“She looked in before the child was awake, ma’am, but left the sad news for Mr. Rhys to tell.”
Somehow Gwendolyn’s avoidance of this terrible duty made her more human. I could sympathize with her wish to pass the chore to someone else. If only I could do the same.
“As difficult as this time is,” I said, speaking as gently as I could, “I must see Carys. She needs to know I am not the demon she may think I am.”
Nurse’s hand flew to her mouth, cutting off any words of rebuttal. News of my elevation to head of household had certainly risen as high as the nursery. I was her employer. She could not refuse me entrance. She stepped back, allowing me in.
Oh dear. The nursery was large and well supplied with windows, but it was nearly as drab as the dungeons. Had Gwendolyn done nothing to make this room suitable for a new generation? Had it been this drear when Liliwen was here?
“Carys is in her bedchamber,” Nurse said, nodding toward a door on the left.
This room was also cheerless, the coverlet as faded as the paint on the walls. And at last I recalled that Gwendolyn had approved of Eilys only as a musician. That she had an entirely different bride in mind for Rhys. But to take out her displeasure on an innocent child? I vowed to make refurbishing the nursery my most immediate project. At that, a flash of pleasure broke through my gloom, for it occurred to me that in the not-too-distant future there would be other children to fill this space, adding pounding feet and happy laughter to what was now plainly no more than a warehouse for an unwanted child.
Carys was lying on her small bed, her face hidden in her pillow. I pulled up a chair and sat down beside her, aware that Nurse was lingering in the doorway, ready to dash to her chick’s defense. “Carys?” I said. “It is Jocelyn, your father’s wife. I was hoping you might be willing to talk to me.”
Her only response was a slight wiggle as she burrowed more deeply into her pillow. At least I knew she was listening.
“Carys, I am so very sorry about your mama. I know she was a good mother. And so gifted. I truly enjoyed her playing and singing. She will be sorely missed.” That was not a lie. Eilys had an outstanding talent, and I had enjoyed her music in spite of all the reasons why I should not.
“Carys, I have come here to tell you something important, so I hope you are listening very carefully.” I paused, hoping for some reaction, but I could not see the child so much as breathed. “I know no one can ever replace your mother, and I know your head has likely been filled with tales about wicked step-mothers. But I want you to know that I am going to try very hard to be a good step-mother. Maybe even a friend, if you’ll let me. I am going to visit you every day. And I hope you will come downstairs each day to visit with the other ladies in the household. Do you know you have a great-grandmother, a noble English lady?”
At last a reaction. Carys popped up like a jack-in-the-box, crying indignantly, “Of course I know Grandmama Aurelia. She comes to see me all the time.”
Oh. Clearly, Lady Aurelia could be as close-mouthed as her grandson. I suppose she thought I could not be comfortable with talk of Carys. And she would be right. But all that had changed now. I was the only mother this child had. Age twenty and ignorant as I was.
“I am happy to hear that,” I said.
“And may I truly go downstairs?”
Stunned, I stared at the child whose woebegone face, marked by swollen eyes and a red nose, was actually showing a bit of animation. I dredged up a smile. “You will not be dining with the grown-ups quite yet,” I told her, “but you may certainly spend more time downstairs.”
“And go for walks outside the grounds?”
I nodded in solemn agreement. “That too.” Though perhaps not until we solved the mystery of our recent disasters.
“Carys,” I said, “may I give you a hug?” Oh dear, that might have been a misstep.
She eyed me with obvious reluctance. I was about to save what face I could by making my farewells when she said, “Oh very well. Since Daddy likes you . . .”
I caught my breath as I hugged her tight, murmuring I can’t remember what but undoubtedly some kind of assurance that I meant every word of my promises. My legs were so shaky as I descended to my bedchamber two flights down that it’s a wonder I did not fall and break my neck.
I collapsed onto my bed, thanking God I had managed the scene in the nursery without causing further anguish for Carys. At least I thought I had.
When you grow up.
Perhaps, at long last, I had.
Rhys had disappeared again. Not that I expected him to come to me the night of Eilys’s death, though it would have been gratifying to have him turn to me for comfort. But in the dreadful days that followed—as the weather deteriorated into rain that flirted with sleet and Eilys was buried in what I overheard a the footman describe as a sea of effing mud—it seemed as if what happiness we enjoyed had been sucked from our lives. The only ray of hope was Carys’s response to being fussed over by the ladies of the house. Even Gwendolyn managed to play the role of a proper grandmother. Whether the façade was real or not, I could not tell. Gwendolyn, as ever, remained a mystery to me.
It was Matty, however, who saved us all, keeping her pleasant countenance no matter how sorely she was tried. She supported me in very way, from soothing any feathers I might ruffle to playing a never-ending variety of games with Carys. In which, to my surprise, Liliwen frequently joined. Matty’s only complaint during that nightmare period—a desire to see the sun and once again walk outside.
“Daffyd has told me about a fine circle of standing stones,” she told me. “Several hours walk, he says, but well worth the effort.”
“And you shall go,” I promised, “the very first day the sun shines. But I, I fear, will not.”
“Joss, how can you say so?” Matty protested.
“Matters are too tenuous.” I shook my head. “Truly, I fear what might happen if I desert the house for a whole day.”
My cousin opened her mouth to protest then snapped it closed, nodding sagely. “You are likely right. I forget you have responsibilities now. Too many. I do not envy you.”
“Just wait. Your time will come.”
To my surprise, she blushed. If Matty had an admirer, I knew nothing of it. But there was little doubt that in recent days I had not been as good a friend to her as she was to me. Had one of the many stalwart young Welshmen at Glyn Eirian caught her eye, and I totally unaware?
At that moment Nurse arrived to take Carys back to the nursery, and I thought no more about my conversation with Matty except to make a mental note to arrange an excursion to the standing stones as soon as the weather cleared.
When that day came, however, I had misgivings, for Liliwen suddenly declared a desire to accompany Matty on her long walk. Though I was somewhat reassured when I learned Daffyd himself would accompany them, as well as two of his men, I could not be easy. Liliwen’s moods were too mercurial. I could not trust her. Yet she was Rhys’s sister, daughter of the house.
Foolish girl, give over. You are seeing shades where none exist. Nonetheless, a shiver swept over me, like the proverbial ghost walking over my grave. Sometimes, I later realized, one should pay attention to premonitions.
“Oh, missus,” Alice said as I entered my bedchamber to put off the apron and old gown I had been wearing while rooting through dusty corners and sorting out broken toys in the nursery, “I forgot to tell you Miss Matty borrowed your lined woolen cloak, her having nothing heavy enough for a long walk in the cold.”
City girl, I thought with an indulgent smile, my worry easing a bit at hearing such a mundane trifle. Nonetheless I would not be comfortable until I saw them home again. Too many bad things had happened, too many unexplained incidents, followed by Hugh and Eilys, cut down in the prime of their lives. Yet I was soon caught up in the demands of running a household that sprawled over several acres and employed a rather astonishing number of people. It was only as the sun dropped low in the sky—we were, after all, a
scant fix weeks shy of the winter solstice—that worry crept back.
The door of the drawing soon opened to admit Gruffydd. “Mrs. Jocelyn, I am sorry to report the guards have sighted smoke on the mountain, which may be a signal from the party who walked to the standing stones. Mr. Rhys wishes me to tell you he has ordered a search party. He has joined them.”
My hand shook. As I tried to fit the quill I had been using into its stanchion, India ink dripped onto the list I had been making. Behind me, I could hear a babble of sound as Lady Aurelia, Emily, and Dilys discussed Gruffydd’s disquieting news. I assured myself that whatever was the matter, Rhys and the remainder of Daffyd’s men would be able to affect a rescue. Surely nothing worse than a sprained ankle . . . All would be well.
But Matty was borne back to us on a litter, still as death, her shoulder pierced by an arrow. An arrow which had penetrated her flesh only after passing through my hooded cloak.
Late that night, Rhys scooped me up, ignoring my protests as he tore me from Matty’s bedside. “She is well cared for,” he assured me, “and we must talk.”
Now? When my cousin was possibly mortally wounded, my husband wished to talk!
Exhausted as I was, I made no effort to wriggle out of his arms, enjoying more than a little the satisfaction of being held tight on the all-too-short distance to our sitting room. And when he stood before me, pale and solemn, after gently depositing me on the sofa, my sensible Hawley brain finally snapped into gear. Instead of allowing my agitated thoughts to burst out, I clamped my lips together and waited for Rhys to speak first.
He began slowly, as if he were prying the words out, reluctant to discuss the implications of the disasters that continued to plague us. “My mother has always seemed a sensible woman,” he said. “Until recently. Now . . . I don’t know what to think. When Dawnay died—again with Eilys—I could not help but think she manufactured a plot against me out of thin air. “And now, she has come babbling to me of someone wishing to discredit me once again, even though all know I spent the entire day at home. She tells me my enemies will say I ordered a bowman to shoot Matilda.”
“No one believes that,” I stated, instantly leaping to his defense.
Rhys’s response remained slow, the words dragged from a clearly anguished soul. “It is not easy to consider that one’s mother may be . . . unstable, to put it kindly. Yet too many bad things have happened—too many accidents. And the deaths . . .” Rhys frowned. “No matter how erratic Mother’s behavior, I can see no way to connect her to the deaths, as she seems obsessed with the idea I might be blamed for them.”
“As she is obsessed with hating the English and perhaps . . .” I shook my head. “You are right. I can see no reason she would Eilys dead.”
“But today . . .” Rhys huffed a breath from between clenched teeth. “Daffyd told me she was wearing your cloak. He recognized it.”
“She may die, and it’s all my fault!” I wailed, no longer able to keep back my tears.
Rhys dropped down beside me and pulled me into his arms. “It is not your fault, Jocelyn.”
“If I had not married you, none of this would have happened!”
Rhys groaned, dropping his chin to the top of my head. “Then the fault lies with me, Jocelyn, for I was the Welshman foolish enough to bring home an English bride.” Shocked, I gasped and looked up, only to find his face filled with wry amusement as he heard his own words. “No, I do not regret it,” he assured me, “but if I had known”—a gargoyle grimace passed over his face—“I never would have subjected you to what you have encountered here.” Seeing my eyes grow wide with hurt, he hastily explained, “I would have found a way to settle matters before bringing home an innocent bride to a hornets’ nest.”
I settled back against his chest, burrowing in as close as I could. After long moments of silence, I asked, “But what of Hugh and Eilys? Their deaths truly make no sense.”
“They do not,” Rhys agreed. “Occasionally, I have to wonder if Mother is right. Perhaps someone does wish me harm.”
“Is it possible . . .?” I scowled at what seemed the sheer idiocy of my thought, but I finally said, “Is it possible there is more than one villain? After all, it likely took two people to strand Hugh and me on the island. Or possibly the incidents are completely unrelated. The someone wishing me ill is quite different from the someone wishing you ill.”
“It is also possible, though admittedly far-fetched, that your cousin is the true target. She was, after all, with you when the boulder-stone struck the carriage.”
“No!” I cried. “Quite impossible. Everyone loves Matty. Nor can I think of anyone who would benefit from her death.”
Rhys nodded, conceding the point. “Devil a bit, but it’s been a long day. Perhaps our brains will be fresher in the morning.” “One thing is certain,” he declared, taking me by the shoulders and pushing me back until he was looking me straight in the eye. “Someone, or multiple someones, are up to no good. I am assigning a guard to you at all times. You are not to go outside for any reason, not even onto the battlements. Promise me, Jocelyn. Until this matter is settled, you will not leave the house, nor will you make any effort to elude your guard. Do you understand me?”
Cowed at last, I abandoned my much-vaunted independence without a backward glance. Anyone, no matter how foolish, could see the menace in recent events. How to fix the problem was considerably more of a challenge. I could only hope Rhys was right and morning would bring enlightenment, for at the moment my brain was at a stand-still.
Rhys emitted what sounded like a huff of frustration before pulling me to my feet and leading me toward the door to my bedchamber. Where, I am happy to report, he spent the entire night, though I could not help thinking when my brain snapped back to its customary sharpness the next morning, that our up-again-down-again relationship was quite likely to drive me mad.
Chapter 25
I spent the next morning with Matty, waving away Mrs. Blevins and the day’s menu with the assurance I trusted her to provide something suitable for a house in turmoil. My dearest cousin, dosed with laudanum for the pain, slept most of the time, though being Matty, she managed a wan smile when awake, even going so far as to admonish me for the tears I shed, assuring me her yeoman stock was too stout to succumb to nothing more than an arrow through the shoulder.
After receiving similar assurances from the doctor, I retreated to my bedchamber, curled up in a wingchair near the warmth of the fire, and made a serious attempt to fit together the ridiculously disparate pieces of the puzzle of what was happening in the valley of Glyn Eirian.
The only perfectly clear point was that Gwendolyn did not like me and wished me gone. Because I was English. And possibly because she would have resented any bride her son brought home, perhaps even one of her own choosing. So there could be no doubt Gwendolyn was my enemy. But would she go as far as murder? Somehow I could not picture her killing anyone, but a hint here, a hint there, and more than one of her minions might have been spurred to action they thought would please her.
The incident on the island could have been a plot against me as an Englishwoman. It could also have been more of Liliwen’s mischief. She had, after all, led me up a precipitate cliff above a dangerous chasm on my first full day in Glyn Eirian. She had abandoned me on a mountain with a storm coming on. To strand Hugh and me on the island would have required an accomplice, but for Liliwen that would have been no problem. She had all of Glyn Eirian to choose from. For aiding the daughter of the house in a bit of mischief against an English invader had likely seemed a high treat.
Who else wished me ill? Eilys jumped to mind. Was she the one who had aided Liliwen? Or . . . Dilys had an eye for Hugh, that I’d seen for myself, not only in the village but in the many times she had inserted herself into the drawing room when Hugh came to visit. Liliwen and Dilys then, instead of Liliwen and Eilys? Or possibly Eilys and Dilys? Then again, Eilys might have enlisted the aid of her fellow performer. Yes, I could see Eilys and
Trystan following Hugh and me to the lake, stealthily rowing out to the island, towing our boat behind them as they slipped away. Or had Eilys, the ultimate Welshwoman, rowed one of the boats herself?
And why was I trying to analyze what was no more than a nasty bit of mischief when Hugh was dead?
Once again horrified by the selfishness of my thoughts, I popped up from my chair and stalked to the window. In spite of Gwendolyn’s efforts to cast a cloak of accidental death over the incident, someone had murdered Hugh, I was certain of it. But who? He could have died from the hand of any number of husbands or fathers in the village. Closer to home, Dilys had suffered from what I was certain was an unrequited love. And Eilys? She was a strikingly lovely woman—Hugh never would have ignored her, not after Rhys had put her aside. Could they have arranged a tryst that went horribly wrong? Or was there some reason Trystan . . .? No! I would not even consider such a thing.
But I must.
Had Trystan attempted to turn Hugh to an alternate form of love?
Or . . . oh, dear God, had he already done so, and Hugh and Trystan were already lovers? A pall fell over me as I realized the extent of my naivety. Now that the thought had come to me, I could easily picture Hugh extending his constant quest for gratification to men as well as women.
But could—would—the poet kill? It seemed so unlikely I put the thought aside. Gruffydd, Daffyd . . . Rhys. These were men who could kill. Not Trystan Parry, who was destined to represent Glyn Eirian at the next Eisteddfod.
Rhys. Dear God, Rhys. Perhaps Gwendolyn’s fears were justified. If my husband thought Hugh and I were slipping away for a tryst, he could well have been responsible for stranding us on the island. Nor would he have had difficulty finding someone to roll a boulder off the cliff onto our carriage. He also had reason to kill Hugh. Even if Rhys no longer cared for me—if he ever had—damage to his pride would have been motive enough. As for Eilys, he had motive there too. But only if he wished to continue our marriage. Which did not fit with the motives for the island or carriage incidents.
Welshman's Bride Page 19