The curse was proven utterly wrong—but even with that shadow dissipating from his life, Ethan still had another. The secret that weighed on him constantly….
“When I sleep,” Annalía said then, smiling sleepily up at Court, “you must look out for Aleix for me.” When he finally nodded, she dozed off.
Anticipating his panic, Fiona said, “Court, she’s been awake and in labor for hours. Let her have some peace and quiet.” He began to protest, but she spoke over him. “You want what is best for her. Sleep is what she needs. She’s been more worried about you downstairs than for herself. Now, take your brothers and your bairn outside for a bit.” When Fiona tried to hand over Aleix, showing Court the correct way to hold a babe, he went wild-eyed with panic, but eventually took his son with an audible swallow. “There, that’s perfect,” Fiona said. “Now, keep your hand behind his head….”
Five minutes later, when the three brothers were outside the closed door, Hugh scratched his head. “I might be mistaken, but I think they just shooed us out, leaving us alone with a baby.”
Ethan nodded, about to rail at the wrongness of this, but he saw Court frowning down at his son. “He’s a braw lad, Court,” Ethan said. “You should be proud.”
“It will be no time at all before you’re teaching your boy to ride and fish,” Hugh added.
The babe was already flailing his tiny fists—definitely a MacCarrick.
“My boy,” Court said. “Ach, that sounds odd.”
Hugh chuckled. “About as odd as I felt saying ‘my wife.’” To Ethan, he said, “When are you going to do something life-changing?”
“Maybe sooner than you think,” he answered.
Hugh raised an eyebrow. Court had no reaction, having become completely fascinated with his son.
When the bairn made a movement that approximated grasping Court’s finger, Court jerked his head up, his expression astonished. “Did you no’ see that?” Turning to amble around the room, Court murmured to himself, “My lad’s bloody brilliant.”
“I’m told this gets worse as the child ages,” Hugh said dryly.
“Indeed.”
“So, tell me what’s happened in the last few months,” Hugh said. “Jane and Claudia both wrote to Madeleine Van Rowen at an address in Paris, but the letters were returned. I thought you might have had something to do with that.” Hugh seemed to be bracing himself for Ethan’s answer.
“Aye, I did. And she’s no longer a Van Rowen.”
Grinning widely, Hugh slapped him on the back. “Ach, you doona know how uneasy I’ve been about this. But now…I can only say that I’m proud of you, brother.”
Ethan raised his eyebrows. Hugh had never said anything of the sort before. And the approval wasn’t unpleasant.
“She still accepted you after you explained everything?”
“I dinna quite”—Ethan ran his hand over the back of his neck—“tell her…everything. She does no’ need to know it,” he added defensively.
Hugh’s face fell, and he cast him a pitying expression. “Ethan, you best hope you married yourself a forgiving woman.”
Forty-two
Sharp pops of gunfire, screams, and the sound of breaking glass.
Maddy sighed. Ah, home sweet home….
Perhaps running back to La Marais had been a bit precipitous. After half a year away, she simply hadn’t recalled it being this bad.
When she’d arrived earlier this morning, she, Corrine, and Bea had adjourned to Maddy’s balcony for tea once more. That, at least, was welcome—she’d missed the companionship.
After Maddy explained everything that had happened with Ethan, Corrine promptly demanded, “Well, what did he say when you confronted him?”
“I…I was so upset,” Maddy answered, flushing under their scrutiny. “And I didn’t need to hear his excuses. What I do know as fact is damning enough—”
Corrine looked disappointed in her. “So you didn’t even wait to learn his side of the story?”
Maddy stared at her tea cup and mumbled, “No. But he lies all the time anyway. I can’t trust a single word out of his mouth.”
“I’ve seen it before,” Corrine said sadly. “Sometimes, it’s as if people want to get back to La Marais.”
Bea nodded sagely. “C’est vrai.”
“I did not want to come back here!” Since returning, Maddy found La Marais harder and filthier than she’d ever remembered. “But I’m tired of being toyed with and deceived. And didn’t I just tell you that Ethan might have slept with my own mother?” She felt a wave of nausea at the idea. “I came back for you two. So we could start fresh somewhere else. Maybe open that shop like we always talked about. I have enough money now for all three of us.”
“De mal en pire, Maddy,” Corrine said with a shrug. “My situation here isn’t that bad.”
“Bea, what about you?” Maddy asked. “Don’t you want to be a dress model?”
“Oh, Maddée, can we talk about this later?” Bea said, rubbing her calves with a wince. “My legs and back are aching.”
“We can live somewhere without stairs,” Maddy said, striving for a cheerful demeanor.
Bea gave her a smile, but she appeared exhausted. “I think I just want to nap for a few hours. Then we’ll talk.”
“Of course, Bea. Get some sleep,” Maddy said, hugging her.
Before she left, Bea peeked back out the window. “I know it’s selfish, but no matter what, I am happy to see you, Maddée,” she said, then turned toward her apartment.
But Corrine wasn’t as pleased to see Maddy back. “I know you’ve learned the hard way that there are times to stay and fight, and there are times to run. And the difference can be a very fine line.” She sighed. “But this time, I think you should have stood your ground with the Scot.”
Maddy flushed uncomfortably, deciding this would probably not be the best time to reveal that she was likely carrying the Scot’s babe….
The next morning, Maddy rose from her cold bed, struggling to muster the energy to rise and dress.
During the last few months with Ethan, she’d thought she had gotten past the tragedies in her life, believing she’d been adapting well. But discovering what he’d done—and knowing who was specifically to blame—made her reevaluate everything. Reviewing the litany of disappointment and heartbreak in one sitting made her wonder how she’d survived.
How many times could she pick herself up and dust off her skirts?
She’d just finished pinning up her hair when a nearby church’s bells began to toll. She frowned and climbed out onto her balcony. Chat Noir deigned to give her a visit, and she picked him up, hugging him close. She already missed her kitten at Carillon.
Suddenly, the cat hissed. “What is it, chaton?” With another hiss, he scrambled to get down. “Yes, yes, a minute—”
Scratching down her arms, drawing blood, he leapt away just as tolling began to sound in succession, building a steady crescendo all over the city.
When even the great bells of Notre Dame rang out, Maddy swallowed. There was no Mass right now. She remembered the last time they’d done this, and alarm filled her. She scrambled back inside, then rushed from her apartment. She banged on Corrine’s door, then Bea’s. No answer came from either.
People on the street would know where they were…what was happening…. Battling panic, Maddy dashed down the stairs, her breathing loud in the tight stairway.
Down four flights, then five—
The toe of her boot stabbed into something thick. With a cry, she pitched forward, flailing her arms, collapsing onto something solid but soft—something moist.
When her confusion cleared, she realized she’d landed on a body, sprawled dead in the darkness.
A single circular break in the bedroom mirror.
Ethan had known she had left him as soon as he’d seen it, even before he’d been able to question Sorcha. Somehow Maddy had found out the truth, and she’d thrown her ring at the mirror. Yet ever-practical Maddy had
n’t left it behind.
The fact that she’d collected it—and every piece of jewelry—disheartened him more than anything. It meant she was preparing to stay away.
All Sorcha had been able to tell him was that Maddy had received some letter and she’d been pale as snow. She’d packed and left in a daze, absently asking Sorcha to take care of her cat until she could send for him.
Remembering Maddy’s plan to visit Claudia when he’d refused to marry her, Ethan raced for London like hell was at his heels. Reaching Quin’s home at last, Ethan stormed into his study. “Where’s Maddy?”
Quin’s jaw slackened. “My God, what’s happened to you? You look like hell.”
“Where is she?” Ethan snapped.
“Just like I predicted,” Quin said smugly. “Not knowing up from down anymore. And why should I tell you where she is?”
“Tell me this bloody second.” Ethan ran a hand over his face. “She’s my wife, and she’s…left me.”
“Maddy married you? But she just wrote Claudia and said she was going to Iveley for the rest of the spring. That she owned it now, or something fantastic. Why would she leave you if she actually married you?”
Iveley? Maddy was throwing him a red herring, and he knew why.
She’s about to disappear…. She’d been gone three days—long enough to sell off everything and book passage anywhere in the world.
“She’s no’ at Iveley,” Ethan said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “She’s gone back to Paris.”
“You had better hope not,” Quin said, shooting to his feet.
Ethan narrowed his eyes. “Why no’?”
“We’ve just been getting word that there’s…sickness there.”
At Quin’s expression, dread settled heavily in the pit of Ethan’s stomach. “What kind?”
“MacCarrick, it’s…cholera.”
Forty-three
“Just calm yourself,” Quin said. “The early wires say that they’ve contained it in some of the lower parishes. It might not even touch Madeleine in St. Roch. But I still advise you to hurry, because the city’s becoming unstable and there have already been rumors of impending martial law. You remember what happened in the last outbreak?”
Ethan swallowed. Sixteen hundred people had died in a cholera-related riot, shot down by soldiers in a matter of hours. Dead, not even from the disease. No, twenty thousand had fallen from that.
“She’s no’ in St. Roch,” Ethan said, striding out to his horse. “She’s likely in La Marais.”
Quin was right behind him. “What in the hell is she doing there?”
“Does no’ matter—”
“Damn it, Ethan…that’s the area hardest hit.”
Ethan felt like his heart had stopped. “What did you say?”
“There’s already been talk of a quarantine for La Marais. I don’t understand why she might be in a slum like that, but if she is, you have to get her out….” Quin shook his head hard. “The Network would never officially recommend that you smuggle a subject out of a military quarantine, but you know protocols. You know how to protect others. You could do this safely.”
Ethan had been in cholera-ravaged areas many times before. The latest medical texts avowed: Cleanliness, sobriety, and judicious ventilation defy the pestilence. In the field, Ethan had learned: Boil anything that goes in, burn everything that comes out, and splash whisky over anything suspicious.
“So unofficially,” Quin continued quietly, “I’ll help you with transport. And you’ll get down there and extract her from wherever she might be—regardless of the situation. Do you understand me? Get in and get her out. And don’t get caught breaking quarantine.” He met Ethan’s eyes. “Or you’ll both be shot on sight.”
Morning crept pale and listless over La Marais.
Yesterday, the streets had been choked with those strong enough to flee. Now the exodus was sparse and slow, as if already defeated.
Maddy sat alone on her building’s front steps, with her knees to her chest and her chin resting on them. Her forehead beaded perspiration even in the chill spring air and her body shook. Those damned bells tolled nonstop; regimental drums beat in the distance, reminding them all of the oppressive threat of quarantine.
The stoop was empty of the drunks, most of whom had contracted the disease and swiftly passed on. Two nights ago, one had crawled into the building for help, then died in the stairwell.
The one Maddy had fallen over. She wiped her brow. Now she was infected as well.
Ethan had called her a fox once, but she could find no means to escape this trap. It was too late for her anyway. And too late for Bea. Maddy’s tears began anew.
In front of her, not even a hundred yards away, a young man she’d known from the parish market fell to his knees. He gave a strangled scream and clawed at the ground as his body emptied itself of white fluids in a sickening rush. Anyone near him ran shrieking.
The impulse to help him arose in Maddy, but she couldn’t aid everyone she knew—all around her the residents were falling as cholera burned through La Marais like a wildfire. At that moment, she heard the unmistakable sound of retching just behind her garret as yet another succumbed.
Across the narrow street, a teary Berthé emerged from her building and sank down on her own stoop. Maddy could tell she had the sickness as well.
When Maddy had arrived back in La Marais this time, she’d been prepared for the sisters to ridicule her for returning. Now their feud seemed so inconsequential.
They met eyes, and Berthé said, “How’s Bea?”
“D-died this morning,” Maddy choked out, shaking harder.
Berthé nodded gravely. “I am sorry for that, la gamine. But Corrine is still well?”
“Yes,” she said. “She’s resting.” Corrine had finally cried herself to sleep after they’d discovered Bea dead in her bed this morning. Maddy shuddered at the memory. “And Odette?” Maddy had heard that Odette was one of the first stricken—and that Berthé had refused to leave her sister behind to save herself.
“Odette will not last the night.”
Maddy said, “I’m sorry, too.”
Berthé swiped at her tears. A long silence passed between them, then she said, “This was not how it was supposed to end for us, non?”
Maddy shook her head, giving her a sad smile through streaming tears. Maddy thought it remarkable how one’s wishes and dreams could change so suddenly with the circumstances. Last week, she’d wished she was indeed pregnant and that Ethan would react well to the news.
Now, Maddy wished she could live through cholera just one more time. If not that, then she wished Ethan wouldn’t blame himself for her death. No matter what he’d done, he didn’t deserve this kind of guilt.
If nothing else, Maddy wished that she wouldn’t be burned on the mass pyre….
“At least you once got to see something outside of this slum,” Berthé said. “Is Britain as beautiful as they say?”
“It is.” Maddy’s voice broke as she imagined Carillon. “It truly is.”
The murky streets of La Marais were completely deserted when Ethan reached the area late in the night. The only sounds were the constant tolling of church bells, the low drone of nearing drums, and sporadic gunfire. Building doors had been left wide open, belongings dumped on the street.
The people here had fled for their lives. The idea of Maddy alone in all this maddened Ethan.
Even with Quin’s connections, Ethan had been forced to wait for a ferry. Rumors were flying out of Paris, and most captains refused to cross the twenty-mile channel to France.
Each hour that Ethan had had to wait had been excruciating. Feeling so powerless, he’d paced, trying not to dwell on cholera’s short incubation period—four hours to five days. He’d seen people contract it and die within hours, the speed of deterioration astonishing.
Maddy had been here for at least two days, possibly three….
Then once he’d made France, many of the trains into Pari
s had been halted. By the time he at last reached her building, Ethan was wracked with fear for her. He sprinted through the open doorway and climbed blindly to the sixth floor, breaking down Maddy’s locked door.
He found her room exactly as it had been when they’d left it—except Maddy’s bright bed had been stripped completely, the mattress gone.
His mouth went dry.
Bea’s door was wide open. When he saw that her bed was stripped as well, sudden sweat beaded all over him. The disease had been here.
He kicked down Corrine’s door—her room looked untouched.
Stomping down the stairs, he sprinted into the empty street, having no idea where to find Maddy. Turning in circles, he yelled her name again and again, his voice echoing—
“Are you searching for la gamine?” a woman called weakly.
He whirled around as a figure limped toward him from a building across the street. It was the girl from the tavern—the one who’d tripped Maddy. Berthé, he thought her name was.
“Where is she?” he demanded.
“Madeleine fell sick,” Berthé said, clutching her sides. Her face was pale as chalk, but for the characteristic dark rings fanning out around her eyes. “She tripped on a dead man in the stairwell. After that, she never had a chance. They took her yesterday when they came for Bea’s body. Took her, even with Corrine fighting them.”
Ethan’s heartbeat thundered, booming in his ears. He couldn’t even allow himself to think of what she might be saying. No. This just wasn’t possible. “Who took her? Where?” When she bent over and spit up white fluid, he bellowed, “Goddamn it, Berthé! Tell me.”
She jerked upright. “The hospital, l’Hotel Dieu. Four blocks down, then north. But she’s fallen. She’ll be on the pyre by now—”
He’d already begun running, pumping his arms, hearing nothing but his breaths.
The hospital entrance was guarded, though only by two soldiers—but then, no one was expected to want in, and no one was expected to be able to exit. Ethan barely slowed to meet the guards head-on. He lunged in between them, swinging punches wildly, knocking them both out.
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