by Jill Harris
Blythe simply laughed, a soft, tinkling sound like a fountain. "But I do. I know everything. Don't worry." She looked at Adeline. Then back to Branwell. Tapped the side of her nose. "I won't tell."
Reverend Gillyflower glowered at Branwell. "I met a mage-noir once in a far land, just off the coast of West Africa. Never thought I'd find on in our little town. You've kept yourself hidden away."
"You're mistaken, reverend. Captain Branwell Hughes isn't the mage," Blythe corrected him. "That was his father. Our Captain Hughes is the carrier of evil. Vedmak wants to use him as a pawn, a way to lure and then sacrifice a woman of good heart. He'll use her blood to open the door to Ifreann, the hell realm. And we can't let happen."
Maria put down her latest scone. "That's why we have come. Because Ifreann must remain sealed. It holds back the creeping things."
"Blythe asked me to perform an exorcism tomorrow night when the moon is full," reverend Gillyflower said. "Not that I've ever done anything like it before. Still, needs must as the devil drives, as they say. He's got to be stopped."
Blythe put her head to one side as if she was listening to a faraway sound. "That's right. We've come to offer our help. It looked like we were just in time. Maria has subdued him for few hours, but her power is limited."
"I see," Adeline said, although she really did not. "Are you saying that the demon who almost ruined this house is trying to get the Captain to murder someone?"
"That's one way of putting it," Blythe said.
"If we don't stop him, he'll get what he wants, and he's out for blood. Miss Blythe told me he wants to make a sacrifice to the seven-headed beast who guards the gates of Ifreann," reverend Gillyflower said.
"That's right," Blythe said. "The gate lies beneath the town of Templesea."
"Do you know whose blood he wants?" Branwell said.
Blythe looked at Adeline. "Why, her of course."
Chapter 40
At around three in the morning, Hoxley and Mrs. Hoxley ushered the guests up to bed. Adeline lingered on a chaise longue by the dying fire, still hoping she might get a chance to use her skills on the Captain.
Despite the late hour, she was alert, her heart pounding, electrified by the events of the day.
There was a tightness in her chest. On the one hand, she dismissed the talk of human sacrifice. It smacked of pirate tales. The kind of story one would tell a child to make them behave. Adeline did not believe in frightening children and as a grown adult, she simply resigned stories full of such nonsense to the toy cupboard.
However, something about the seriousness with which everyone had taken the idea was definitely giving her palpitations. The Captain had been gruffly attentive. The child Maria held her hand most of the evening, the damp little palm giving away the seemingly confident befana's true anxiety.
Blythe had given her a white linen kerchief, embroidered with a motif of clam shells, and the reverend had fixed her with a slightly morbid gaze and offered to pray for her. Lieutenant Sanderson had informed that her that he would sleep outside her door with a gun primed and ready to shoot the devil back to hell.
"You'll do no such thing," the Captain had said. "To begin with, guns have no effect on pure evil. There are other ways to fight and I fear you know nothing of the arcane arts. Leave it to me. I will be the one to protect her."
There had followed a tiresome argument between the Captain and Sanderson as to which one of them should sleep on the hard floor. They finally agreed that both would lay down their lives for her and were prepared to fight each other, to arrange a duel to the death if need be, in order to be the one who finally defeated the real enemy at close quarters.
In the end, Adeline got them to agree to sleep in the hallway together with their pistols in their belts. She assured them it would be most helpful if they tried to work together and two heads were definitely better than one when it came to fighting of any sort.
She sincerely hoped they would not kill each other in the night.
Now everyone else had gone up except for her and the Captain. Her mind seemed to be racing to catch up with what was happening, so she went through the facts as she saw them.
Firstly, Raven's Nest had been shaken to its foundations by an earthquake. This was an unusual, yet presumably natural phenomena.
Heavy fog rolling in from the stormy sea was another natural even, yet it was guaranteed to made everyone nervous.
Human beings and especially country people without the sophistication of city ways, were given to superstition. Why, even Adeline herself had become irrational when she thought she was about to die, and she flushed to think of how she'd flung herself at the Captain like a trollop.
Aunt Theodora would be furious.
The only explanation Adeline could find for her rash behaviour, was that the events surrounding her had made her blood agitated and she'd behaved out of character. Fear became the dominant emotion at the time, and there was nothing more primal in the human heart.
When she thought of the visitors with their tales of sacrifice and horror, their very presence made her weary. They'd insisted on telling their silly stories mainly because she insisted on being the voice of reason and everyone was in a terrible state because of the storm, and ancient fears stirred up and all this had sent Adeline into a passionate state of mind.
Her heart had taken over when her head should always remain firmly in control.
Adeline"s legs were restless. She crossed and uncrossed her ankles. Her mind kept asking her awkward questions. What if it was true? What if beelzebub wanted to slit her throat and drink her blood?
She squeezed her palms into fists, digging her fingernails into the skin until the questions faded away. Nothing odd was occurring. There had been an earthquake, and it had disturbed the minds of those around her. Earthquakes had aftershocks, so any trembling in her physical body was merely the result of that. The Captain had not hijacked her heart. Adeline was firmly in control of her vapours. she clasped her hands firmly in her lap, closed her eyes and felt the ground shake.
Her conviction that the earth was simply adjusting after a tiresome bout of geological adjustment, was all that stood between her and an outburst of fearful screaming.
And then an image of the Captain floated into her mind. There he was, with his broad back and inquiring mind, with his sad smile and those strong hands. He was a handsome man and there was no getting away from it. Tall and broad and impossibly broody yet with a hint of laughter in those unfathomable eyes. And he liked her, she could tell.
Surely, Aunt Theodora would comprehend the force of Adeline's womanly desire for such a man as that. They were after all, both red-blooded women.
Yet these were exactly the kind of thoughts that got her into trouble last time. Oh, Adeline slumped forward on the chaise, put her head in her hands, her world was indeed crumbling.
The Captain, who was sprawled in a chair drinking whiskey staring up at the ceiling just as he had been for the past hour, leaped up. He limped across the room towards her, leaning heavily on his cane. When he was close to her, she felt him staring at her and sensed his great bulk looming over her.
She looked up, tried to smile, but he scowled down at her with blazing eyes, finally reaching out to place a hand gently on her shoulder.
Adeline put her hand over his, surprised by the warmth of his skin.
"I won't let anything happen to you," he said. "I promise you that."
"That's awfully nice of you. But nothing is going to happen, not to me. You on the other hand are in need of my care. If you'd just let me administer a small dose of electricity to the wound, you'd be amazed what modern science can achieve..."
He withdrew his hand and her shoulder felt instantly cold without it there. "Not now, Adeline."
This was the first time the Captain had called her by her Christian name. A flush of pleasure rose up through her body, spreading heat to her cheeks and she turned away, unable to look at him because she knew he'd see the desire aflame w
ithin her.
Branwell stood over Adeline glaring at a dark curl of hair which had escaped her usually neat bun and now trailed down her alabaster cheek which was suddenly flushed with pink.
Had she bewitched him? If so, he didn't care. Didn't care that he was unable to tear his eyes off her. Perhaps she felt the same way he did, sometimes he was certain it was so, even though he found it hard to believe that a woman like her could be attracted to a great oaf such as himself. But there were signs that she at least tolerated him. Had she blushed because he used her name? It was hard to tell for she would not look him in the eye and he feared he'd got it wrong again, and she was angry because he'd refused her nursing skills once again.
Branwell despised himself and his petty fears. He yearned to take Adeline in his arms, to bury his face in her sweet, dark, tumbling hair. She might let him do that if he was whole, if he allowed her to heal his wound.
Yet he was a coward. That was the truth. Branwell was afraid of the electro-magneto box and the shocks it would give him. Once, as a child he'd touched a live wire when his father had tried to bring electric light to the house. The searing pain, the awful shuddering, the heat like lightening through his brain as he fell to floor. After that, he'd resisted every form of electricity, avoiding it as much as possible in the fast-paced world which seemed intent on turning every damn thing into an electro-driven motorised, monstrous thing of some kind.
He watched as a green triangle of compassion - of love perhaps? emerged from Adeline's chest, trembled and burst like a soap bubble in the darkening gloom. He clutched at his chest, wondering fervently whether her loving feelings were for him or for some other. A memory of her lost love perhaps or even that aunt she seemed so fond of.
Branwell raked his hand through his hair. He had to stop hoping she might love him. Maybe in some small way she admired him, but that was probably the most he could hope for. He shook his head at his own capacity for self-delusion.
Adeline Winslow often emitted green triangles, whether she was in the vicinity of a horse of a maid. Her profession and her true nature was one of compassion.
He was nothing to her but a man to be pitied. A wounded soldier who refused to be healed.
His throat was dry and he took a gulp of whiskey which tasted of fire and ashes. She had no idea of the futility of her emotions. He was beyond both.
"Tomorrow," he said. "You will leave this hellish nightmare."
"I'm not going anywhere."
"Your trial is over. I dismiss you."
"You can't dismiss me if you've never given me a chance to do my work."
"I can do what I like," he shouted.
Adeline searched his eyes for some way in, as if she could get past the childish wall of anger he was putting in her way. But once again, he had shut her out.
The Captain glared at her, turned and stomped over to the fire. She noted that his limp was still pronounced after carrying her through the house, and his face was ridged with pain and some concern. He knelt by the dying fire, took up the poker and began grinding it into the embers. His dark hair fell over his face and the broad outline of his bulk threw a great shadow across the rug. Sparks flew around him until Adeline feared he might set his shirt or perhaps even his hair on fire.
Adeline glanced around for the carpet bag. It was there beside the hearth and her hand itched at the thought of the shock box nestled inside and of all the good she could do if only he"d let her.
"Please. Let me do what I came here to do," she put her hands out in front of her, palms up, pleading.
"You came here to escape poverty. To build up your tattered reputation."
"I came to work and I came here to heal you - and I think you know I'm the only person who can."
He turned and gave her look at once kind and full of pain, as if she was in the process of rejecting him which she wasn't, and he was expecting it which he had no reason to.
"Adeline, I am a rich man. I don't want you to work for me, I want you by my side even if you'll never love for I have feelings for you that I cannot deny and I will do my best to make you happy. And if you were to marry me I will gladly let you do your work, perhaps even shock me with your damned machine if it'll shut you up about the hellish thing."
Chapter 41
Adeline got over the shock of his proposal as quickly as she could, then went to him, kneeling on the rug by his side.
She reached up and touched his cheek, a day's beard growth scratching rough under her palm. The fire lit up one side of his face and she reminded herself that he was a man divided by his passions. Part of him hated himself yet wanted her. Another part hated to want anyone or to rely on anything outside his own resources, and struggled to be in the world.
His lips were the colour of wine. She longed to kiss him, to hold him and make him hers. Wholly hers.
Shadows danced in the corners of the room and she reminded herself that the Captain was damaged, perhaps beyond repair in some ways, believing as he did that those shadows were alive with meaning. Could she marry a man who talked to shadows? Would it be wise? Of course not. But whether to marry him or not was a decision which should be made as a compromise between her heart and her head.
A sudden gust of wind howled through the house and Adeline listened for a while to the distant murmur of the sea. Branwell walked over to the window, took a sip of whiskey then limped back to her, handing her the glass.
"You look thirsty," he said simply.
"I am."
"This drink is as expensive as gold pound for pound. It'll warm you, help you get through this without going insane."
"Rest assured, I will never go insane," Adeline said.
"Then perhaps you'll give me an answer to my question by morning."
Adeline took the crystal tumbler and put it to her lips, taking a sip of the amber liquid. It was like fire in her throat, coursing through her and down to her belly reminding her that this was how it felt every time she was near Branwell, as if he lit her up with a strange kind of electro-magnetic force.
She sighed. This had to be taken into consideration, the way all her senses were so alive when she was close to him. Yet perhaps this effect was too much and she should be wary. After all, lightening could kill a tree by striking it. She thought of the vision in the scrying glass, of the two of them walking along the beach hand in hand, no lightening there, just a sunrise to the east of Sea Witch Cove. Adeline wondered if it could be like that between them, when the fire damped down to a manageable glow, the quiet, tender embrace she'd seen in the crystal as if it was a moving painting. The child at the water's edge...
Ah! But she could not put too much store by it, because what she'd seen was obviously a dream born of sorrow. Branwell sat beside her on the chaise and she reached up to place a hand on his face, searching his eyes for a glimpse of his soul. Then she closed hers, for it was all useless because she knew it could never be that way between them. At some point, surely the Captain would reject her when he knew what she was really like and she had no doubt that he would eventually find out everything about her.
Aunt Theodora had warned her against reckless passion. Not that she needed reminding. Get too close and it burns.
"Marriage is not for a woman like me," she said trying and failing to keep the bitterness from her voice.
"But I'm in love with you," he said. His face was a picture of rage and confusion.
"Love takes time."
The Captain brushed her hand from his face. "Why do you have so many damn rules?"
"Rules are important. They are what separate us from the apes who play with their own excrement. My skills at healing are worth much more than gold. I'm offering them to you but that is all I can give you of myself. You should think carefully about this and I advise you not to refuse me. When you are healed, you'll love again. I assure you of that."
Branwell took a deep inhale.
He would haul the vicar out of the bed first thing, exorcise that cursed demon and make Adel
ine go. He couldn't bear her rejection of his affections and he could not longer have the cause of so much hope and light so close and yet so out of bounds. She had pushed him away as he knew she would, and it opened a deep, dark hole inside his chest.
"I won't have any more talk of my injuries with you and you will not touch me with your infernal electric box. Those contraptions are just another form of quackery and you know as well as I do that my wound will never heal. Your refusal has crushed my heart, Adeline and the hope of a cure of any kind now lies dashed on the rocks of my despair."
But Adeline persisted. "But I care about you, Branwell. My refusal is to save your honour not because I want to live my life without you. And you must have heard of the healing power of electricity and my machine is - well, it's different. By that I mean it really works. Let me use it. Show me your wound. Let me dress it with a clean bandage. Trust me."
She stood. The embers of the fire glowed and sputtered.
Branwell was astounded by her dogged persistence and her partial declaration of love - or at least tender feelings for him. After all that had happened to her whilst in his home, she was still determined to act as his nurse and he wondered what drove her when she herself was in so much danger, and what she thought she could do in the face of so much adversity.
He searched her face, trying to secure it his memory forever. If anything bad ever happened to her, he swore he would crush the perpetrator to dust.
"It's almost morning. You must rest," he said.
"I'm not tired. Listen, I can heal you. I know I can. And when you're well, perhaps all this," she waved a hand to include the house and everything dark and sinister lurking within it. "Will stop."
"It's too late for me," he cupped her face in his hands. "But not for you. As soon as this damn fog lifts, I'm getting you out of here."
She was trembling. "Give me once chance."
"Later perhaps when the demon is banished back to hell and this madness is over," he told her, fascinated by how she was so powerful one minute, yet so vulnerable the next.