Corey McFadden (15 page)

But it had been such an eye-opener, that short time he had spent at the beach playing with them, chasing first one, then the other, and digging for shells.

He had supposed he didn’t particularly care for children. There had been that one brief flash of joy when Violet had told him she was with child. He had been so happy, until she had laughed at him and called him a fool to think she’d swell up her belly and risk her life for a mewling, stinking baby. No, she would have the baby aborted. She’d invited him to puff up a chambermaid if he felt the need of an heir. Then had come the final blow, when she had mentioned, almost in passing, that the baby was likely not his, so he shouldn’t mind if she got rid of it. Before that, there had been some hope left in him that she was just high-spirited, that she really loved him and that her flirtations with other men were just that and nothing more. He had been a fool to go on believing in her, to let the love he bore override all intelligence.

She had died of the abortion. Even then, he had held her in his arms, having found her soaked in blood, wandering the fell. At the end she was raving, and it was another man’s name that she called out. And when love was gone, there was nothing left. Nothing except a hole, dark, fathomless, and empty. He would take no other wife, of that he was certain. And so the thought of children had been buried in that dark hole, where thoughts too painful to bear the light of day were put, the issue completely out of his mind.

He turned his mount over to the stableboy and made for the house through the back. He was drenched and cursed himself for not taking one of the coaches, but it had not been raining in Dufton and he could make much better time by horse. He had felt such an urgency about his return, and even now he could not explain it to himself, other than that he did not want Eleanor alone in the house with the children. Or with the governess.

And there was the problem, run from it as he would. At first it had just been the dreams, aching and adolescent, excruciatingly embarrassing in the light of day. But more lately the dreams had not faded with the morning light. He found himself assaulted again and again, no matter how hard he tried to concentrate on his work. There was the flash of her smile and the image of the silky dark depths of her shining hair, and sometimes, in the midst of the dirt and stench of the pit, would come the memory of her scent, clean and light and lilac.

Who was this Joanna Carpenter that she could invade his peace, so quickly tear away the years and layers of indifference he had so carefully erected to make his existence bearable? He had thought himself satisfied with the tacit bargain he had made with life, that he would take his contentment from his work, from the sheer talent and energy he could summon up when faced with an engineering puzzle. But one afternoon had ripped away his complacency; it had shown him what a fool he had been and how empty his life really was. He swore to himself as his booted feet slid in the mud at the stairs. There was no excuse for such poor drainage this close to the house. Damn, how he had neglected this godforsaken home!

He let himself in the rear lower hallway, divesting himself of his streaming greatcoat and hanging it on a peg next to the servants’ cloaks. Running his boots against the boot scrape, he thought he had gotten the worst of the mud off. Well, someone would see to it later. He was not a man given to fastidious attention to his attire. He kept no valet, much to Eleanor’s derision. Not that any self-respecting valet would be caught dead with him in Dufton.

All was silent in the hall. Well, it was early yet for Eleanor’s glittering crowd. Like a pack of vampires, they were, abed during daylight and venturing abroad only toward evening. Giles made for his office and shut the door behind him. With a little luck he could avoid her set altogether. Perhaps he’d have an early supper with the children. Perhaps he could prevail upon Miss Carpenter to join them.

* * * *

Joanna heard the tiny tap on the schoolroom door and heaved a sigh of relief. The children’s day was drawing to a close, and so far she had heard nothing of Lady Eleanor or her guests. Annie entered, bobbing her quick curtsey.

“If you please, Miss Carpenter, the children’s supper be ready. Mrs. Davies asks that you bring them down with me, real quiet-like, so we don’t disturb Lady Eleanor and her party.”

Joanna suppressed a slight shudder. If they took the back stairs they had only to traverse a small section of the hall to get to the little breakfast parlor that the children used for their meals. Then, of course, they needed to eat rather quietly, then go to bed rather quietly, then sleep rather quietly.... Joanna gave herself a shake and stood, holding out her hands with a bright smile. “Let us go downstairs, my darlings. But let’s make a game of it, shall we? Your aunt has guests and we need to be very, very quiet so as not to disturb them. So let’s have a contest and see who can be the quietest, and the winner will have a treat before bedtime! Shhhh! What do you say to that?” she finished in a whisper, and the children, giggling, stifled their laughter with hands held over their mouths, eyes wide with delight.

Joanna took a small hand in each of hers and they proceeded from the room. “Where is Lady Eleanor, Annie?” she whispered over her shoulder.

“They all be in the drawing room, miss, but they’re makin’ enough noise themselves that I don’t think they’ll be ’earin’ us,” the girl said, whispering in return.

The little party made their silent way down the back stairs, the children exchanging grins, certain they were having a wonderful game. At the foot of the stairs Joanna opened the baize-covered door that led into the main hallway. So far so good! The hallway was empty, and although she could hear the murmur of faint voices, the drawing-room doors were obviously closed. She stepped into the hall, drawing the children with her, Annie following closely behind. Oh, this was such a large house! Whyever did anyone need all these rooms? she thought to herself, looking down the long hallway. Well, just a few more doors to go to safety.

Without warning, the door to the drawing room was flung open. Before Joanna could react, Lady Eleanor swept into the hall, arm in arm with a tall woman, their backs to Joanna and the children. Joanna had time to note that Eleanor’s friend wore a vibrant, shimmering green silk dress, and had blond curls pinned to the top of her head. Emma gave a gasp beside her, and as Joanna turned to the girl, Tom, with a wordless cry, launched himself forward at the woman and buried himself in the folds of her voluminous dress.

The woman gave a scream and jumped away, but Tom clung tightly around her legs.

“What is the meaning of this outrage, Miss Carpenter?” Eleanor cried. “Get him off! Get him off of her at once, do you hear me?” She drew back, as if unwilling to be near the boy. Her friend, who had caught sight of the boy’s face, stood squealing and pushing at him.

“Eleanor, he’s an idiot! Look at his face. He’s drooling on my new gown,” the woman wailed, tearing her skirts from Tom’s hands. At the sound of her voice the boy looked up, an expression of confusion, then horror, crossing his face. Suddenly he set up a wail, an almost inhuman noise of fear and pain, as he let go of her and stumbled back.

“He thought she was Mama. Her dress is just like one of Mama’s favorites, all shiny green, and her hair is like Mama’s, too,” cried Emma, pulling on Joanna’s arm.

“Shut up! Shut up, you disgusting half-wit!” shrieked Eleanor. Drawing back her hand, she landed a vicious blow across Tom’s face. The boy staggered back into Joanna, who had recovered enough from her shock to rush forward. She dropped to her knees behind him, pulling him toward her and wrapping him close.

“Hush, darling, please hush!” Joanna pleaded in his ear, but the child was nearly mad with betrayal and continued his piercing wail.

Eleanor was
wild with anger, her face contorted, her too-red mouth twisted with rage. From behind her, Joanna could see heads popping out from the drawing-room door, curious, painted, almost grotesque faces and tittering laughs. The woman in green continued to moan, dabbing at her dress with her handkerchief.

“Silence that idiot, Miss Carpenter, or I shall do it for you. I will not bear his noise!” Eleanor stepped forward, arm raised as if she would strike him again.

“We’ll take him upstairs, Lady Eleanor,” Joanna cried over the boy’s screams as she shielded his face. She tried to scramble up from her knees but her dress was caught under her.

Suddenly Joanna felt a hand on her shoulder and instinctively drew back toward whatever haven was offered behind her.

“That’s enough, Eleanor,” growled a voice at Joanna’s back.

Eleanor looked up, startled. “Giles!” she said brightly, stepping back away from Joanna and the boy. “I did not know you had returned.”

At the sound of the man’s voice, Tom looked up over Joanna’s shoulder. Giles put his hand on the boy’s head, and the child quieted immediately.

For a moment there was dead silence in the hall. Joanna, still holding tightly to Tom, felt a nudge at her side and turned to find Emma pressing against her. The girl was crying silently, her face contorted in anguish and fear. Joanna caught the child to her and buried her face in her braided hair. She desperately wanted to cry herself, but knew she must hold steady in front of the children.

“Mrs. Davies, can you help us here?” Sir Giles said, his clipped tones showing his barely controlled anger. Joanna looked up to see the housekeeper hurry forward. Giles now had both his hands on Tom’s shoulders. The boy was quiet, pressed back against Giles’s legs, his face lost in a distant, unreachable sorrow as he stared with deep accusation at the green lady who had so betrayed him.

Joanna held tightly to Emma, aware only now that her own legs were shaking so badly she was not sure she could stand.

Giles bent down and faced Tom so that their heads were on a level. “Tom, my lad, can you go in with Emma and Mrs. Davies for supper now? I want to speak with your aunt and Miss Carpenter for a moment, and then I will come in and have supper with you.” Giles spoke carefully and softly to the boy, stroking the child’s hair gently. With a barely perceptible nod the boy stepped forward to Mrs. Davies, who, with a firm hand on each little shoulder, shepherded the children toward the breakfast parlor. Joanna stood shakily, willing her legs to hold her up. She was fighting the great lump in her throat and felt as if her heart might burst with suppressed tears.

“Giles, this is intolerable,” came Eleanor’s voice, shrill with fury. “That little monster has terrorized Philippa and ruined my party! He has no business being anywhere near where we can see him. You can see for yourself how uncontrollable he is. He ought to be in an asylum for idiots, and you know it.”

An asylum! Locked away from the light of day, never the sight of a face with any love or kindness reflected in it. Beatings and cruelty too evil to contemplate.

Choking back a sob, Joanna turned quickly and fled up the steps.

“Why don’t you and your friends return to your party, Eleanor?” Giles said in a tightly controlled voice. “Madame,” he said, turning to her friend, “if your dress is damaged, be sure to send me the bill.”

The woman dimpled prettily at him. “I’m sure it will be fine, Sir Giles,” she simpered. She gave him a naughty little smile, then turned to take Eleanor’s arm. “But Eleanor, darling,” she purred as they moved toward the drawing room, “if you must have something that slobbers and jumps all over you, why don’t you get a dog? They’re much smarter and a great deal more adorable.” They tittered brightly at each other and disappeared into the drawing room.

Giles stood for a moment staring, waiting for the door to shut behind them. Their cloying scents hung in the air behind them, fighting each other in the stale air. At last he turned and made for the stairs, hearing behind him a burst of raucous laughter from the drawing room.

On the third floor he paused before the door he knew was Joanna’s. He could hear nothing from inside. He knocked but heard no response. He pushed the door softly open and stepped in, quietly shutting the door behind him.

Joanna stood with her back to him, head bowed against the window, hands clutching at the glass as if she were a bird trapped and in pain. Her shoulders shook, and he could hear her sobs coming in ragged gasps.

Giles crossed the length of the room in a few long strides, then stopped in front of her. Gently he reached for her and turned her to face him.

“I don’t know what to say, Joanna. I am at a loss,” he said softly. His hands burned where he touched her shoulders and he wanted nothing more than to pull her close and hold her.

“She struck him,” Joanna sobbed furiously. “I wouldn’t beat a dog like that. And she wants to send him to an asylum. Please don’t let her send him away. He’ll die in a place like that, all alone.”

“I’ll never send him away, Joanna. I promise you,” Giles said, his heart twisting at her pain. Not knowing what else to do, he took out his handkerchief and pressed it lightly to her cheeks.

Joanna took a deep, shuddering breath, then went on, “I—Emma explained to me what happened. The lady wore a dress like one of Tom’s mother’s, and her hair was similar, apparently. He saw her from the rear and he thought...” her voice broke with a sob and she looked down quickly as the tears came again. Never would she forget the betrayal and anguish in the child’s face, and his cries would echo in her heart forever. He had thought his mama had come back to him, only to find a painted, screaming harpy instead.

“Please don’t cry, Joanna,” Giles said softly, taking her hand in his, feeling ineffectual. Of course she had to cry. It was hideous what had happened to the boy, and it was part of what was so important about Joanna that she would care, would feel the child’s pain as her own. Over her shoulder, he caught sight of the sketch she had done of Eleanor which stood on a small easel. He was startled by the likeness, and by the malevolence reflected in the face. It was a powerful, even shocking, sketch.

“I’m sorry,” Joanna said with a small sob. “We were trying so hard to be quiet, and now Lady Eleanor is so angry.” She pulled away and looked at him, wiping her eyes with the large square. “It wasn’t Tom’s fault. But please, can’t you ask her not to hit him again? It only makes things worse. It frightens him and he doesn’t understand what he’s done wrong. I know it is not my place to criticize, but it was horrible that she would strike him like that. Tell her if she must hit someone to hit me instead. At least we’re the same size.” Joanna finished with another rush of tears and buried her face in the handkerchief.