by Silver, Lily
“They were arguing.” She whispered in a rough, pain deepened voice. “About Sheila.” Elizabeth sniffled and swallowed the pain. “He wanted Mama to send Sheila away, literally to toss her out into the street. Mama refused. She threatened to divorce him. She said she could enlist the help of grandfather to procure a divorce. That made him angry. He grabbed her by the hair and dragged her to the top of the stairs. He said, ‘Useless bitch, you can’t divorce me if you’re dead.’ And then he pushed her.”
A sharp outcry from across the desk startled her. Kieran was sitting in the chair Barnaby had vacated. Kieran clutched his throat as if he were in pain. He was in pain, she realized. They were magnets, the two of them. He could feel her pain resonating within him, and it was magnified by his own at hearing of his mother’s murder. Mr. Barnaby stood over him, trying to console him.
“Where were you, dearest?” Donovan asked gently, drawing her to focus her attention upon him. “Where were you when all of this was happening?”
Elizabeth gazed into pools of soft azure blue as the sound of her jagged breathing became the only sound in the room. Seeing her distress, Donovan pulled her against him. His warm hand cradled the back of her head, guiding it to rest on his shoulder, effectively turning her gaze away from their guests. He held her like that for several moments while she attempted to regain her composure. The scent of his tobacco wafted about her, and the clean, masculine smell of his skin.
At last, she recovered her courage. “I was hiding behind a curtain in the hallway outside Mama’s room. I saw him drag her down the hall. I saw him push her down the stairs. I rushed out to confront him. He grabbed me and started choking me with his hand at my throat. I thought he was going to kill me, too.”
“Yes. I’m sure you did.” Donovan crooned. “You must have been terrified.” He was nuzzling her hair at the top of her head with his lips as he spoke. “But you’re my brave lass, aren’t you. What happened next? Did he say anything to you?”
She nodded into his shoulder. The fabric of his vest was wet from her tears. “He said if I told anyone what I saw he’d tell the authorities I pushed her down the stairs. He said they’d hang me at Tyburn, and Sheila with me. He said he would tell them she was a witch and that she made me turn on my own mother. He instructed me to wait twenty minutes, and then summon the constable. I was to tell them Mama fell due to her Laudanum addiction, and I found her lying there at the bottom of the stairs. I was to say Papa wasn’t home when it happened, he was at his club and then ask them to send word to him there about the accident.”
“Cunning.” Mr. Barnaby commented. “He made it appear as if he wasn’t home when the incident occurred.”
“Like a fox.” Donovan agreed. “My poor Lizzie. He left you to deal with the authorities, and Michael. It was you who had to tell Michael about your mother’s death.”
Elizabeth wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand, and sniffled as more rose and threatened to dampen them further. “I told Michael she was with the angels. I didn’t know what else to say.” Donovan hugged her, trying to absorb some of her pain. His chin rested on her head and his strong hands moved comfortingly along her spine.
“There now, I have you. I have you, Dearest.” Donovan was crouched on his heels in front of her, supporting her weight as she leaned into him.
“Michael must never know.” Elizabeth whispered hoarsely.
No one responded, no one said a word. They just kept staring at her.
“Please, it was Michael’s father who killed our mother. No child should have to live with the knowledge that his father killed his mother. It would be a terrible burden for him.”
“Yes.” Donovan soothed. “The truth will remain here, between us. Agreed?” He turned to the two across the desk, waiting for their response.
“Of course.” Barnaby said, gazing at Elizabeth with empathy. “A girl of fourteen should not have to deal with her mother’s death alone, without adults to turn to. You are a courageous young woman, my lady. A singular young woman.”
“Captain Fletcher will be punished.” Donovan looked about the room as he spoke, as if expecting Mama to appear. “I will see to it personally. And now, Mrs. Fletcher should have no further cause to attack Elizabeth, isn’t that right, Barnaby?”
“I believe so.” The old man sounded less than certain. “Is that the whole of it, my lady?”
“Yes.” She replied breathlessly. “Sheila never told me about the curse or what the charm bag was created for. I didn’t know Sheila cursed Mama after her death.”
“The charm.” Mr. Barnaby exclaimed, slapping his forehead. “We will burn it, Kieran and I. Destroying the charm, coupled with your confession should dissolve the link between you and your mother’s ghost, my lady.”
“Thank you, Mr. Barnaby.” Donovan rose and extended his hand. “I hope this will be the end of it. I’d like you to stay on for a few days, to be certain.”
Chapter Forty Two
Two days had passed since the haunting had been resolved. There had been no further activity in the paranormal realm. Barnaby was confident Mrs. Fletcher’s ghost had been released and had found peace at last.
Still, Kieran felt a dire sense of foreboding.
It was late afternoon. He was sitting beside his grandfather’s bed. Lord Greystowe had been talking to him, and then paused, too tired to carry on his discourse about the responsibilities Kieran would assume in taking over the estate and becoming a member of the House of Lords.
Kieran suggested the earl rest and promised to visit him after dinner.
He waited, not sure what to do. Should he send for Donovan?
Grandfather’s valet was there, watching over his charge with a devotion that was touching, considering the earl’s haughtiness. The valet held the old man’s wrist in the way Donovan instructed. He nodded to Kieran that all was well and resumed his post near the bed.
Kieran stood at the foot of the bed, watching grandfather as he nodded off. The old man wasn’t as fearsome as Kieran expected. He’d heard about the imposing Earl of Greystowe from his father. But now twenty years later, the man seemed feeble rather than ferocious. Kieran was feeling things he didn’t wish to for his grandsire; pity, concern and God forbid--affection.
He had no desire to become an earl. But Donovan had challenged him when he’d laid out the miserable conditions he witnessed in Ireland recently. As the tenth Earl of Greystowe, Kieran would take his grandfather’s seat in the House of Lords, and have some say in the governmental policies regarding his people in Ireland. He didn’t aspire to become an English lord, but if it meant he could buy back his father’s estates and fulfill his destiny as the clan chieftain, so be it.
Kieran’s gut churned. Something horrible was in the offing.
He left his grandfather to the servant’s care and went downstairs.
As he moved through the house, the feeling of impending disaster thickened and solidified in him. His first instinct was to find his sister.
He searched for her in the usual places, first the sunny yellow salon, then on to the kitchens. Not finding her there, he checked the count’s laboratory, and finally the library.
“Kieran?” Elizabeth looked up from the book she was reading. “You feel it, too, don’t you?” She set the book aside at his entrance. “Something is happening.”
“We must stay together.” He said, glancing at his sister’s personal guard. Kieran was relieved by the two pistols on O’Leary’s belt and the dagger strapped to his thigh. Even so, he had the feeling it wouldn’t be enough; nothing could avert the evil about to descend upon them.
Elizabeth came to stand beside him. Kieran placed an arm about his sister, wanting to reassure her. He held the guard’s questioning gaze. O’Leary, although silent whenever the countess was talking with her guests, heard much of the conversation around him.
With a nod toward Kieran, the man stalked to the window and peered through the louvered slats at the estate grounds. He shrugged, giving Kieran
the clear message that all appeared well. “Looks to be a thunderstorm rolling in from the west, Mr. O’Flaherty. ‘Tis not unusual this time of year. It makes the atmosphere feel tense, my lady.” The guard explained.
As if in answer to O’Leary’s comment, thunder rumbled above their heads.
Taking Elizabeth’s hand, Kieran led her to the chaise and sat down beside her. “I think we should stay here and . . . concentrate.”
*******
Elizabeth clutched at her brother’s hand, relieved by his presence. She had been enjoying solitude for a sparse few hours in the late afternoon as her house guests were all otherwise occupied. She had felt inexplicably frightened and she could not understand why. She wished Donovan were here. He was busy with the cane harvest, and although he insisted she was more important than his business affairs, it would be silly to draw him away from the mill over a mere feeling she could not even justify.
“Close your eyes.” Kieran instructed, holding her good hand. “Try to clear your mind. Don’t force an impression, just stand at the shores and let the impression come to you, like a wave rolling in from the sea.”
It was easier said than done. Elizabeth took steadying breaths in order to calm herself and focus instead of letting her thoughts race haplessly about like spooked horses.
“Michael!” They said as one, and gazed at each other with horror.
*******
Michael was on all fours on the ground.
His head was ringing, and he saw the proverbial stars behind his eyes.
A dark shadow loomed over him from behind.
He’d been out riding all afternoon. He stopped along the road and crept into the bushes to piss. He’d been minding his affairs when something hit him on the back of the head, knocking him to his knees with blinding pain. He’d been ready to sum it up to an errant coconut hurled at him from one of the mischievous monkeys on the island, but the stench reminded him of a larger animal that had rolled in pig shit recently. There were wild boars on the island.
His eyes focused on the shadow before him, the only clue as to the entity behind him.
Michael’s gut slithered and sank.
It wasn’t an animal behind him. He saw the clear outlined shadow of a man.
His assessment proved true as a leather strap was cinched around his neck.
*******
“Michael is in danger.” Elizabeth stood and rushed to her guard. “Michael was out riding. Something must have happened, Gus. You must go look for him.”
“I cannot leave you, my lady, until the master returns. If you’ll wait here, I’ll go speak to Giles.” The guard replied in a soothing mien. “We’ll send the footmen and the stable lad, Johnny, out to look for him. I’m sure he’ll turn up, my lady.” Looking to Kieran, the guard’s tone became terse and commanding. “Stay with her until I return.”
Kieran nodded. The guard left to find the butler. He placed a consoling arm about his sister. “He could have just fallen from his horse.”
Elizabeth frowned at him. He patted her hand, realizing he wasn’t fooling her.
*******
Thirty minutes passed.
Forty five minutes ticked by.
Finally, the minute hand of the ornate clock on the mantle signaled the passage of a full hour since the guard had left them alone.
“He’s been gone a long time.” Kieran remarked, staring at the door. He stood and stepped away from his sister. This was strange. It shouldn’t take this long to give orders to the butler. O’Leary wouldn’t leave Elizabeth for a moment longer than was necessary. Kieran peered out into the hall. There was no sound of servants chattering. No sound whatsoever for a busy, bustling household full to the brim with servants and guests.
Kieran closed the library door and went to the fireplace to retrieve a poker, feeling like a boy with a wooden sword. He wished his brother-in-law were here. Donovan was a former pirate, a seasoned warrior. Kieran was an apothecary.
“I’m going with you.” Elizabeth said decisively. She was not the type to sit by and allow others to act when there was trouble brewing. “Oh, why did he have to go out riding alone?”
“It’s an island.” Kieran remarked. “As long as he didn’t go into the interior jungle, he’ll be easy enough to find.”
They moved to the door and hurried down the long corridor. There were no noises coming from the kitchen. No clattering of dishes or the continual chopping and clanging of pans that evidenced the cook was ruling over his tiny kingdom. There was no chatter of footmen or maids echoing from the downstairs rooms, as would be the case if they were absorbed in their duties. Elizabeth stopped in the billiard room to close the window casements as the skies opened up for a late afternoon downpour. In the absence of servants, Kieran helped her close all the windows as they moved through the progression of lower rooms.
In the foyer outside the salon, just before the main staircase they encountered Mr. O’Leary’s body. Thunder cracked above and shook the rafters as Kieran knelt beside the man and felt his throat. “He’s alive. Someone knocked him out.” He said, indicating the shattered remnants of a large vase and tangled flowers on the floor near the guard’s head. What he didn’t tell his sister was that O’Leary’s pistols were missing from the man’s belt.
He rose, clutching the handle of the brass poker firmly in his fist. He listened. The rain pummeled the house, adding to the sick feeling of isolation growing in his abdomen. He heard muted weeping. He tilted his head, trying to locate the sound. The doors to the salon were closed.
Elizabeth was staring at the closed doors, coming to the same conclusion as he.
“Wait.” Kieran grabbed her elbow to prevent her from going to the salon.
At that precise moment, the front door burst open. Donovan came charging through it, his hair plastered to his head, his linen shirt drenched from the sudden tropical shower. He had a machete clutched in his fist. “Lizzie!” He breathed. His free arm wrapped about her.
He kissed her hair. While she was turned away, hugging her lord despite his sodden condition, Donovan’s eyes sought Kieran’s over her shoulder. “An indenture escaped in the fields. I believe he’s headed here.” He stepped away from Elizabeth and gestured for Kieran to come near him, out of his wife’s hearing.
Kieran indicated O’Leary’s unconscious body behind them, at the entrance to the hallway. “There were two pistols on his belt before. They’re gone, my lord.” He whispered.
Donovan nodded curtly, absorbing the information.
*******
Elizabeth stepped close to the whispering men, unwilling to be separated from her husband now that he was present. Donovan stopped whispering at her approach.
“Michael is missing. Gus sent the footmen to search for him.” She informed him. “And something odd is happening in there.” She pointed out the closed salon doors. They were never closed, not since she had become mistress here.
Donovan put a finger to his lips. He crept noiselessly to the door and tried the knob. The doors were locked. Donovan knocked. A door was unlocked and opened a few inches.
He held up his hand, gesturing for Elizabeth and Kieran to stay where they were. He stepped forward carefully and poked his head inside.
“You twisted whore’s son!”
Elizabeth’s heart chilled. She knew that voice. It was the embodiment of every childhood fear she possessed. Fletcher was here?
As the heavens rumbled above, the door panel in front of Donovan exploded. His body jerked. He shoved her back as he scrambled away from the door.
“Donovan!” Elizabeth shrieked. His sleeve was quickly turning crimson.
“I’m fine.” He told her through clenched teeth, his face a grimace of pain. “The ball grazed my bicep.” He sat on the stairs and held his right arm up, bending the elbow. She sat next to him, and could see the slit where the bullet tore his shirt, but there was no hole in his flesh, just a long, ugly gash.
“I want you to go up to my room and lock the do
or. Kieran, go with her. I have reinforcements coming from the mill.” As Donovan spoke he tore his shirt sleeve away, revealing a waterfall of blood flowing down his arm from the gash. He rolled the fabric quickly, wrapped the strip about his wound with one hand and tied it, using his teeth to tighten the knot.
He’d done this before, Elizabeth realized. He didn’t look the least bit dismayed by his wound. “Why is my stepfather here?”
“Go upstairs, Lizzie. Let me deal with this.”
“No. I will not hide in the closet. My brother is with him, isn’t he?”
Donovan did not respond. He merely looked at her and then at Kieran before nodding.
“Our brother is in there?” Kieran snapped. The fury rising in Kieran’s eyes told her that he was not going upstairs to hide, either.
Before Donovan could stop him Kieran turned and vaulted to the doors.
“Kieran, wait!” Donovan shouted. Elizabeth echoed his plea.
The door opened as he reached it. Kieran stood face to face with Sally, the downstairs maid. The poor woman looked terrified. She asked in a high, panicked voice. “He wants to know if he hit his lordship?”
Kieran turned to Donovan. Donovan nodded and gestured to his arm.
“Yes.” Sally relayed the message to the man inside. “There’s an awful lot of blood.”
Demented laughter came from within. “Get back inside, wench, or this boy will bleed.”
The door closed. This time, it did not lock. Whether Sally left it so intentionally or merely forgot to lock it again, Elizabeth did not know.
She rose from where she had been seated on the stairs, intending to rush into the salon with Kieran to help Michael. Donovan’s big hand shackled her unbound wrist.
His eyes held a fury mirroring her own. “You are not going near that monster.”
“My brother is in there, you great ape! Get out of my way.” She jerked and twisted her good wrist in his hand in an attempt to shake free. Donovan held her firmly.
“Stop this.” He hissed, seizing her by the shoulders. He shook her slightly, as if trying to bring her to her senses. “There is nothing you can do but become a target and I will not allow it.”