Lady Julia Grey Bundle

by DEANNA RAYBOURN

  "He didn't mind about the children, you know. He never blamed you for not having them. He blamed himself. Said if he had lived a better life, he could have made you a better husband and not taken such a risk with your health as he had his own. Of course, he always said—"

  I put a hand to her sleeve. "What? What risk to my health?"

  Her eyes widened. They were beginning to wrinkle at the corners. She could not have been more than twenty, and already the signs of her hard life were etched in her face.

  "The pox, my lady. He felt right terrible about it."

  I moved away, groping for a bench. Val, sensing my distress, came closer, but I waved him back angrily. Victoria sat next to me. She did not ask my leave, but I did not care.

  "The pox. Edward had syphilis?"

  "Why, I thought you knew, my lady. The way he talked and all, he said that you couldn't have children because of his syphilis. I thought he meant he gave it to you."

  I shook my head. "No. He must have meant that he could not—"

  I could not bear to say the words.

  "Ah, you mean, he couldn't go with you, because he was afraid of giving it to you when you'd not had it?" she finished for me.

  I nodded.

  "Well, that does make sense. He was always so cruel about himself, saying such terrible things. Called himself a ruination, and a devil. I used to feel sorry for him, with his pretty manners and nice clothes. He had such a nice way of speaking and all. Hard to credit he'd feel so low about himself."

  I nodded again. My hands were shaking, so I clasped them firmly together, the glove leather creaking a little.

  "Did he say when, how he contracted the syphilis?"

  She tipped her head, thinking. "Before he married, I know that much. He said he hadn't realized he had already got it when he married, but the doctor told him he would not have been contagious right then. He explained it once, but it was confusing. I think he said there was a first bit of it, when he was ill, but didn't know what with. Then he felt better and married your ladyship and everything was all right. Then he got sick again and the doctor told him what he had and to stop laying with his lady, lest you get it as well."

  "Christmas," I said softly. "That would be when he moved into his own bedchamber."

  "That's right, he said that. He said he just couldn't tell you. He thought you'd be so disappointed about the kiddies and all."

  How perfectly sweet, I thought bitterly. Edward had not bothered to tell me about this vile disease, leaving me to wonder all these years at our barrenness, blaming myself. And all the while…

  I looked over at the girl and smiled weakly. "It must have shocked you to hear such things. It shocks me now."

  She returned the smile and reached out, to my astonishment, patting my hand. "Not much shocks me, my lady. I've seen a hundred men or more with their trousers off."

  I nodded and looked away. She had given me much to think of. I did not know if any of it was connected to Edward's death, but I was glad to know it just the same.

  I squared my shoulders. "Thank you for your frankness. I hope that you will not suffer for it at the hands of Miss Simms."

  "Oh, no. She warned me off talking about him, but she doesn't really think I'd spill. She knows he hadn't been to see me for nearly two years before he died. He had taken to going upstairs, to the attic, for his entertainments."

  I smiled at her. The notion of Edward seeking his pleasures in a dusty lumber room amused me for some reason. "The attic? Whatever for?"

  "Why, yes, my lady. That's where they keep the boys."

  THE THIRTY-SEVENTH CHAPTER

  If you have tears, prepare to shed them now.

  —William Shakespeare

  Julius Caesar

  "Edward went with boys?" To my ears, my voice sounded normal enough, casual, as though I were inquiring about the health of a mutual friend. But my thoughts…even now, I cannot quite describe the chill, the numbness. How could I not have known?She was nodding. "He did. Said he'd always liked them better. But he quite loved you, my lady," she said hastily. I think she meant it kindly.

  "Was there a particular boy?"

  "No, my lady. He did not use them very often, you see. But Miss Simms was always glad to see him. Some gentlemen like a bit of the rough, but not Sir Edward. He always treated us kindly. Simms likes that—it doesn't do to damage the merchandise, she always says. She gives all the regular gentlemen boxes, pretty porcelain things, for keeping sheaths in." She threw a doubtful look at Val. "Mr. March does say that it keeps infection down, of the pox and other things. Some of the gentlemen complain, or just won't wear them at all. Not Sir Edward. He were always most particular about wearing them. And Simms thanked him for that. Fastest way to drive off business, she says, is with pocky whores."

  I was only half listening now. Brisbane had been correct about the box and its purpose. But even he had not guessed the awful reason behind it.

  "Thank you for your time, Victoria. I believe my brother gave you half of the fee yesterday. Here is the remainder."

  I took a wad of notes from my reticule and thrust them at her. I had no idea how much I gave her. It must not have been less than the agreed amount, though, because after she counted it, she tucked it away in her bodice and flashed me a smile. She was missing a few teeth, but those she had kept looked strong and straight enough.

  "You are indeed a real proper lady. Thank you."

  I removed something else from my reticule—a card.

  "Take this," I said, holding it out to her. She took it and looked at it curiously, as though it meant nothing to her. I realized then that she likely could not read.

  "It is the address of a refuge. It is maintained by my aunt, Lady Hermia March. Should you decide to leave the Box, there would be a place for you there. They could teach you to read and write, and eventually secure you a position."

  She laughed. "Doing what? Serving? Scrubbing floors and blacking grates? No, my lady, I think not. I am what I am. I'll not change now."

  She made to hand the card back, but I refused to take it.

  "You may have need of it yet. Keep it. You will always be welcome."

  She shrugged and the card went the way of the money. But I thought it quite probable that the card would find its way into a dustbin before the day was through.

  I put out my hand. "Thank you, Victoria."

  She blinked, then dropped her hand into mine, shaking it slowly.

  "Thank you, my lady."

  Then the training of her early years returned and she bobbed her head at me before moving back the way we had come. I watched her, for lack of anything better to do. She moved quickly, and as she reached the end of the path, a figure stepped out, a grizzled older man, dressed in an elegantly impoverished coachman's cape. He doffed his hat to her and she gave him her basket and a smile. The hackney driver, no doubt. He walked with a hunched back and a twist-legged limp. Victoria was careful to match her pace with his, and he in turn guided her around a puddle, patting her arm solicitously. I was pleased that at least someone had a care for the poor creature. I doubted that she would come to Aunt Hermia's refuge. And I doubted she would live out more than another half-dozen years. I heard my brother's steps crunching softly on the graveled path as he came near.

  "Oh, Val, why did I ever marry?"

  "Because you loved him?" he hazarded as he sat next to me.

  "Did I? I can't remember now."

  He covered my hand with his own large, warm one. "Was it very terrible, what Cass told you?"

  "Yes, actually. It was. Did you know that Edward had syphilis?"

  His hand clenched mine and it was a long moment before he replied.

  "No. How did Cass—"

  "They made him wear condoms at the Box, to protect the prostitutes."

  "Dear God," he said softly, giving a sad, heavy sigh. "Miss Simms is quite protective of her staff. An outbreak of syphilis, a rumour of it, can be devastating to the kind of trade she plies. Clients exp
ect that in a certain kind of brothel, but not in Mayfair."

  "Did you know that that is why she gave Edward the box?"

  "No. Like Brisbane, I thought it a token of regard. I suppose that is why there were never children."

  "Yes. Edward did not wish to infect me. Apparently his first attack was before we married. He did not realize then what it was. Afterward, when he learned of it, he quit my bed."

  We were carefully not looking at each other. I think, for all his medical training, he was embarrassed. And for my part, I only knew I could not bear to look into those wide green eyes, so like my own, and find pity. Or worse.

  "Sometimes it is difficult to diagnose," he said softly. "He might easily have mistaken the first attack for a touch of influenza. The second time, it is usually more certain. In the interim, he would not have been contagious. It was best he left your bed, you know. It is possible he would not have been able to father children in any case once the disease set in. It takes some that way."

  I think he meant to comfort me, but I barely heard him. All I knew was that the man I had grown up with, married, thought I knew, had in fact been a stranger to me.

  "There is more," I told him. He tightened his grip on my hand, mooring me to the bench. "He went to the attic."

  I heard the sharp, low intake of breath, the muttered curse. I thanked God I did not have to explain it further. From his association with the brothel, Val knew exactly what to infer.

  "Oh, Julia. Little wonder you cannot remember loving him. He must seem a stranger to you now."

  "Yes." I felt my earrings swing against the silk of my veil. I must have nodded, but I do not remember moving at all. I felt nothing but the pressure of his hand on mine and the light whisper of the earrings brushing the veil. "I thought I knew him, Val. We grew up together, for God's sake. How could I not know that he preferred boys?"

  "Men," Val corrected. For the first time I looked at him. He met my eyes squarely, to his credit. I doubt many could have under the circumstances.

  "Victoria—Cass, said there were boys in the attic."

  He shook his head, his dark hair glossy even in the gloom. Why did he never wear a hat, I wondered inconsequentially.

  "They call them that in the Box, but they are men. Young ones, seventeen, eighteen and older. There are no children kept there."

  "Thank God for that," I said with feeling. "I thought she meant—"

  "No. Edward's preferences might have been unorthodox, but they were not criminal."

  "But they were," I pointed out quietly. "Sodomy is against the law."

  "We condone Portia's behavior. Is this so very different?"

  He was trying to be fair and evenhanded—probably with an eye to making me feel better about the situation. I did not.

  "Portia is in love with Jane," I hissed at him. "She does not pay strangers for their favors."

  "Does that mean that you would find it more excusable if Edward had loved one person, instead of satisfying himself with prostitutes?"

  I snatched my hand back. My breath was coming quickly, puffing out my veil in little waves. "It is not excusable in any event. He broke his vows to me, vows he never should have made, given his proclivities."

  Val made to speak, but I continued on, ranting him to silence. "A year ago, I buried him, and I was relieved, I confess. His health had grown so poor, and his temper so uncertain, that I had learned to fear him. He even struck his valet on occasion, and once, just once, he raised his hand to me. He did not hit me, but I saw the struggle within him to stay his hand. He had become violent, Val. And every day after that one I wondered, was this the day he would lose that last, desperate bit of control? Was this the day he would beat me or kill me?"

  Val did not try to speak now. He simply sat and listened, letting the pain pour out of me as poison will from a lanced boil. "By the time he died, I was prepared to let him go. I had mourned the boy I loved because I had already lost him. But at least I had the memory of what he was, what he had been, to console me. But now, when all his sins have come to light, I have not even that small solace. I cannot ever again grieve that he is gone, miss his ways and his smiles, without thinking of the lies and the deceit. Do you not understand, Valerius? Every memory I have of my husband is a lie."

  I rose, shaking off his protective arm. "Leave me. I will make my own way home."

  "Julia, please. I did not wish to hurt you. I thought only to console, and in my clumsiness I have wounded you. I am truly sorry."

  He was penitent, but not pleading. He had learned pride and he wore the dignity of the Marches like a mantle.

  I nodded in acceptance. "This is too raw, yet," I said by way of explanation.

  He enfolded me in his arms, the second time in two days, I marveled. I stepped back, feeling marginally better.

  "There is a call I must make now."

  "Shall I come with you?"

  I opened my mouth to refuse, then thought better of it.

  "Yes. There is someone I should like you to meet."

  THE THIRTY-EIGHTH CHAPTER

  Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased, Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow…

  —William Shakespeare

  Macbeth

  Mordecai Bent's rooms were exactly as I had expected. Tiny, overwarm, and so cramped with books and medical equipment that it was difficult to move. But the fire was cheerful and Mordecai was hospitality personified, as if entertaining angels unaware."This chair, my lady," he said, sweeping up a pile of papers and an errant sock. "It is the most comfortable and nearest the fire. Mr. March, may I offer you the bench by the bookcase?"

  Val, mesmerized by the contents of the bookcase, barely waved a hand. "If you do not object…"

  Mordecai flushed with pleasure.

  "Oh, no! Please, look at anything you like. It is so seldom I have the pleasure of speaking with another medical man."

  This time Val flushed, and it occurred to me that introducing them might have been a tiresome mistake. If I was not quite careful, the conversation could easily move into deeper and duller waters than I could navigate with patience. I cleared my throat delicately.

  "Doctor Bent, we have called because I recently discovered something concerning my husband's health. Something that might have bearing upon this case."

  Bent's eyes flew to my brother's tall figure, silhouetted against the bookcase. "He is entirely in my confidence," I assured him. Bent smiled. There was a dot of custard on his lapel, and a button swung gently from a single thread at his waistcoat.

  "I shall be too happy to help," he told me. "But Nicholas wrote that he was going to Paris, and that the investigation was in abeyance until his return."

  "Oh, of course. But this information just fell into my lap, most unexpectedly, and I thought I might save him a bit of time by consulting you in his absence." The lie fell smoothly from my lips.

  He seemed satisfied with that and sat forward, his eyes gleaming with interest behind his spectacles.

  "It appears that my husband suffered from syphilis, Doctor Bent. He had had it for some time."

  He considered this a moment.

  "Hmm. Yes, that does complicate matters," he said, his brow furrowing. If I had not been so humiliated by having to tell him, I might have been amused. He did not consider the personal ramifications of the syphilis, only its application to the case—a true medical man.

  "Do you know how long he had the disease?"

  I shrugged. "He contracted it sometime before we were married, a few months, perhaps. I am told he experienced a relapse of sorts some months after we married."

  Bent nodded. "Yes, although it isn't precisely a relapse. From what we understand of the disease, it normally follows a pattern—an initial infection, then a period of dormancy, followed by another outbreak. Then a second period of dormancy. These quiet periods can last for years, during which time the patient is completely asymptomatic."

  I must have looked blank, for he amended the word quickly. "Withou
t symptom. The second phase of dormancy can even last the duration of the patient's natural life. But in most people, the second dormancy is followed by the most extreme symptoms of the disease—a breakdown in general health, uncertain temper, that sort of thing."

  I thought of Edward's turns, his periods of malaise, his little black rages, and that short, terrible moment when we had looked at each other, the bits of broken vase littering the carpet between us, his hand raised, poised and twitching at my cheek.…

  "Doctor Bent, is it possible that Edward did not suffer from heart trouble?"

  "But he did," Valerius put in quietly. "He'd had it from boyhood, don't you remember? Old Cook always saying he'd never make old bones, just like all the Greys?" I did remember. I had told Brisbane of it only a few weeks before. But I had felt the ground shift under me when Cass had bestowed her revelation, and I found myself wondering which memories were true and which were lies. And I knew I would continue to do so for many years to come.

  I turned to Bent, who was nodding, his eyes shrewd.

  "Yes, sometimes syphilis will lodge in a patient's heart or lungs, especially if there is an underlying ailment. It is possible that the disease worsened his heart condition, or perhaps it affected it not at all. It is impossible to say without a proper postmortem, and of course, it is too late for that."

  I shuddered, thinking of Edward's corpse, moldering away, the evidence quietly decaying during the months that I had wasted.

  "Is it possible that Edward was not poisoned, after all? Could not the disease have accounted for his symptoms and the, er, discoloration?"

  Val looked away and Doctor Bent reddened slightly. "No, my lady, I fear not. His symptoms were clearly those of poisoning. In fact, I think I have discovered the cause."

  He put his hand out to rummage through the papers stacked precariously on his desk. After a moment he grunted in satisfaction. He extracted a single paper, an illustration of a flower. He handed it to me and Val came to look over my shoulder. There was a Latin inscription at the bottom of the page.