by Janet Woods
* * * *
Graine was seated in a tub of lukewarm water and Jessie was massaging lavender scented soap through her hair.
Another maid warmed her bed with coals in a warming pan. The fire was heaped with extra coals to encourage it to flame up the chimney and warm the room even further.
Graine wasn’t listening to the chatter going on. Her mind seemed to be filled with darkness, her body was numb, her limbs heavy and her tongue mute. There was an awful, deadening exhaustion inside her. She said nothing as she was dried and bundled into a flannel nightgown. Jessie brushed her hair into shining dryness. Fashioning the sides into two thin braids to circle her head, the rest was left hanging free. Graine didn’t resist as she was helped into bed.
‘Go and fetch the broth, Mary. The rest of you can empty the bath water and go about your business.’
Graine didn’t want to eat the broth. Her teeth were chattering too much to eat. At least Jessie didn’t argue with her when she pushed it away. When she turned her head aside, Jessie got up and left, closing the door behind her.
The room was blissfully quiet. All Graine could hear was the fire crackling in the grate, the little clock ticking on the mantle and the black thoughts churning in her head. Her lie had come back to haunt her. God was punishing her for her deception.
When she heard someone come in she pretended to be asleep. Saville’s breath against her ear, his voice telling her to wake, ignited a deep glow of contentment inside her. Quickly, she opened her eyes. He had a determined look on his face and the bowl of broth in his hands as he sat on the side of the bed. The damp, spiky darkness of his hair gave her an urge to smile, but she couldn’t summon up the energy.
‘I’m here to feed you this broth,’ he said quietly. ‘If you refuse it I shall pinch your nose until you open your mouth, then pour it in. Do you understand?’ He gave a small smile when she nodded.
Rebel came over to watch. His great head lay on the bed, his eyebrows waggled up and down as he watched each movement of the spoon from bowl to mouth. The broth trickled warmly into her body. When the bowl was empty, Saville dabbed at her mouth with a napkin and smiled. ‘Good, now you’re looking a little less pinched. Can you tell me why you were running across the lake?’
She could tell him, but she wouldn’t. Miserably, she shook her head, setting free the tears gathering at the corner of her eyes. How could she tell him now, when she had nowhere else to go? She’d just have to find some money with which to pay Thomas Younger. A sob tore from her throat.
When he gathered her into his arms she snuggled her head into his shoulder. Taking her hand he kissed the cold palm, then tucked it inside his velvet waistcoat to snuggle back to warmth. His heart was a warm, living pulse against her hand. He ran his fingers through her hair, releasing a fragrance of lavender.
How tender and caring a man Saville was. How content she’d be if she could stay with him instead of marrying some stranger. But even if he wanted her to, she couldn’t contemplate such a thing, not with Thomas and William Younger in charge of her secret, and she might end up married to Thomas Younger if she didn’t pay his price. She shuddered.
‘What’s bothering you, my angel?’
‘Nothing,’ she murmured, feeling an overwhelming desire to tell him everything. But the words stuck in her throat. Turning a strained smile his way she discovered his mouth a scant inch away from his. For a moment they gazed at each other, then he kissed her gently and thoroughly. It healed the repugnance of the kiss Thomas Younger had forced on her mouth. Her body quivered with a response, and there was nothing cold about that.
‘This cannot be,’ she said afterwards, her voice shaking with the tension inside her.
‘What cannot be?’
‘Us.’
‘Ah … I see.’ The laughter in his voice brought a rush of heat into her face. His finger grazed down her cheek. ‘See how warm you’ve become. You must stay here in this bed for a little while longer, for it’s doing you good.’
And she did stay there, forgetting her troubles in the comforting safety of his arms.
When Jessie returned it was to find the earl propped against the pillows asleep, with Evelyn Adams snuggled against his chest. At least the earl was on top of the covers, she noted approvingly. A real gentleman, the earl, even if he had allowed her hand to stray inside his waistcoat and had his own on top of it to keep it there.
The dog was on the other side, stretched along her back.
Jessie scratched her head, sent the animal a frown and the couple a smile. ‘I’ll be blowed if those two aren’t in love, and why disturb them when they be as snug and content with each other as two turtle doves?’ she whispered, and tip-toed away.
Whilst the pair slept, outside the window the sky released a drifting white mantel to fall upon the land and the air took on a new hush.
Chapter Eight
Graine woke heavy-eyed, and with her throat on fire.
‘Glory be,’ Jessie said, taking a look at her. ‘Your cheeks are as red as a rooster’s crop. You’re going down with a dose of something, my bonny, else my name isn’t Jessie. I told the master he shouldn’t take you down those tunnels. You never know what infections those darkies bring with them. Not that it’s their fault, poor souls, but all the same, it’s better to be careful.’
‘They were perfectly healthy,’ Graine rasped. ‘I’ve got a sore throat from falling in the lake, that’s all. I’m not used to the cold. I’ll soon recover when I’m up and about.’
But she didn’t recover easily. Her condition grew worse. By evening, she could hardly speak and Saville gazed at her with some concern. ‘You must go to bed and stay there. As soon as the snow clears I’ll send for the doctor. In the meantime, Jessie will look after you.’
‘I don’t want to be any trouble to anyone,’ she whispered.
‘You’ll cause me less trouble confined to your chamber.’ He took her hand in his. ‘You’ll get the best attention I can offer, and shall soon be well again, my Eve.’
But she grew worse. Within the week she couldn’t stop coughing, and a week after that her body grew so heated she could hardly bear the bed covers against her skin. Perspiration soaked through her nightgown and the sheets, and her throat was parched with thirst. Yet when she threw the covers aside she cooled rapidly and began to shake uncontrollably.
She grew so weak she lost the energy to drink. Her head ached constantly and her limbs grew heavy. Hallucinations came to haunt her––great dogs with slavering fangs that made her cry out in fright.
The slave girl who’d died came to stand at her bedside. She was carrying a child with the weather-beaten face and the dark eyes of Thomas Younger. Graine lashed out at him, screaming for him to go away.
Saville came often. There was great concern on his face. He spoke soothingly to her and coaxed her to drink from the cup he held to her mouth. She tried to please him, but she couldn’t swallow and the liquid ran from the corner of her mouth. Exhausted, she fell back on the pillows and closed her eyes.
‘You must get better,’ he whispered, ‘for I love you dearly.’
She smiled a little at that. How could he love a woman who’d told him so many falsehoods? She was a liar and a thief and wasn’t fit to clean his boots. Not that it mattered. Graine knew she was ill, and was now so lethargic she didn’t care if she lived or died.
One night she heard a low-pitched singing. Sheba stood at the end of her bed. The slave’s dark eyes glowed like rubies in the firelight. When she’d finished her song she came to stand by the pillow.’
‘Who are you?’ Graine whispered fearfully. ‘Are you obeah?’
‘I’m the myla woman, missy, stronger than the obeah to those of the faith. Listen to my song; it will strengthen you against evil.’ Their glances joined and Graine felt a force pass between them as the myla sang. Sheba closed her lids with her fingertips. ‘Rest well now, little one.’
Peace filled her. She slept deeply, with only the sound of Sheba�
�s song to keep her company. Then the song stopped. Graine opened her eyes to find Saville standing by her bed.
‘At last,’ he murmured. ‘Your fever left you a week ago and you’ve been sleeping ever since.’
‘How long have I been ill?’
‘Four-weeks. You were suffering from a lung infection.’ He took her hand in his. ‘Now you must gain strength, for in a few short weeks we must leave for London.’
She must have imagined his declaration of love, for he still he intended to hand her over to John Lamartine.
Then she remembered Thomas Younger and tears filled her eyes. Two weeks, the sea captain had said, and already four had passed. But perhaps the snow had prevented him calling.
‘Has there been any visitors for me?’ she asked him anxiously.
His smile was faintly amused. ‘Even if you expected any, it would have been impossible for them to reach the house. The snow has been too deep.’
‘And it has not cleared?’ she said, less anxious now.
‘It’s just begun to thaw, and today I saw some snowdrops by the stable, a sure sign that spring is nearly here. I’ve picked you some.’
The delicate white blooms were arranged amongst their spiked leaves in a small china vase. He placed them on her bedside table.
‘Thank you, they’re so pretty.’ But she couldn’t meet his eyes as she hoped it would snow again, for even John Lamartine wouldn’t want her after the truth got out.
* * * *
Saville’s relief when Evelyn had awoken to the world was so heady, he could have put his dignity aside and danced around her chamber.
She was extremely pale and thin, and her hair and eyes lacked luster. After their initial conversation she managed a pale smile when he lifted her hand to his lips to kiss it in celebration. For some reason he couldn’t fathom, she started to weep. Nothing he could say or do would stop her, and his heart nearly broke into a thousand pieces when she weakly turned her head away from him.
‘Away with you, now,’ Jessie scolded as she bustled forward to take her charge in her arms––a comfort Saville would have been pleased to provide himself. ‘You know nothing at all about women if you thinks Miss Adams wants to be gawked at, especially when she’s not looking or feeling her best. And would you please take the dog with you, My lord,’ she said as he ambled reluctantly toward the door. ‘The sick room is no place for an animal and I can’t move for the pair of you mooning about.’
Chastened, he and Rebel went down to the library to skulk amongst the books for a day or two. There, he caught up with his correspondence, sending a missive to his sister Charlotte, begging her to visit and act as companion to his invalid guest. She has need of a woman to confide in, I think, he wrote.
Feeling happier, he then settled down to discuss seasonal preparations for the estate with Edmund Scanlon. The thaw had started, and once the snow had gone he intended to occupy himself with the training of Ebony. Over the last few months he’d already accustomed the filly to the use of a bit and bridle. Now, she must accept a saddle and rider and learn to respond to command. He didn’t envisage any trouble with her. She had a quiet nature, like her mother.
The snow cleared enough to send a message to the new physician, who’d wintered in Poole waiting for the snow to clear. He’d taken up residence the previous week, or so Saville had heard. He waited an impatient hour whilst the man examined Evelyn.
Henry Rideout spoke softly, with the accent of a man from the North. The man had not yet reached middle age, but he was not far off. Slightly dour in manner, he’d also been trained in surgery techniques.
He came down to the library just as Saville was about to storm upstairs. The doctor’s countenance was grave. ‘It’s obvious that Miss Adams has been very ill.’
‘I don’t need you to inform me of that, man,’ Saville said testily, ‘I feared for her life at one stage.’
‘As well you might have, My Lord. She could so easily have lost it, for her lungs are congested.’ A thoughtful frown creased his forehead. ‘It also seems as though Miss Adams has been delirious.’
‘In what way.’
‘She told me a slave woman stood by her bed every night to sing the evil spirits away. Do you have any notion of that to which she refers?’
Saville had a suspicion of one. His skin prickled. ‘Miss Adams grew up in Antigua. It’s probably some native superstition she picked up as a child. Perhaps the thought of extra protection aided her recovery.’
‘Ah, yes.’ Rideout drew his mouth into a straight line and his features took on a stern set. ‘However, it would be unhealthy to encourage the young lady in such beliefs. People have been interrogated and committed to Bedlam for believing in the manifestation of such demons.’
Saville frowned at him for even hinting at such a suggestion. ‘I assure you that Miss Adams is of sound mind. Anyone who cares to dispute that, will have˛ me to deal with, Doctor Rideout.’
‘Yes, yes, of course, My Lord,’ the doctor said hastily. ‘I’m suggesting it would be better if such beliefs were not aired by the patient. The minds of the young are susceptible. Once superstition takes root it can be hard to shift and sometimes, rigorous treatment is needed. Perhaps Miss Adams should be encouraged to pray to the Lord, which will strengthen her mind.’
Saville grinned. ‘Miss Adams’s mind is sufficiently strong enough as it is, as you will realize once she has regained her health. As for her beliefs being aired. I trust you’ll bear in mind that my guest’s confidence is exactly that, and the slave woman was a part of her fevered delirium. ’
Henry Rideout’s face assumed an offended expression at being taught his business. ‘That conclusion concurs exactly with my own diagnosis, My Lord. As for her physical condition; the illness has taken its toll of her, but she’s over the worst. She will cough for some time to come and tire easily. Her appetite will be small to start with. Keep her warm, and tempt her with nourishing broths so her strength will be regained. I’ll leave you a tonic with which to enrich her blood and will call again in a day or two to check on her progress.’ He managed a wintery smile and said with heavy gallantry. ‘Miss Adams seems to be a charming young woman.’
Saville’s attitude towards him softened. ‘Miss Adams is more than charming. She’s entirely delightful and––’ He shrugged and toned down the enthusiasm evident in his voice as he crossed to the bell-pull. ‘The morning is brisk. Will you take some refreshment with me before you go, Doctor. Perhaps you’d care to fill me in on events taking place in the district. It will save me waiting until the Candlemas Day hiring fair.’
‘Thank you, My Lord, there’s some gossip you may find interesting. Boat wreckage and the bodies of some escaped slaves washed ashore up the coast three days ago … ’
Saville’s eyes sharpened. ‘From where did they originate?’
‘Captain William Younger of Bristol was looking for runaways in the district recently, I believe.’
‘Ah yes. I allowed them to search my caves. Surely they’re not in the district, still.’
‘The father has returned to Bristol, where he has business to attend to. I visited the son at the inn just yesterday. He’s being cared for by the innkeeper’s wife for a consideration.’ Rideout’s eyes hooded over as he said blandly. ‘But far be it for me to discuss his condition.’
Saville gave him a sharp look. ‘The man is on my land. If he has a communicable infection, I need to know it.’
‘Seafarers often suffer from communicable diseases, especially those weakened by moral lassitude. However, one can’t classify infected bite marks on the face in such a way. They have every appearance of being inflicted by a large dog or a wolf, and will not heal. He’s in danger of brain inflammation from the poisons being released into his bloodstream.’
When Rebel lifted his head and managed a casual yawn, Saville’s eyes narrowed on him. ‘When did he get these bites?’
‘It was the day your guest fell through the ice on the lake, I believe he said.�
�
Saville gazed at him. ‘How the devil could he have known of that?’
‘I believe he was a witness to it. He seems to be under the impression that Miss Adams perished. In fact, the thought seems to prey on his mind.’ Rideout accepted a glass of steaming chocolate from a manservant and cupped his hands around it. ‘This may be a coincidence, but the man mentioned he was being haunted by the apparition of a slave woman.’
‘The Younger family is well known for their ill treatment of the slaves they ship. They would be familiar with the concept of obeah. It’s possible that fear of it may have a bearing on his conscience, and therefore affect the ability of his wounds to heal satisfactorily.’
‘There are some who embrace such outlandish theories.’ Rideout shrugged. ‘Utter nonsense, of course, for it cannot be scientifically proved.’
‘Neither can obeah; yet I believe it works amongst the West Indian slaves. We, of course, embrace the Christian church, placing our faith in something equally intangible.’
Rideout ignored the latter. ‘It sounds as if you’re acquainted with slave culture, My Lord.’
‘Good grief! Does it?’
The doctor’s glance met his and he gave a faint smile. ‘I’m not entirely stupid, Sir. Thomas Younger said much in his delirium.’
‘None of which can be proved, of course.’
‘Of course. And none of which will be aired outside of these four walls. My discretion can be relied on, my services called on. From now on, Younger will be kept sedated, for if there are any runaways in the district I would not have them hunted down and driven to their deaths. As a matter of interest, I gave shelter to a woman a few nights ago. I’ve put her on a cart to London, as was my Christian duty. Her name was Eliza Jones. I have one or two acquaintances in the capital who will help settle her there, and wondered if they are mutual.’
‘Do you, by God.’ Warming to him, Saville leaned forward, his eyes astute. ‘Pray, tell me their names.’
After the doctor departed Saville fetched his cloak and made his way around the lake, now an innocuous ripple of cloud reflection, and with only a few patches of cracked ice still clinging to the reeds on the shoreline. He shuddered when he realized how close Evelyn had been to death.