"Will you jump if I tell you to?"
"You won't."
"Are you so certain?"
"Aye."
"You thought me capable last eventide of bashing in your skull with a rock."
"Only for a moment. Are you never without doubt, husband? Did you ever doubt, standing in that chapel in Burnsall, that I married you for love's sake alone?" I saw his thick lashes lower. "Aye, you doubted me because it is natural to do so. In the end you trusted that my feelings were true so you went on with the marriage. Show me a man who does not falter occasionally in faith and I will show you Jesus Christ."
I climbed upon a rock beside him, took his face in my hands, and looked him straight in his eyes. "Husband. I cannot tell you if you killed your wife. Mayhap we will never know. I trust, however, that if you wanted to kill me you would push me now over this cliff. It would be simple enough to say I slipped."
His fingers closed around my wrists. We stood that way upon the edge of the world, one foot from eternity, eyes locked, hair and clothes whipping in a sudden blast of wind. Then, with a muttered curse, he shoved me away, spun on his heel, and strode to the canvas he had thrown on the ground. I watched, transfixed, as he picked it up and turned again toward the cliff.
"My salute to faith," he said through his teeth. Then he hurled the canvas over the edge.
"Blast your faith, Maggie, it will see you buried here in a fortnight."
I turned from Brabbs, my downcast face covered with a length of black veil. I had waited until Rosine Baron's few mourners departed before approaching her grave. Holding my hand open over the trench, I watched the dirt sift through my fingers. "I should not have told you," I responded.
"Why did you go there with him? You're tempting fate, lass. After last night you should know that."
"He did nothing to me last night or today. He's rational now, Brabbs. His mind is growing clearer every day."
"That's no guarantee. He could have a setback any time; you know that."
"I don't think he will." Lifting my black skirt, I walked among the mounds of earth, taking care not to catch my hem on the rose thistle growing along the path. "I would like to be alone, Brabbs," I said over my shoulder.
"I won't have it. I want you to come home with me, Maggie, before it's too late."
"Had he any intention of harming me, he had the opportunity at the cliffs."
"He wasn't about to send you over the edge with a witness about, was he? He was just lulling you into a false sense of security, so when the time comes—"
"What reason does he have to want me dead?" I spun to face him.
"What reason did he have to kill Jane?"
"I can give you a dozen."
"Reason does not justify murder."
"I am tired of discussing it."
"What if he's realized who you are, Maggie?"
I dragged the veil from my head. "What are you implying?"
Brabbs rubbed his roughened hand over his face and shook his head. "What if he never had any intentions of marrying you, girl? You know for yourself that institutions like Oaks are full of unwed young women who believed the fol-de-rol whispered in their ear by some lord of their realm." I turned away. He grabbed my arm and turned me back. "Perhaps his intentions of marrying you were genuine enough: He was feeling isolated and friendless and desperate, but you said yourself, his mind is clearing, Maggie. Bits and pieces of his memory could come back to him at any time. What if he realizes who you really are, and that you've duped him?"
"I haven't." I yanked my arm from his hand.
"But you did. You did! And you know it. You came here with the sole purpose of revenge, Maggie. I can imagine you and Jerome with your young heads together, planning how you would make the great and mighty Lord Malham of Walthamstow pay for ruining you. Here is a man capable of murdering a woman who wanted to take nothing more than a bloody house. In God's name, what is he going to do to the woman who wanted to take his son?"
I would speak no more on the matter and told him so. Finally, his patience at an end, Brabbs left me alone at the graveside and returned to Malham.
I stood on that bleak hill, surveying all around me. I could yet see the mourners moving together down Raikes Road, the vicar following at a distance like a shepherd guarding his flock. In my solitude I recalled sitting once at Rosine's side while she held open her hand to me. In her palm were seeds. "It's all that's left of last year's crop," she told me. "Bury it and it will come forth anew, stronger and more beautiful than before . . . Ain't it miraculous, Maggie?"
"Aye," I whispered, smiling at the memory. "It is miraculous, Rosie."
A half dozen rooks perched atop the highest limbs of a distant elm, their feathers ruffled and their wings slightly spread as they balanced in the breeze. As I watched them a serenity overcame me, and I closed my eyes. For a moment I too was at peace.
It was then that the familiar sense of being observed crept over me. And in that instant the sharp grate of iron and gravel pierced the quiet. My breath froze. Slowly I opened my eyes and turned.
The man stood at the grave side, his back to me, his shoulders draped in a black mantle. He stooped, slid his shovel into the earth, and, without facing me, tossed the dirt onto the coffin. I backed away, the heel of my shoe sinking into the muddy hillock of another grave.
"Here, now," I said, "can that not wait, sir? I am not done mourning the deceased."
He continued, unwilling to respond.
My forehead became clammy with fear. Twisting my veil in my hands, I slowly moved away, keeping my eyes on the man, listening to the dull thud of earth on wood as he filled the grave. Not until I reached the bottom of the hill did I release my breath and scorn myself for my ridiculous fantasies. That was when I noted the figure standing some distance from me, watching me, and I was certain she called my name. "Ariel!"
Yet though the voice was decidedly feminine, I could not see the face or the form of the one who watched me. I did not respond—hearing my name called by this stranger was disconcerting—but lifted my skirts and fled the cemetery.
Upon reaching Raikes Road, I paused to look back. She was there still, keeping her distance. I turned and continued a brisk pace up the road, wishing now I had agreed to Trevor's request that I take the chaise. Before rounding the last bend toward Walthamstow I slowed and looked back one last time. She was gone.
Relief left me weak and feeling foolish. I was letting Brabbs's monitions unnerve me. That, coupled with my dream and my husband's overly fervid imagination about Jane, conjured threats when none existed. I continued my walk with much less haste, considering my morning journey to the cove and Nick's reasons for taking me there. I stopped, the recollection coming to me as clear and cold as a sudden moorland wind. How could I have forgotten? As Maggie I had once met Lord Malham at that very place. I had perched upon that very rock after a spring rain, admiring the rainbow that bridged the cliffs of the gorge. Around my "skirt hems grew heather. I wore a pearl-gray dress . . .
The portrait.
My blood felt like a fire inside me as my husband's words came back to me: "I realize now that they were simply shadows of memories ..."
The portrait had been of Maggie!
I began to run. Reaching Walthamstow, I rushed up the stairs. There was only one way to be certain. If the portrait was there, then I could put my suspicions aside. I stopped first at Kevin's room, finding the door still locked. I turned then for the studio, held my breath as I entered, and glanced about the room. I found my own portrait, and with growing trepidation I noted its eerie likeness to the girl on the cliff. I sat upon my perch like Maggie sat upon her rock, staring out over the valley. Shadows of memories . . .
The portrait of Maggie was gone.
I backed toward the door. My lord's hand upon my shoulder stopped me.
I did not turn at first, but glanced with caution down at the gloved fingers squeezing my shoulder. Remain calm, my reason told me. There is no cause to fear him yet, "My lor
d, you frightened me."
He drew me back against him. "Sorry, but one more step and you might have trod on my toe."
"Then you've been standing there for some time?"
"Watching you . . . You don't mind, I trust. It's one of the few pleasures with which I can selfishly reward myself." With one hand he swept my hair aside. He pressed his warm mouth against my neck in a kiss, then said, "I've missed you. Where did you go?"
"I told you. A friend died."
"Brabbs?"
I shook my head.
"A shame."
Unable to withstand the tension any longer, I spun to face him. His disheveled hair spilled over his neckcloth. And his eyes: like storm-clouds with the sun behind them. The hint of cold wind clung to him as well as the scent of fresh, rich earth. A fear pressed in on me and clutched my heart.
"It was you," I stated softly. "It was you at the cemetery."
His eyes narrowed.
"You followed me—"
"I've been with Jim."
"Nay, you were there." I tried to back away. He closed his fingers around my nape and held me fast, the soft tips of his glove pressing into my skin.
"I was with Jim," he repeated. "We walked back to Pikedaw Cliff. It seems we lost some sheep over the edge because a fence is down." Slowly releasing his grip, he stepped back and began peeling off his gloves. "I saw you walking up Raikes and called out to you. I guess you didn't hear me."
I searched his face for the lie.
When he touched my cheek with his hand his fingers were cold but steady. "It occurred to me as I hurried home to see you that we haven't made love since our wedding day. I think"—his mouth curved in a smile— "that such behavior is hardly befitting newlyweds."
"You've been ill."
"So I have. But I'm better now. Much better. Like my old self. Does that please you, Lady Malham?" Before I could respond he stepped up against me, pressed his thumb into the tender skin beneath my chin, and tipped up my face. All reason vanished. My fear melted into white-hot desire, though I tried to struggle and turned my face away. His mouth brushed the corner of my lips, my cheek. Then his hand gripped my jaw and forced my face back to his. As his hand buried into my hair and dragged me down, my eyes closed and I thought:
God help me, but I love him. Despite it all . . . I love him.
Chapter 19
The following morning I ventured out into the cold dawn, intending to distance myself from my husband's presence. He was changed toward me; I could hardly deny it. He'd made love to me almost angrily throughout the night, withholding the tenderness he'd shared so freely with me before. I had detected suspicion as he looked at me. Once leaving me and standing by the window, he'd said softly, "Perhaps I am insane. Perhaps I should spend the rest of my days in Bedlam, but I swear to you I will not go there without a fight. Be warned, my love, that if I must I will stop at nothing to save myself from that fate. Nothing."
He had warned me, and I must heed that warning, no matter how much it distressed me to do so. He regarded me as a threat to his freedom, and if Brabbs was right—if he suspected that I was Maggie—he might consider me a threat to our son. Already he had forbidden me from seeing the child.
I wandered Walthamstow's grounds, hoping the brisk air would revive my spirits as I continued to consider my circumstances. As I rounded the corner of the house I stopped. Through the mist I saw an apparition. The cloaked and hooded figure moved with wraith-like grace through the fog, away from Trevor's office door, down the path, and around the distant corner of the house. At dawn? Compelled by curiosity, I walked swiftly to the point where she'd rounded the house and found . . . nothing. She'd vanished like smoke in the mist.
I returned to the office entrance. Once there I did my best to see into the room through the window. The office was dark. I tried the door. Locked.
Returning to the house, I flung my cloak over the stair rail before grabbing up the nearest candle. I hurried to Trevor's office, and found no evidence that it had been occupied that morning. The wax candle on the desk was still cold. No fire burned in the hearth. Perhaps the visitor was simply a patient of Trevor's who had arrived too early to see him, I told myself. Yet some niggling doubt stirred in my subconscious. The image of the cloaked figure in the cemetery the day before came back to me with chilling clarity, and with it the frightening sensation of presence that had haunted me since my arrival at Walthamstow.
I returned to my quarters. My husband, however, was no longer in the room.
I hurried to the kitchen, confident that the help would know my husband's whereabouts. Matilda was busy raking the glowing coals from the ovens, preparing the back stones for a day of baking haverbread. Smiling, I watched her plump backside sweep from side to side as she stoked the embers.
"Good morning," I said, laughing as she hopped in surprise off the floor.
"Gum, lass," I heard her say. "Are y' about givin' old women apoplexy?"
"I've nowt better t' do," I smiled. "Have you seen his lordship recently?"
Her eyes widened as she came up right. " 'ave y' been out?" she asked.
"Aye. For a walk."
"Well then, that explains it. 'e's off with Jim to Pikedaw t' repair a wall."
"It's quite early for that, isn't it? And what's my husband doing toting stone when he's paying the help to do it?"
Hooking the boiler over the fire, she shook her head before facing me again. " 'e were never one t' sit around when work was t' be done, 'e and George and Eugene were always about some chore. Not like Trevor, y* understand, who thought such labor was beneath 'im."
Pilfering a scone from a tray, I bit into it and said, "Then perhaps I will walk out to Pikedaw to see him."
Tilly pursed her lips in contemplation.
"Is anything wrong?" I asked, swallowing.
"Beg pardon, mum, I suppose it ain't my business, but if I were you I wouldn't be walkin' out t' no Pikedaw. Not until his lordship has had time t' calm down."
"Calm down?" The scone stuck in my throat.
"While you were out 'im and 'is brother got into it. We 'card 'em arguin' all the way in 'ere."
"Over what?"
She cast her eyes down. "I couldn't say, mum."
Leaving the room, I hurried to the Great Hall, then to several drawing rooms, and finally the library. I found Trevor at the desk, a handkerchief pressed to one corner of his mouth. As he looked up and saw me, he quickly tucked the bloody linen into his coat pocket.
Cautiously approaching the desk, my eyes on Trevor's bleeding lip, I asked, "What has happened?"
Embarrassed, he looked away. "We argued."
"And he hit you." I closed my eyes. "Oh, my God."
Rising from his chair, Trevor pointed to a stack of papers on the desk. "From Saint Mary's. God in heaven,
Ariel, had I anticipated that he would blunder in on me I wouldn't have had them out." His blue eyes looked blurred suddenly; he leaned wearily against the desk. "Dammit, I hate doing this. But it seems I haven't any choice. You see that, don't you? Adrienne's right. He's not responsible for his actions."
"I'm certain he didn't mean—"
"I'm certain he didn't mean to strike Jane either. He reacts, then he's sorry. But by then the damage has been done." He touched my cheek with his fingers. "Your love and devotion are admirable, but you must understand what sort of danger you are in. No one will think less of you for signing these papers. You are the only one who can do it now, Ariel. For your sake, for our sake, for Kevin's sake, sign them and we will get the proceedings under way."
He pressed a quill into my hands. With my heart pounding in my throat, I stared down at the paper on the desk. "No," I said, dropping the quill. "I won't do it."
Before he could respond, I fled the room, retrieved my cloak from the stairs, then exited the house. I ran down the path, beyond the stables and sheep folds to the open pastures. The wind took my breath away, tearing at my skirts, my hair, bringing tears to my eyes. I struggled onward, my fee
t occasionally sinking in the mire, until I reached the moor's summit. Below me, my husband and his friend heaved a stone from the ground and swung it atop the crumbled wall. Jim saw me first. He spoke to my lord, then Nicholas spun toward me.
With some uncertainty he lifted his hand in greeting, then began walking up the well-worn sheep path, his eyes never leaving mine. The cold wind had chafed his face. His form-fitting, doeskin breeches were damp and slightly muddy. I stood my ground, hating myself for the betrayal I felt, hating myself for the weakness and desire that besieged me while in his presence. I could not let that daunt me. He would hear me out.
Nicholas stopped some yards from me, his weight shifting from one long leg to the other as he waited.
"How could you?" I asked him. "How could you do such a thing?"
He looked at his hands as he peeled off his gloves. Then he slapped the kidskin against his thigh.
"Do you realize how difficult it is for me to continue to justify your behavior?"
"Am I no longer allowed to voice my opinion without being scrutinized by my wife?"
"Voice!" My control shattering, I clenched my fists and screamed, "You struck him, Nick." I spun and stormed back toward Walthamstow.
"Ariel!"
"Nay," I called back. "I want no excuses. I am tired of hearing them. I am tired of your self-pity—"
He caught my arm and whirled me round. His flushed face had broken into a fine sweat despite the cold. "What did you say?"
"I said, I am tired—"
"You said I struck him."
"Aye. You hit him and for what reason? He has no control over your circumstances any longer. If you wish to take out your anger on someone, then do it on me. I will be the one who sees you to Bedlam, not Trevor!"
I turned and ran, but his long legs covered the ground faster than mine. He blocked my escape, towering above me, his eyes like flames. "I did not hit him!" he shouted, catching my shoulders.
The words echoed over the fields, and from the corner of my eye I saw Jim throw aside his stone and cautiously approach us.
"Aye, you hit him. You argued and you hit him. Don't deny it. I saw the evidence all over his handkerchief. His lip was bleeding!"
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