You should have asked her for a name before she lost consciousness. Grey berated himself, though he realized she was not likely to tell him when she had wanted nothing more than to be left alone to die. Grey sighed as he looked down at her limp body, wondering if she would ever look at him again with the eyes that had seemed to cut him like the sharp of a knife. He realized then as he recalled her pleading stare just how frightened she must have been. Her mind and body wracked with fever while she lay abandoned in the rain only to look up and have his large figure looming over her. It is no wonder she wanted me to leave her, he thought.
Continuing on he grew nearer to his home with a hearty speed, anxious to be within hearing of the grounds so that he might call for help, the burden he carried beginning to strain his arms as the distance to Wynthall grew shorter. In what seemed to have been an age, Grey finally reached the top of the incline just as the moon reappeared. He could finally see the dark outline of his manor—standing like a fortress before him. Only the light at the front gate shown in a welcoming glow as it was not yet time for the servants to rise. Without hesitation, Grey raised his voice and cried out, “Gatekeeper! Gatekeeper!”
In a moment, a lamp appeared outside the gatekeeper’s small quarters just inside the walls next to the tall iron gate. “Who’s there?” he demanded.
“It is I, Lord de Grey. Open the gate and fetch help, man.” As he called out with a voice that seemed to echo off the mountains the maiden in Grey’s arms began to shiver more violently. “Lord de Grey?” the gatekeeper questioned, holding his lamp high trying to better see the approaching figure.
“Make haste, you fool!” Grey ordered.
“Yes, my lord. At once!” The smaller light of the gatekeeper’s lamp hurried along the front lawn as Grey continued toward the gate. Within seconds of the gatekeeper’s arrival at the front entrance, voices could be heard and the light from lamps and touches illuminated the front lawn as the staff ran to aid their master. It was Byrum who first reached the baron, clad in his nightclothes, with only robe and boots having been messily pulled on in the rush. Though he had just been awoken from the last few hours of his sleep, the butler’s eyes were wide with alarm as he ran upon Grey with a handful of servants at his heels.
When the lamp in his butler’s hand lit Lord de Grey, Byrum’s eyes widened all the more as he beheld the sight before him with confusion and alarm. “Gracious, my lord, what has happened, sir?” he cried out, looking upon the limp figure in Grey’s arms.
“I found her alone on the road in a poor condition. Even now she hardly breathes. We must get her inside.” One of the stablemen seized Grey’s horse, who had faithfully followed behind his master while Byrum deposited his lamp on a maid and relieved Grey of his burden, his cloak still round her. As she left his arms, Grey felt a pang within him but ventured to ignore it and began to bark orders. “Take her to the Orange Room, Byrum, and fetch Mrs. Byrum to assist her. Someone go for the physician at once!”
Maids and housemen, stable boys and footmen scurried to heed their master’s instructions while Grey and his butler made a hasty speed toward the front entrance where the housekeeper stood in her robe and bonnet. “Oh, the poor thing, bring her in, Mr. Byrum. What on earth befell the girl, my lord?”
“I know not. I found her on the roadside, nearly out of her senses. She refused my help, but when I insisted, she fell unconscious.” Soon they were moved within the light of the great hall where Grey took the opportunity to examine the unfortunate girl’s features. He found that he had been right in the assumption that she was very young, for she looked to be only just out of her youth. Her hair was a rather dark blond, though it was tangled and soiled with dirt. Her clothes were just as Grey had beheld in the dark, tattered and smeared with mud, her face so pale that it appeared white against the yellow glow of surrounding lamps. But it was this which first caught Grey’s eye as he looked upon her, despite her filthy state and face lined with discomfort, the young woman’s features were very alluring, and Grey was certain that, could she open her eyes, they would only add to her strikingly uncommon beauty.
This was not the only detail of the girl’s face which caught his notice, however, for aligning her brow and darkening her left cheek were light colored bruises feathering her ashen skin, bold even against the tarnish of dirt. He had but a moment’s time to scrutinize them for Byrum quickly hurried through the great hall and up the stairs with her, his wife close behind him, maids scurrying at their heels. Grey, however, stood at the foot of the staircase, his hand clenching the banister, watching with a creased brow as his servants whisked the girl away.
For a long moment, he stood in silence staring after them, still feeling the warmth of her head on his shoulder, and fighting a slight longing within himself to follow after. “My lord, are you all right?” The voice of his valet disrupted the baron’s thoughts.
“Yes, quite so.” His speech wavered slightly though he took no notice, eyes still fixed on the carpeted staircase and tapestries, which ascended them.
“May I call the doctor to examine you also, my lord?”
Brought completely from the world in which he seemed to have lost himself, Grey blew off his man with a sudden move toward the stairs. “No, you may not. Cancel any business dealings for the dawn, and tell Byrum to let me know how the girl fares.”
“Yes, my lord.”
In a moment, Grey was twisting his way down the endless dark, dreary halls to the door of his bedchamber, which he quickly threw open. Stepping inside, he pushed the heavy door with a mighty heave, its slam echoing down the gallery. The baron paused just inside the front room, looking about the space in which he had desired to leave so urgently the hour before when the night had seemed to call on him. He realized now that had he not heeded this call, the girl who lay even now at death’s door would have surely had no chance of living through the night, more particularly when she did not wish to.
Releasing a wavered sigh, Grey wiped rain droplets and his own perspiration from his brow with the back of his soiled hand, only then taking notice of his filthy attire. His white shirt was stained with dirt from the young woman’s skirts and blouse, and particles of dust from his long ride scratched his face. Striding to his bed stand, he lifted the pitcher from the basin to pour its water but was abruptly stopped when he saw the ivory-colored glass shaking in his hand. Did he tremble?
Slamming the floral vessel down where it almost cracked, Grey held his hands before him as if to examine them, finding that they were indeed unsteady. Why do you shake like a frightened animal? His mind reprimanded him. Are you to blame for this night as well? Despite his own scolding, vivid recollections from a lifetime passed began to play briefly in his head causing his fists the clench and his eyes to close in an attempt to shut them out. But no matter his attempts, the night’s scenarios had brought back a long-since dulled pain within him, and under the full weight of it, his voice whispered between clenched jaws, “Dahlia.”
~ 4 ~
The sun rose and the clouds dispersed. Droplets on the green fields shimmered in the new sunlight. All in the village of Calgar rose from a peaceful rest, having no way of knowing what had taken place so near to them as they slumbered. Grey had watched the physician arrive just at dawn from his room high above the front gate where he was given a perfect view of the grounds. He had seen only Merek since the young woman had been whisked away, but the valet knew nothing of her well-being as the doctor and Mrs. Byrum had yet to leave her. Merek had spent much of the morning attempting to engage his master in some kind of conversation as to how he fared after the night’s ordeal, but Grey wanted no company, only a clean attire, which he now sat comfortably in before the dark fireplace. A tray of breakfast had been brought in at Merek’s insistence but lay untouched on the table before him, doing little to tempt him as he had no appetite.
Grey could think of nothing save the mysterious young woman he had happened upon in the forest. He had no desire to leave his quarters and carry on
the day as though it were like any other for it was not. Were it not for thoughts of the frightened girl and a memory of her fragile hand clasping his blouse, Grey was most certain that his mind would be withering in unhappiness for the memories she had unearthed in him. Still he could feel the heat from her feverish body, still he could hear her voice imploring him, still he remembered the night that seemed to have been brought back for him to live again.
Knuckles wrapped gently on the door, drawing no response from Grey as he continued to stare at the ashes. A moment later, a voice called, “My lord? You have a caller in the library, sir.”
At this Grey remained silent still, remembering he had distinctly told Merek to cancel all his business for the day and was in no mood for visitors. “Please, my lord,” Byrum persisted. “I also bring you news of the young lady, sir.”
Turning his head as he was drawn by this revelation, Grey stood quickly from his seat and pulled the heavy wooden door ajar. “Well? Does she live?” he asked while his butler stepped inside.
“She does live, my lord, but she remains unconscious,” Byrum answered with a curt bow.
“And what had the doctor to say of her?”
“It is quite mysterious, my lord. The doctor knew nothing of her. He said that she appeared to be suffering from a severe lack of nourishment and fever. He did manage to subdue it somewhat and said that it appeared to him the young woman had been the victim of rather abusive treatment at the hands of some person or persons. It is quite obvious to look at her, her face has many bruises, and I would assume those are not all, my lord.”
Grey’s perpetual frown deepened all the more. “But she will recover?”
Byrum nodded. “The doctor says she will, my lord. He believes the fever was brought on by a chill from many unsheltered nights.” Grey turned away from his butler, his brow knit in deep musing as he took three slow steps toward the fireplace. “And he has no idea of her identity?”
“No, my lord. He says that she is a stranger to him. Not a native of Calgar.”
Grey pursed his lips. “You say she has not awoken?”
“No, my lord.”
“When she does gather all you can from her and let me know what you learn.”
“Yes, my lord,” Byrum bowed, “And your visitor downstairs is very anxious to—”
“I don’t care what whoever it is, is anxious to do.” Grey huffed. “I told Merek to cancel all my business this morning.”
“And so he has done, my lord, but this man arrived quite unexpectedly.”
“Tell him to come again at a later time, I am in no mood.”
“My lord, your caller is Lord Alexander Vastel. He demands to see you.”
Grey turned to level his eye on Byrum, his guard immediately aroused at mention of the man’s name. Grey knew without a second thought why the duke’s brother had ridden such a long ways from Covingdell. He had received the message that the baron refused to lend him men to aid in the search for his lost niece. Now Grey was sure he had arrived to express his displeasure at the unfriendly response.
“I told him you were not likely to appreciate visitors this morning, but he refused to leave until he has seen you,” Byrum continued. Grey sighed dejectedly. “I suppose I need not ask what it is he wants.”
“His lordship said nothing besides expressing his insistence that you come down, my lord.”
“And he dares to come into my home making demands?” Grey huffed. “Shame on him! Tell him I’ll not come down and I will thank him to leave my property!”
“I shall if you wish it, my lord, but do you think that wise?” Byrum spoke with warning, which the baron refused to heed.
“He might be the duke’s brother, but here I am lord and master and he shall do as I see fit.”
“My lord, he may carry news of His Grace’s health. If the duke has grown worse, we must know of it.”
Grey glared at Byrum, knowing his butler spoke wisely. The chance that Lord Alex came bearing news of his ill brother was enough to demand Grey go down and meet with him. “Very well. Get my coat.”
“Yes, my lord.” In a moment Grey was presentable and making his way to the library where he paused just outside the door in an attempt to still himself that he might not lose his ever shortening temper with the brother of the Lord Duke. Running a hand through his combed hair and pulling straight his vest patterned with Delacourt tapestry of dark greens on black, Grey took hold of the handle and pushed the door open. The baron found Alexander Vastel standing in before one of the long windows overlooking the moor, his arms clasped behind him, his blue coat and collar sparkling with gold-colored buttons and matching cuffs. The duke’s brother turned when he heard the door open and raised his eyebrows as the baron entered. “Ah, Lord de Grey.” He dipped his head in a slight bow and extended his hand to the baron who replied not to the gesture. “You’ll not shake my hand?” Lord Alex’s voice acted surprised, though Grey knew he could not be.
“What is it you want, my lord?” Grey demanded, looking Lord Alex in the eye watchfully. Alexander drew back his hand as Grey continued to look upon him, displeased by his presence. Clearing his throat, the duke’s brother began to explain, “I sent you a communication yesterday to which I was most shocked by your reply. I merely came to inquire as to why you insist upon shunning me.”
Grey huffed. “Shun you?” said he, “Is that what you call a man not wanting to burden his people with the hunt for a lady who shall never be recovered?”
Alexander Vastel raised his brow. “Not be recovered? But she shall be recovered, Grey! Lady Eva is the heiress to my brother’s estates and a most beloved niece. I will do everything under my power to return her to my brother before it is too late.”
Grey moved to run his hand across the surface of the nearest bookcase. “With all due respect, the lady has been missing for almost three months, without any sign of her or hint of her whereabouts.” He shook his head. “She is lost to you.” Grey turned away from his visitor to gaze out the window at the moor.
Lord Alex snorted. “Nevertheless, my brother refuses to give up the search, and I thought that I might find the help I desired in an old friend, but I see that I was severely mistaken.”
“Indeed you were. Now I’ve a great many things to accomplish this day, bring my regards to His Grace.”
Despite the intended dismissal, Lord Alex made no move to leave. “Oh, come now. What is it I have done to deserve such a tone as this? We used to be the best of friends, did we not, James?”
Grey turned his head to glance at Lord Alex, searching his expressionless features before facing him again. “Indeed we did. But that was dissolved long ago.”
The duke’s brother raised an eyebrow, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Was it? I seem to recall not long ago you and I not being on such unfriendly terms. I seem to recall—”
“Yes, and I seem to recall asking you to take your leave,” Grey’s voice barked angrily now, his ire aroused.
Lord Alex raised a hand in mock offense. “Calm yourself, James, I only came to ask for your help.”
“And I have refused it. Now I must ask you to allow me to return to my daily routine.”
“I must say, Grey, that I am very displeased with you. Were it not for me—”
“Were it not for you, I might be living a truly blessed life, Alexander! Now go!”
Lord Alex pursed his lips. “You had such promise as a child, James. With your father the great man that he was and I at your side. It’s too bad you had to be blinded by the flattery of a beautiful figure.”
Grey’s face instantly darkened with rage, his temper flaring, turning on Alexander he responded with animosity. “Get out!” he screamed so that all of Wynthall heard him. “Get out and never show your face here again!”
A satisfied smirk marking his expression, Alexander Vastel bowed curtly and left the room without another word. Grey turned on his heels, his face flushed with anger and lashed out against a small table by the n
earest shelf, knocking it, and the globe that stood atop it onto the floor where the sphere shattered into pieces. “Blast him! Wretched fool!”
In a moment, Byrum and Merek came with haste into the room, a handful of maids and housemen in their company. “My lord, is everything all right?”
“No everything is not all right! If that man dares show his face here again, you shall turn the dogs on him, do you hear?” Pushing his servants aside, Grey disappeared into the dark halls, leaving behind a tense silence.
~ 5 ~
A haze of darkness had fallen over the foreseeable scenery, a fog lingering in the air, making each direction impossible to distinguish. He knew not where he was or how he had gotten so lost in the black world, which seemed to go on unending. The woods were cold and strangely quiet, not a sound until the familiar voice called out to him from far away, a scream which sent chills down his spine. “James! James! Help me!”
Desperately he fumbled in the darkness, but the cry came from all around him, from every direction it called for him, and yet every way he went, it seemed he was only falling deeper into the foggy depths of the night and further away from the desperate cry. Over and over, he heard his name carried on the cold night air, the voice wracked with pain begging him to come, begging for a help that only he could render, but he could not find his way. A chilling scream wracked the night, cutting the darkness and piercing his heart as though the point of an arrow tore the flesh and embedded into his very soul. It was then that he saw her lying in the only ray of light amid the trees, then that he finally arrived but too late, then that he knew his life was ended and a cry of anguish escaped his lips as he fell to his knees at her side—“Dahlia!”
Wynthall Manor- The Wynthall Manor Trilogy Page 4