Night Lover

by Rosanna Leo

  As the magnitude of my questions made me shuffle in my seat, I felt the need to run. To race out of the music room, out of the manor and into the surrounding fields. I wanted to be alone, and yet dreaded my own company.

  I definitely needed to stop listening to the Lacrimosa. It made me maudlin.

  Finn stopped for a short break and one of the violinists jumped out of her seat, questioning him about one of the passages. As he spoke with the woman, I slipped out of the room. I didn’t want to alarm him and wouldn’t be long, but I needed some air.

  Heading out of the music room, I aimed for the foyer, but as I passed the hallway leading to the portrait gallery, I couldn’t resist just one look. Hating myself for doing it, I turned and walked into the gallery, head high.

  I didn’t stop moving until I was right in front of Hugh’s portrait. His pale eyes seared me, seemed to weld me to my spot. Even though the painter had given his subject an expression of serenity, I felt his sadness oozing from the portrait, reaching out to me like the tentacles of an octopus.

  Grant them eternal rest. Amen.

  For the first time in a long time, I made myself picture my parents the night they were killed. It had been a typical night for me, one which would culminate in yet another concert. I hadn’t been with Anthony Price’s group then, but sang with a smaller ensemble based in the east end of Toronto.

  “Good luck,” my mother said as I headed out the door.

  “You’re supposed to say, ‘Break a leg,’ Mom.”

  “Okay. Break a leg, Mom,” she teased.

  Her brown eyes had danced in that moment, shimmered almost. I knew she and my dad were proud of me. They’d known how hard a career choice I’d made, had known I’d be compelled to deal with competition and backstabbing and disappointment. However, they’d never dissuaded me from following my path.

  My father had put a hand on my cheek at the door. “Are you sure you’re okay to sing tonight, sweetheart? I know you’re hurting…”

  Because of Finn. His unspoken words hung in the air.

  “I’m okay.” Only I hadn’t been, not really. My days and nights were spent in a daze, truth be told, but I never wanted my parents to see the depth of my pain.

  If I only could have foretold how much worse the pain would grow that night. If only I’d stayed home from that concert.

  I might have saved them.

  My mother patted down my jacket collar. “This is the best thing for you. You need to stay busy and keep your mind off that young man. He has no clue what he lost in you. Go, do your dress rehearsal. We’ll join you later for the concert.”

  “You promise? I’d really like you to be there.”

  “We wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  When I looked at Hugh’s portrait this time, his eyes seemed full of empathy. The line of his eyelids seemed to arch in the beginnings of a worried frown. The corners of his mouth tugged. As I stared at him, the emotion roiling between us seemed so strong, I wondered if he might step out of the portrait to embrace me. I would have given anything to have magically found a way into that portrait, to travel back through the layers of paint and dust and time, if only to join him for a minute.

  Salva me.

  “There you are.”

  I turned to see Finn racing down the length of the gallery and reached a hand toward him.

  He joined me before the portrait and grasped it, giving Hugh a look of disdain. “Are you trying to kill me? I turned around, you were gone, and I find you here.”

  With him. He might not have spoken the words, but I heard them loud and clear.

  “I’m sorry. I’m fine. I just needed to stretch my legs.”

  “Let’s head back to the music room.”

  “Yeah.”

  Hand in hand we left the gallery. As I turned to glance back at Hugh, as I always wanted to do, Finn put a finger to my chin and guided my gaze back to him.

  “Don’t look at him. Look at me.”

  Two jealous lovers. At another time, in another situation, I might have enjoyed the feeling. But now it only made me scared for Finn. He was too embroiled in my mess, too caught up with my troubles. An insane part of me felt obliged to free him from this insanity, while the more insistent part begged me to keep him near.

  And the wisest part of me knew, no matter what happened, none of this would end well.

  »»•««

  Once again, I traveled down a long pathway, but not the one which led me to Dawlish Manor. Rather than yew trees, my path was now lined with hard pews, empty wooden benches in rows on either side of me, waiting to be filled by worshipers. Was I here to pray? Did I remember how to pray anymore or had the sacred words fled my memory eight years ago?

  I continued down the aisle in the direction of the altar. Although the church was cloaked in darkness, someone had lit candles, hundreds of them, it seemed. Their twinkling proved a more-than-adequate beacon.

  At the end of the aisle, three dark figures awaited me, their backs turned. As I drew closer, two of the shadows faced me and their faces were illuminated by the candlelight.

  I gasped at the sight of my mother and father, looking the same way they did the night they died. My mother’s dark hair, worn in her customary bob. My father, still wearing his favorite dress slacks and a pullover. They smiled at me and held out their arms.

  I ran to them, my tears flowing freely as they embraced me. I might have been a frightened little girl, seeking shelter from a storm. They felt so good. My mom still smelled of Eau de Givenchy, her favorite fragrance, and my father’s hands still bore scratches and callouses from the woodworking he did as a weekend hobby.

  I tore my face from my mom’s shoulder and gazed at them. “Mom, Dad. You’re back.”

  “We never left you, sunshine,” Dad said, pinching my cheek as he used to.

  “How did you get here?”

  “Renata, sweetheart,” said my mother, gesturing behind her. “Hugh brought us to you.”

  I remembered the third figure in the darkness and turned to him now as he faced me. The candles shone their flickering light on him, but I would have known him, even in a pitch black setting. His spicy scent, the curve of his calf, the shape of his outstretched arm, all so familiar now, and so eerily comforting.

  “Hugh.”

  My mother urged me toward him. I had examined his portrait many times, but his beauty never ceased to astonish me. I stared at him, unashamed. A full head taller than me, I would not reach his height even on tiptoes. His lips, so full and parted in a smile, displayed teeth that were healthy and white for a 19th-century man. His skin was ruddy and pink, as it had been in life, and did not appear to be infused with the paleness of death. There was nothing of the grave about him, just as my parents now seemed so alive.

  “My love,” he said, “it is time for you to join me. You have been away from me far too long.” He motioned to my smiling parents. “We can all be together.”

  “Yes,” I replied automatically. He made sense. We needed to be together, no matter the cost.

  My demon lover moved toward me, an expression of love on his angelic face. I could not turn from him. My gaze felt trapped in his magnificence. I knew I would follow this man anywhere.

  “My dark beauty, I have been a patient lover. I have waited for you through centuries and my passion has never waned.”

  He pulled me toward him and I melted into his warm embrace. Warm, not cold. I always expected to feel the chill of death when he touched me, but he filled me with the languorous heat of a tropical beach. I might have been basking on the sand, him at my side.

  A shadow crossed his face. My heart dropped in response, so affected by his sadness. “Do you know what it is to crave your own death? I thought I had lost you forever.”

  I ached for him, experienced a seizing of my chest every time I remembered he had lost his first love. I held my Hugh tightly, not wanting to relax my grip. He stroked my hair and kissed my head a hundred times.

  Bliss.<
br />
  Cupping my face in his hands, he gazed at me, his eyes full of tenderness. And then, my Hugh kissed me. Softness and strength and persuasion in each velvety caress. My legs buckled, but my man held me tight, supporting me.

  Even as he embraced me, I became aware of someone entering the church behind us. The creak of the door alerted me to a new presence, and I turned, wondering who had the gall to interrupt us.

  Finn stalked down the aisle.

  “Lark,” he ventured, eyeing how tightly Hugh held me. “You need to come with me.” He took two steps toward us.

  “No.” I turned from him and buried my face in Hugh’s chest. “You don’t understand. He brought my parents to me.”

  Finn eyed them but his gaze flitted back to me. “So I see, but you can’t stay here with them. They’re not alive anymore.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  “It’s true.”

  I turned and screamed at Finn. “You don’t even want to help him!”

  “I want to help you.”

  “Go away.”

  He glared at Hugh. “I’m not leaving you alone with that…thing.”

  Hugh’s lips twitched in the hint of a smile. He said nothing and merely continued to stroke my hair. Each touch, each pass of his fingers, seemed to draw me closer. Seemed to pull me down like heavy ropes around my body, dragging me into a numbing abyss.

  Our quarrel was interrupted by a strange grating noise, the sound of heavy stone pushing against stone. Hugh tried to wrap his arms around me, but I pulled away from him, frightened by the sound. I looked around, trying to determine its source.

  “It’s nothing, my darling.” Hugh cupped my face and leaned in for another kiss but I stopped him.

  I couldn’t kiss him with the ominous grating sounding in my ear. “What's happening?”

  For the first time since being in the church, I noticed the large monument near us. A tabletop monument, the flat slab on top was inscribed with Hugh’s name.

  The slab was moving.

  As my chest began to rise and fall with shaky breaths, a tremendous rumbling noise filled the place of worship. Horrified, I watched as the huge piece of marble collapsed in on itself, almost like two enormous doors, creating a dark recess in the floor. Then, the rumbling ceased and all was still in the church.

  Hugh moved toward the recess. He turned and held a hand out to me. “My love, I have not been able to sleep while you were away.”

  My mother and father moved past him into the grave, calling for me to join them. As I watched them disappear into the recess, my heart seized with sadness. I couldn’t lose them again.

  Hugh’s voice was more stern this time. “Renata, come.”

  Although fear gripped me and shook me, I took the hand he offered and walked with him toward the dark grave. It made so much sense to follow him.

  He squeezed my hand. “We will never be parted again.” He moved me closer to the cold, black recess.

  “No,” I heard Finn shout. “Renata, stop. Look at me!”

  I didn’t. Although I wanted to weep for Finn, for his loss, I had to soothe Hugh’s seemingly-eternal pain. He was so alone.

  “Come with me.” A staircase appeared inside the tomb and Hugh led me down into the hole. As we descended, the great rumbling sounded once more. The stones began to close upon us locking us in his grave.

  My grave.

  The last thing I heard as the stones slammed shut was Finn screaming.

  As my own screams joined his, my body shook. I jolted up in bed, gasping for breath. Only then did I realize Finn had shaken me, that he’d roused me from the nightmare. I wasn’t surprised. Already attuned to my sleeping patterns, he slept with one eye open anyway, waiting for the other man to show up. “Lark,” he whispered, grabbing me by the upper arms. He turned on the bedside table lamp. “You had a nightmare. I’m sorry I startled you awake.”

  “It’s okay.” I squinted into the harsh light, at a loss for other words.

  He stared at me and then cast a glance around the bed. “Is he…here?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  He whipped the covers aside and inspected my neck and chest. “No hickeys, I see. That’s good, right?”

  “Yeah, sure. Only this time, he didn’t bother to fuck me. He just dragged me into his tomb and locked me inside with him.” I gulped. “My parents were there, too. They wanted me to join him.”

  “Jesus Christ.” His hands dropped from my arms and he gawked at me.

  “You came, Finn. You tried to save me but I walked away with him. He has,” I whispered, “a hold over me.”

  He cupped the back of my neck and curled his fingers against my nape. “Listen to me. I let you go once. Not again. As long as I live, I will fight for you.”

  I threw my arms about his neck, grateful for his presence, for his determination and strength.

  He held me and kissed me but after a moment, he pulled away. “You have to talk about your parents. Please talk to me.”

  I shook my head. “I can’t. After seeing them like that, so lifelike, I just can’t.”

  “Then when will you? Because you’ve evaded the subject each time I’ve brought it up.”

  “I’m not evading anything. There’s nothing more to say. They died, Finn. End of story. What more could I possibly say?”

  His bright eyes, so dark with disappointment, tore into me and left scars. He motioned between us. “You say you want this, you want me, yet you won’t open up about the one thing that made the greatest impact on your life. At some point, Renata, you have to realize we can’t just talk about the weather and festivals and fucking Mozart. At some point, you will have to trust me.”

  “I do trust you, more than anyone.”

  “More than him? More than your night lover? Because on some level, you’ve shared yourself with him but you’re keeping me at arm’s length.”

  Had I really allowed Hugh to glimpse the true pain inside me, the pain I’d never shared with anyone, even those damn therapists years ago? And had I purposely kept Finn in the dark? I could have called him again after my parents died. I could have pestered his father so much he would have had no chance but to pass on the message.

  I could have tried.

  Instead, I’d given up on Finn, expecting rejection again. I’d put a preemptive strike on our relationship, just as much as he had. I’d chosen to escape the world for a while, rather than allow him back into my world.

  Even now, Hugh was the perfect escape. Numbing, blinding nothingness. I didn’t have to explain myself to Hugh. He just took me as I was, unlike Finn who wanted more for me.

  “Look,” Finn said, running a hand over my hair. “Get some sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  Only I didn’t sleep. Even as he drew me down to the mattress into his arms, even as his breaths warmed the back of my neck, I could not close my eyes. Mozart’s music crept into my consciousness and the minor chords of the Lacrimosa acted as a strange lullaby. Music for a woman who couldn’t sleep.

  As the night wore on, I became more and more convinced that Hugh’s wasn’t the only specter to haunt me.

  My parents did, too.

  Chapter Twelve

  September 1, 1820

  I have searched for her all night. I have personally knocked on every door, scouring the church, the theater, and every spot in between. Common sense tells me there is an explanation for Claudia’s disappearance, but my senses tingle and torture me. I cannot help but worry. I have gone so far as to wander the neighboring countryside, calling her name, but haven’t found a single clue. I left messages with anyone who might have crossed her path. Market vendors, the vicar, the milliner, the tavern proprietor. God help me, even the whores outside the theater.

  Now, mid-morning, I am exhausted and terrified.

  Panicked, I even went to the Mortimer home, in the hopes Lady Katherine might have heard something. The woman lived for gossip. If she had heard anything, she would be likely to share it.

&n
bsp; I came upon the family in their breakfast room and inquired after Claudia.

  “Why on earth would that woman come here?” demanded Lady Katherine. “I would not have her inside this house.”

  “She’s gone missing. Please. I need to find her.”

  “Have you checked the brothels?”

  “Katie,” her father admonished. “This is hardly the time. You can see Mr. Dawlish is distraught.”

  “I’ve looked everywhere, and it was your friend Count Ignazio who attacked her the night of the ball.”

  “Then ask him,” she said, shrugging. “Although why all the men of my acquaintance seem so fascinated by her is beyond me.”

  Malanotte. Why had I not begun my search with him? In my panicked state, he’d almost slipped my mind. “Where is he? Malanotte?”

  “I don’t follow the man everywhere he goes.” She rolled her eyes. “He was staying with us but decided to let a room in town two days ago. I have not seen him since the night of the ball.”

  “I must go.”

  “Mr. Dawlish,” Lady Katherine called after me. “You are wasting your time. You’re better off without the girl.”

  I wasted no more time in listening to her.

  I had to find Malanotte. If the count had Claudia in his clutches, there was no telling what he might do. I could not stop picturing him, his leering mouth descending on hers, his large hands everywhere, as she struggled. So help me God, if the savage touched one hair on her head, I'd kill him. I would probably kill him anyway.

  Lady Katherine said he took rooms at the inn and Shanley had only one. I raced there and located the innkeeper. I demanded he take me to Malanotte’s room. Banging on the door, I did not cease my noise until Malanotte's manservant opened it.

  “Signore, the count is not in.”

  I would not be deterred. I had come prepared. Thrusting a purse of coins into the servant’s face, I once again demanded to know where the villain was. He pointed me to a closed inner room and escaped down the hall, the innkeeper following.

  I tried the door, finding it locked. Cursing, I put my shoulder to it, tumbling in as the door finally gave way.

  Malanotte turned to me, his grin barely disguising the sneer beneath it. He sat on a chair in the corner, his clothing disheveled. On his bed, lay a woman. She did not move when I entered. “Why, Mr. Dawlish, what a surprise,” Malanotte drawled. “You do seem intent on invading my private moments.”