"You love her very much, then, do you, Elliot?"
The vicar hesitated. “Colin, I am very lonely,” he murmured. “It's true that I'm a solitary person to begin with, but there comes a time in every man's life—no matter how private a person he is—when he needs someone close in his life. I need that now."
"What in hell are you saying?"
"I'm saying that I could never love anyone as I loved Mary. It just isn't in me, my friend. But I can feel a different kind of love—yes, and gratitude for a woman who can accept that and me in the bargain on those pitiful terms. She knows, Colin, and it's all right, this union, for us, because she understands. God knows how, but she does."
"Jesus! It's going to happen all over again. She won't last a year and you'll bury her right alongside Mary. Ahhh, Elliot, haven't you had enough heartache? Of all people, does it have to be Emily Sayre?"
"I'll be happy with Emily, Colin. She's so gentle, so gracious, and so like me—our temperaments—everything. I need her so much. Don't darken this—please don't. Be happy for me. It's what I want, and it's so important to me that you accept her."
"Of course, I accept her,” Colin hurled at him, draining his glass again. “Blast it, I've just told you I would accept anyone who would make you happy, but I'm selfish, goddamn it!” He tapped his chest with a scathing finger. “I can't stand to see you hurt like that again. I can't bear the pain of watching the whole bloody nightmare of loss in your eyes a second time. I don't want to have to see it—I don't want to sit by and watch it, because I can't. I can't handle the hurt, goddamn your soul. Ahhh, Elliot, my God, are you doing this to yourself apurpose? Christ!"
"You are the masochist, Colin, not I. If I believed any of this were so I would listen. I would no more hurt her than I would hurt you. Please don't worry, I know what's right for me."
Colin shook his head. “You asked me before why we are destroying each other,” he said. “I foresaw this a long time ago if you remember. I told you then that our thinking was dissimilar. Trouble is, neither of us is absolutely right, and neither of us is willing to settle for less than that, Elliot. The real answer to your question lies somewhere in what I've just said, my friend, God help you—God help us both."
* * * *
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Chapter Sixteen
* * * *
The wedding was to take place at St. Michael's with an Anglican priest designated by the bishop to officiate. Afterward there would be a gala reception in the dining hall at Cragmoor. That was Colin's idea, and he'd not be dissuaded despite Elliot's pleas that he would much rather have a simple, quiet affair.
Martha was instructed to keep Malcolm out of the way. Colin wouldn't stand the dark child lending gloom to the hour that he had decided would be the grandest he could provide for his friend, no matter what he had to endure. But there had been a change in the boy's proximity to the rest in residence. Shortly before Colin's return, Malcolm had been relocated to Mary's old chamber on the second floor, since Martha's arthritis made her climb to the third floor nursery too painful, and the Harcourts now occupied adjacent rooms there as well, just as they had upstairs.
Colin was furious over that, but the vicar was quick to remind him that it would have been cruel to punish Martha for her illness. What he failed to reveal, when Colin asked him why Mary's room of all places, was that Amy was behind that decision. Still steadfast in her convictions regarding the strange, dark child, she was determined to confine the evil to where it began and not contaminate the whole house. In her opinion, Mary's chamber would always be tainted and Malcolm belonged there.
Contemplating her rationale, Elliot still wasn't sure he agreed, but there was no time to dwell upon any of that then. The Sayres arrived at Cragmoor on the seventh of October. The wedding—only three days away—demanded everyone's attention then, and in the commotion over that, Malcolm was all but forgotten.
Colin greeted Emily warmly, but a glimmer of sorrow trembled in his sea-green eyes when he looked in dismay toward her alabaster face, so much paler and more transparent than he'd remembered it. Consequently, he avoided her as much as possible, which was something that scarcely went unnoticed by Elliot, or Emily either, for that matter, though she didn't probe it. Moved by Colin's passionate withdrawal, the vicar longed to reassure him, but like Emily, he, too, held his peace, for he knew all too well that no words he might offer would serve to change the atmosphere.
All in all, tension reigned supreme as the tenth of October dawned dreary and cold over Cragmoor. Colin took the clothes that he would wear to the wedding and went to the vicarage right after daybreak, anxious to be well out of the way of confusion. The flowers he had ordered sent from Devon had arrived late the night before, and the servants had begun busying themselves weaving festoons of fern, English roses, and chrysanthemum to decorate the dining hall for the reception. Among the blooms that had filled the spacious coach they had come in was an exquisite bouquet of yellow roses that Colin had deemed perfect for Emily's gentle hands. They were like her, soft and unpretentious, though indeed a thing of beauty. There were also two equally fine nosegays for her sisters, who would serve as her attendants during the ceremony.
Cook had been busy planning the food for the banquet for months. The rich, aromatic wedding cake, filled with an assortment of fruits and nuts, had been baked in six enormous pans and set aside to soak in rum the minute the vicar announced the news. Now it was assembled and frosted, ready to set in the center of the long dining table on proud display. There were geese in the ovens, fish, ham, and venison, plus a parade of entrees, all Cook's guarded recipes, each more delectable than the next to follow.
By the time the Sayres were ready to leave St. Michael's, all in the house was in readiness. The musicians had come and were arranging their music and instruments in the dining hall, which had been converted into a magnificent ballroom. The table had been moved against the east wall and spread with a creamy lace cloth. It was set with fine china and crystal awaiting the food being kept warm in the kitchen. The fragrant garlands had been draped around the entire arch of the vaulted ceiling, and spray upon spray graced the room all around, set in slender porcelain vases standing on the polished oak floor. Overhead, the three tiered chandeliers blazed with all their candles burst aflame, and along the walls each sconce glowed in its own candescent puddle of light.
The wedding was to take place at five o'clock, the rather late hour due to the traveling distance of the priest who would conduct the ceremony, and the extra time allotted him in view of the notorious Cornish weather in October. Giles Sayre's carriage wasn't large enough to accommodate all of the ladies skirts if they would ride with him, and Harris had to ready the chaise and join the entourage in order to preserve the gowns. The stabler was delighted to oblige. He was very fond of the vicar and wanted nothing more than seeing him married, a thing none of the other servants could be spared to enjoy.
In the face of an attacking wind, Amy helped the Sayres’ maids assist Emily into the chaise with her father in her gown of ecru satin, richly trimmed in Brussels lace. She carried with pride the bouquet of yellow roses that Colin had provided, taking great care not to bruise them in the cramped quarters of the coach.
The squall deepened the late afternoon twilight. Relentless gusts slammed against the carriage and splinters of chilling rain drummed on the top of it. They spat against the windows, blotting out the last rays of light with a wash of cheerless, slate-gray spatter that erased the shivering moors from view. And when the coaches finally pulled up to the church, the rain was driving against them in horizontal sheets that couldn't be penetrated with the eye.
Soaked to the skin, Peter, the coachman, carried the ladies one by one in through the double doors, tossing his slicker over their gowns to protect what he could of their finery. But it was their spirits that took the worst dampening. Emily's in particular. The gloom that had seemed to come, an uninvited guest, pressed all around the little church. It leaned hea
vily upon the arched windows that paraded along the walls to the sanctuary, dulling the stained glass.
The church was filled, between Elliot's congregation and the friends and relatives Giles had invited from the city, but Emily scarcely noticed. The procession had begun, and she shuddered as her father took her cold, damp hand and looped it through his arm. Virginia and Grace moved ahead of her. Beyond them, mountains of fresh blooms at the altar rail leaned close to the handsome figure of the man she was about to marry, staring reverently toward her. Colin was at his side. He was striking in his black dress suit, the white pleated blouse beneath held at the throat with a flattering satin cravat. Emily couldn't meet those eyes then. The volatile look of desperation in them drove hers away, and she sought the sad, gentle face of the man with whom she would spend the rest of her life instead.
My poor darling, she thought, I know what you shall set down in your journal tonight. Have no fear, I shan't read it—ever. I am not that brave. You are wondering just what it is that I am doing standing here in her place aren't you, my love? Oh, Elliot, your face has laid your soul naked before me. You are not clever enough to hide it, and I am not clever enough to fight it. This wedding is attended by her ghost, and I can do naught but bid it welcome and pray there is enough room left for me.
* * * *
"We are gathered together here in the sight of God,” the priest was saying, “and in the face of this company, to join together this man and woman in holy matrimony."
Colin knew that Elliot could recite the ceremony by heart. He also knew by the stricken look of his friend, that he wasn't thinking about those words then. It was plain that neither the man's soothing voice nor the spoken responses could compete with whatever weighty thoughts occupied Elliot Marshall, as he stood beside his bride, and moved through the motions of the ceremony like an automaton.
Helplessly, Colin stood, his hands balled into white-knuckled fists, steady eyes upon them both, as the rain spat through the open narthex doors behind, making a hollow, mournful sound. Colin had heard it many times before, but it had never seemed so empty. He had felt the wind, but it had never bitten him so sore. It seemed an eternity before the priest gave the benediction, and when Colin reached to shake the vicar's hand, his own was clammy-cold, his arms rock-hard, the tendons strung dangerously taut as he tried to embrace him. Nothing was going to ease that but a good soaking in brandy from the inside out, and with that thought to drive him, he started home determined to get a head start in that direction before the festivities began.
* * * *
An hour later the dining hall was filled. Food heaped upon the table was being kept warm in chafing dishes surrounding the elegant cake, and punch bowls as big as washtubs set on either end swam with brandy milk punch laced with rum and cloves, and claret cup for those with a more delicate palate. The lilting strains of the musicians’ violins wafted over a chatter of milling voices, and the vast floor was scarcely visible beneath a spectrum of color in motion. Opulent velvets, satins, glacees, watered silks, brocades, and tulle in every color imaginable swept the mirror-bright surface underfoot as the ladies and their gentlemen danced to the music on lithe feet.
Colin was dashing in full dress. The silk-faced lapels on his jacket shone in the candle glow framing his handsome face, and the eyes of all the gentlemen at the gathering looked with envy toward the strong, agile legs carrying him across the floor with Elliot's bride in his arms.
"I shall never be able to thank you for all this, Colin,” said Emily, as they waltzed past the dining table.
"There is no need,” he assured her.
"You have done so much for us. It is indeed the happiest day of my life, and you have made it so."
"Everyone is entitled to one happy day."
"You haven't had one have you?” she said sadly.
"This is the closest that I shall come in this life, I think,” he mused.
"Happiness is often most rewarding gotten secondhand,” she murmured through a soft smile. “But one day you will know your own joyful hour. I shall pray most persistently for that."
"Don't waste your breath worrying God over me,” said Colin, “but if you would seek my happiness, beseech Him instead to protect your own. Take care of yourself in this place, Emily. If you intend to stand up to this land, please do not be reckless. In your case discretion is indeed the better part of valor."
* * * *
When the waltz ended, Colin returned Emily to Elliot, and moved on to the sideboard. The vicar watched him fill a snifter there, and turn, observing the throngs over the rim of it. He was well aware that many of Colin's conquests numbered among the guests. One in particular had caught his eye and exchanged the familiar gaze Colin offered toward her—Esther Landon, the shapely, young, and buxom wife of the chemist from Cragmoor Village. Her older, balding husband, Percy, was engaged in conversation with George Howard beside the punch bowl at the far end of the table. The music began again, and Colin moved unabashedly toward his quarry across the hall.
Elliot watched him take the woman in his arms and glide her over the dance floor. She was wrapped in a cloud of lavender watered silk that rustled against his long, black trousers legs as he moved her. His eyes were fastened to the creamy expanse of bosom and throat bared by a corsage that draped her full breasts, the tulle scarcely grazing the crest of her smooth, perfumed shoulders. Dark, lustrous hair piled high in a shower of curls framed the woman's oval face. Glowing brown eyes looked adoringly toward her partner, and her moist lips parted, whispering as she smiled up at him coyly.
Elliot's worried stare shifted back to Percy Landon, who had turned and stood glowering at the pair. It seemed an endless time before the music stopped, and the vicar didn't draw an easy breath until the woman slipped from Colin's reluctant arms and let him lead her to her husband.
The vicar's eyes followed Colin to the sideboard again, and he looked on as he downed another brandy and disappeared into the shadows of the Great Hall outside. Glancing back, he noticed Esther Landon's sharp eyes following Colin also, and it wasn't long before her husband, more at ease in Colin's absence, turned back to George Howard providing her with the perfect opportunity to slip out after Colin.
Meanwhile, Giles Sayre had surrounded Emily with a gaggle of chirping young ladies come from London, and with Elliot's preoccupation watching Colin and the Landon woman, Malcolm's appearance in the great hall went unnoticed until he moved into Emily's circle.
At sight of him, she smiled. “Well, and who is this?” she said, bending toward the dark child parting the sea of billowing skirts around her as he approached. “Why, it must be Master Malcolm, of course,” she said, extending her hand toward him. “I am most pleased to make your acquaintance, young man."
Malcolm took the hand listlessly, then let it drop, meanwhile dosing her with his black, bottomless stare, a mocking half smile fixed in place.
"Have you come to join the party?” said Emily to his silence.
Fighting his way through the crowd, the vicar hurried toward them.
"You are going to die you know,” the dark child pronounced, pointing toward Emily with a finger hooked like a talon.
Emily gave a start, her pale face grown paler still, and took a step back from him.
"Master Malcolm!” the vicar interrupted, reaching toward the boy.
Emily stayed him with a raised hand. “No! No, Elliot—let him be,” she said, turning back to the child. “We are all going to die one day, Master Malcolm,” she said through a gentle smile.
"Yes, but not like you,” said Malcolm, “you shan't be old. The tarot told me, and the tarot is never wrong you know. It said—"
"Enough, Master Malcolm,” the vicar thundered coming closer.
Emily held him back. “Please, Elliot,” she pleaded, “the child is cross. He's been left out and he's justified. Let him be for a bit. Let me talk to him awhile—poor, wretched thing."
The vicar stalked toward the arch and into the Great Hall in search of Co
lin, instinctively following the north wing corridor toward the conservatory. His intuition bore fruit. Bursting into the room of glass, he pulled up short at sight of Esther Landon leaning back to the wall inside the archway in Colin's powerful arms, her voluptuous body undulating against him. He had slipped the tulle down from the woman's shoulders, and his sensuous mouth worked anxiously teasing the nipple erect on her naked breast lit in the fire glow.
"Colin,” breathed the vicar, “for the love of mercy!"
Esther lurched and cried aloud scrambling to fasten her corsage and cover her breasts, still wet from Colin's lips. Hopelessly mortified, she averted her face, turned crimson with shame, and trying to straighten the tulle gone awry about her shoulders, she ran whimpering past the vicar to escape in the shadows of the corridor outside.
Colin faced him breathing hard. “Jesus, this had better be important,” he roiled. “I am tight against the seam, and you have just destroyed the only palatable prospect of this entire bloody horror!"
The vicar's cold voice answered him, “Malcolm is in the dining hall,” he said. “He's talking with Emily."
"Christ!” Colin roared, pushing past him.
His long legs carried him well ahead, the sound of his heavy footfalls echoing over the terrazzo gallery floor, as Elliot tried to keep up. Plunging into the crowd that had gathered around the child at Emily's side, Colin fastened a white-knuckled fist in Malcolm's collar, grabbing his throat along with it, and yanked him off his feet.
All eyes were trained upon him, and no one except Elliot noticed Percy Landon propelling his red-faced wife toward the gallery, scarcely giving her time to collect her cloak, as he dragged her along. Landon's eyes were also trained upon Colin with a malignant stare that went unnoticed by everyone else in the confusion, and it wasn't until the great double doors slammed shut at the end of the entrance hall outside that anyone but the vicar realized the pair was missing.
Colin stalked back through the hall, the howling child dangling from his hand like a pendulum. “My apologies,” he said over his shoulder as he marched toward the gallery, with Elliot close behind, “continue your merrymaking—and please forgive the unfortunate intrusion."
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