Dahlia's Music
Page 39
“Are you her maid?” he asked quietly. She nodded. “Are you afraid of blood or sickness?”
“No, sir,” she answered confidently. The physician gave her a curt nod, then turned to Peter and his sons.
“I’ll need to do a very thorough examination of her injuries, Squire. With your permission and with the assistance of her maid.”
Peter nodded.
The physician stood there a moment, but when none of the men left the room he said, “We’ll need some privacy.”
Peter just stood there, not fully comprehending. Glenda tactfully started to gather up the men, “Come on now, gentlemen. The best you can do know is let the doctor do his work. As she started to close the door behind them, she reached out and caught Tom’s sleeve. “Best get your father a drink,” she whispered, then closed the door.
When she turned back to the bed, the doctor was already starting to poke and prod – gently evaluating the bruising on Dahlia’s face. Then, he moved to her wrists. He turned to Glenda and asked her for scissors and three cold cloths. Without waiting for a reply, he turned to Matilda and instructed her to begin cleaning Dahlia’s face with the hot water to remove all dirt and blood. As he waited for the scissors, Dr. Chase again looked at Dahlia’s torn clothes, frowning. Glenda bustled into the room again with the items he had requested. He took the scissors and started to cut the sleeves of her dress while directing Glenda to put one of the cold cloths on Dahlia’s eye once Matilda was finished cleaning it. By the time the women were finished ministering to Dahlia’s swollen and bruised face, the doctor had cut off Dahlia’s dress. He frowned, and both women gasped at the sight of blood on her thigh through the opening in her bloomers. The doctor turned to Matilda.
“You are privy to her courses?”
“Yes,” she answered quietly.
“When was the last?”
“A fortnight ago,” she replied.
The doctor made a mental note, then proceeded with his examination.
An hour later, Dr. Chase went downstairs to the study where Dahlia’s father and brothers were waiting. He entered the study and, without a word, went to the decanter. He poured himself a shot, then downed it in a single swallow. Watching this, Peter took a long swig of his own drink, expecting he would need it.
The physician took a seat, leaning forward with his hands on his knees. “Peter,” he began. “Your daughter has been most brutally attacked, and she has suffered a severe head trauma and multiple broken bones, including two broken ribs. I do not believe her lungs were punctured, though. Her breathing is fairly unencumbered. She has extensive bruising to her lower back, and only time will tell if she has any internal bleeding. I am most concerned about this and her head wound. It is advisable that I stay here until she regains consciousness to monitor her condition. I cannot pretend that her injuries may not be life threatening.”
Peter looked up at the physician. This could not be happening. He could not lose Dahlia.
“There is more still,” began the doctor. Peter could not imagine anything worse that losing the living shadow of his beautiful wife, also taken from him. Then realization dawned in his mind.
Peter looked at Tom and said, “Go ask Glenda to make up the guest room.” Tom left immediately. Peter knew they always kept the guest room ready, but he didn’t want his youngest son present for the remainder of the discussion.
The physician looked from Peter to Michael, then back to Peter. “The assault appears to include other damage. Damage that is…irreparable,” he said evenly. Peter looked down at his drink. Michael simply looked from his father to the physician and back again.
“What does that mean? What do you mean ‘irreparable’?” He demanded. He had read a great number of medical texts and all sorts of horrible afflictions enumerated themselves in his mind. Paralysis, coma, and blindness jumped to the top of the list due to some of her injuries.
Dr. Chase looked at Peter, but Peter did not look up. Sensing the father could not vocalize it, he said, “I believe she was…violated.”
Michael blinked at the doctor. His first thought was relief that the doctor had not confirmed any of the potential diagnoses he had conjured. Then, the reality of his sister’s situation began to sink in. The bones would mend, the bruises would fade, but Dahlia would never be able to escape this incident. She would carry the memory, and shame, of this rape with her always. If word got out, she would be shunned, and her prospects for marriage would be eliminated unless she lied. Michael could not imagine his very direct sister ever lying to someone she loved. Even if she were to find someone to marry her knowing the truth, as young as she was, there could be damage from this brutal attack that could affect her ability to have children.
“Oh, dear god,” breathed Michael. Worse than her inability to ever have children was the possibility she could have been impregnated by this monster.
All the men in the room seemed to have come to the same conclusion as Michael. After some moments of complete silence, Peter said to Michael, “Please write to Mark and Leland. Tell them Dahlia has had a dreadful accident and they need to come home. Also write Steven. I need him and the Roma here.”
Chapter 57
The next morning, Glenda brought up tea to Matilda, who had sat with Dahlia all night long.
“Has she woken?”
“No,” sighed Matilda, getting up from beside the bed and stretching. She walked over to the table where Glenda had set the tray and was pouring a cup of tea for the maid. Despite the unconscious state of their charge, Glenda leaned over and whispered to Matilda.
“They have agreed for the moment to say to anyone outside the family that Dahlia has had a very bad fall from a horse, but the constable has been called.”
“How is the constable supposed to find out anything with that story? What is he going to do, investigate a horse?” In addition to a sleepless night, Matilda was seething with anger that Dahlia had been so cruelly beaten and defiled. She knew full well that the family would keep that a secret for as long as they could. Any hint of a rape would make Dahlia a societal pariah, despite the fact that she could not have done anything to prevent it. Matilda was sure of that given the young woman’s injuries. Until Dahlia woke up and could tell them who did this to her, the authorities would have little leeway to investigate as they could not ask the pertinent questions they needed to ask of neighbors and others in the county who may have seen something if everyone was being told she fell off a horse.
“They have to notify the authorities, nonetheless. Now we just have to pray that our Dahlia wakes up very soon,” said Glenda, looking at the young women in the bed. “Every moment that goes by, the culprit can get further away. Surely no one from the county would have done this. They need to start looking into outsiders and drifters. They have written to the Roma to help as well since they travel so much, they hear things and have their own web of contacts to make inquiries.”
Glenda sipped her tea while Matilda wrung her hands together. As much as she had grown to love the young woman lying beside her, she could not help thinking that perhaps it would be kinder that Dahlia not wake at all.
-----
Miles away to the south, the Roma encampment was beginning to stir. Fires were lit and the noises of daily life started to fill the air. Isabel brought a cup of steaming coffee in to her husband, who was pulling on his boots.
“We must pack, and quickly.”
“Pack? We just finished unpacking the camp,” Alvaro said.
“Not the camp, just us. We’ll leave the wagon; it will only slow us down.” Isabel was already folding items and putting them in a saddlebag. Alvaro caught his wife’s arm as she went by him.
“What is it?”
“Another dream. It is Dahlia. We must return to Talbot Hall at once.”
Alvaro sighed, but did not question his wife further. He had lived many years with her and her grandmother and had learned not to contradict either of them when they had a dream. She had the sight and, like he
r grandmother, she was never wrong.
Alvaro left the wagon to find Steven. As a newcomer to the Roma, Steven would not understand the need to act so precipitously because of a dream, but Maripaz took the news as seriously as her father when she heard the medium of its delivery.
Any hesitation that Steven felt was quickly erased when a rider arrived at the encampment as they were loading their bags and saddling the horses. Steven read the short missive from his brother, then handed it to Alvaro. Steven only noted that the short letter mentioned that Dahlia was badly hurt and they were not sure she would pull through. Alvaro noted that it also specifically asked for he and his sons to accompany Steven back to Cirencester. Something was amiss here beyond Dahlia’s injuries. Alvaro knew this was a request for an armed escort for Peter’s son, and he desperately wanted to know why. Did Peter Talbot expect trouble on the way – or once they arrived there?
Chapter 58
James had the cold, clammy feeling he had felt right after his father had died – that awful feeling of near panic that seemed to drain the blood from one’s head and drop the heart into one’s gut. For the second time in as many months, a letter from Talbot Hall lay open on his desk as he rushed to pack his belongings. Unlike the letter from Dahlia regarding Lady Sweet’s death, this letter was from Dahlia’s brother Michael. This in itself had not caused him alarm upon receiving it since he had, in the past, received letters from her other brothers. The text enclosed, however, troubled him to the core.
Kent –
Dahlia has been hurt and we cannot be sure of her recovery. Have requested Leland return from London and considered it pertinent to allow you the opportunity to join him.
Yours etc.,
Michael Talbot
Unsure of her recovery? What had happened? Would he arrive in time to see her alive? He simply could not imagine her gone. For nearly three years, the spirited and beautiful young woman had held a place in his mind and in his heart. His immediate attraction to the child prodigy had tormented him and her music had haunted his thoughts. Her beauty as she matured had teased his senses, and her kisses had plagued him with the promise of future intimacy. To remove her from his mind would be like cutting off a limb.
A knock on his door brought his attention back to the moment. He jumped up to answer it, hoping it was a return message from Leland to the hasty note he had sent upon receiving Michael’s letter. The door opened before he reached it, however, and his uncle stood in the doorway looking vexed.
“You cannot keep running off to the country,” he started with a growl. “You have responsibilities here!”
The look James gave his uncle would have turned any man with a heart to stone. There was no use arguing with him, though, as James knew full well his uncle was a medical anomaly and had no heart. He collected his last belongings and shoved them in his satchel without a word while his uncle continued to rant.
“…that country bumpkin with no position in society! If you leave here today, you leave for good!”
This last threat entered James’ mind, but he pushed it aside to be considered later. He heard a carriage pull up, followed by the door knocker slamming home. That would be Leland.
He grabbed his bags and pushed past his uncle. “Keep your money and your title, uncle. May they comfort you when you die alone.”
The train ride to Cirencester was long and quiet. Beyond the salutation and initial inquiries between he and Leland, there was nothing much to be said. Neither had any answers, only frightening speculations and a long time to foster them.
They arrived after dark and hired horses rather than a carriage to get to Talbot Hall as quickly as possible. There had been no time to respond to Michael’s letters to inform them of their travel arrangements. The lamps of the house were still lit despite the late hour, and Glenda ushered them in quietly.
Leland made for the stairs immediately. As James followed him, Peter came into the foyer from the study and grabbed his arm.
“A moment before you see her, Kent,” was all he said. With a longing look up the stairs, James turned and followed Dahlia’s father back into the study.
-----
The next morning, James was on the first train back to London. Unlike the interminable hours of the train ride the night before, James was glad of the time. He had a number of letters to right, things to plan. By the time the train pulled into the station, he felt confident he had thought of everything needed. All he had to do now was execute them and hope that all the recipients of his letters did the same.
On his way to the townhouse, he thought of what he would tell his uncle – how much he would tell his uncle. He expected no understanding from Lord Telford, so he decided he might as well tell him everything. No one could have anticipated the events that had unfolded in Cirencester, any more than he could have anticipated his response. It would be as much a shock to his uncle as his untimely return.
The house was oddly quiet when he entered, and he thought perhaps his uncle had gone out already. There were no servants about, which was even more peculiar. It crossed his mind that perhaps his uncle had gone out of town with his absence, but as he made for the stairs, he noted a particular cordovan leather bag in the parlor by the chess table. Stanmer. The last person he needed to encounter now was his uncle’s stodgy friend.
Given his uncle’s proclamation of the night before, he supposed he had nothing further to lose at this point. Shrugging his shoulders, he climbed the stairs two at a time. Best he faced the inevitable right away and get it over with. The best he could hope for was that both his uncle and Lord Stanmer had gone out, and he could pack his things and leave without seeing either of them.
As he reached the landing of the second floor, however, he heard laughing. This in itself was not a sound common in his uncle’s house. Curious, he went to his uncle’s room. The door was ajar, and he slowly pushed it open. It was his uncle laughing, sitting at his desk in his nightshirt reading something. Amused at what could entertain his uncle so, James stepped into the room. It was then that he saw Lord Stanmer, also in his nightshirt, standing behind his uncle with is hands on his uncle’s shoulders, looking over to read whatever it was his uncle was reading.
The familiarity of the scene struck James like a pitcher of cold water. Two of the stodgiest, protocol-ruled men of Britain’s peerage were together in a bedchamber – in their nightclothes! This was the last thing James expected to find upon his return, and he didn’t know what to say or what to do. He therefore just stood there, dumbfounded.
Apparently, James was the last thing his uncle expected at that moment either. He and Stanmer turned simultaneously to look at James. The shock on their faces, which then turned ashen with embarrassment, were almost comical. Stanmer pulled his hands off his uncle’s shoulders immediately and backed off a full step. This activity, more than the situation itself, told James all he needed to know.
“You two are lovers!” he cried, incredulously.
“What the hell are you doing back?” his uncle growled, ignoring his nephew’s statement.
James likewise ignored his question. “You sanctimonious bastard!” James laughed out loud. “All these years you have made me feel like the lowest piece of nothing while parading around as this grand, upstanding pillar of the establishment. Even before I was born, you condemned my father – your brother – for marrying the woman he loved more than life itself because she didn’t meet your qualifications of a good match. You disrespected your own blood because you felt yourself so superior for not having stooped to marrying a woman below your station and wealth. Your distain for me and my brothers and sisters, never mind the atrocious manner in which you treated my mother after my father’s death, was palpable. Your reluctance to answer my mother’s pleas to help me had nothing to do with even a guilty conscience in cutting us off from the rest of the family, was it? You simply didn’t want someone living in your home to interfere with your relationship with him!” He pointed accusingly at Lord Stanmer.
James stopped to take a breath, a million thoughts and memories racing through his mind. “He would have forgiven you this, Uncle,” he said slowly, shaking his head. “If you had supported him in his marriage to my mother, he would have supported you in your…your relationship. But you made the choice to oppose him. You chose to try to deny him his love like society denied you yours.” James laughed dryly. “You could have had a loving family – his family – and your precious Stanmer. I am sure of it. Instead, you ruined both of your lives – you wasted his innate ability to love and forgive, and you wasted your life through your inability to accept it.”
His uncle said nothing, but sat there seething, his face reddening quickly. It was Stanmer who spoke up. “I trust you won’t make this public. It would hurt your reputation and standing as well as your uncle’s.”