Bloodline (8 page)

She stared at me a moment, expressionless. I held my breath. This was not the response I had hoped for. Was she repelled by my suggestion?

My fear was banished in a moment, for her eyes warmed, and she smiled. “Lieutenant, your bravery and strength have proven you more than worthy. I should love to keep your company after you are discharged.”

I took her hand. Her small, soft fingers squeezed mine firmly. “My, you are very bold today,” she teased.

“I slept well,” I told her, smiling back. “No nightmares.”

“What nightmares are these?” Captain Harker’s voice came from behind us.

Mary and I both turned with a start. Neither of us had heard him approach. The surprise of him seeming to materialise at the end of my bed set my heart hammering. Mary let go of my hand and stood up.

“My nightmares of—of the trenches, sir,” I stammered.

“Ah …” he replied sympathetically. “That is to be expected. But you must put our time in France out of your mind if you are to focus on your recovery.”

There was a heavy pause. Mary looked away from Captain Harker, a troubled expression creasing her brow. I felt surprised. Did she have no greeting for the captain?

Captain Harker broke the silence. “Please, John. You must call me Quincey,” he announced. “It seems odd for you to call me ‘sir’ while your sister calls me by my first name.”

My mouth opened slightly in surprise. Had Lily and Harker grown so intimate in so short a time? I was about to ask that very question when Mary took a thermometer from her pocket and popped it beneath my tongue.

“Lily is such a sweet soul…” she commented, still not looking at Quincey. “So trusting …” She flashed me a glance I felt was laced with meaning. It had the effect of sharpening my concern.

Captain Harker—Quincey—anticipated my worries. “I’m sure you have noticed, John, that your sister and I have very quickly become dear friends. I hope you do not find our familiarity distasteful. It is Lily who insists upon it. I believe she is glad to finally be close with someone.”

I allowed myself to relax. Once again, Quincey assured me that he harboured only the most appropriate feelings for my sister.

Mary snatched the thermometer from my mouth, shook it sharply, and looked straight at Quincey. “Shall you be returning to the front soon, Captain Harker?” she queried.

I was surprised and confused by her sharp tone. What could she find so distressing about our conversation?

“For the time being, I remain on special duty in England,” Quincey told her politely.

“And you intend to remain at the hall with Lily?” Mary’s question sounded blunt to the point of rudeness.

“Of course he should remain at the hall,” I interjected,
keen to smooth over the bristling tension between them. I stared at Mary’s hard expression, struggling to understand her actions. Perhaps she was disconcerted by Quincey’s interruption of our intimate moment. Or perhaps—

“Miss Seward!” Sister’s voice rang out across the ward. “I think you have spent enough time with the lieutenant this morning. There are other patients who need your attention.”

“Yes, Sister.” Mary bowed her head, pocketed her thermometer, and walked away, forgetting to record my temperature on my chart. It was most unlike her.

PURFLEET CHRONICLE
16TH OCTOBER 1916

B
ODY RECOVERED FROM RIVER

Journal of
Lily Shaw

16TH
O
CTOBER 1916

Dear Mother and Father,

I am filled with sorrow at the news of Dora Hughes’s death. The poor girl is dead. Drowned.

Antanasia showed no pity at the news. “We can find another maid,” she said coldly. “One who is more honest.”

“More honest?” I looked at her in surprise.

Antanasia informed me of Dora’s thievery. I rushed upstairs to my jewellery box and saw that one of my ruby earrings was missing. So it was true. I had come to think of Dora as a member of our household, and she had been stealing from us all along!

That evening, when I told Quincey of the matter, he bristled with rage. “That girl deserves a worse end—for taking what is not hers and for daring to do so underneath my nose.”

I was surprised by his anger at first, but Quincey’s harsh sentiment springs from his own guilt. I am certain that he feels partly to blame for the loss of my earring. As we have shared intimacies, he has grown quite protective of me.

I care not about jewellery, but I pity Dora. That poor girl. Something awful must have driven her to steal from us. Her crime was not deserving of such an end. Fate has meted out a harsh justice indeed.

19TH
O
CTOBER 1916

As I sit with John, I see Mary staring anxiously as she goes about her work on the ward. I know what she is thinking. But Quincey behaves like a perfect gentleman and I like a proper lady. I see desire burning in his eyes, and I feel it in
my heart. I would not be so dishonest as to deny it. But my sweet Quincey restrains his ardour, and so do I. I only pray that he also dreams of marriage. Then we may at last be respectably united and give full rein to our passion.

When John is fully recovered, I know in my heart that Quincey will see to it. Then he and I will be united for all eternity.

Report of Dr. McLeod, Purfleet Sanatorium

Patient John Shaw, Lieutenant, no. 467842

The patient has now been fully lucid for nearly a month. In my opinion he is now recovered enough both physically and mentally to complete his recuperation in his family home. Therefore I am discharging him.

DM, 20th October 1916

Journal of Mary Seward

20TH
O
CTOBER 1916

Today John was released from the sanatorium to complete his convalescence at home. Lily came to collect him in their carriage.

“I shall miss talking with you every day,” I said as he climbed, a little shakily, into it. I forced myself to give him a cheerful smile, for though Lieutenant Shaw and I spoke of continuing our relationship, I had no idea how frequently he wished to see me.

“On the contrary,” he replied. “I will order our carriage to fetch you and take you home again each evening. Our conversations must not be interrupted.”

I smiled again—and this time it came naturally. “I would be delighted to visit you.”

John covered my hands with his own. “Dear Mary …” he murmured. “You must come as often as you can. You have been my strength these past few weeks.”

I was quite taken aback by the fondness that shone in his eyes. I leaned forward and kissed him gently on his cheek. I knew it must seem forward, yet my heart compelled me to such affection. “I will come tomorrow evening … John,” I promised.

He took my hand and kissed it. My heart fluttered like a bird caught in a net. “Until tomorrow,” he said. The driver cracked his whip, and John and Lily were off to their home.

As I watched the carriage recede, I smiled at the notion that I might, someday, be a part of their very household. Because of this, I must tell John that I have read his journal. There should be no secrets between us now. I pray it will not turn him away from me.

Journal of

Lieutenant John Shaw

21ST
O
CTOBER 1916

Being home is a mixed blessing; I find myself in an ill temper.

Our newcomer, Quincey, seems utterly at home here. He moves around the place as if he has known it all his life. It is as if I am the houseguest and he the host. An easy familiarity has grown between him and Lily and even Antanasia, which, I must confess, makes me feel a little like a latecomer to a party.

Further, I have noticed certain intimacies between Lily and Harker that hint at their desire for a deeper relationship. Though I have no doubt that Harker has kept his word to me and treated Lily with nothing more than brotherly affection, I am troubled by this development. Perhaps I will seek Mary’s counsel about this when she visits the hall tonight.

Mary … perhaps my ill temper is as much to do with the fact that I am missing her, having grown used to her sweet presence close by me for most of the day.

L
ATER

Mary brightened the hall with her visit this evening. She came straight into the parlour, where I was resting on the
sofa. As she took off her coat and gloves and whisked the hat from her head, I felt I was watching a flower blossoming, filling the room with its freshness.

“Did Lily not greet you when you arrived?” I asked, wondering where my sister was.

“No, Antanasia told me she was taking a walk in the grounds,” she replied. She settled herself across from me—on the white Queen Anne chair that had been Mother’s favourite. “Tell me. How are you feeling?”

“It is strange to be home.” I sighed, feeling no need to disguise my true feelings.

“I’m not surprised.” Mary smiled encouragingly. “A lot has happened since you were last here.”

“Quincey, however, seems very comfortable,” I commented. “He strides around as though it is he who owns this place.”

“The captain would be comfortable wherever he was.” Mary sniffed. “He has that air about him.”

I smiled. “Would you admire me more if I had that same confidence, Mary?”

She turned her wide, frank gaze on me. “Oh, John, of course not,” she replied. “And I would call him arrogant rather than confident.” She busied herself adjusting my pillows, then sat down beside me on the sofa. She took both my hands in hers. Her touch had the effect of a tonic. I felt life and vitality surge through me.

Then I noticed Mary’s expression. There was anxiety in
her pretty face. Something was troubling her. I longed to help banish whatever worry plagued her.

“Dear Mary, tell me what is wrong,” I urged her.

She took a deep breath. “John,” she began, “there is something I must confess. When you were first brought into the sanatorium, I felt so drawn to you. Seeing you lost distressed me more than I can say. I longed to help you, yet there seemed nothing I could do. So I sought to discover what had paralysed you with such fear.”

She looked down at her fingers.

“Continue, Mary. You need not be afraid.”

She lifted her gaze and faced me with an uncompromising directness. “John, I took your journal and read it.”

I guessed from her expression that she expected me to be angry or indignant, but I felt only a surge of embarrassment. “You read that nonsense!” I exclaimed, putting a hand to my forehead to cover my discomfort. “What can you think of me?”

Mary gazed once more at her hands and then began hesitantly, “War causes people to do monstrous things…. And fever can make people imagine scenes even more wild and terrible …”

“Then you understand,” I said, relieved.

She nodded. “You are not angry with me?” she asked tentatively.

“No, my love!” I exclaimed. “You did it only to help me—how could I be angry with you?”

We both realised at the same moment that I had unintentionally revealed how deeply I felt for her.

“It is true, Mary,” I confessed. “My hours without you are empty. I should like to have you always by my side.”

She blushed a charming pink, and I knew she felt similarly. She smiled, then regained a more serious expression. “John, knowing the things that Captain Harker has done on the battlefield, I am concerned about his residence in this house. He is a brutal man. And I am afraid I have witnessed moments that indicate there is quite a bit more than friendship between him and Lily.”

“Yes. I have seen these things myself,” I confided to her.

“You have?” she asked incredulously. “And you are not concerned?”

“I am,” I admitted. “But what am I to do? Had Lily been in love with the Harker I described in the trenches, I would forbid her from ever seeing him again. But I cannot trust my own descriptions. The Harker I know now is considerate and charming. I must believe his intentions are honourable.”

“Still, John. When I saw them—” she began to argue.

I patted her hand softly. “Do not worry. Now that I am home, I intend to keep a close eye on the situation. If Harker’s intentions are ill, I will find him out.”

She touched my cheek with the palm of her hand. “I have no doubt that you will.” Then she leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. “I must go,” she said. “Father is not expecting me to be late tonight.”

“Must you leave already?” I protested. “Let me call for the carriage as I promised. We wouldn’t want the wolves to catch you, Miss Riding Hood.”

“Wolves, sir?” she replied, her voice light. “I did not know you kept them.”

“Lily tells me she has seen a strange, rather fearsome-looking hound at large in the grounds at night,” I confessed. “Antanasia’s mentioned it to the gamekeeper. I won’t have you wandering back alone in the dark until the beast is caught.”

Mary shuddered, then told me of her distress at coming across a savaged deer when making her way home from the hall on a previous visit.

“Oh, Mary,” I said. “When I think that you may have been in danger …”

Mary smiled. “I’m sure it will be caught in no time,” she said.

I helped Mary into the carriage and waved her off. In the distance, I noticed Lily and Quincey strolling together in the twilight. As I watched, Lily took his hand and gazed at him admiringly.

I must confess, the sight caused me trepidation, but I shook my head, dismissing my fear. The Quincey Harker I had imagined was a creature of fiction, created by an addled mind. I had to believe that. To suppose anything else would be unbearable.

Journal of Lily Shaw

23RD
O
CTOBER 1916

Dear Mother and Father,

I fear the worst has happened. I fear I may have lost Quincey forever!

Since John’s return to the hall, my beloved has stemmed the expression of our passion. He tells me that we must exercise restraint—out of respect, as well as concern for John’s health.

Naturally, I want to do everything I can for my brother, but my lack of contact with Quincy seems to have heightened my desire for him. Now, even the slightest brush of Quincey’s hand causes an aching within me that is not easily dispelled.

So when Quincey arrived home from the Foreign Office this evening out of sorts, I fretted. He didn’t even come to say hello. Instead, he told Antanasia to send his apologies and went straight to his room.

I could not bear the lack of my beloved—and my want of him caused me to hunger even more for his touch. So as soon as John retired to bed, I crept to Quincey’s room.

The hour was late. My way was lit only by a dim lamp burning in the hall.

I knocked on his door. When he did not answer, I grew worried. I turned the handle and let myself in.

“Quincey?” I whispered. The room was dark, but I saw his supper tray on the table near the hearth, untouched.

Bewildered by his absence, I moved over to the window and looked out, wondering if he’d taken a walk by himself.

A whispering of movement behind me made me spin round. Quincey stepped out of the shadows.

“Lily.” His voice rumbled, raspy and seductive. The look of hunger on his face thrilled me.

He came toward me slowly. My whole body seemed to pulse with every footfall. I waited for him, my skin tingling in anticipation of his touch.

When at last he grasped me, I felt breathless at his strength. The lamplight shone down on his beautiful face and his eyes seemed to burn with a passion stronger than I have ever seen. The sight of his mouth fueled my desire, and I could not stop myself. I arched my body toward him. I felt a shudder flow through him as I kissed his lips, his neck. My desire to give myself to him was nearly overwhelming.

“This is maddening,” he growled. “I must have you.” He bent toward me, parting his lips until I could see his white teeth gleaming with a strange, sharp perfection.

“Yes,” I gasped, feeling his mouth on my neck, his teeth scraping slowly against the tender skin. “Yes, my darling. I love you. I love you with all my heart.”

He froze then and let go of me so suddenly I fell back against the velvet drapes. He turned, sweeping up his greatcoat.

“Quincey, what is it?” My heart hammered with fear. Was it my expression of love that had driven him from me?

“I must leave tonight,” he said harshly. “I have business in London.”

The thought of his leaving pierced my soul, but I tried to hide my distress. “How long will you be gone?” I asked. “Only a day or two.”

“Please, don’t leave,” I said quietly. “I shall miss you,”

“I
cannot
stay here tonight, Lily.” The anger in his tone cut to my heart like a knife. He pushed a lock of black hair back off his forehead and moved to the door.

As he let himself out of the room, I could hardly find breath, my heart twisted so with pain. I tried to remember he would be gone only a short time, but still, my eyes burned with hot tears.

I turned to the window and, pressing my face against the cool glass, let them flow unchecked. As I stared out into the wide indigo sky, a great bat swooped over the lawns. Through tear-clouded eyes, I watched the rhythmic thrust of its huge outstretched wings as it glided out into the great world beyond our gates.