A Heart Possessed

by Katherine Sutcliffe

  Dropping his hands, he stumbled backward. I watched his handsome face contort in disgust and frustration, and I felt something crack inside me. I began to weep over the injustice, the act of God that had taken the man I had loved two years ago and turned him into . . . this!

  "I did not hit him!" Nicholas repeated.

  "Liar!"

  I might have struck him, so stunned did he look, so heartbreakingly desperate. His voice lowered to a husky whisper that was almost lost to me in the wind, "I don't remember hitting him."

  "You never remember. It is a sound enough excuse." Calmly I walked around him, noting he did not move.

  "Ariel."

  I picked up my pace.

  "Ariel!"

  Lifting my skirt I began to run, unwilling to let his desperation sway me, unwilling to acknowledge the fear I heard in his tone. I knew what it meant. If I allowed him close again, his nearness would dull my judgment and send me melting into his arms, mindless of the danger.

  "Dammit, Ariel, come back here."

  "No!" A glance over my shoulder told me what I already knew. He had begun to run after me.

  I saw him slide in the mire. He fell, cursing, but as he struggled to stand Jim was there, wrapping his brawny arms about my lord's chest in an effort to stay him. "Get on with y', lass," Jim called out. "Quickly, I cannot hold 'im forever."

  "Ariel!" came the wounded cry. "Don't! Don't leave me, for God's sake! Ah, damn!"

  Then both of them slid to the ground. Covering my ears, tears streaming from my eyes, I ran back to Walthamstow.

  I pushed my food around the plate, occasionally spearing a pea or stabbing a bit of pork with my fork. But, having no appetite, I did not eat. Adrienne downed her third glass of wine, her eyes shifting toward Trevor every few minutes. The air was brittle with tension as we each waited for someone to speak.

  In that moment my husband entered the room, his sudden appearance shattering the silence. Dressed as he had been on our wedding day—olive-green velvet and ruffled lawn—he strode confidently to the end of the table. "Sorry I'm late," he said. His dark fingers brushing the snow-white tablecloth, he flashed us a smile. "Seems someone forgot to inform the lord of the manor that dinner was served."

  "We thought you were still with Jim," Adrienne responded, placing her glass on the table.

  "Ah, well, that explains it, then."

  I could feel his eyes move over me, and with a volition not of my own, I looked up. The intensity of his gaze brought color to my face. My heartbeat quickened.

  "Lady Malham," he said, bowing slightly with the gentle greeting. "May I say you look ravishing this evening."

  I tried to speak. Impossible. Calmly placing my fork across the plate, I sat back in my chair.

  Taking his chair, he then looked at Trevor. More softly he said, "My wife tells me an apology is in order."

  "Your wife, my lord, is a considerate lady," he responded.

  "Yes, she is. She also tells me that I struck you."

  Trevor looked to me briefly before meeting his brother's eyes. "Yes, you did, Nick."

  Nicholas sat back in his chair. "Of course you have the right to call me out if you so desire."

  "Call you—don't be preposterous. I don't want you dead."

  Matilda hurried to heap Nick's plate with food, refilled Adrienne's wine glass, and, after curtsying negligently for my lord's benefit, darted from the room.

  My husband cleared his throat before addressing his sister. "I understand you are considering a sojourn to Paris, Adrienne."

  She did not respond.

  "Why not to London as well? I think a few weeks in the city—"

  "The reason is obvious," she interrupted, lifting one thin brow. "They all know me there."

  "You mean they all know me there, don't you?"

  "Precisely. I don't think I'm up to the gossip."

  A grim smile twisted my lord's mouth. He said, "It would benefit us both if you were to face the damned gossips, Adrienne, and deny their accusations."

  "How can I when I know them to be true?"

  The smile faded.

  Pushing her chair back, Adrienne pardoned herself and left the room. Trevor followed with the excuse that he was expecting a patient.

  Staring straight ahead, Nicholas asked me, "Haven't you something else to do as well, my lady?"

  Placing my napkin beside my plate, I slowly began to rise.

  He clamped his fingers over my wrist so suddenly the movement brought a gasp of surprise from my lips. "Sit down," he ordered. When I had done so, he released my arm and motioned toward my plate of untouched food. "I suspect it is quite good. While you eat, perhaps we can talk."

  "I am not hungry," I told him, rubbing my wrist.

  "I would appreciate your looking at me when we speak."

  . I could not do it, but stared more determinedly toward the soup tureen in the center of the table. I heard him release his breath.

  "I'm sorry if I hurt your wrist, Ariel. I'm sorry if I hit my brother. I'm sorry if I killed Jane. I'm sorry I'm alive but right now there doesn't seem to be anything I can do about any of it. Just . . . talk to me. Please."

  "I have been locked out of Kevin's room," I said. Forcing my eyes to his, I swallowed and finished, "I demand to know why."

  "I thought we would eventually get to that little problem." He glanced down at his silver fork, then back to me. "Truth is, wife, I've become jealous. You seem to harbor a great deal of affection for my son. So much so I occasionally believe he is the reason you married me."

  "Don't be absurd." I looked away.

  "Why did you marry me? Simply to be my 'crutch'?"

  "Isn't that why you married me?" I snapped. "Because you needed a crutch?"

  I looked at him again. His eyes were downcast, and his jaw muscles worked with anger. Unwilling to push him for a response, I stood. "My lord, I have given some thought to moving to another wing."

  His head snapped up.

  I summoned my courage and continued. "Considering our circumstance, I feel a separation of sorts is in order."

  "I won't allow it. You're mine, dammit. My wife—"

  "Your possession, you mean. Like Kevin. Like Walthamstow. And God help anything, or anyone, who threatens your authority, my high and mighty Lord Malham." I ran from the room.

  I returned again to my own chamber and remained there throughout the night. Such an effort was not easy, for thoughts of my husband constantly plagued me. I felt guilty for deserting him, but separation would allow me to keep my thoughts clear. I prayed throughout the night that he would not come for me, for I knew my body for the traitor it was. And yet, when dawn's light filtered through my curtains, a part of me suffered.

  True to my word, after breakfast I took a candle and headed for Walthamstow's closed west wing. Standing at the mouth of the black tunnel, I convinced myself that there was absolutely nothing to be frightened of; then, holding my candle before me, I eased down the dark corridor.

  The walls closed in around me. The cold and damp made me shiver and the smell of mildew and rot made breathing next to impossible. Matilda was right. No one in his right senses would move into these rooms.

  Deciding to return to my own chambers, I turned just as a gust of warm air brushed my face. I looked back down the black corridor, lifting my candle, still unable to see more than a few feet before me. Compelled by my curiosity over what had caused the unusually warm current, I ventured farther into the house until I was swallowed completely by darkness, until the silence became like a heavy, cold shroud on my shoulders.

  A rat scurried along the edge of my candlelight. Then another, and another. Freezing in my tracks, I watched the tattered sheets covering the furniture flutter in another sudden gust of air. I held my breath, my sudden fear of the dark coming back to remind me that I had wandered too far into this black maze. I turned with the intent of returning to my chamber.

  A hooded, caped figure silhouetted against the darkness stood watching me
from the shadows. And in that moment my candle went out.

  The warm wind rushed around me, fretting my hair, my skirts, the fringed shawl I had wrapped about me. Faint with fear, I waited, my ears straining for a sound. In desperation I called out, "Who is there?" Moving aside, I pressed my back against the stone wall, my fingers clutching each uneven surface for support. "Someone is standing there," I said. "I can hear you breathing." It was a lie, of course. I could hear nothing beyond the roar of blood in my ears. One thought, however, kept me from losing total control. If I could not see it, it could not see me.

  I inched my way along the wall, praying I met no obstacle. Deeper into the house I traveled, hoping for some door, some niche in the wall where I might hide. I met only another corridor branching off to my right. I hurriedly stepped around the corner, allowing myself to take my first full breath in what seemed like minutes.

  Hearing a noise, I listened harder. Silence again. Gradually I became aware of the dampness at my back, of water and moss that left my hands slimy and unable to grip the stone wall. I realized too that for some time my eyes had been closed; so tightly, in fact, it almost hurt to open them.

  An illumination farther down the hall brought a strangled cry of relief from my throat. Slipping on tin-damp floor, I stumbled toward the light. A warmth touched my shivering skin as I plunged into the dim halo and through the open door to my right.

  Surprised, I looked about the comfortable chamber. A fire snapped in the hearth. A massive tester bed lined one wall, and shelves of books another. It took me a moment to make sense of my surroundings, to realize that someone was secretly residing within the bowels of this house.

  Caution crept in on me. Undoubtedly, whoever had happened upon me in the corridor was on his way to this room. Still gripping my candle in one hand, I made haste to light it, then returned to the hallway, eager to make my way back to the main house and report my discovery. Carefully I moved up the corridor, expecting to meet the intruder again. I didn't. No doubt the resident of that chamber had beat a hasty retreat.

  Hearing Trevor's voice, I rushed to his office door. I must have appeared greatly distraught, for the look on his smiling face as he glanced up from his patient turned suddenly to one of concern. "Something has happened with Nick?" he said.

  I shook my head. "But I must speak with you at the first opportunity."

  A nod told me he understood. When he finally joined me, he asked, "What in blazes has happened, Ariel? You look frightened out of your senses."

  "I was just exploring the old section of the west wing. Trevor, someone is living there!"

  His eyes narrowed in disbelief. "I beg your pardon?"

  "I know it is difficult to believe, but I saw it with my own eyes. Someone has set up house in one of the rooms. Have you any idea who it could be?"

  Backing away, he shook his head before picking up his topcoat. "Ariel, those rooms are unlivable. They haven't been opened in a century."

  "That one has," I told him adamantly. "Come with me and I will prove it."

  "All right. But first I have a call to make at Weets Top. Lady Forestier is ailing from gout again and of course she expects me to go to her. We aristocrats are a spoiled lot, aren't we?"

  I returned his smile, somewhat disappointed.

  "Why don't you ride out to Weets Top with me, Ariel? It might do you good to get away from this dungeon for awhile."

  I considered his invitation only a moment before agreeing. Within minutes we were on our way to Beck Hall.

  I accompanied Trevor only as far as the hallway outside Lady Forestier's bedroom. Sitting in a rose-embroidered fauteuil, I listened intently to the charm in his voice as he greeted his patient.

  "My good woman, you don't look sick at all. Your cheeks are blooming like roses."

  "It is fever, I declare," she responded gloomily.

  I covered my smile with my hand and listened again.

  "Tell me, Trevor, if the rumor is true. I understand your brother has married again."

  My eyebrows shot up.

  "Is that why you had me ride all the way across the grange, my dear? To pacify your curiosity?"

  "Is it so? And is it true she is a commoner?"

  "Take care," he said, laughing. "She is sitting outside that door."

  "Is it that young woman who attended Adrienne here some time ago?"

  "Yes it is, now stick up your foot."

  "Well, she is a beauty, certainly."

  "Yes, she is ... Your feet are swollen, Melissa.

  You've indulged again. I have told you repeatedly to cut back on your mutton."

  "I have to eat, my good man—-tell me, how is your brother?"

  His response was a moment in coming. "As well as can be expected. Now, I have something here that may relieve the swelling in your joints. You are to take it twice a day for the next three days."

  I listened as he poured water from a ewer into a glass. I imagined his pouring powder from a phial into the water. As he stirred it, the spoon rang musically against the crystal glass. The sound reminded me of something, but at that moment I could not recollect what it was.

  Finally the patient declared, "You are a nice young man. A shame you must lower yourself to examining old women's feet to make a living. It doesn't seem fair somehow."

  "It is the fate of being born fourth in line for a title, madam. I must cope, mustn't I?"

  "But certainly your allowance helps."

  "It helps and that is all I will say on the matter. Send for me if the trouble hasn't cleared up in three days."

  I left my chair as Trevor joined me, closing Melissa's door gently behind him. Without speaking, he strode past me. When we reached our coach, he threw his medicine bag against the seat.

  Startled at his discomposure, I asked him, "Is something wrong?"

  He looked at me as if he had somehow forgotten my presence. Finally he smiled. "Remind me to charge her double. Once for the call . . . again for the gossip. Shall we go?"

  Once reaching Walthamstow, we wasted little time before taking up candles and venturing into the house's dreary west wing. My heart skipped with the excitement of sharing my discovery with Trevor. As we moved carefully into the shadows, I pointed out where I had seen the "visitor," explained how the sudden draft of warm wind had extinguished my candle and how, out of fear, I had backed along the wall until reaching the corridor to the right. Once reaching that corridor we walked more carefully along the slippery stone floor until we came to the room. The door was closed.

  I looked at Trevor. He glanced at me, then reached for the knob. It did not turn at first. Gripping it with both hands, he leaned onto it until the rusty hinges sprung and the door released. Slowly it swung open, creaking in the quiet.

  Chapter 20

  Cautiously I stepped into the frigid chamber, unable to believe my eyes. The room was uninhabited.

  "You are certain it was this room?" Trevor asked me.

  I walked to the bed and carefully lifted one corner of the dusty sheet. The mattress beneath was bare. I moved to the window and stared out the broken panes of glass at the courtyard. The twisted trunk and barren limbs of a chestnut tree swayed in the wind. A solitary rook perched on the windowsill, preening its glossy wings and fluffing its feathers against the cold. As it twisted its neck and gazed at me with its glittering eye, a feeling of dread washed over me. My mother had believed such birds were an ominous sign when perched by a window, symbolizing an approaching death. Shivering, I tapped on the glass, hoping to frighten it away.

  Coming up behind me, Trevor caught my arm. "Ariel, you've been under a lot of stress lately."

  "I know what I saw." Pulling away, I hurried into the hall. "Perhaps it was another room," I told him.

  Shoving open the doors along the hallway, we investigated each room, finding them as cold and uninviting as the first. I now understood how my husband must have felt when questioned on a matter he knew—to his own mind—to be the truth.

  "Ariel, there
has been no one here for some time. Are you certain it was this corridor?"

  When I did not respond, he walked up behind me, gently closed his hands over my shoulders, and gave them a squeeze. "It has been a distressing two days and we've both been upset. I think we could use a nice, hot cup of tea and some of Tilly's scones. Perhaps later we'll search the other corridors and question the help. Will that pacify you?"

  Without argument, I returned with him to the Great Hall.

  I avoided returning to my chamber, thereby avoiding my husband, by spending the afternoon reading in the library. Then I shared dinner with Adrienne and Trevor. When I mentioned to Adrienne the room in the west wing, her lack of surprise was curious. I did note, however, that her eyes went immediately to Trevor, then as quickly back to me. Some instinct told me to drop the subject until later. I did not bring it up again until Trevor had excused himself—this time for an acquaintance from Middlesborough who happened to be passing through Malham on his way to Bradford.

  Adrienne appeared quieter than usual as we took our after-dinner tea into the Great Hall and sat before the fire. We stared into the flames several minutes before she spoke.

  "Ariel, just over a year ago I too happened upon that room."

  My head came up. I blinked in surprise.

  Adrienne smiled. "I was shocked as well."

  "Whose is it?"

  "Now? I don't know."

  Placing my tea on the table beside my chair, I said , "Whose was it?"

  She sipped her tea as if the fragrant brew would somehow calm her nervousness. She then balanced the cup and saucer on her knee and responded. "There was a very pretty girl working for us once. Her name was Samantha."

  "I have heard the name."

  "I followed her once to that room . . . She had an assignation with one of my brothers."

  The blood fled from my face. Dread stirred in my stomach then gripped my heart like a fist. "Nicholas?" I whispered.

  "I don't know. Truly. Their voices are close enough in tone that I could not distinguish, and I was afraid to venture closer for fear of being discovered. To be found eavesdropping at the door . . ." Adrienne looked away, her cheeks flaming with the memory. "The very thought of it disgusted me, I must confess, so I did not return there until after Samantha left. Of course I found the chamber as you did this afternoon: as if it had never been occupied."