In the Garden of Deceit (Book 4)

by Cynthia Wicklund

  She wanted to weep. Her father had been so happy to see her, and they had shared some brief yet poignant conversations, involving apologies and forgiveness. He was too ill for more than that, in so much pain now, the physician was required to drug him into near unconsciousness. This was almost a relief, as he had developed a horrific cough that was difficult to listen to. She could not even imagine what it must feel like to endure such a cough.

  Amanda drew in a deep breath and entered the bedchamber. The room was dark and depressing. Nurse Bitters was in her usual place, seated to the right and near the top of the bedstead. Today she was knitting, but on other occasions, she merely sat, hands folded primly in her lap. The nurse was austere, and Amanda found her unapproachable. But there was no discrediting the woman’s sense of responsibility. Archie Campbell was her prime concern, and she made certain that was understood by everyone. She slept on a cot in the corner, eating when her patient slept. She took short respites from the sickroom when absolutely necessary and only when someone could relieve her. Therefore, Amanda was willing to forgive her insistence on keeping the drapes pulled against the daylight, creating a gloomy, depressive atmosphere.

  Nurse Bitters stood without speaking, nodded brusquely, and left the bedchamber. As soon as the door closed behind the nurse, Amanda thrust open the drapes, letting in light and warmth. If she were lying in that bed instead of her father, she’d want her last days to be filled with fresh air and sunshine, not a blackened room that was a symbolic reminder of what lay ahead.

  “Papa?” she said in a soft voice. She didn’t want to wake him but did want him to know she was there if he were conscious.

  Archie Campbell opened one eye and, after a moment, the other. “Amanda…?”

  “You’re not sleeping?”

  “With that draconian witch…at my shoulder? Hardly.” He spoke in a strained whisper, but humor touched his words.

  Amanda smiled. “She’s not so awful. She certainly has your best interests at heart.”

  “Huh. If only she knew what those were.”

  “I thought you might like some light, so I opened the drapes.”

  He nodded without comment.

  “Are you comfortable?”

  Her father hesitated so long she thought he was not going to answer. He fumbled for her hand that lay on the coverlet. “Dying is not comfortable, love.”

  Her chin started to tremble. “I don’t want you to hurt.”

  Again, that slight smile as if what she wanted was a naive wish. He released her hand and patted it. He parted his lips as if to say something and stopped, closing his eyes. Amanda suspected the effort to speak was simply too much for him. His hand grew limp and she knew he had drifted off once more.

  She was relieved. Though she wanted to spend what precious little time there was left with her father, if that meant he had to suffer while conscious, she would rather sit with him while he slept. At least sleep seemed to protect him somewhat from the worst of the pain—and the coughing. And perhaps on some level he would understand that she was there and receive comfort from her presence.

  Oh, how she regretted their argument! Amanda had no idea how she could have prevented it, but that didn’t keep her from feeling remorseful. Should she have been less angry about a future in which she’d had no hand? Archie Campbell had raised her to be a woman with a mind of her own. Perhaps a mistake under the circumstances, for not even he had expected her to be a docile participant once she knew what he had done.

  But now he lay dying, and she was grieving already. Nothing he had done heretofore seemed all that important anymore. The anger and resentment were gone, and all she presently felt was a miserable ache in her heart and a wish for more time.

  Amanda’s thoughts naturally turned to her husband and the obstacles they had been forced to overcome. Her relationship with James was more complicated than it should have been. Had been from the beginning. Now she’d had more than two days to ponder Derrick’s insinuating remarks regarding James’s trip to London. Added to that was her confusion over why her husband had not simply stated that Derrick was living on the estate. Would she have been displeased by his cousin’s presence there? Absolutely. But how foolish not to realize that keeping her ignorant was considerably more upsetting—especially after everything they had been through.

  She pulled her chair closer to the bed and laid her head over her hands on the coverlet. She was exhausted, having slept only fitfully the night before. Her head was turned toward the window. The sky was blue and inviting, implying—wrongly, she decided in her disheartened mood—a beautiful day with hope and possibilities. Outside on the window ledge several house sparrows had gathered, twittering happily and pecking at the sill. Amanda heard the traffic below, people going about their individual concerns, unaware of the tragedy unfolding in an upstairs bedchamber overlooking the street.

  For the moment, the sadness was nearly overwhelming. She allowed her eyes to drift shut.

  ***

  James was beyond weary. He had spent one restless night at Lonsdale before climbing back on his horse and returning to London. He had stopped at an inn along the way, sleeping for four hours because he had been too exhausted to continue without rest.

  He supposed if he were the calloused sort, he would have waited for his wife to return home. But the assumption was that Archie Campbell was on his deathbed and would not be recovering. That would leave Amanda facing her father’s death alone, which he found unacceptable. When the old man did die, James would be summoned back to London for final arrangements and the funeral, anyway. All of that aside, he wanted to be there for his wife at this most painful time.

  He had tried not to think about the one issue that concerned him most, but it niggled at his subconscious, nonetheless. He didn’t know what frame of mind Amanda was in. Would she even come home, once she was able to do so? That was a circumstance he had no intention of leaving to chance.

  James had arrived at the Campbell household a short while ago, not long after the noon hour. Because he felt grimy and foul-smelling, he had requested a bath be drawn and clean clothes set out that he might enter Archie’s room without being offensive. He was uncertain whether or not Amanda knew he had arrived. He had not yet asked that she be notified, and so he assumed she was unaware. Archie Campbell’s household was very exacting with regard to instructions, unlike his own unconventional household in the country.

  Now presentable, James went looking for his wife. He had been informed that Amanda was with her father, thus he currently stood outside his father-in-law’s chamber, at once nervous. Would Amanda greet him affectionately as when they had last parted, or would she revert to her previous attitude of hurt and anger?

  He tapped lightly once and, when he received no answer, knocked again more forcefully. Still no answer. James opened the door.

  The room was filled with bright afternoon daylight. The smell of impending death was still there but seemed less overpowering. Maybe the sun shining through the window had dissipated it somewhat. His gaze came to rest on the bed. Now he understood why no one had answered his knock. Archie was asleep and so was his daughter. At least he assumed Amanda was asleep. She was sitting in a chair, and all he could see was the back of her head where she had leaned over and laid it on the bed, hands under her cheek.

  Quietly, he pulled up another chair, placing it next to his wife. Unfortunately, the chair squeaked as he sat down, and he knew immediately that he had awakened her. She did not, however, turn to greet him right away. He sat quietly and waited for her to acknowledge him.

  At last she twisted around to look at him, but she continued to rest her head on her hands. She appeared not fully awake, her eyes still droopy with sleep. But she smiled sweetly at him, and the sense of relief that flowed through his body made him feel lightheaded. Until that moment he hadn’t realized how truly anxious he had been that their relationship would regress back to politeness and little else. That one little smile made him want to dance a jig
—the somber circumstances of a sickroom notwithstanding—even though he was, on his best day, a dreadfully poor dancer.

  “We need to talk—” he began.

  Amanda abruptly sat up straight in her chair, smoothing her hands over mussed hair. “Not now, James,” she murmured. “For the moment we need to concentrate on my father.” Her eyes locked with his. “We have the rest of our lives to make our relationship right.”

  He sensed no recrimination or anger. Instead, her gaze was sad and distracted, and he decided to honor her wishes despite feeling compelled to undo right now whatever damage Derrick had done.

  He nodded his assent. “How is the patient today?”

  “Perhaps you’d like to ask the patient,” came a raspy whisper.

  Two pairs of startled eyes looked to the old man positioned on a stack of pillows in the oversized bed.

  “Papa, I’m so sorry,” Amanda said, “Did we wake you?”

  Archie turned toward the couple at his elbow, but his gaze was cloudy and unfocused. “Not really sleeping.” He reached out to his daughter but seemed uncertain where she was exactly. “I thought I heard James.”

  That’s odd.

  “Yes, sir, I’m here.” James watched as Amanda took her father’s hand, the old man fumbling to grasp hers in return without actually looking at her. A sudden hunch struck him. He held up his own hand and waved it vigorously.

  Amanda turned to him. “What are you doing?”

  He ignored her. “Sir, can you see me?”

  There was a long silence.

  “What does that mean?” Amanda’s voice was shrill.

  “You’ve found me out.” Archie wheezed softly.

  “When?” James asked.

  “Last night when I awoke. It was very late, and I thought…the lamp had been extinguished.”

  “You’ve told no one?”

  “Nurse Bitters guessed. She was going to tell…the physician…”

  “Please, tell me.” Amanda sounded panicked now. “Whatever are you talking about?”

  “I—” Archie coughed then coughed again. He was assailed by a fit that lasted for what seemed an overly protracted amount of time.

  James and Amanda stood up as one to come to his aid, but there was little they could do except wait for the episode to pass. As the coughing subsided, Archie tried to speak, but James interrupted him.

  “Let me tell her, sir. You rest.” His gaze shifted to Amanda. “Your father is—“

  “I’m blind, Manda,” Archie croaked.

  “Blind? Papa, no, we must do something!” She turned to James, her face white with shock. She fluttered her hands in distress. “We must do something.”

  James took hold of her forearms to still the frantic movement. “Excuse us, sir,” he said as he gently pulled her away from the bed and across the room. “Calm yourself, love,” he said in an undertone.

  “How can he be blind? It’s his lungs that are ill.”

  “It happens sometimes, Amanda, when the end is near—”

  Amanda broke into a keening moan, and she began to weep, fingers stuffed against her lips to contain the sound. For a moment James was so stunned by her tears, he was immobilized. He had only seen her cry once before—when they had first made love—and it definitely had not been like this. This was grief, deep down, soul-stirring grief. And he was touched in a way he had not expected. Emotion filled his chest, and his own eyes watered with unshed tears.

  “Manda,” he whispered, his voice shaking, “please, spare Archie your sorrow. No one should leave this world feeling guilty for having to go. Your sadness will weigh heavily on him in his last hours. Not how you want to say goodbye, I’m certain.”

  She nodded, swallowing repeatedly to gain control. “I’ve known for several days that he was dying, but this…this just makes it s-so real.” She gulped on another sob.

  James pulled her into his arms, and she laid her cheek against his chest. He could feel each shuddery breath she took, the anguish that flowed from her to him. Her soft body next to his was profoundly comforting, even as he meant to comfort her. He allowed his imagination to drift briefly to a moment that was free of sadness, when he could hold her in his arms for an entirely different reason. Perhaps this was not the time for such thoughts, but he felt powerless to prevent them. He had missed her, and his fear that they might be estranged from one another again had troubled him greatly.

  His mouth next to her ear, he said, “Find Nurse Bitters and ask her to return to the room. I think it’s time for your father’s medication. This will give you a few minutes to compose yourself. Let’s be cheery for his sake.”

  Amanda pulled back to look at him. Her beautiful dark eyes were swimming in tears, moisture clinging to her lashes. “I’ll be back when I can do as you ask. I agree. If we are morbid, he will feel morbid.” At the door she stopped. “I’m glad you’re here, James. Thank you.”

  As the door closed behind her, James swigged a lungful of air through his mouth. He felt humble and unworthy. What could he do but provide a little support? But if that’s all he had to offer, he’d be the best damned supportive husband this world had to offer.

  He walked back to the bed and regained his seat. “Sir?”

  Archie turned toward his voice, and because James now knew his father-in-law’s condition, the lack of sight was obvious. The old man’s features were pinched, a fine sheen of sweat covering his brow, thus James assumed he was in significant discomfort.

  “She’s upset?” Archie said. His voice sounded hoarse from the coughing fit.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You take care of her for me.”

  “You know I will, sir. And gladly.”

  “Don’t let the anger linger. Anger destroys.”

  “I give you my word.”

  Archie’s only response was a groan, revealing that he was indeed in pain.

  “Nurse Bitters will be here momentarily to give you more laudanum, sir. Please, hold on.” James stood as the chamber door opened.

  ***

  CHAPTER 18

  Archie Campbell, London businessman extraordinaire, expired at 4:52 A.M the following morning. He was attended by his daughter and son-in-law and several servants, all of whom had great affection for their master.

  Over the intervening hours until his death, Amanda had ruthlessly dashed aside a sadness that threatened to overtake her. James was correct. Her father needed love and laughter, not a grim farewell that was more about their grief than his dying. She could weep later.

  Her father had been drugged so, though he was awake until near the end, he had seemed like a mellow drunk who wasn’t quite cognizant of his surroundings. He smiled as he listened to everyone—including the servants—reminisce, telling stories of happy days gone by. Before he lapsed into unconsciousness, he beckoned his daughter to come closer that he might whisper in her ear.

  “The townhouse goes to you and James, love. Please take care of those…who have been loyal to our family all these years.”

  Amanda glanced at the servants who stood huddled in a sad little group on the other side of the chamber. Tears coursed down her face, but she kept her voice even and strong.

  “Of course, Papa.”

  “Make a happy life with his lordship. He’s a good man.”

  Amanda’s attention was drawn to her husband where he’d gone to stand by the fireplace, arms crossed over his chest. Their gazes met and held. He nodded almost imperceptibly in encouragement.

  “I will,” she said.

  He never spoke again as, shortly thereafter, he slipped away from this world and into the next through the gentle journey of sleep.

  ***

  Amanda sat in the bedchamber in which she had grown up, in a chair by the window. Fortunately the drapes on the above floors did not have to be closed after a death, thus she was watching the sun rise on a new day. As in her father’s sickroom, she could not bear the thought of a dark and dreary chamber.

  Less than two hours
before she had said goodbye to her father forever, and now that it was all right for her to break down, she found herself unable to do so. The tears weren’t far away, however. They were lodged in a great lump in her throat, waiting for the right moment—waiting for the numbness and sense of unreality to recede.

  A week ago she had been unhappy with her father, carrying a grudge. Now she would never see him again. Thankfully, they’d had these few days to reconcile. She hated to imagine how she would feel right now if she hadn’t had that time with him.

  A knock sounded at the door. “Come,” she called listlessly.

  Amanda twisted around to see James enter. He stopped, watching her from across the room. She acknowledged him with a quick bob of her head then turned back to the morning sun coming through the window.

  “I thought you’d be trying to sleep,” he said. “It was a long night.”

  “Can’t sleep, can’t cry—can’t think, really. This all feels like a very bad dream.”

  “Do you want to talk?”

  She shrugged. “What have you been doing? You should be abed as well.”

  “Arrangements, love. Thought I’d start the process as I can’t sleep, either.”

  Amanda felt a stab of despair. “Arrangements…” she murmured. “Thank you. I don’t think I could face that right now.”

  James crossed the room to her side and placed one hand on her shoulder as he joined her at the window. “I don’t mind. Being here to help you with your father’s passing somehow helps me accept that I wasn’t here when my own father died.”

  “That wasn’t your fault, James.”

  “Tell that to my conscience. Worst part is I didn’t get to say goodbye as you did with Archie.”

  “Were you and the earl at odds before you left the country?”