Cherished

by Elizabeth Thornton

  Inside, there was a handsome leather-bound volume. Leon quickly leafed through it. Mostly ink drawings and sketches, he thought. The book had a propensity to fall open at one particular place. He examined the girl’s face, then the page before him. It was a sketch of the girl. He had heard that Indians were superstitious to a degree about having their likenesses taken, but he could not recall the reason for it.

  “Why did she take it?” he asked Doucette, holding up the book.

  “She was afraid that her soul would leave her if she did not take her picture with her.”

  Leon returned to the book in his hand. After a few minutes’ perusal, he lifted his head and stared blindly at Doucette. “My God!” he said. “What have I done?”

  Hester awakened in the morning and lay for some few minutes unmoving beneath the covers, her eyes closed, savoring the sense of peace, the sense of certainty that enfolded her like a silken cocoon. Having come to the decision the night before, she had never slept better. Everything had fallen into place. It was all so simple.

  She dressed herself in a leisurely fashion, wanting to look her best. Though she had slept late, there was no sense of urgency. She was not going anywhere. Besides, it was some hours before Devereux was due to return.

  When she quit her bedchamber, she was humming under her breath. She was in a very good humor and was willing to acknowledge that Mr. Fraser’s house was more splendid than she had at first allowed. It wasn’t Osterley, by any means. There were only two stories. The rooms were small and the ceilings and plasterwork had little in the way of gilt or decoration. Nevertheless, it was a very fine house, a very English house, and would have proudly graced any small parish in any county in England.

  At the foot of the stairs, facing the front door, a gentleman she didn’t know was seated on a plain wooden armchair, nursing a pistol in his lap. Hester suppressed a gurgle of laughter and sang out a friendly greeting. The poor man seemed taken aback. Smiling, she went on her way.

  When she entered the back parlor, her eyes lit on a number of young gentlemen who sat around the room employed in various occupations. Two were at the table and absorbed in a game of cards. One was slouched in a chair and appeared to be sleeping. Another was blacking his boots. Devereux had made no exaggeration. The gentlemen were all armed.

  At Hester’s entrance, conversation abruptly died. Matthew Fraser scraped back his chair and came to her at once.

  “How is the patient?” Hester inquired, and her eyes strayed to a door on the right, a maid’s room as she remembered.

  Matthew was a little in awe of his brother’s guests, but he tried not to show it. He told her exactly what his mother had told him earlier. “He is holding his own.”

  “That’s something,” said Hester. “Where are the ladies?”

  “Out back, in the kitchen.”

  Hester didn’t ask for permission. She thanked him and wove a path to the door which gave on to the back entrance. Matthew scratched his head. After a moment, shrugging the whole thing off, he returned to his game of cards.

  When Hester opened the door to the kitchen, a blast of heat almost overcame her. Emily and Sara, cheeks flushed, their borrowed gowns protected by voluminous pinafores, were at the ovens, removing fresh-baked loaves of bread with long-handled paddles.

  “Why are you here?” asked Hester.

  With the back of her hand, Emily wiped the sweat from her brow. “We sent Mrs. Fraser and the girls to bed. Would you believe that though they nursed poor William half the night, they had to bake the day’s batch of bread before they could take their rest? For a household of this magnitude, the tasks are endless.”

  Ignoring the hint, Hester said, “I had no idea you were so…accomplished,” and she moved around the room, lifting lids, opening drawers, poking into everything.

  Emily’s eyes narrowed on Hester. She was thinking that Peter’s sister really was a fine-looking woman when she allowed her face to relax into a genuine smile. “Look here, Hester,” she said, “we could do with an extra pair of hands. We’re not finished yet. The men have to be fed, and they have appetites like horses.”

  Hester’s eyebrows almost disappeared beneath the tiny curls on her forehead. “My dears,” she said, “I wouldn’t dream of interfering. Frankly, Sara, I didn’t know you knew how to boil an egg,” and smiling to herself, she slipped away.

  “Well!” Emily and Sara glared at the closed door.

  Slanting a half-hopeful, half-mournful look at her sister, Sara said, “In point of fact, Emily, I don’t know how to boil an egg.”

  Emily scowled. “I know you don’t. But what we are having is well within your repertoire.”

  “What’s that?” asked Sara.

  “Pea soup and bannock,” flashed Emily, and carefully slapped a large wooden mixing bowl on the flat of the table.

  She waited until the fire had really got going before she left the barn and barred the door. She was sorry about the mare and her foal. Though she was really quite fond of animals, she could not let that deter her. This was a matter of life and death. Her little joke brought a smile flashing to her lips.

  She had noted beforehand that the alarm bell was located under an old weathered table in the herb garden, close to one side of the house. It was heavier than she anticipated. Holding it out in front of her with both hands, she made the motions to set it to pealing. Good. Smoke was billowing out of the barn and the animals were becoming restive. Soon they would be howling.

  The sound of the bell carried to the Common Gaol. Within its small confines, men heard it, but only faintly. They were engrossed in the little drama that was being played out between Leon Devereux and Peter Benson.

  Not five minutes before, Leon had stormed into their midst, looking like a deranged man, shouting out questions, demanding that the major answer them.

  Finally, he had thrown down a leather-bound volume. “Read it!” he said, trying to get control of himself. “Tell me whose hand it is in.”

  Peter read the page that Leon indicated. As if in a daze, he lifted his head and his eyes moved from one intent face to the other.

  “I asked you a question.” Leon looked close to murdering someone. His control was at breaking point. He had not slept a wink in twenty-four hours, and the lines of fatigue and strain were etched deeply in his face.

  Peter licked his lips. His expression was a combination of horror and disbelief. “I can’t believe that Hester wrote this,” he said. “If she kept a diary, I never knew of it. This is a forgery. Don’t you see, it must be!”

  Leon’s eyes closed momentarily. “So, it is Hester,” he said.

  At his words, an uneasy silence fell, and in that silence the sound of the bell finally began to penetrate the men’s thoughts.

  Young Nathan was stationed beside one of the small barred windows. Frowning, but without alarm, he stooped down and looked out. He saw the smoke and instantly made the connection to the bell.

  “Our barn is on fire!” he yelled.

  James started up and rushed to the window. “My prize colt!” he cried out and groaned.

  “Damn your colt, man!” Leon was at the door and had flung it wide. “Hester is in there with the girls.”

  Inside the house, Franchot, who was guarding the front entrance, was first to hear the bell. He ran outside and took everything in at a glance.

  “The barn is on fire!” called out Hester, and calmly continued to ring the bell.

  With one quick prayer to the Virgin Mary for the lady who had the good sense to ring the alarm, Franchot dashed back into the house to get help. Matthew came running up at the double. Close on his heels came his motley crew of men.

  Hester watched them go with a little half-smile. Then, setting down the bell, she turned back to the house.

  In the kitchen Emily looked up from the batter she was beating. “What was that?” she asked.

  “What?” asked Sara. “I didn’t hear anything.” She was flushed, as well she might be. Watching someone co
ok the bannock and doing it oneself were two entirely different things, she was coming to see. The voyageurs made it look so easy.

  Emily cocked her head and listened. “It’s the silence. Can’t you hear it?”

  “We never hear anything out here. The kitchen isn’t part of the main building.” With a wooden spatula, Sara made a stab at the bannock on the griddle. “How does one know when this is ready?” she asked.

  Emily’s head was still cocked to one side, her eyes staring at nothing in particular, listening intently. Not moments before, she thought she’d heard the sound of a bell, and voices, and other things she couldn’t put a name to but which she knew were familiar. She tried to shrug off her vague uneasiness. Sara was right. Sounds rarely penetrated to the kitchen. Fires were all too common. In the interests of safety, house and kitchen were separated by a flagstone corridor.

  Having convinced herself that she was letting her imagination run away with her, she perversely set aside her mixing bowl and moved quickly to the door. “I’d better go and investigate. Keep an eye on those bannocks, Sara. They burn easily. Oh, and don’t forget to stir the soup once in a while.”

  “What? Emily! Wait! I don’t know…”

  “Just stay at your post, all right?”

  On the other side of the kitchen door, Emily took a few moments to remove her pinafore and smooth her hair. Satisfied that her appearance was presentable, she quickly crossed to the little back parlor.

  The room was deserted. Her eyes made a quick inventory, noting the cards thrown down on the table in utter confusion. One chair was overturned. A pair of boots lay askew on the floor. Someone’s coat with a pistol sticking out of its pocket was discarded in a heap on the sideboard. It was obvious that the men had decamped in a hurry.

  Her pang of unease increased tenfold when the door swung on its hinges. Instinctively, Emily retreated a step.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  “The barn is on fire,” said Hester.

  The words acted on Emily like a salutary slap on the face, shocking her from her inertia. “Good God! Why didn’t you say so at once?”

  Heedless of Hester’s answer, she darted through the door and made for the front entrance. As she came up to it she heard the braying of animals and the shouts of the men as they frantically led the creatures out of the burning building. Flames were shooting into the air.

  “I’ve got the mare and her foal!” someone shouted, but the pall of smoke was so dense that Emily could not make out who it was. All she could see were darker shadows moving in and out of it. It was inconceivable to her that all this had occurred while she and Sara were involved in their mundane kitchen tasks.

  Turning on her heel, she raced back the way she had come, calling for Hester and Sara. She hadn’t the vaguest idea of what they could do to help, but she was sure there must be something they could put a hand to.

  She had almost crossed the length of the parlor when she heard the murmur of voices. Her eyes were instantly drawn to the door to the room which had been turned over to William Addison. It was open. Emily faltered in midstride and moved toward it. Hester was speaking.

  Emily’s first thought was for the injured man. She was livid at Hester for taking advantage of the situation, going against Leon’s express orders. She meant to get her out with as little fuss as possible so as not to disturb the patient.

  Hester was sitting on the edge of the bed. William’s right hand was clasped to her breast. Her tone was low and soothing, almost motherly. Addison’s eyes were open, but he seemed groggy, not quite sure of his surroundings.

  “Hester? Is it really you?”

  “Yes, my love. I came to you as soon as I could. Did you think that I had forgotten you?”

  Her words only seemed to agitate him. “You shouldn’t be here. What if they find us together?”

  She chided him gently. “Nobody is here. I have taken care of everything. Haven’t I always, even when we were children?”

  He coughed, and Hester raised his head to ease the spasm. Emily was rooted to the spot, afraid to give her presence away. She felt as though she were poised on the brink of solving everything.

  Groaning, William fell back against the pillows. “I don’t want to go on with this. I can’t go on with this. Hester…all I ever wanted was you.”

  One hand smoothed his brow. “There, there! Don’t fret, my darling. It will be just as you always wanted. We’ll never be apart again.”

  “Do you really mean it?”

  “I really mean it. It would never have worked anyway. Emily really loves Devereux, so you see there is no point in going on with it. I know that now.”

  He sighed and his eyes closed. “You’ll have me? Just as I am?”

  “You are all I ever wanted. Now go to sleep, William. When you wake up, I shall be with you.”

  For a moment, it seemed as if he were on the edge of sleep, then he started up feverishly. “I almost had him! Devereux! I almost had him!”

  “I know. But none of that matters now. Kiss me, my love. One last time.”

  Emily was slumped against the doorjamb, her fist pressed against her mouth, her eyes tightly closed. When she heard the rustle of skirts, her eyes blinked open.

  Hester was bent over William’s prone figure. She had turned his head away, and her fingers caressed his head from crown to nape, stroking his dark hair as if to memorize the feel of it. William was evidently asleep.

  “I love you, William,” she whispered. “I love you.”

  It was only when she raised her arm that Emily saw the flash of a blade. She sucked in her breath to scream out a warning but before she had made a sound, Hester’s arm came down, plunging the blade into William’s neck. He jerked, but made no outcry, not even a whimper. It was Emily who sobbed out a strangled, “No! Oh, God, Hester, no!”

  “Hello, Emily,” said Hester, quite calmly, quite naturally, as though they had just met over the breakfast table.

  Without haste, she moved gracefully to a low, unvarnished dresser. Emily could not see what she was doing, though she knew that she was lifting something, something heavy that required the strength of two hands. And then Hester turned and Emily found herself looking down the barrel of a monstrous, ferocious pistol.

  Somehow, she hadn’t anticipated that Hester would turn on her. She had sensed that with William’s death, the last act of the drama had been played out. It seemed she had made a fatal mistake. She should have taken to her heels while she had the chance.

  Licking her lips, stalling for time, she said, “You and William were lovers.”

  “Lovers? Yes, William and I were lovers, but not in the way you mean. From the time we were children, our souls were mated. I don’t expect you to understand.” Hester’s tone was placid, and all the more unnerving because of it. No one would have believed she had just murdered a man in cold blood. “He never loved you. It was me. It was always me.”

  “But…he wanted me to get an annulment. He was going to marry me.”

  “And would just as swiftly have disposed of you as soon as you were securely tied to him. It really wasn’t well done of you, Emily, to lead us on like that. If you had only made your feelings for Devereux known at the outset, we would have chosen another girl.”

  “One with a fortune,” said Emily.

  “Naturally. William and I didn’t have two pennies to rub together.”

  Hester advanced a step and then another. Emily swayed in terror, but she found her voice. “William murdered Barbara Royston, didn’t he, so that…so that Leon could take the blame for it?”

  “You must see that Devereux had to be got rid of, especially once your marriage was consummated.” Hester sighed in exasperation. “As I said, you really should have made your feelings known, Emily. You lied to William.”

  “I didn’t lie to him!” Emily cried out. “I swear I didn’t lie to him! I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, ’tis all.”

  “Emily, I don’t have time for all this chitchat. I must ac
t quickly. You do understand that, don’t you, dear?”

  Emily wasn’t sure if her mind was playing tricks on her, but she thought she heard Leon’s voice far off in the distance. On one level of her mind, she was praying for deliverance. On another level, she was thinking up ways to delay Hester from pulling the trigger.

  “What about Sara?” she asked quickly. “How does she fit into this?”

  “On her death, her fortune would pass to you. Need I say more?”

  “Then…that fall I took from the horse? That was meant for Sara?”

  “Of course. Poor William! When he saw you take the tumble, he thought that all our hopes had come to ruin. He was sure you had broken your neck.”

  For a moment, a very fleeting moment, Emily was too flabbergasted to be afraid. “Are you saying that we were all targets: Sara, Leon, and myself?”

  “My dear, I explained it to you. You were never in any real danger.”

  “No, but I would have been if I had married William.” Though she sounded quite indignant, it was her nerves that were making her babble so. “Well, that would never have happened, do you hear me, Hester? If you had made me a widow, a widow I would have remained for the rest of my days. Nobody could ever take Leon’s place.”

  “I understand. I believe you.”

  Emily’s eyes opened wide, then narrowed as Hester approached her. Sheer terror forced the words out of her mouth. “Why did you kill William?”

  “It was the only way. If he had not been injured…Well, there is no point in going into that now. I was neither going to let him suffer nor be taken back to stand trial for murder.”

  Emily was running out of questions. In sheer desperation she said, “Where did you get that pistol, Hester?”

  Hester smiled a knowing little smile, as though she understood perfectly what Emily was up to, but had decided to indulge her. “One of the men left it behind,” she said. “I hardly hoped for such good fortune. I would have managed with the knife, but a pistol is so much better.”