have been investigating the haunting at my request. They’ve discovered something and wish to discuss it with us, my sweet.” Donovan took charge of the situation. With that, he nodded his permission for the inquisition to begin.
Chapter Forty One
“My lady, your husband was kind enough to lend us this book so that we might attempt to learn why your mother’s ghost has been trying to communicate with you.” Mr. Barnaby held up The O’Flaherty Book of Secrets.
Elizabeth gasped, and turned to look at her husband. “You took that from my room, without asking me?” She didn’t know if she was more hurt or angry at the intrusion. “That is a private journal. It belongs to my family.”
“I’m trying to save your life.” Donovan replied in a tone that did not welcome further debate. “I deemed it necessary to allow your brother, who is also of O’Flaherty descent, to study it for some clue as to why this is happening to you. Go on Mr. Barnaby.”
Mr. Barnaby spoke in a confident, moderated tone of one accustomed to dealing with a subject most people found distressing. “Your grandmother O’Flaherty fashioned a curse that affects both you and your mother.”
“That’s impossible.” Elizabeth argued, unable to keep the surge of emotion from her voice. “Sheila was my flesh and blood. She would never do anything to hurt me!”
“Not intentionally.” The old man raised a hand in protest to her argument. “When your grandmother fashioned this spell, I doubt she had any idea it would bring direct harm to you. Yet its power is evident in your life today, just the same.”
“If I may?” Mr. Barnaby asked her spouse. At Donovan’s nod, he began reading the curse aloud. “Angela Wentworth-O’Flaherty-Fletcher, your soul shall never rest, your grave will lack peace until justice is accomplished, until the wrong done to my family is avenged. You kept silent as a grave, unwilling to speak or act for those without a voice. You denied them justice through your cowardice, thus, justice shall be denied your murdered soul. By the power of three, bound by blood; my blood, Shawn’s blood, and Kieran’s blood—O’Flaherty blood; you’ll wander this earth a restless spirit until those who know the truth are willing to speak for you and set the wheel of justice turning to avenge your murdered soul.”
Elizabeth was silent as the reality of Sheila’s spell washed over her.
She never dreamed her grandmother could be capable of such unrelenting cruelty.
The betrayal brought a bitter taste to her mouth. She gripped the arm of the chair with rigid fingers. She wanted to scream, to throw something, to break something. Granny Sheila knew the years of suffering Mama endured at Fletcher’s hand, yet she blamed Mama for the wrongs done to her own family and cursed the poor woman for it? Good heavens, was she senile after all?
Elizabeth could not contain the agony tearing through her throat. She gasped out her pain. She released the arm of the chair and sat forward, her head in her good hand. Poor Mama! Before the haunting, Elizabeth considered her mother to be a pathetic victim; weak, afraid of her own shadow, unable to stand up to the man who made her life hell. Elizabeth saw her as Sheila had, with only contempt, not mercy or understanding.
After being married to a man she didn’t know, seeing how dependent a woman was made to be on her spouse, Elizabeth began to better understand her mother’s perspective. Society was not charitable toward women. According to the law they were at the mercy of a male relative or the man they married. Mama was fortunate in that she had a powerful father, whom she might have been able to gain help from in securing a divorce--had she lived. Fletcher killed her before she could take that bold step.
And then, to be cursed in death so she could never find the peace she deserved--all because Sheila didn’t think Mama dealt with Father’s death or Fletcher’s abusive nature in the manner Sheila wished her to. It was utterly cruel. Vindictive. Unforgivable. Elizabeth struggled to contain her tears. She would not cry in front of them. She wouldn’t!
Donovan’s hand was on her shoulder. He moved around the chair, and was crouched on his haunches beside her. She lifted her head to face the men before her.
No one spoke. Everyone was looking at her, waiting for her to respond.
“I am very sorry, my lady.” The old man pushed his spectacles up. “This is what
comes when magic is used in a rash moment of anger. The person doesn’t stop to consider how the working will affect those connected to the person they’ve cursed. Lady Elizabeth, in order for us to help your mother find peace, you must tell us the secret you’ve been keeping all these years.”
There it was, laid bare in front of her. Elizabeth remained silent, not daring to speak.
“According to this, we know your mother was murdered, my lady.” It was the old man speaking as they all continued to study her. “You were there that night. You’ve been frightened, as anyone would be to witness such a ghastly crime at a tender age, but you must speak, Madame. You must tell us who killed your mother and how, so she will have no further cause to oppress you. It’s the only way to free both of you from this curse.”
“Don’t be afraid, Lizzie.” Donovan’s hand stroked along her arm to settle on her shoulder. “You can tell me.”
She focused on him, on his beloved face. “He said no one would believe me over him.”
“I believe you, Elizabeth.” His hand moved to cup her cheek. “Fletcher told you that, didn’t he? He wanted you to think no one would believe you if you told the truth about what happened that night. It was the only way he could keep you silent.”
She nodded, unable to speak as the pain constricted her throat.
He took her hand and squeezed it. “Your mother didn’t fall down the stairs, did she?”
“No.” Her voice transformed into a crude croak. She closed her eyes, took in a great gulp of air and clutched his big hand, seeking the strength he offered her.
“What happened that night?” Donovan persisted, his arm coming about her back as he leaned in to draw her close. “Tell us--no--tell me, Lizzie. I’ll believe you. I swear it.”