Cursed Once More: The Sequel to With This Curse

by Amanda DeWees

  “And why should I not?” I returned, but likewise in a whisper. “You deserve to be.”

  He clutched at my arm. “Be merciful. Give me a chance to change your mind. I am your kin, remember, and—”

  “Oh, very well,” I said, as much to put an end to his pleas as to be generous. “Come speak to me tomorrow, and we shall see. Mind you don’t run off in the night, or I will have the constables pursue you.”

  He withdrew with hasty reassurances, which I scarcely heeded. He was not my chief concern now.

  “This sounds like quite a nasty business,” George was saying as I returned to Atticus’s side. “There will need to be an investigation, I take it?” When Atticus confirmed it with a short nod, his earnest expression grew more concerned. “And it looks as though you’ve been involved in some fisticuffs, Telford. Neither of you has come to any harm, I hope?”

  “I don’t think so,” I said, since the question seemed to be aimed at me. Perhaps Vivi had confided my news in him and he was concerned about the baby, but I did not give him a chance to ask. “Atticus, Grigore didn’t injure you severely, did he?”

  “He and Lynch did me no permanent damage, my love.” Then he shifted his weight and grimaced. “I should be glad of a new walking stick, though.”

  Afterward Atticus and I spoke briefly with the police in a private room at the village inn. George had wired ahead for the constables to meet him and Vivi at Coley, so they knew as little as he about the events that had taken place at Thurnley. They were, to put it mildly, astonished at the tale we had to tell. They had taken Grigore into custody but agreed that we could give our full accounts the next day, after we had had a chance to recover.

  We emerged to find that Vivi had appropriated the entire second floor of the inn for our use. Issuing orders with all the aplomb of a major general, she was overseeing the laying of a meal in the sitting room. “And mind you bring only the best wine!” she instructed a young footman, who bowed his way out of the room with as much deference as if she had been the queen.

  The innkeeper’s daughter showed Atticus and me to adjoining rooms, where fires already burned cozily and there was hot water ready for washing. As soon as Atticus had withdrawn to his room, leaving the door open a crack so that we could converse, I startled the girl by ripping my mourning dress off with such vigor that the buttons popped off. The thing had come to feel as much like a prison as my room at Thurnley.

  “After I’ve finished changing, take this away and burn it,” I told her. I would never be able to look at it again without thinking of the horrible days during which I had believed Atticus to be dead.

  I washed quickly and bundled my hair into the simplest of chignons, for I did not want to be away from Atticus any longer than I absolutely had to be. My trunks had already arrived—Vivi’s doing, no doubt—and the innkeeper’s daughter helped me into a dinner dress. But when it came time to lace me up the back, I dismissed her and went to the door to Atticus’s room.

  He had finished washing and stood half dressed before the mirror, shaving. Such an inconsequential activity, or so I would have thought before his disappearance, but tonight it filled me with joy to watch him. My husband was alive and with me, and every moment together was a gift to be treasured.

  When he saw me in the mirror, he smiled. “Just clearing away this foliage,” he said. “I feel almost myself again.”

  Half of his chin was smooth already. I closed the door behind myself and came to stand at his side, so that when he set the razor aside I was ready to dab the last of the lather from his face with a linen towel. He began to slip his arms around me, but I put a hand to his chest to stop him.

  “I need your assistance,” I told him. “This dress laces up the back, you see.”

  His smile brought the familiar crinkles to the corners of his eyes. “And you trust me to lace you up, do you?”

  I turned my back to him, but I could not resist peeking back over my shoulder. “I have it on good authority that you are rather handy with a lady’s laces,” I said demurely.

  His chuckle was like a warm, cozy blanket settling over me, a sound that spoke of all that was comforting in my life—a sound I had once thought I would never hear again. Taking up the end of the cord that fastened my bodice, he worked at his task for a time. Presently he asked, “Do you remember the night of the ball, when you asked me to unlace you?”

  “I shall never forget it. It was that night when you asked me to become your wife in more than name.” And I had said yes—without even knowing why, out of some instinct deeper than reason, wiser than thought.

  He tied off the cord and tucked the ends under my bodice. Then his hands glided across my back to my shoulders, and he turned me to face him. “Our marriage may have had a rocky start,” he said softly, “thanks in large part to my blundering, but I’d say we’ve made a smashing success of it. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  I twined my arms around his neck. Looking into the endless blue of his eyes was like floating up into heaven, and only the touch of his hands kept me anchored here on earth. “A smashing success,” I echoed. “Oh, my dearest—”

  But he stopped my words with a kiss, then followed it with another. As with most of my husband’s ideas, I found myself in complete agreement with him, and conversation ceased for a time.

  Then came the sound of the door opening, and George’s voice said, “Telford, are you nearly ready? Oh, I beg your pardon, my lady. I didn’t know you were here.”

  “Just give me a moment to finish dressing,” said Atticus, without taking his eyes from me. “My wanton wife here waylaid me.”

  “Atticus!” I exclaimed, half mortified, half delighted.

  At the sound of my voice, Vivi joined her husband in the doorway. “Still not dressed, au nom du ciel!” she cried. “Your dinner will soon be cold. And more to the point, I am longing to hear about your adventures.”

  “That is not the word I would have chosen,” I said darkly.

  “Then you must come and disabuse me,” said my niece, undaunted. “Do let Uncle Atticus finish dressing, Aunt Clara.”

  In truth, I saw no reason for him to do so when going shirtless suited him so very well. Nevertheless, he was able to complete the task swiftly when I ceased to detain him, and soon the four of us were gathered around the table. Roast hens with potatoes and turnips looked as tempting to me as any of the fine dinners we had ever served guests at Gravesend. My appetite had been poor during my imprisonment, but now that it had reawakened I was ravenous.

  “Tell us first how the two of you came to be here,” I said, taking up my fork to taste the chicken, which was sending up a beckoning finger of steam.

  “Vivi and I thought it strange that we hadn’t received any letters from you,” George said. “Especially when we had written ourselves. Then came a telegram saying that your grandmother had died, Lady Telford, and that the two of you were staying for her funeral. Then nothing again for almost a week, and then a telegram saying that you had decided to travel to Switzerland to visit a home for distressed gentlewomen there in case it might offer any ideas for improvements to the Blackwood Homes.”

  “That would have been the work of my uncle,” I said. “I found out after the fact that he had been detaining all our mail, both incoming and outgoing, as well as sending false messages. He sent the second telegram to assuage your suspicions.”

  “Well, it did rather the opposite. It seemed so extreme and sudden a change of plan, especially when you both knew how close the new Home is to completion and how vital your guidance is, Telford. So I wired back, and when there was no reply after several days, Vivi convinced me that we needed to investigate.”

  “Now, tell us what happened to you,” Vivi commanded. “Is it true that you were held prisoner, uncle?”

  “I was,” he said quietly. “Lynch hoped that he could learn secrets of supernatural power from observing me.”

  “Supernatural power?” she exclaimed. She looked from him to me in search of a s
ign to indicate whether he was making a jest. “Did he believe that your nickname meant you were one of the ancient gods, Uncle Atlas?”

  My husband’s smile was a bit strained. “I’m not certain whether that would have been better or worse than being suspected of vampirism.”

  Her blue eyes widened in astonishment. “He thought you were a vampire? What could possibly have led him to think such a thing? That is absurd!”

  This time Atticus’s smile was closer to its normal self. “Believe me, I tried to tell him so. But he was convinced he could garner occult knowledge from studying me. He even drew some of my blood and took hair clippings so that he could perform experiments.” When I exclaimed in horror, Atticus reached across the table to take my hand. “It’s all right, my love. I’m no worse for wear.”

  “This is shocking, Telford,” George exclaimed. His kind young face was stricken, as if this was the first time he had encountered such depravity… as perhaps it was. “Did no one hear you call for help? Or were you drugged?”

  “Nothing could be heard from the habitable part of the house, or so Lynch said,” Atticus replied. “That didn’t prevent me from yelling at the top of my voice at first, but I soon found that Grigore had been given orders to make me stop. I was shackled, so he had the advantage of me.”

  Despite his oblique way of putting it, my heart constricted at the implication of the violence he had suffered. I felt a fierce satisfaction that Atticus had returned some of the blows tonight. “Were you not shackled today, then?” I asked.

  “Grigore, as you know, is not terribly bright,” he responded. “I soon found that I could slip the shackles when he wasn’t looking. But until I had a way to escape the cell, it did me no good. The waiting was worse than any beating, especially with Lynch going on about the family he intended to raise with you, Clara.” His icy blue eyes were haunted. “It was nightmarish to know that he could be mistreating you, without me to prevent him.”

  I shuddered. “I suppose I should be grateful that his peculiar code of honor held him in check. Believing as I did that he had killed my grandmother, I was afraid of awakening that murderous rage.”

  “Killed your grandmother?” Vivi burst out, and I had to go back and explain things from the beginning.

  “Then, when he had kidnapped Atticus, he must have countermanded all of the telegrams I sent for assistance,” I said. Looking back at that visit to the station, I realized that Victor had accompanied me and then lingered behind with just that aim in mind. “It is no wonder no one came to our aid, with both my uncle and Victor interfering with my every message. But I suppose he eventually realized that I wouldn’t stop the search as long as I believed he was alive. So he planted evidence along the riverside to make it look as though Atticus had drowned or been murdered. And I believed it.”

  My voice gave out, and I had to shut my eyes to try to collect myself. His hand pressed mine reassuringly, and the touch seemed to infuse me with some of his strength. “I don’t want to speak of it any more tonight,” I said briskly, opening my eyes and smiling at the faces of those I loved. “Just now, all I want to do is celebrate that we are alive and that we have escaped that dreadful place.”

  “Hear, hear,” George exclaimed, raising his glass. “I hope we never have cause to mount a rescue party for you again.”

  “That suits me quite well,” Atticus returned, touching the rim of his glass to George’s. “Now Clara and I want to hear all about your doings. Tell us everything that has happened in Cornwall since we left. Vivi, are you keeping healthy?”

  How glorious it was to simply eat our dinner together and enjoy normal conversation again, to bring my mind back from the recent horrors to contemplate our real lives back at Gravesend. The cheerful talk of those I held most dear restored my spirits, just as the hearty meal replenished my body. A deep contentment filled me.

  In a momentary lull in the conversation, Atticus said softly, “You’re very quiet, my love.”

  I smiled to reassure him. “I’m just enjoying feeling peaceful. It seems like a long time since I’ve felt this way—and it must be even longer for you.”

  “Indeed. Having returned from the dead now myself, I can safely say I’ve had enough excitement for two lifetimes.”

  “Well, not all excitement is to be avoided,” Vivi said. “Perhaps, Aunt Clara, there is another reason to celebrate?” She raised an inquiring eyebrow at me.

  I had realized during our discussion with the police that Atticus had arrived at the scene of the fray too late to hear about my pregnancy. Now that I had been granted this miraculous second chance, I knew I did not want to delay any longer.

  “If you and George wouldn’t mind,” I said, “may Atticus and I have a moment alone?”

  George’s baffled but polite expression as he pushed back his chair and stood made it clear that he had no idea what his wife meant, and I felt a rush of gratitude that he had not known sooner than Atticus. I ought to have known that Vivi could be relied upon.

  “It’s time Vivi and I left you in any case,” he said. “After the day you’ve had—the week, I should say!—you two must be longing to recover in peace. We’ll see you in the morning.”

  As Vivi passed behind Atticus and out of his range of vision she blew me a kiss. “Dormez bien,” she said archly.

  When the door had closed behind them, Atticus turned an inquiring look toward me. “There is more good news?” he asked. “Have you learned anything more of your father?”

  “No,” I said. “This is about us.” Despite my resolve I found that there was a nervous fluttering beneath my ribs, and suddenly the width of the table that separated us was too great a distance. “Sit by the fire with me, won’t you?”

  Soon we were seated close together on the old-fashioned, high-backed settle. I took both his hands in mine and drew a deep breath.

  “There is something I had intended to tell you on your birthday,” I began, “but after we encountered that Munro woman I was afraid the news would be unwelcome. And then after we arrived at Thurnley Hall, when we discovered what dreadful people my family were…”

  He squeezed my hands reassuringly. “As were mine, my love.”

  “Well, at any rate, I was afraid. It was cowardly of me, and I ought to have trusted in you, but I held back. So now, at last, I am telling you.” Yet I was still finding ways to put off the telling. I looked into his brilliant eyes, gently quizzical now but nevertheless full of his love for me, and I said, “We’re going to have a child, Atticus.”

  For a moment I could not tell whether he had even heard me, for he was completely still. Then he said quietly, “Are you certain?”

  I nodded, feeling apprehension creeping back despite all my resolve as I waited for him to say something more. Why was he so quiet?

  Then he pulled me into his arms, and he was laughing and kissing me and murmuring endearments, all at once, it seemed. “A child!” he exclaimed, and when he drew back to look at me the joy in his face was unmistakable. “My darling Clara, I should be horsewhipped for making you afraid to tell me. I didn’t dare to dream this could come to pass, so I was trying to reconcile myself… I never realized I was causing you distress.”

  Relief and happiness were breaking over me like a wave, but I had to say something more. “I understand why it worries you not to know what we might pass on to our baby,” I said. “But he’ll have more than a blood inheritance, Atticus. His legacy shall also be all of the love and wisdom that we pass on to him.”

  “Of course it shall.” He rested his hand gently on my abdomen, and even through my layers of clothing I felt the warmth of his touch, like a blessing bestowed on me and our baby. “I’ve no fear any longer, Clara.”

  “Then you are happy about it?” I asked unnecessarily, simply for the pleasure of hearing him confirm it.

  For answer he took my face in his hands and kissed my lips with utmost tenderness. When he raised his head, the wondering love that shone in his eyes took my breath away. “
More than I can possibly say,” he whispered. “I wish I could show you just how happy you’ve made me.”

  The words awoke a distant echo, and a spirit of devilry suddenly took life in me. How could I let such a perfect opportunity pass, when I had vowed to turn the tables on my roguish husband?

  I tried to look demure as I said, “There is one means that has proven quite effective in conveying that message.”

  An expression of astonished delight slowly broke over his face. “Why, baroness,” he said huskily, “what a scandalous… shocking… irresistible suggestion.”

  “Not merely a suggestion, dearest. A request.”

  His laugh was so jubilant that I feared it would be overheard by the others many rooms away. As he rose and drew me to my feet to lead me to the bedchamber, I could not resist saying, “I told you I would astonish you one day.”

  He drew me close and whispered in my ear. What he said I shall not divulge, but suffice it to say that, once again, my husband made me blush.

  Atticus and I were breakfasting alone the next morning when the innkeeper’s daughter announced my uncle’s arrival. Rather than have him invade our living space, temporary though it was, I told her I would receive him in the downstairs parlor.

  “I’ll accompany you,” Atticus said, reaching for his suit coat. “I know you are more than equal to dealing with the man, but I’ll be just outside the door if you wish for me—if he should need to be physically restrained, for example.”

  “I rather hope he shall,” I said. “I think I would enjoy seeing that.”

  As soon as I stepped into the parlor and saw my uncle, however, I knew that no force would be required against him. He was much changed from when we had first met. The last traces of his abrasive heartiness and pomposity had vanished, and in their place was a subdued, even meek demeanor. His clothes were as rumpled as though he had slept in them—if he had slept at all. His eyes were bloodshot still, and he eyed me rather as the accused prisoner in the dock would regard the judge… which was apt, considering our relative positions.