Brenda Joyce

by The Rival

  “Garrick may not be able to best you, but I can,” Olivia suddenly said very tersely.

  Surprised silence greeted her words, and then Arlen laughed.

  Olivia stepped forward, past Garrick, pulling off her hood. “If you do not release my child,” she said, her tone low and hoarse but very, very succinct, “I shall tell the world about your liaison with Elizabeth.”

  Garrick whirled, shocked. Surely Olivia did not know of what she spoke!

  Olivia did not look at him. She raised one hand; it was a fist. “I will tell everyone just how much you love your younger sister—how much—and how often.”

  Arlen stared. Garrick stared, the oddness of Arlen’s relationship with Elizabeth suddenly becoming comprehensible. But how could anyone have guessed?

  Even in the poorly lit room, Arlen’s face was garishly white. “You know nothing, Olivia. This is absurd. Lies—”

  “I have known since we were first wed. My God, the two of you carrying on like animals under my own roof, with me a newlywed. I pretended for years that I knew nothing. I pretended to myself. It was so ghastly! But I am not the only one who knows. The entire household knows, Arlen. And from what I have gathered, this has been going on for some time. When was it that you became Elizabeth’s guardian?” Olivia stared.

  Arlen did not reply.

  “She was ten, was she not? Is that when you first took her?” Olivia asked harshly. But her tone was also tremulous.

  No one spoke. No one stirred. Garrick finally roused himself, the shock subsiding. “So that is why you have hated me ever since we were children. She was always chasing me—you could not stand it.”

  Olivia touched him, silencing him. “Arlen, when I am through with you and her, there is not a door in society that Elizabeth will be admitted through. Not a single one. The world will know her for the despicable whore she is. And I imagine that everyone will rightly assume that you are the father of the child she now carries.”

  “You bitch,” Arlen finally said.

  “Give me my daughter. We will disappear. You will never see us again. Otherwise, your precious sister will lose everything. I will make sure of it,” Olivia responded.

  Garrick looked at her beautiful face, and he alone knew the immense courage and effort this cost her. “Well done,” he said softly.

  She did not look at him, her clear gray eyes focused only on her husband of the past nine years.

  “We should have killed you!” he cried. “Very well. Take her. Take her and get out of this country, as far away from me and mine that you can go! I am annulling this marriage, Olivia. I shall find grounds, I promise you that. And I give you nothing!”

  Olivia bit her lip, tears suddenly flooding her eyes. Garrick automatically reached out to steady her, but he spoke to the warden. “Take us to the child.”

  Hepple nodded, moving past them and into the hallway, the burly guard just behind him. Garrick kept a grip on Olivia as they hurried after him. He felt her body trembling with fear and exhaustion, and he could not blame her. No one spoke. Their footsteps rang hollowly in the hall. After extracting a ring of keys, Hepple unlocked and opened the barred door.

  Olivia whimpered. Garrick held her more tightly. On each side of the corridor were barred cells, crowded with filthy, ragged, unkempt men. “Do not look,” Garrick said as they followed Hepple toward another door. Chaos seemed to reign behind the bars. The inmates jabbered and fought, drooled and picked at ticks and fleas like monkeys. A man urinated through the bars. Another man was trying to kiss a fellow inmate. Someone wept loudly.

  “Hannah.” Garrick gripped Olivia and propelled her through the next doorway. But he knew he would be haunted for the rest of his life by all he was seeing.

  They entered a rectangular room. There were no bars, no cells. The room was filled with women of all ages and all shapes, old and young, fat and thin, as unkempt and maddened as the men. Moans, jabbering, incoherent speech patterns, shouts, and raucous laughter made the din deafening. The air was close and foul. The corners of the room had chamber pots, but there was feces on the floor. Garrick could not spy Hannah anywhere.

  Suddenly a filthy young woman with matted brown hair threw herself on the floor in front of them. “Gawd bless ye both, gawd bless ye,” she cried, hands clasped in prayer, face uplifted toward Olivia.

  Olivia stared down at her. “Oh, God.”

  Garrick quickly handed her a few shillings, moving Olivia aside.

  “Mama.”

  Olivia froze.

  Garrick whirled and saw Hannah sitting against a wall, her face strained, unmoving. “Hannah!”

  But Olivia had seen her at the same time. She cried out, rushing forward, as Hannah slowly stood, arms outstretched. “Mama!” Hannah called, her face crumbling as she began to cry.

  Weeping, Olivia grabbed her daughter and buried her in her embrace. “I will never forgive myself,” she sobbed. “Please, please, tell me you are all right.” She rocked her.

  “Mama, Mama, I’ve been so scared,” Hannah wept, clinging.

  Garrick touched the back of Hannah’s head. He had never in his life been more relieved. “We should go, now,” he said. He pried Olivia’s arms from her child and lifted Hannah into his arms. “Ssh,” he said. Olivia gripped his coat. “Hepple, let us go.”

  They crossed the overcrowded room swiftly, ignoring the outstretched hands and the bodies pushing at them. The supervisor opened the door they had just come through, Garrick standing behind him. At the far end of the corridor, past the many barred cells and the insane men, the opposite door was opening to admit another party. Garrick froze, filled with sudden comprehension, filled with dread.

  For it had been too easy, and he was well aware of it.

  When that far door was fully ajar, Lionel stood at the opposite end of the hall, staring at them, his expression cold and hard.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  For one stunning moment, the two men stared at each other across the length of the corridor. Garrick turned. He seized Hepple’s arm, slamming the heavy door closed in their faces. “Is there a back way out of here?” he shouted.

  “We niver use it, but there is—”

  “Show us, now.” Garrick shook him. “I left my note on your desk, damn it, man,” he said. “For ten thousand pounds.”

  Hepple turned swiftly and pushed his way through the crowded room; Garrick, with Hannah in his arms, followed, Olivia right behind him. He unlocked another door, holding it wide open for them. “Just follow this hall,” he said. “It comes out on the street behind the building.”

  “The key,” Garrick said grimly.

  Hepple hesitated, then slipped a key on a cord over his head from where it had been hanging about his neck. “Ye nobs are as mad as the rest of ’em,” he mumbled.

  But Garrick did not hear. He was already racing down the dark, unlit, and very narrow hall with Olivia. The air was fetid and close, as if the hall had not been used in years. The stones beneath their feet were rough and uneven. He heard the door slamming behind them. The sound echoed loudly, reverberating.

  “What if this is a trap?” Olivia breathed from just behind him. “Lionel is the Stanhope heir, Garrick, and once Hepple finds that out, he will be more eager to help him than us.”

  “By then we will be gone,” Garrick retorted as they reached the end of the corridor. A solid wood door confronted them. He let the key slip from his fingertips to Olivia’s, still holding Hannah against his chest. For an instant he watched Olivia insert it in the rusted lock with trembling hands. “How are you faring, Hannah?” he asked softly.

  “He wants to hurt me,” she whispered against his neck, clinging with a shockingly strong grip to him.

  “Your father cannot hurt you now,” Garrick said.

  “No. Your brother wants to hurt me.”

  Garrick stiffened. “He will not have the chance.” But his eyes met Olivia’s briefly. The man who had chased them to Bedlam was an impostor. Wasn’t he? Garrick was shake
n. Hannah did not seem to have any doubt about Lionel’s identity.

  The lock turned. Olivia pushed at the door and it opened, groaning in protest. Outside, the morning was almost black as it continued to pour. Olivia pushed the door shut behind them. Garrick whistled loudly for Treve. Olivia looked up at him fearfully as they waited for the setter, and then the dog was racing toward them from around the side of the building. He barked once.

  “Come on,” Garrick shouted, and they began running across the vacant street. Garrick looked back over his shoulder, but no one was in pursuit—yet. And a moment later, the three of them and the dog were leaping into the phaeton, Garrick whipping the gelding into a canter, the small vehicle careening away.

  CAEDMON CRAG

  The sky was gray and heavy with clouds. The ocean, just below the cliffs, appeared black and ominous. Whitecaps frothed viciously around the glistening black boulders strewn about the taupe-colored beach. The wind howled, buffeting them incessantly. Garrick was at the reins of the phaeton, in the front seat. Olivia sat with her daughter in the back, holding Hannah as she slept, Treve’s head in Hannah’s lap. Relief at finding and rescuing Hannah had long since given way to other, more turbulent, and more hopeful, emotions. If Arlen would really annul their marriage, and if Garrick could turn his back upon his family, then she would be free to marry him and become his wife and the mother of his children. The future beckoned so brightly that it was painful. But along with the joy, Olivia was aware of something else, a nagging dread, demanding her attention.

  She must not entertain it now.

  Garrick shifted in his seat to look back at her. Olivia smiled at him. “I can never repay you for this,” she said softly, her tone harsh with the depth and power of all her emotions.

  The wind chose that moment to howl like a banshee, and he waited until the huge gust had died down before speaking. “Yes, you can,” he said. “When Arlen annuls the marriage, you will marry me.”

  She felt her eyes instantly becoming moist. “It is my dearest wish right now. But if he does not annul the marriage after all?” she asked softly. “Will it be enough for me to repay you with my love, from now until eternity?”

  “Yes,” he said hoarsely.

  He turned, urging the gelding on, driving him into the wind. Olivia looked down at her sleeping daughter, trying hard not to cry. She was almost ready to believe in happy endings and miracles, and she was acutely aware that her heart was filled with love and hope and joy. Still, fear remained. She could not get rid of it. To counter the weightlessness of her happiness, there was a dark, depressing heaviness she could not shake off or drive away. She could not understand it—she was afraid to think about it. Garrick had just asked her to marry him, and maybe, just maybe, Arlen would annul her marriage and set her free, allowing a miracle to happen. In her heart, there should only be love, there should only be hope. So why this horrid, niggling, oppressive dread?

  It was as if they had all not suffered enough. It was as if, somehow, impossibly, being together now, her daughter miraculously safe and sound, had been accomplished too easily. But it had not been easy; it had been inhumanly cruel and torturously difficult.

  She pressed a kiss to Hannah’s forehead, wishing the dread would disappear. Her daughter did not stir. She was exhausted, and Olivia could understand why. She desperately wanted to know the details of what had transpired at Bedlam, and just as desperately, she did not. She knew that a part of her would never forgive herself for allowing Hannah to be incarcerated in the asylum.

  She felt a tear slipping down her face as she stared at Garrick’s strong back and broad shoulders. She must let go of the guilt. She must think now only of the future. But why was she afraid? Was it because of Lionel? She could not forget the odd, implacable look on his face as he had stared at them from the other end of the hall at the asylum.

  And ahead, the rooftops of the manor at Caedmon Crag suddenly appeared, starkly etched against the dark, cloudheavy sky. Olivia pushed strands of flying hair out of her face. The wind remained so strong that leaves and twigs swirled about the ground, and the few trees on the heath swayed eerily. Now was not the time to think about America. She trembled. “You are intending to expose Lionel for a fraud. If you are right, then you are the legitimate Stanhope heir, Garrick. Can you really walk away from your heritage?”

  “Yes. I can.” He suddenly halted the team of chestnut mares and turned around on the front seat to face her. “I have never wanted this. This place has never felt like my home. Where you and Hannah are, Olivia, that is my home.”

  She started to cry, nodding, holding Hannah tightly. She felt her daughter rousing. “I must tell you something,” she whispered as the heaviness began to press itself upward from inside her body, her heart, her soul, infringing upon the hope and happiness.

  “What?” He was grim.

  She wet her lips. “It is not over. I have been trying to tell myself that this horrible feeling I have is just left-over fear and natural enough, but it is not. I know this is not over. There is going to be more suffering, Garrick.” To her surprise and dismay, tears slipped from her eyes.

  He stared. After a long moment he said, “Don’t cry. We will finish what has to be finished, and together, the three of us will withstand anything. I promise you that.”

  Olivia could not gaze at him anymore, and she bent over Hannah, stroking her daughter’s hair, seeking comfort from an eight-year-old child; wanting to go to Garrick and be held by him as if she were the child herself.

  “Mama?” Hannah murmured sleepily.

  “Darling, you are awake!” Olivia exclaimed as Hannah sat up, yawning widely. She hugged her hard. “My dear, we have some bread and cheese, are you hungry? We have fresh milk, too.”

  Hannah suddenly faced her mother, her expression no longer sleepy but exceedingly alert. “We are in Cornwall, near Caedmon Crag.”

  “Yes,” Olivia said, watching her closely.

  “Mama!” Hannah tensed, her sightless eyes wide. “We must hurry.”

  “I do not understand,” Olivia whispered, searching her daughter’s blank eyes for the truth. “Why must we hurry, dear?”

  Hannah faced Garrick. “Lionel. He is coming. To stop us. But something is here—I am certain of it.”

  For one moment Olivia met Garrick’s gaze. “What, Hannah? What is here?”

  Hannah hesitated. “He will show me.”

  “Who?” Olivia asked. “Who will show you?”

  Hannah’s expression was strained. She did not answer. “Can we go to the manor now?” she asked instead.

  Garrick, his jaw flexed, nodded and lifted the reins. But as the mares drove off, he said, “Hannah. I have a favor to ask of you.”

  And Olivia looked at him, dread mingled with dismay—and resignation.

  Hannah did not pause. While Garrick and Olivia stood on the threshold of the bedroom Lionel had used as a boy right up until his death, she walked directly to the bed. She touched the bed coverings, which were faded and old and covered with dust. She lingered there, then walked across the room to a closed chest. Bending, she opened the lid.

  Garrick’s heart was beating hard, too much so for comfort. He hurried to her, afraid she might hurt herself if the heavy lid fell closed. Hannah slipped to her knees, her hands in the chest. Garrick peered down. The chest contained faded lawnshirts, breeches, stockings, underclothes. Lionel’s old clothing.

  His heart beat more swiftly now, and his vision blurred. There was a small stabbing of an ancient hurt inside of him, but now he faced it instead of trying to shove it away—or to run away himself. When Treve buried his damp nose into his palm, he did not even notice. When had he last been inside Lionel’s room? Suddenly he remembered the two of them as little boys, sharing Lionel’s bed until the governess caught them and chased Garrick back to his own room. It was difficult to breathe.

  There were so many memories, and as clear as if it had been yesterday, he remembered standing with Lionel on the cliffs by the
ruined keep, talking about smugglers, Lionel trying to give him the Spanish coin. What had happened? And why?

  Was Lionel dead? Or was he very much alive?

  Hannah suddenly stood. “There is nothing here. I do not feel anything,” she said tersely.

  Garrick felt relief—he also felt dismay.

  Olivia came forward. “Let’s go downstairs and sit in front of the fire for a while. We are all very tired.” She smiled, clasping Hannah’s thin shoulder, but she gazed at Garrick.

  Treve turned suddenly and faced the door, whining.

  Simultaneously Hannah stiffened. She had also turned toward the doorway. Olivia was as frozen.

  “What is it?” Garrick asked, aware that something in the room had changed. A heaviness had infused the atmosphere. It was tangible, but not frightening. He was not gifted, but … something was present. Or someone.

  He felt as if they were all being watched.

  “We are not alone,” Olivia said quietly.

  And before Garrick could demand elaboration, Hannah rushed past her mother and into the hallway.

  “Hannah!” Olivia cried, running after her. Garrick followed. Hannah hurried downstairs and through the dark, vacant front hall, Treve on her heels. She did not hesitate. She easily navigated her way around the table and few chairs there. Garrick wanted to ask a dozen questions, but he did not dare. The look on Olivia’s face told him not to. He was afraid to interfere with whatever was happening now. He sensed that the moment of truth was at hand.

  The front door was open. Garrick was certain he had left it closed, as he had their very first night at the manor a few weeks ago. Hannah stepped outside without pausing. If the wind gusting in her face bothered her, she gave no sign. Her strides increased in pace. She started running across the courtyard, Treve bounding at her side.

  Garrick and Olivia also broke into a run, in order to keep up with her. They followed her and the dog through the barbican and across the drawbridge. Hannah suddenly veered off the road. Far ahead of her, a portion of the jagged top of the ruined keep could just be seen, barely emerging from the gray, cloud-swept sky.