Dahlia's Music

by Caitlyn Quirk

“Is that all you care about? Haven’t you listened to my uncle complain of my conduct over the past several years? I haven’t exhibited much care for my reputation. To make this known to general society would be very easy for me.”

  James thought he saw panic in his uncle’s countenance. He ran his hand through his hair, the toll of a sleepless night catching up with him. Remembering the reason for the previous night’s anxiety starting the mental gears to lurch forward into action. “No,” replied James, finally. “I will not make this public.” His uncle sighed with relief. “But I do intend to take full advantage of this very valuable knowledge.”

  His uncle’s head came up sharply. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that there is a price for my silence and I mean to collect it in terms of both the money and understanding you have withheld from me and my family for years.” He told them what had happened to Dahlia – of the attack and the possibility she had been raped. “I’m in love with a young woman who may not survive her injuries, and I have asked – insisted – on being allowed to marry her.”

  “What?”

  “We will be married as soon as I return to Cirencester. Then I will take her to Scotland. I’ve written my mother to meet me at Grandfather’s estate. Dahlia will convalesce there, away from inquiries as to what really happened. If, God forbid, she is pregnant, the birth will coincide closely enough with our marriage and I will claim the child is mine.”

  Ian Kent looked horrified. He glanced over at Stanmer, who merely shrugged.

  “And you will give us the very generous sum of a thousand pounds as a wedding present.”

  “A thousand pounds?” his uncle exclaimed.

  “And an annual sum thereafter. Consider it remuneration for all that you withheld from my mother after my father’s death. She had to give up my father’s home and her social standing, because you could not accept their happiness years before.” His uncle looked away at this. “I will find work as best I can as an apprentice architect, or whatever else I can find.” James stood up and crossed to his uncle’s desk. He wrote down the address of the castle and gave it to his uncle. “Here is where you are to send the money.”

  He left the room without waiting for his uncle to answer.

  Chapter 59

  Once again en route to Cirencester, James had no letters to write or worries about his uncle to occupy his time as he had on his trip to London. He had dealt with the particulars of what would be done and who needed to be contacted. Now, his mind was free to contemplate all the decisions he had made in the past 24 hours that would affect the rest of his life.

  He was going to marry Dahlia. He had wanted that since the first time he saw her – although he acknowledged he didn’t consciously recognize that until last year. Marrying Dahlia should have made him happier, but he remembered the horrifying reason for the event that had precipitated it by at least two years. He remembered seeing her, lying in her bed, her face swollen beyond recognition and discolored in an unnatural way. He prayed to God, for the hundredth time, not to let her die so that this version of her face was not the last he ever saw.

  His pain of seeing her hurt was replaced by the anger that permeated his soul when he thought of who did this to her. He did not wonder why – there was no reason beyond the madness of the villain who perpetrated this hideous act. Dahlia’s brothers had discussed the possible culprits late into the night, along with what they would do to him when they hunted him down. James knew something they did not, however. He knew from the conversation at Bathurst’s the morning after the Cirencester Ball that the death of Dahlia’s mother had been very possibly murder. Peter’s children, however, still believed what they had been told – that she had died of a sudden fever. The fact that Dahlia had been attacked at the top of the ravine, when her mother had been found dead at the bottom of it, seemed more than coincidence to him. He did not believe the suppositions of the Talbot brothers that this was the work of a vagrant or escaped prisoner. James thought it more likely was someone who lived nearby, in the county. His thoughts immediately focused on the Standfords. From what he had heard over the years, the elder Standford abused his sister and the younger abused anyone he could. He knew first hand that Edward had bruised Dahlia’s wrist the night of the ball. Then, there was the fact that the ravine saddled the Talbot property line with that of the Standford estate. What he couldn’t fathom was why either of them would want to hurt Dahlia so gravely…especially to the extent of attempting to rape her.

  Rape. An ugly word for an even uglier act. Michael said it was a crime of anger and hatred and control more than just sexual deviation. James thought beating a young woman half to death was anger and hatred and control enough. He would never forget Peter Talbot’s face when he took him into the study and closed the door to tell him the appalling truth.

  “Kent,” he had begun slowly. “You came to me last spring to tell me your intentions with regards to Dahlia. You said you had the truest love for her, and that you intended to marry her when she came of age. I thought that a bit unlikely for a young man of twenty about a girl of fifteen, but you promised that until she was eighteen, you would court her under the chaperone of her family and friends. I respected that. It told me a lot about your character. You probably knew from my surprise at the time that I had no idea you were anything more than a friend of my sons who was kind to their little sister. Sharon Sweet always accused me of being blind to my daughter’s growing up. Part of that was the fact that I couldn’t bear the thought of her getting married and moving away. She is so very like her mother…” His voice had trailed off at that point.

  James remembered his anxiety at that point in the conversation. He was eager to go up and see Dahlia, and was confused by her father’s need to reminisce. Little did he know the awful point of the conversation yet to come.

  “I need to repay you the honesty you showed me then,” he had continued. “You need to know that Dahlia was viciously attacked.”

  “Attacked?” James had asked, incredulous to this scenario. He had assumed that she had had a riding or carriage accident. With Lady Sweet’s recent death from an overturned carriage, that seemed possible. He had never guessed that someone had purposefully hurt Dahlia.

  “She was beaten brutally. She still has not regained consciousness, which is why I sent for her brothers…and for you. The physician fears she may not wake up, or what consequences may result from her injuries if she does.” James was stunned. The reality of what had happened, and that he could lose Dahlia, started to wear through the shock.

  “But there is more.”

  “More?” What could possibly be worse than what he had just been told?

  Peter did not look him in the eye. He fidgeted with the letter opener on his desk, holding the handle tightly in a fist as if he would stab something, or someone. “It is probable,” he began slowly. “That she was…raped.” The word hissed out of his mouth.

  James stared at him, uncomprehending. The word registered, but not in the context of his Dahlia.

  Peter continued in order to fill in the silence left by James’ inability to speak. “We can’t be sure…of course, until Dahlia wakes up and can tell us what happened – and who did it. But, there were signs…her clothing.” Peter had not been able to continue. He got up and started pacing the study. James had not been able to formulate words, let alone sentences. “I thought you had a right to know,” Peter had said solemnly. “And the opportunity to say good-bye.”

  James looked up at him sharply. “Good bye?” He stood up to face Dahlia’s father. “She will NOT die!” he exclaimed, as if his confidence could affect the young girl’s fate.

  Peter looked at him sadly. “Son, if she lives, she will not be the beautiful songbird she was, innocent and carefree. We will try to contain the truth of what really happened, assuming she isn’t…”

  “Isn’t what?”

  “With child.”

  James’ ability to speak was short lived as this new aspect of the situ
ation was brought to the forefront of his attention. He closed his eyes. To live with the memory of the attack would be terrible; to live with the knowledge of the rape horrific; to be shunned from society as an unwed mother whose child was forced on her was unconscionable. She would go from being a very respected, beautiful, and talented daughter of an upstanding family with excellent prospects for marriage to a pariah. Unmarried mothers lost all place in good society, regardless of whether they gave themselves to a man willingly or the situation was forced on them.

  “No!” James shouted, startling Peter as well as himself. “I will marry her now.”

  Peter smiled wanly, but shook his head. “No,” he stated, surprising – and angering – James.

  “You gave me permission to court her months ago. Why would you change your mind now?”

  “Because everything has changed. Dahlia will never be the same again because of this. You will never see her the same way. You are a good person, James. I do not wish for both of you to be unhappy.”

  “Why would I be unhappy? I love Dahlia and planned to marry her – why not now? Do you doubt she loves me?”

  “No, I don’t doubt she loves you. Lady Sweet told me as much after our talk in May. However, I doubt that what you feel now is strong enough to last through the trials you would go through. Think of it, son. What if she is pregnant? To claim a child as your own and give it your name is one thing, but could you love it knowing the manner of its conception?”

  James didn’t know the answer for sure. “It would be Dahlia’s child; that would be enough for me to try.”

  Peter was shaking his head again. “It is too much to ask of you – I don’t ask it of you. You also have your own family to consider. From what I’ve heard, you do not get on well with your uncle, and your mother and siblings rely on your relationship with him, however tenuous it may be.”

  “I do not need my uncle,” James replied, with sudden inspiration. “I will take Dahlia to my grandfather’s castle in Scotland. My family will take her in and look after her. She will be sheltered there from all the gossip, and we can start our married life there with no suspicions should she be with child.”

  “We can take care of her here. We can protect her and her child,” Peter said stubbornly. Then, his face fell as he realized he had not been able to keep her from harm. He had not been able to protect her on his own property. He sat down and put his head in his hands.

  “You know I am right,” James said quietly. “We need to take her away. Give me permission to marry her now and she will never have the stain of violation on her. Her child, if that is God’s will, will never be known as ‘bastard.’”

  Peter could barely contain his anguish over what had happened to Dahlia, and his worry of whether or not she would live. Now, he was faced with the agony of losing her even if she did. He was not ready for her to leave him, not yet.

  “We’ll wait till she wakes up,” he said, thinking this would give him more time with her. At the very least, they could find out who had done this to her. Ripping the man’s limbs off with his bare hands had a distinct appeal to him.

  Tentatively agreeing to this, James had gone up to see Dahlia.

  -----

  Dahlia had woken the next morning – this morning, James had to remind himself. She had moaned with pain and called for her father. When he was by her side however, she could not say anything intelligible. Any inquiries about who had done this to her were only met with a mumbled, ‘did what?’ Her breathing had a wheezing quality, and Dr. Chase gave her a strong dose of laudanum. She had stared up at him with one eye. “Where’s your music?” she whispered, then fell back into a deep sleep.

  Dr. Chase informed them that she might not remember the attack at all, let alone who was responsible for it, either immediately – or ever. James thought it would be a blessing if she did not remember the attack. However, if she were pregnant, they would have to explain it to her somehow. Peter must have been thinking the same thing; it was then that he turned to James and whispered, “You have my permission.”

  And so James had left for London, writing the letters to his mother and his professors, who were given a different account of why he was leaving London. To his mother, he told everything. He had been writing to her about Dahlia for some time, to prepare her for the eventuality of their marriage when the time came. When he wrote the letter yesterday and posted it upon his return to the city, he did not have the certainty of financial support he had obtained – albeit through blackmail – from his uncle. He made a mental note to write her again so she would not fear for her own well-being and that of his siblings, let alone his own. He had asked her – begged her – to move back to her father’s estate to help with Dahlia’s recovery…and the baby should one arrive. He had no idea whether or not she would be at the castle when he arrived, but he hoped with all his heart that she would be. He needed her advice, her help, and her love to guide him through the difficult days and months ahead. His initial bravado in insisting on marrying Dahlia – come what may – was waning in light of the reality of the situation. He began to wonder whether moving her would do more harm than good. He and Peter had talked to the physician. Dr. Chase advised against it, but he also recognized the damage to her reputation if they lingered too long before making a decision and taking action. James knew that the first snow would soon fall in the Highlands, and then the trip would become highly problematic until spring. For many different reasons, they needed to act quickly. They would take the risk of the trip to ensure that their ruse saved her character and provided a reason for her pregnancy if she did not regain her memory and the worse had happened.

  -----

  Having thought her wedding years away – and as a result of not growing up with a mother, Dahlia had not gathered many items for her trousseau. Her bags were packed, however, with whatever her servants had thought pertinent for the trip to Scotland: clothes, shoes, accessories, small mementos, and a notebook of sheet music, her original scores, that Michael had brought to them to pack.

  “I don’t think she hears the music anymore,” said Matilda quietly.

  Glenda gasped, and Michael’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

  “Well,” she started. “She hasn’t said much that makes any sense since the accident, but what I can make out is ‘No music.’ She keeps murmuring ‘I can’t hear it.’’”

  Michael frowned. He knew what society thought of women who were raped, and of women who were not virgins at their weddings. To his mind, losing one’s virginity was a mere medical status. Before the wedding night, a girl was a virgin. The next morning, she was not. While there were morality issues with this change of status without the intervening wedding ceremony, he was not sure how or why they applied when the change was affected against a woman’s will. He could not understand why society would look down on his sister – or any other woman – who had been mistreated so. Considering all the widowers who went on to take second, or even third – husbands without the status of virgin, he couldn’t imagine why society placed so high a price on virginity at the first marriage. It was all confusing, contradictory, and unfair. He knew his sister to be strong and sensible. Kent seemed to think no less of her for what had happened, and was going to marry her. He would help her to deal with the stigma attached to what had happened. He seriously doubted, however, that anyone could help her deal with the loss of her music. As far back as he could remember, Dahlia had heard music in her head. As a little child, she would play games with her mental symphonies that had delighted her.

  Michael touched the leather portfolio. “Pray that is not so,” he said to both Glenda and Matty. “If it is, she has lost part of her soul. You have been more a friend to Dahlia than a maid,” he directed at Matty. “She will need you.”

  It had been decided that Matty would go with them to Scotland, as well as little Rory, the Border Terrier puppy. “I’ll watch over her as if she were my own sister, Michael,” she promised.

  Dahlia’s wedd
ing was solemn and brief. It was not the fairy tale wedding Peter had wanted for his only daughter – with most of the county in attendance and the house filled with guests. She did not wear a long, flowing white dress made by the best dressmakers from London; she was, in fact, married in her shift. Matty had put on her lace gloves that James had given her, thinking it a nice touch, but also a clever means of hiding the bruises on her wrists. The matching ribbon was tied into her hair. These were the only accessories she bore as they were located on the two parts of her body not covered by the bed linens.

  James sat by her side, tenderly holding one of her bruised hands. Peter stood on her other side, and her five brothers surrounded her bed like a guard. Behind them, and just as militant looking, were Alvaro, Isabel, and their sons. Vicar Jacob was at the foot of the bed looking uncomfortable. Peter and Leland had gone to speak with the Vicar, to tell him that Dahlia and James would be getting married, but not the true reason why they were requesting him to perform the ceremony with Dahlia barely conscious and not yet sixteen. They told him they feared for her life as the result of a riding accident, and that it had been her intent and desire to marry Mr. Kent. Although he would have been reluctant to negate Squire Talbot, who was giving his consent for the marriage, the circumstances worried him. Leland knew enough from his studies regarding cannon law and Lord Hardwicke’s Marriage Act to persuade him he could – in good conscience – perform the ceremony. Still, he fidgeted and little beads of sweat appeared on his brow. Looking at him, James wasn’t sure whether his state of discomfort was due solely to the circumstances under which he was here to perform the ceremony, the grim countenances of the Talbots, the presence of the armed and fierce looking Roma men, the shocking appearance of Dahlia’s battered and swollen face, or all these things.

  Dr. Chase, Matty, and Glenda were squeezed into the back of Dahlia’s bedroom, the considerable size of which had appeared to diminish as each of the eighteen filed in. The physician had taken great care to time her doses of laudanum throughout the day so she would be lucid enough to participate in the exchange of vows. James had sat with her the previous night when he had returned from London. With her father as witness, he had asked Dahlia if she would marry him. Through the haze of the sedatives and the pain, she had thought herself dreaming. The side of her mouth that was not swollen had turned up slightly and she had replied, “Of course I’ll marry you.” James didn’t ask a second time; they had the answer they needed.