The hours passed with a grueling pace as the baron continued in his search for an heir called Avery, but his work was in vain. None of the records in his library talked of such a man, and the servants Grey questioned knew nothing of him. With no proof of his existence and Lady Eva being the only one to have seen or even heard of the man, Grey began to wonder at the possibilities of discovering apparent kidnapper. Too he wondered how it could be that he had found Lady Eva on the road between Calgar and his own manor but could not seem to find where it was she had been imprisoned. She must have traveled far in her escape, he mused, though even this thought did not set well with him. In such a condition as she was, the probability of her traveling any length of distance was unlikely.
It was nearly the dinner hour when Byrum appeared in the study asking his master if he might eat in the dining hall. “No, I am not hungry.”
“But, my lord, you hardly had any luncheon, you’ve not eaten a decent meal in days, sir,” Byrum implored and this time received the answer he had desired.
“Fine then, bring something to my room later on. I am busy at the moment.”
“Yes, my lord. Oh, and my wife wishes me to inquire what you learned from the young woman this morning, sir.”
Grey glanced up from his desk, momentarily contemplating whether or not he could tell of the lengths of knowledge he had gained and the change of circumstances which had so swiftly arisen, but his promise to Lady Eva restrained him and he only shook his head. “I can tell you only this, Byrum—you must keep her whereabouts here unknown to anyone outside this house. All will reveal itself in due time.”
A look of confusion came over the butler’s face, but Byrum bowed to his master’s wishes. “As you say, my lord.”
“Now leave me I’ve much to accomplish.”
Quitting the room, Byrum closed the door and Grey resumed his work, desiring that he might retire early and shed himself of the fatigue which lack of sleep set upon him, hoping that he might talk more with Eva Vastel once morning was upon them, never once forgetting what fate may have dealt him when he came across the girl in the woods.
*****
As evening grew late, Grey returned to his quarters where his dinner was absentmindedly consumed over deep musing. His mind seemed determined to dwell on nothing save the problem at hand until he could solve the mystery surrounding a supposed – yet doubtfull – gentlemen who had purchased the daughter of the duke for fifty pounds. Not once in the afternoon had his thoughts wandered elsewhere or had he recalled the dream which haunted him each night. But as sleep finally consumed the baron, as he lay back on his feather mattress, his mind forgot the Vastels and remembered a time long passed…
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 a midst the dark trees, then that he finally arrived but too late, then that he knew his life was ended and a cry of anguish escaped him as he fell to his knees at her side—
“Dahlia!”...
In a chilled sweat, the baron threw back the entangled sheets with an angry cry, moments he wished to forget bearing down on his soul as they shook him from what little sleep he had been able to find. His muscles ached, his heart raced, and his emotions ran freely as he stumbled away from the bed and into the dark room. He had forgotten momentarily, after nearly twelve years, but was now rudely reminded, forced to relived the fateful night in the reality of a dream he could not escape.
Now, in a rage of unhappy memories, Grey pulled on his boots and cloak and ventured through the house, destined for a spot he had tried to forget, which now called to him with an overbearing beckon. Through the servant’s entrance, he stepped into the night air, his cloak covering wrinkled trousers and loose shirttails, his mussed hair waving ever so slightly in the calm breeze. With long, quick strides, he crossed the field and climbed a small hill toward the woods. The moon lit the grounds of Wynthall despite an overhanging haze of fog, which settled over the landscape, lighting the way for Grey as his clenching heart drove him forward to the only place he could imagine that might allow him to rest in peace. Moving into the dark woods, he walked an unmarked path only a few yards, pushing passed tree branches and spiderwebs clinging to dew until he came upon a small clearing now overrun with weeds, which crumbled beneath his feet as he moved slowly toward the center of the small, treeless circle.
As he reached the spot, Grey paused and gazed upon it before bending his knees to the wet earth. His trembling hands pulled back the overgrowth from where it shielded the name that haunted his dreams now engraved on a stone covered with ivy and moss. It had been years since he had cleared the weeds away and beheld the very name that dwelt with him by day and haunted him by night, the name that he heard in his dreams and called out in his sleep.
Dahlia
With eyes straining in the darkness, he saw it for the first time in many years, so weathered and unattended it was barely visible in the dark. Reaching out his unsteady hand, he ran his fingers across the rough surface and indentations before closing his eyes tightly against the sight of it. “Oh, Dahlia.” His warm breath made small puffs in the light of the moon. “Would that I had defied all and not failed the only person on this earth who made my life worth living.” Turning to sit alongside the raised mound of earth beneath the grass, he laid his back against the hard, cold stone and shut his eyes, allowing a slow breath out through his nostrils. “You talked of a God who brought us together, Dahlia. Would that He take me now and bring us together again.”
Laying his chilled hand on the grassy mound beside him, Grey looked into the sky above the clearing at bits of starlight, which twinkled behind the thin fog. Slowly his mind began to ease as Grey’s body gave way to exhaustion and he was consumed by sleep.
~ 13 ~
The birds’ songs were clear that dawn as they passed throughout the woodland and across the blue sky. Servants and staff began to move about the house and grounds of Wynthall. The village below bustled with happy morning greetings and children running to and fro among shops and street corners. Fishermen and their boats traveled the waters of the river and farmers worked their verdant fields. The world had long since awakened and Grey’s inmates were just beginning to wonder why their master had yet to emerge from his chamber.
Laid atop the matted grass, his head rested against the stone's rough surface, Grey felt nothing as his previously fatigued body lay in slumber. The sun’s late morning rays traveled through the trees and fell on the baron’s face, his arms sprawled out at his side, one hand still lain on the elongated mound at the foot of the stone. His mind was calm, resting from the long days and nights of torturous memories it could not consign to oblivion. The baron remained undisturbed until his mind could fight no more against the power of the ever-present recollection of past days. In a moment, the scene was once again playing before the baron’s closed eyes, causing his brow to furrow and his hands to clench. Again he was lost in the shower of heavy rain; again he heard her voice but could not seem to reach her; again he arrived but too late. Deeper and deeper into the memory, Grey fell until a sense of warmth from the sun on his face began to arouse him, and it was the sudden disappearance of the sun and the snap of a twig at his feet that finally freed him from the nightmare. Sitting up with a startled convulsion, the baron was confused by his surroundings. Had he fallen asleep at the grave? Was it already morning? How long had he been lying in the forest?
“Milord? Are you all right?” The voice was a man’s filled with concern for his master. His tall figure shielded the sun’s luminous sphere from the tangle of trees, and he stood not far from where the baron lay.
Rubbing sleep from his eyes Grey recognized immediately that it was one of his stablemen, and
in one of his work-worn hands, he held his master’s cloak. “Milord, are you all right?” the man repeated.
Stumbling to his feet, Grey barked irritably. “Yes, I am perfectly so. What are you doing out here?”
“Mr. Byrum is quite worried for ya, milord. He’s not been able to find ya and has all the men searchin’ the grounds.”
“Searching the grounds? What time is it?”
“Nearly nine o’clock, milord. I saw your cloak in the field just there and came in 'ere lookin’ for ya, sir.”
Grey blew out a huff, angry that he had been discovered in the only place and state in which his innermost being showed vulnerable. Yanking the garment—which he had not realized had fallen from round his neck—out of the stableman’s hands he stormed passed the servant. Striding down the hillside, he made haste toward the back entrance of the manor, bursting through the door where maids and housemen stopped to dip their heads and bend their knees as he passed them. Hurrying through the maze of rooms and corridors Grey had just mounted the stairs when he heard Byrum’s address. “My lord, we’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
“So I’ve been told,” the baron mumbled as he continued up the stairs with his butler in step.
“Where were you, my lord?”
“What business is that of yours?”
“Forgive me, but I was quite startled when I could not find you in your room.”
Again he huffed. “I am an adult, am I not? Can I no longer leave my own home for a few moments without accounting for my whereabouts to everyone?”
“Of course, my lord. Forgive me, I only—”
“You only what?” Grey stopped abruptly in the gallery, turning to face Byrum who halted but an inch from his master. For a brief moment, all was silent while Grey looked upon his butler expectantly, knowing precisely what the older man was thinking. “You only thought that I might have gone off somewhere to take my own life, isn’t that right?” Grey’s voice was low and cold, his accusing words having the exact effect he had anticipated as his butler lowered his head and fumbled with words he could not find. “I thought so,” Grey turned again and continued toward his chamber, Byrum following along behind him in shameful silence. The baron burst into his room, throwing his cloak to the side and unbuckling the collar of his disheveled white shirt.
“My lord, I meant no disrespect.” Byrum attempted an apology as his master struggled with the cuffs of his shirt. “But when you were not in any of the usual places, and with your horse still in the stables, I did not know what to think.”
“Pardon me, but you knew exactly what to think, didn’t you?” Grey barked. “Well, I assure you, Byrum, I’ve no intention of throwing myself off the cliffs or drowning in the river or running myself through, so be at ease, man. I only went for a walk and fell asleep.”
“Yes, my lord. I do apologize.”
Grey sighed. “Never mind. Tell Merek to draw me a bath I feel as though I’ve creatures crawling all up and down me.”
“Yes, my lord, at once.” Byrum quit the room with haste to do as his master commanded, leaving Grey struggling with not only the cuffs of his sleeves but with the emotions which still ran high within him. How dare you allow yourself to be discovered at such a place! he scolded himself. And in the midst of one of your ever mocking visions no less. When will you cease such moronic reminiscence and accept your fate? Lay in your bed and dream, you fool! You deserve such torture for it was no one’s fault but your own! An embitter growl escaped the baron’s throat as he rubbed the sweat from his hairline where it had just begun to seep through his skin. The longer he lived, it seemed, the more opportunities were found for his life to attempt his destruction. Perhaps there is reason for Byrum’s worry? he now thought. Perhaps that is the only way out...
It was this thought, however, which recalled to his mind the Lady Eva and all that had been discovered the previous day. She, too, had desired this escape though undeserving of such an end for she was innocent of any crime, and Grey knew he was not. Thoughts of the lady soon began to overtake his previously burdened mind, and Grey began to wonder how she fared that morning, if she had spoken to any of the servants, though he doubted she had. However she wished to conceal it, Grey knew she was fearful, afraid of discovery, afraid of the man who had intended to take her as his wife, afraid of her ruthless uncle, who would surely seek her destruction were she to return to Covingdell, and most of all, he knew she feared the future without her father at her side.
When Merek appeared, Grey inquired after the young lady and was told that she seemed to have improved during the night, though she still said not a word. Her appetite, he was informed, increased somewhat but she still spent long, restless hours staring out the window at the grounds unable to sleep, eat, or speak; seemingly lost within herself and unable to find her way back.
“Byrum and the doctor say she is mad, my lord,” Merek explained as he prepared Grey’s bath. “They fear she shall have to go to the workhouse, and there’s talk among the staff that you intend to send her to the asylum.”
Grey chuckled. “I hardly think so.”
“Indeed, my lord, but I do think the doctor’s right. There’s something not quite right about her.”
“Perhaps a lot of things, Merek.”
“Yes, my lord. Maybe a great many. Maybe that’s why she was left to die.”
“Well, no matter, I daresay we soon shall know all. Very soon.”
After a long bath and a change of attire, Grey was anxious to hear of Lady Eva’s escape from the so-called Master Avery. “Have our guest brought to the library when you are done, Merek,” he spoke as the valet buttoned the last of his master’s vest, a slick satin green to match his very dark trousers.
“Right away, my lord,” Merek bowed as Grey left the room glad to think of something other than his own troubles if only for a few hours. He entered the library and seated himself in his chair beholding the scatter of documents, records, and letters, awaiting his learned advice or signature. Putting it all aside for the moment, Grey leaned back in his chair, wondering what might come of Covingdell and all under the duke’s authority should Lady Eva fail to inherit the title. Should he be unable to locate the man who had bought the Duke’s daughter and kept her prisoner in his home there might be nothing left to do lest he confront Alexander Vastel himself.
But what good would come of accusing Lord Alex of a crime which cannot be proven? None. He would go free and I would look a bigger fool than I am. Grey ran a distressed hand through his hair, hoping that the remainder of Eva’s story would reveal to him who exactly this Avery was and where he might be found. A short time passed before knuckles wrapped on the library door, disrupting the baron’s engrossed mind. He called for entry and was surprised to find the housekeeper standing before him. “Forgive my intrusion, my lord, but Merek expressed your wish to see the young lady.”
“Yes, is there a problem?”
“Not at all, my lord. I merely came to tell you that the girl is out in the gardens this morning, sir.”
This statement took Grey by surprise. “The gardens?”
“Yes, my lord. She asked me this morning if she might take a turn in them and I thought it might do her good.”
“She spoke to you?”
“Oh no, my lord. She wrote it down, and a very fine hand she has, my lord. I hope I’ve not done the wrong thing by letting her go out? I told the head gardener to keep an eye on her.”
“I'm sure it is of no matter, Mrs. Byrum.”
“I’ll summon her if you wish, my lord?”
“No, let her have her walk. I will go in search of her myself.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Grey stood from his chair and exited the library immediately, bound for the manor gardens, which he had not walked in many years. He recalled days of his childhood running down the many lanes among the bushes and flowers, imagining what it might be like to see his mother tending the roses or calling after him as he played. His governess had always
described to him her natural beauty and love for nature. As he now approached the tree-shaded stone wall, which ran alongside the north of the manor enclosing a part of the gardens, he began to wonder if she was like all who met her described, kind, beautiful, and filled with contentment and love for him and his brothers. Passing through the small iron gate at the easternmost wall of the house Grey raised his eyes to scan over the twists and turns of flower patches filled with blues, reds, and yellows, lined with small rock walls, vines, and fruit trees. He saw many of the gardeners pruning the greenery and plucking away the dead limbs, but nowhere did he see the Lady Eva among the beauty of the plot. Moving toward the enclosed gardens, he searched for her, curious as to what he would find her doing among the trees and plants that had seen only servants for twelve years. Grey had no desire to visit them, no care for what had once been a spot in which he spent much of his time and in the company of the only person he had ever seen care so much for the earthen spot.
As he moved deeper into the gardens, memories began to overcome him from where they had lain dormant in his mind, memories he was sure he had forgotten now sprung to life as though they had been made that very morning. Thoughts of finding the duke’s daughter momentarily slipped away as every corner and twisted path brought back another time long gone. Finally, his wandering brought the baron to a shaded spot beneath the hanging limbs of a willow tree where a bench was arranged in the midst of beautiful purple iris and yellow daffodils. Pausing on the sunny path, Grey looked upon the spot and saw not its current loveliness but its former beauty made only more alluring by something that was now absent, something only his eyes could see. Moving slowly toward the spot that seemed to enchant him Grey approached the small bench, big enough only for two, and ducked beneath the willow’s swaying leaves to lay his hand on the jagged bark of the much grown tree, his eyes searching for what he knew was there and yet he could not seem to find. His hand moved slowly over its rough surface, remembering again and hoping to feel the indention of that which he searched in the bark of the tree.
Wynthall Manor- The Wynthall Manor Trilogy Page 10