Daughter of Darkness (7 page)

Edward de Vere had been mildly infected. Willow had nursed him back to recovery herself after his nurse succumbed to the disease. The boy’s fevered body had stirred her to such pity she’d forgotten her own comfort and resolved to relieve the suffering the disease forced on its victims. She’d swiftly earned the respect of the staff who were suffering extreme fatigue. Knowing the servants could not work indefinitely without rest she’d developed a rotating system of duties, restricted to those which were strictly necessary.

‘When I inform Ambrose of what you are about he’ll be as shocked as I.’

‘I have the earl’s permission,’ she said calmly. It wasn’t exactly the truth, the earl had merely given her permission to nurse Edward, heir to Sheronwood. Ambrose Lytton set his own fine example by working as long and as hard as any man on the estate. Jeffrey trod in his father’s footsteps. Father and son left before the sun was up, returning exhausted after dark. Although they never discussed it with her, she suspected they shared the more grisly tasks associated with the disease.

Knowing Lady Edwina was at a loose end without her company, Willow kissed her on the cheek. ‘It would help me much if you could be company to young Edward during his convalescence, Grandmother. I’ve left him in the charge of a young scullery maid.’ She pressed two fingers against her brow to ease her tiredness. ‘I could do with her strong arms.’

Emotion overwhelmed Edwina. She was a useless old woman. Willow was wearing herself out, and she was doing nothing but criticize when she should be helping. ‘It was indeed a fortunate day when Gerard brought you to my door,’ she choked out. ‘Words cannot express how I feel about you.’

‘Then do not try.’ Willow knew that if she started weeping nothing would stop her with the tragedy surrounding her. She couldn’t afford to break down.

The hug they exchanged said it all. Despite her precautions, Caroline succumbed to the disease two days later. Her death was mercifully swift, her high fever causing convulsions which stopped her heart before the disease ran its course.

Summoned by Lady Caroline’s terrified maid, Willow did her best to nurse her mother-in-law whilst she comforted Lady Edwina. One lucid moment occurred in the hour before Caroline died, one in which she begged Willow to come closer.

‘I’m sorry Marietta,’ she whispered, her eyes glazed with fever. ‘It was always you Ambrose loved. The marquis… I did not expect him to compromise you when I enlisted his help.’ A cough rattled in her throat, but the glass of water she held to Caroline’s lips was pushed away. ‘He made me pay. He threatened to inform Ambrose of my part in the affair if I did not… did not… ?’ Her voice rose to an anguished wail. ‘The crippled child was God’s punishment.’

‘Hush.’ Willow exchanged an appalled glance with Edwina. ‘Do not fret about the past.’

Caroline seemed desperate to cleanse her soul of guilt. ‘Ambrose was unaware the marquis fathered the infant, but I knew he’d eventually suspect.’ Her face twisted into a grimace. ‘I smothered her with a cloth’

Edwina gave a shocked cry.

‘When Ambrose found out I’d killed the child he began to pity me. He always loved you. Her hand clamped around Willow’s wrist with surprising strength.
‘Forgive me, Marietta!

At Edwina’s nod, Willow whispered the words Caroline needed to hear. Shortly after, she lapsed into unconsciousness.

‘We’d better send word to Ambrose.’ Ashen-faced, Edwina rose to her feet. ‘Is there no end to my daughter’s wickedness?’ she whispered. ‘Her soul will surely burn in hell.’

Lady Edwina seemed to have aged ten years in as many minutes. Willow understood the ramifications of Caroline’s confession. Made on the deathbed, it was therefore the truth. The earl would have no choice but to call out the Marquis.

‘Perhaps it would be better if the earl was left in ignorance,’ she suggested, checking that the maid was not within earshot. ‘I see no benefit for any of us in telling him, only grief.’

‘You can forgive her for the wrong she did your mother?’

‘Her wrongdoing was the catalyst for my existence,’ she said simply. ‘If the confession is revealed, will it bring the crippled child or my mother back to life? I’d rather carry the burden of her sin than compound it with the downfall of Ambrose. The earl’s no match for my father. Let this be our secret.’

‘It will be as you say.’ Color returned to Edwina’s cheeks. She gazed down at her daughter with more compassion. ‘No wonder she was troubled. I will stay and pray until death claims her. It will not be long.’

‘May God hear your prayers, Grandmother,’ Willow murmured, stooping to kiss the woman’s cheek. ‘For I must admit he pays scant regard to mine.’

A sudden cold spell signalled the end of the epidemic. Tired to the marrow, Willow gazed out at the thick frost crusting the grounds. The two servants still confined to bed would be out of quarantine tomorrow. No new cases had been reported. Caroline’s body had been taken away with the rest and buried in the family plot without pomp or ceremony. The earl had shown little emotion. Jeffrey, now accustomed to the sight of death, had accepted the news with a weary resignation that made her heart bleed for him. The heat had gone from the bonfires, the flickering flames had become a spiral of acrid smoke that coiled upwards to join the clouds.

‘Thank God it’s over.’ Drawing a shawl round her shoulders Willow gave orders for the house to be scrubbed from top to bottom with vinegar, then made fragrant with bunches of dried lavender and rosemary.

They’d just completed the task, when one of the maids came to fetch her. The girl’s eyes were heavy with fatigue. ‘Mister Jeffrey has the sickness. The master said to come at once.’

A thrill of despair ran through Willow’s body.
Dear,God,
she prayed, hurrying after the maid.
Do not take Jeffrey from us. He has hardly lived. Take me if your appetite has not yet been satiated, but not Jeffrey. Please, Lord

Ambrose looked like death itself. Grey-faced and hollow-eyed, she had never seen such anguish in a man. It would be useless asking him to get some rest whilst his son needed him. ‘You must have had the symptoms for some time,’ she scolded, coaxing the youth into swallowing an infusion of meadowsweet. ‘The rash is already advanced. Why did you not tell me you were unwell?’

‘I did not notice until this morning when I began to itch.’

She could have died at the fright in his eyes. She puzzled over a group of blisters decorating Jeffrey’s arm. There was something different about this. The rash of the smallpox victims she’d nursed had started on the trunk. Jeffrey’s rash was characterized by a line of blisters. His fever was mild. A smile nudged the corner of her mouth as she turned to Ambrose. ‘He survived smallpox in infancy, did he not?’

Ambrose nodded tiredly.

‘I believe this to be shingles.’

‘Shingles!’ His breath expelled in one relieved rush. ‘You’re positive?’

‘Almost.’ She could have danced upon the spot with relief. She would not take God for granted again. ‘I will ask Doctor Tansy to confirm it when he comes to visit.’

Her smile was joyous, and when she gazed at him Ambrose was momentarily overcome by dizziness. He staggered to a chair.

Instantly, she was by his side, concern mirrored on her face. ‘Jeffrey is in no danger. I insist you go to bed and rest, dearest father.’ Leaning forward, she kissed the look of uncertainty from his gaunt cheek. ‘If need be, I’ll call you.’

Ambrose was stumbling when he left. A great lassitude filled his limbs and his tongue seemed too large for his mouth. He felt older than his fifty-six years. He’d hardly seated himself on the bed when his head seemed to split asunder and he fell sideways. Without the strength to lift himself, he rolled from the bed to the floor.

His valet gazed down at him with fearful eyes.

I’m dying, he tried to say. Summon Gerard to my side. To his horror, he found he was unable to move or utter a word.

Gerard heaved a sigh of relief when he finally set foot on English soil. The journey across the Atlantic ocean had been made perilous by storms. Both he and Charles had succumbed to the malady of seasickness. Dry land was reassuringly solid.

Charles stamped his feet against the cold. ‘It looks as though it might snow. Don’t tarry too long in London if you intend spending New Year’s Eve at Lytton House. The road will become impassable.’

‘I leave in the morning.’ He fingered his beard. He’d intended to visit a barber before he headed for Dorset. Now he decided against it. It would provide protection from the cold. Impulsively he turned to his friend. ‘Travel down with me, Charles. You’re most welcome to spend the New Year celebrations with us.’

‘I must pay my respects to my family. Then I intend to find myself some rooms before I apply to become a student surgeon at Guys Hospital.’ He clasped the hand Gerard extended. ‘Keep well, friend.’

‘And you.’

They’d shared much together, but their brotherhood had reached an end. They’d matured over the past few years and now had different paths to take, different responsibilities to fulfill.

Neither of them looked back when they parted, and neither men admitted that the tears blurring their vision was caused by anything but the biting cold.

Daphne de Vere smiled when the marquis slid a heavy diamond necklace against her throat.

‘Black looks well on you,’ he said. ‘Widowhood will suit you.’

My grandmother is hardly cold in her grave, she thought, and not only does he pursue his own stepdaughter, he hastens death towards his nephew. ‘I’m not a widow yet,’ she said quietly. ‘And I cannot accept such a gift. People will talk.’

‘Let them.’ The marquis was besotted with Daphne. From a rather plump child who’d learned to please him in many ways, she’d blossomed into a voluptuous woman. Eduard had been chosen as a spouse because of his lack of manly attributes. but the bastard son of his dead sister had surprised and thwarted him by getting Daphne with child.

Daphne had become a skilled courtesan since he’d introduced her to the court shortly after her marriage. The king was fond of her, and sought her company on many an occasion. She led a demanding life, a life from which the marquis was beginning to find himself excluded. The strain was beginning to show in the paleness of her face, and the listlessness which beset her when she woke. Once her maid had carefully applied the white paste, rouge and patches to her face, she sparkled with a beauty, energy and wit that was the envy of the other court ladies.

Edward was the only bone of contention between them. Daphne was adamant her son would stay in Dorset. Her husband suffered from ever increasing bouts of insanity, and was now permanently restrained. She was scared he’d escape and harm her son, as he often threatened.

‘Lady Sommersley writes that my son is happy at Lytton House,’ she pointed out. ‘He’s survived smallpox and is making progress with his riding lessons.’

‘He could have riding lessons here.’

‘The King has indicated he’s pleased with his godson’s progress. He wishes him to stay there.’ Tears pricked her eyes. ‘Perhaps I shall find time to visit him in the spring.’

The marquis was not prepared to oppose the King’s will, and despite his inclination to see his heir had no intention of losing face by visiting Lytton House. If only he’d been able to father a son from his three dead wives. Of his daughters, only one had survived… Willow, the daughter of the witch. He would have killed her in infancy had he not been in fear of her mother.

Marietta had been his ward from a defunct French branch of the family. She’d come to him with a fortune after her mother had been arrested—then executed—for offences against the French throne. Marietta had been independent by nature. The more he’d tried to beat it out of her the worse she’d become. When she’d fallen in love with Ambrose Lytton the empty-headed Caroline Cowan had warned him of the affair. Full of spite, she’d been frightened of losing the earl. He’d deflowered Marietta when she was fifteen, then married her himself. He’d possessed her body, but had never conquered her mind. She’d hated him with a passion. For years, she’d both excited and repelled him.

Her interest in the occult had bothered him somewhat, but he’d overlooked that at first. When she’d unexpectedly become pregnant a few years after the marriage, his hopes for an heir had been revived. Delivered of a healthy daughter, she laughed at his bitter disappointment. ‘You’ll never beget a male heir,’ she’d prophesied. ‘I have curse your seed.’

In his rage he’d torn the suckling infant from her breast. ‘You’ll never see the child again,’ he’d whispered. ‘And you’ll never know if she lives or dies.’

‘I’ll know’ Her eyes had been full of malevolence. ‘Willow has God’s protection. If your hand brings her death, you’ll burn in everlasting fire. Whilst I live I will
always
know. I’m gifted with second sight.’

‘You shall not live long enough to use it.’

His rage had known no bounds. That night he’d given her to several of his drunken compatriots for sport. Afterwards, he’d beaten her to pulp and taken her body to the woods. The moon had sent a beam of silver to touch her face as he’d laid her in her grave. Her eyes, glowing with loathing had flickered open. They’d haunted his dreams ever since.

Shivers raced up his spine as he caught Daphne’s glance in the mirror. For a moment she had the look of one who was enjoying his discomfort. Rational thought took over. Daphne knew nothing, and even if she did she’d say nothing, fearing she’d risk losing her popularity in court circles. She enjoyed her position too much.

Besides, Marietta’s curse had not worked, he scoffed. Daphne had provided him with a strong heir who’d just survived smallpox. He slipped his hand inside her bodice and touched the ripe peak of her nipple. His desire was something almost tangible, beating in his breast like a drum. It was a desire she ignored. Daphne was no longer the sweet, innocent child he’d fondled upon his lap. He’ d been unaware then that his fondness for her sprang from the sickness in him. Now she punished him for it, withholding from him that which he craved most.

She gave a silvery laugh as she slapped his hand away. Her eyes glowed cruelly as she rose from her seat and shook her rustling skirt into place. ‘Do not crush my gown. The king requests my company later tonight.’