‘Why?’
She did not ask him to deny it, did not give credence to any thought of his innocence. Merely asked him to justify himself. Later he was to realize that she was in shock, unable to think past that one question, but at that moment his only reaction was anger.
‘I’ll not discuss this here lady, come, you are overwrought and need to rest.’
Alex moved to take her hand, relief flooding through him as she seemed to demur, but it was short lived, for Dorothea moved forward then, enraged at the thought that he could calmly expect to brush this under the carpet.
‘No, we will have this out sir, for you are found out and we will not sit by and let you do any more harm. Kate tell him, tell him he is found out. Come sir explain this if you can, if you dare!’
Fumbling in her reticule she found the pouch and grasping the miniature flung it at her brother-in-law, dropping the pouch and the rest of its contents on the floor at her feet.
Catherine watched as he reached down, picked up the and studied the portrait, clearly struggling with the twin emotions of anger and grief. Anger won and as it turned to rage she knew her world would never be the same again. As he put the miniature down with careful deliberation on the table, his voice chilled her to the bone. He turned and spoke, addressing Dorothea and Charles.
‘You are so certain you have worked out the whole of it. Have worked out who is to be pitied, who has been wronged against and even who is to blame. You look at this likeness and see an image of the girl she was, my beautiful Emily and from these bits of information you weave the story that makes of me a monster.’
Then turning he moved, grasped Catherine by the arm pulling her to her feet.
‘And you lady, if you are so eager to know of this, come with me now and learn the whole of it, then we will see where you choose to lay blame.’
With that he marched her through the door, leaving her sister and brother-in-law with no choice but to follow. Catherine could hardly keep up, he set such a pace. Her mind numb she allowed herself to be fairly dragged along, his grip on her arm, painful at times, seemed to be her only link to reality. Through the corridors of the old house he led them, and out through a side entrance that led to the kitchen gardens. Skirting around the well tended vegetable plots and heading up the steep bank behind, to a concealed path away from the house that led up the mountain. Through the trees to her left and high up the slope, Catherine saw the old chapel she had glimpsed from the other side of the gardens, from this angle and in the dusk it seemed to add a touch of surreality in keeping with their silent passage. By the time they emerged from the trees into a small clearing Catherine was breathless with the pace of the climb and she could hear Dorothea puffing behind her. Alex had stopped their headlong flight as if allowing them to take stock. He stood, still grasping her arm firmly for a full ten seconds before moving forward. Catherine, disorientated, took a second or two to make out the low building in front of her, a tiny limestone cottage almost invisible against the rock behind. A muted light glowed from one tiny window allowing the eye to pick out the low doorway before which Alex hesitated as if waiting for Charles and Dorothea to catch up.
‘For God’s sake Tremayne...’
Charles’ breathless protest went unheeded as Alex opened the door without knocking, pushed Catherine before him and ducking his head under the low lintel, entered without a word.
The room was neat and clean, with a bright fire burning in the hearth and fresh flowers in a vase on the small table. Catherine looked around, expecting that they be challenged by the occupant so unceremoniously disturbed, but the slight figure sitting in the easy chair to one side of the tiny hearth, though obviously surprised, stood, dipped an old fashioned curtsey and then began to address Alex in a rapid torrent of what could only be Italian. Alex raised one hand and the torrent stopped, but the girl, for she could have been no older than Catherine herself, seemed agitated and anxious as she listened to him.
‘Non preoccupatevi Onesta, non c'è nulla di sbagliato, abbiamo solo voglia di vedere il ragazzo, ora per favore, in Inglese. In English please’
Her worried expression relaxed a little as Alex continued.
‘This is Onesta, she is a distant relative and was companion to my sister Emily, now she has a much younger charge. It is he we have come here to meet. Onesta, bring the child.’
‘He sleeps Alex, it is late.’
Her reply was hesitant, her speech accented, and as she spoke she moved further into the light from the only candle and Catherine could discern her features. Olive skinned with ebony hair pulled back severely from a narrow almost pinched face, the girl would have been plain if not for her eyes. Almost too large and rimmed with thick black lashes, they were focused now on Alex, and Catherine felt a stab of animosity as she read the expression in them. There was something more than anxiety in those eyes, something that, worried Catherine, raising her own already heightened state of anxiety. Why did Alex keep this girl with her lovely eyes here, close to the house and yet apart from it? What could it mean?
‘Nevertheless we would see the child Onesta, bring him to me.’
‘Molto bene, un momento
The girl capitulated, turning to leave the room only to return a moment later holding a still sleeping child. She reclaimed her seat by the fire, crooning to the baby as her unexpected guests stood uncertain and in confusion. Alex reasserted his grip on Catherine’s arm and at the same time grasping his sister-in-law in a similar grip with the other hand, before pushing them towards the pair at the fireside.
‘Have you forgotten your curiosity of only minutes ago? Come and meet the evidence of your father’s shame, a shame that drove my Emily to a cold, lonely death before she had even begun to live.’
So they stood, numb, unable to think, to speak, neither knowing how to react, struggling to understand, until Catherine turned to her husband.
‘My lord? How can we understand?’
‘Only moments ago you were all too ready to understand the poison your sister dripped into your mind lady. Ready to condemn me without any hearing at all. Well here is my defense and your blood.’
‘My blood...’
Catherine struggled to find meaning in his words as she studied the child. He looked to be around a year old, pink flushed with sleep, his little face was plump with health and framed by a mop of black curls. As she watched he stirred in his nurses’ arms, and she watched as he opened his eyes looking up at them in sleepy wonderment.
‘Come ladies, I will not believe that having discovered your Papa’s shameful secret, that he was not above seducing a girl young enough to be his daughter and then abandoning her, that you cannot fit this last piece of the puzzle into its place and recognise the child he fathered and then refused to acknowledge. Your half brother he would keep secret from you and the world.’
‘Oh no, please no!’
Dorothea’s cry broke through the spell, she tore her arm free and would have fallen if not for Charles’ swift movement to catch her. The pair moved away from the tableau at the fireside and his efforts to comfort her seemed only make her sob all the harder.
‘For Gods sake Brook, take her back to the house and find something to quiet her.’
All this time Catherine stood in silence, staring down at the child who held her gaze with curiosity. Alex waited long silent minutes after Charles had taken a still sobbing Dorothea away. Waited for some reaction, for any reaction would be better than this heavy silence. At last she turned to him, her troubled eyes dark with emotion that thickened her voice as she spoke.
‘What is his name?’
‘Emiliano, in memory of his mother.’
‘This is my brother, and yet you kept him hidden away here, as if he were a shameful thing, never to be acknowledged or loved by his family, this blameless infant. When I found the shoe, when I heard him crying you and Evans ensured the secret remained undiscovered. Explaining the cries as merely the mewling of the buzzards. Why? How could you do that?’
&n
bsp; Alex watched as Catherine dropped to her knees in front of the child and very gently touched his hand. The plump little fingers curled instinctively around hers and he smiled a soft guileless smile.
‘Onesta, my name is Kate and this is my brother. I must leave now but I will come back soon, I promise and then all of this will change. Do you understand?’
The girl nodded and Catherine rose to her feet, turned without looking at her husband and walked through the open doorway into the dusk. As she walked she began to realize that she had no idea where she would go. It seemed incongruous and wrong to merely return to the house and in any case coping with an hysterical Dorothea before she herself had made any sense of all this would just be too much. She followed the path with difficulty now. The darkness was deepening and it took all her concentration not to fall on the narrow overgrown track. Yet she hurried, taking risks, knowing Alex must be close behind and she was no more ready to face him than Dorothea. The desire for solitude, time and peace to let her beleaguered brain digest all that had been thrust upon it in the last few hours had now become a pressing need, but where to go to find it? She reached the kitchen gardens and looked across them at the side door, she could enter here, retracing her steps to find solitude in her chamber. Yes that was what she’d do, she would merely go to her chamber, lock the door and find the solitude she needed to think, to work out how to deal with all of this. Then in the morning... no, she couldn't begin to think what the morning would bring. She was close to the door now, in a few moments she could reach her chamber and the sanctuary it represented. She knew her husband was close behind. The rustle of the undergrowth as he broke through from the path to the garden, his muffled curse as he saw she was still some way in front of him hardly visible now in the fast fading light, all served to bring home to her the futility of the notion of finding peace within the house. Without really thinking Catherine changed direction, instinctively heading for her haven in the garden.
‘Catherine!’
Alex watched her still at the sound of his voice, she hesitated, then seeming to come to a decision, changed direction away from the doorway just in front of her. Instead she moved to her right, skirting the neat beds of vegetables and herbs heading to the west terrace. From there she would access the west garden easily and in this darkness would not be easy to locate.
He’d stayed a moment or two to reassure Onesta that all would be well before following Catherine, so by the time he’d left the cottage she was already out of sight and even though he’d hurried after her, she’d regained the kitchen garden before he caught sight of her. Now all he could do was follow in the hope that she’d head for her favourite haunt. He knew she liked to find solitude to read in the orangery, tucked away on a well worn wooden seat concealed behind a trio of fragrant lemon trees. Surely she would keep to the well trodden paths given the darkness, and head for familiarity.
Catherine hurried across the west terrace, her heart beating an erratic tattoo, then lifting her skirts she descended the steps to the shrubbery in haste. The little brass insects seemed to glow in the burgeoning moonlight that illuminated the path she sought. As she reached the bottom she quickened her pace, fearful of capture, heading for the one place where she felt at peace. The orangery was warm, fragrant and familiar as she made her way to her bolt-hole. It welcomed her and she breathed a sigh of relief. Here, at least for now she would be alone. Alex would not find her now, he had never taken any notice of her activities here and was oblivious to her growing love for the place. She knew the servants disliked it, overshadowed as it was by the mountain, they found its tall pines, dense evergreen shrubberies and crumbling ruins oppressive and unattractive. The gardeners kept it neat and of course tended the orangery and the glasshouses for their contribution to the kitchens, but she knew they much preferred the sunny rose beds that gilded the front of the house. To Catherine its striking difference to the soft landscape of home was intriguing and she loved the solitude she found here.
Today, even here, she found little of the peace she sought. Her thoughts were in turmoil, snippets of the evening’s awful revelations skipping through her mind at random. Realizing she still held one of the letters in her hand she tried to read it, hoping that by focusing on something tangible she could regain some degree of control over her thoughts, but it was far too dark now and she closed her fist over the pages, crumpling them up in her frustration, and it was that almost imperceptible sound that gave her away.
‘Did you think I would not find you my lady?’
Alex waited, hoping she would respond, would show herself. He needed to gauge her mood, to gain some insight into what she was thinking. Only then could he work out how to deal with her fear, for she was afraid, of that he was certain. He moved a little closer to where he believed she hid.
Catherine stiffened at the sound of his voice, disappointment and anger flooding through her in equal measure. How had he found her so easily? Why did he not understand her need to be alone? Before she could respond he spoke again, his voice even and authoritative.
‘Come lady, show yourself, you have no need to fear me, whatever your sister’s accusations may be, I mean you no harm, nor did I harm my sister.’
Catherine moved, knowing he would not let her be she rose from her seat to show herself. He stood a mere few feet away on the pathway, clearly outlined by the moonlight flooding in through the large windows of the building.
‘I am not afraid of you sir, and take issue with your notion that I could give credence to such speculation. I seek solitude here my lord that is all, solitude to order my mind, to gain some understanding, not of what you may or may not have done, but of what you have surely done.’
‘And what have I done lady? What do you and your family believe me guilty of?’
She hesitated for a moment, his softly spoken questions belied the tension between them.
‘I cannot speak for anyone else sir, but I have seen some evidence tonight that may not be ignored or denied. Do you deny that child, hidden away, a prisoner, though innocent of any wrongdoing? And yes I do believe you mean me no harm, what need is there now to continue when you have achieved your goal and my father lies broken. Or am I still to be sent home a rejected wife, shamed.’
‘So you do accuse me of harming you and of seeking to continue with it.’
‘How can you deny it! My father feared you would use me ill and indeed it has been done, oh not with the cruelty that tormented my father, but I am surely made a whore despite that. For what else would you call a woman used so, with no thought of love or respect.’
His hiss of indrawn breath was audible.
‘You are my wife, and I have always afforded you the respect that deserves. That I take you to my bed is right and proper and I have no recollection of harming you there, quite the contrary. Come Kate, admit it.’
He moved then and before she could escape, pulled her into the steel circle his arms. Pressed against his chest she felt the familiar feeling of safety envelop her. The urge to snuggle closer, to embrace the tide of emotion he created within her was overwhelming. Her body reacted to his, desire flaring, making her feel hot with need for his touch, his kiss. Sensing her weakness he pressed his advantage, gentling his grip on her, kissing tenderly the satin skin at her temple. She rewarded him with a soft sigh as she brought her arms up to encircle his neck and he felt the scratch of paper against his skin. She stiffened in his arms, recollection of the letter she still held and all it represented slicing through the emotion of the moment like a chill winter wind. When she stepped back he let her, recognizing the change in her, the return to the girl who had run from him in anger and fear.
‘This is not the time or place to continue this discussion, come Kate, we will return to the house now. In the morning when you are rested your thoughts will be calmer, clearer and we can return to this.’
Without demur she accepted the support of his arm and let him lead her back to the house, knowing he would not let her defy him, and
knowing too that she hardly had the strength of will to do so as tiredness swept in sapping her of all defiance. Neither of them spoke as they walked, each deep in their own private thoughts.
When they arrived back the house was all in uproar, for despite the lateness of the hour Dorothea was determined not to stay another night. As servants rushed hither and thither ensuring all was loaded onto the carriage, Dorothea paced and cried for Catherine, while her husband tried to placate her to no avail.
‘Oh Charles, where can she be? She should have been back by now, I am convinced she has come to some harm, please you must take as many of the servants as you can and search for her. I cannot leave without her, not now, not knowing... Oh my what is to become of us?’
‘Now my dear calm yourself, it is not yet half an hour since we last saw your sister, and we left her with her husband, what harm can have come to her? You are overwrought and rather than this headlong hysterical flight you would do better to calm yourself. When Catherine arrives she will insist that you retire in the hope that a good nights sleep will restore you.’
‘No, no, I must leave, we must leave and Catherine must come too, for how else am I to keep her safe?’ Poor Papa, oh, how shall we deal with him? What are we to tell him? Oh Charles...’
Dorothea wept as Charles led her to a nearby seat and it was here that Catherine found them.
It was some time before she could calm her sister and even then there was no changing her mind about leaving. All the time she sat beside Dorothea, speaking soothingly to her, trying to reassure her that they would find a way through this upset, she was acutely aware of Alex watching her. He stood a little apart, silent, observing all that passed between her and Dorothea. When he spoke it was to address Charles, and his voice held a tinge of regret.
‘Brook, I see nothing for it but for you to capitulate and remove your lady as she asks. Despite the late hour you should find room at the coaching inn about an hours drive from here and can rest there until morning.’
Charles frowned, shaking his head as he answered.
Vengeful Lord, Defiant Lady. Page 12