Echoes in Stone (10 page)

Of course he hadn’t knocked. The arrogant man would never think of doing so. In this house, as on his ships, he was the master, and went wherever he pleased.

“Oh, but I did knock, Jessa. You were engrossed in telling Mr. Penrose your tale and must have failed to hear me. When I heard voices, I came in, concerned you might have taken a turn for the worse. But I can see that’s not the case.”

His eyes raked over her, taking in her white blouse, with its array of fine pin tucks down the front, her blue skirt with its small decoration of green ribbon around the hem. She tolerated the captain’s inspection, refusing to allow his bold looks to shake her.

“The sun has decided to show its face today.” In spite of his wolfish smile, his words were polite enough. “I thought perhaps you could use some fresh air. I’ve had the trap brought ‘round, if you’re interested in a ride and perhaps a light picnic. Of course—” He glanced at her hand, supporting her against the dressing table, “if you’re still feeling under the weather, I quite understand.”

“Will Holly be joining us?” The fresh air sounded appealing after days trapped in bed, but not if it meant being alone with Captain Tremayne. They had much to discuss, but in her weakened state, she’d never be able to stand up to his usual bluster.

“No, not this time. She’s caught the sniffles or some other annoying childhood malady. She’ll be staying in with Gwenna today, although I’m sure she’d welcome a visit from you later. She’s asked after you several times.”

Jessa hadn’t seen Holly since her only visit with the tattered doll. She’d asked after her niece several times, but had been repeatedly assured she was fine.

She hadn’t seen Dash since the first night she’d awakened, either. She’d dreaded another confrontation with the unpredictable captain. How would he react if she told him about Susanna? Not Holly’s ragamuffin doll, but a demented flesh and blood female who’d tried to murder her. She hadn’t seen the woman again. Lying in bed, with Mrs. Penrose or a maid always by her side, she’d convinced herself it was no more than a hideous dream, brought on by her illness. Delayed grief for Lily. Too much upset to her normal routine.

Best to get just get it over with. She’d convince him Holly would be better off with her than in this gloomy pile of rocks, then she’d take Holly and make her escape.

Jessa returned his smile with her own false one. “Of course, Captain, a bit of fresh air is just what I need. Let me get my wrap. I’ll meet you in the front hall.” With that, Jessa turned her back, dismissing him.

THEY RODE IN silence. Dash had sent away the coachman, insisting he’d rather drive himself. He’d invited Jessa to sit up on the box with him. This was wholly improper, but so was most everything she’d done in the last few weeks. She was a spinster of twenty-four. The man beside her was her late stepsister’s husband. They needed to talk. A picnic might provide the congenial atmosphere they needed.

The captain showed her every courtesy, helping her into the trap, ensuring she had adequate lap robes and shawls; in short, he was the very model of a gentleman. He didn’t fool Jessa. Something about him vibrated every time he neared her or accidentally brushed against her. He might be tense as a stalking wolf, but she refused to play the frightened prey.

She soon discarded the lap robe, keeping only her shawl, enjoying the warmth of the early summer day.

Dash, for a change, had mostly donned proper gentleman’s attire, a charcoal cutaway coat and trousers, with a tan waistcoat and simple cravat. He’d left off the hat, his long hair banded at his nape, curving forward in wings that half-hid the mark on his face His gloved hands managed the reins with the ease of an expert. Winston must have shaved him that morning, but already a faint hint of steel blue stubble shadowed his cheeks and jaw line.

Jessa drew the warm air deep into her lungs, glad to be away from Tremayne Hall, if only for a while. Even if it had to be in the company of such a taciturn man. “Captain, I must ask. From what I can recall, I was very ill for several days. It came on me so quickly. What happened? Did you call in a doctor while I was ill?”

Dash glanced at her, then turned his eyes back to the road before them. “I expect it was something you picked up on your journey here. Rocking about in a stagecoach for days, crowded in with fellow travelers who may not have been in the best of health. I’m sure you stayed in inns along the way. Many of those places are notorious for having sheets none too clean, nor even the freshest of water. Perhaps it was even an undercooked bit of meat.”

“But Captain, I was fine when I arrived. And for the next several days as well.” An insidious idea took root. She’d been fine as long as Dash was absent. She hadn’t fallen ill until his return. No. Ridiculous. “What did the doctor say?”

Dash sighed. “We didn’t send for one, Jessa. There’s a surgeon in Treshire, but he’s a fool who’s fond of letting blood. I wouldn’t trust him not to do more harm than good. Cook has a wonderful way with herbs and such, and Mrs. Penrose knows her way about a stillroom. I’ve allowed them to treat Holly’s little illnesses since she was a baby.”

He studied her. “You’re still pale, and you could ill afford to lose the weight, but if I know Cook, that hamper will be full things to tempt your appetite. She’ll have you in fighting form again in no time.”

He smiled then, one of the first reasonably genuine ones Jessa had seen from him. In spite of the way the scar pulled up the corner of his mouth, he wasn’t near so alarming when he smiled. Perhaps she’d misjudged him.

“Captain, when I was ill, I had such strange dreams. One of them—of a woman—was quite terrifying. She—” She hesitated, watching his reactions. “She came to me in the night. She called me Lily sometimes, but other times knew I wasn’t her. It was the woman herself who looked like Lily.” Jessa shook her head, still unsure it had been dream or reality.

Dash stared at her as if she’d suddenly sprouted two heads and a tail.

“I know it’s not possible, Captain. Lily is dead. I accept that. But this creature, this woman—She was so real! She said truly awful, vulgar things to me, and then—” Jessa turned to look at the woods through which they now traveled. He’d never believe her.

She drew a steadying breath, composing her features with an effort. It wouldn’t do for her to sound like a half-wit just now. “She put a pillow over my face and tried to smother me.”

The horses responded instantly to Dash’s startled tug on the reins. The carriage rocked to a halt in the middle of the road. He turned to her, eyes wide. “What the devil are you talking about?” He blew out an exasperated breath. “Are you saying a strange woman snuck into your room, in the dead of night, and tried to kill you in your bed, under my roof? Do you think I’m the kind of beast who’d leave an ill woman alone and unprotected?”

He raked his fingers through his hair, a gesture Jessa was coming to recognize. She’d irritated him.

“I’m telling you now, Jessa, at no time—the entire time you were ill—were you ever alone. Mrs. Penrose or I watched over you, or one of the maids. Even Winston took a turn once you stopped being quite so revolting.”

He chuckled then, and clucked to the horses to resume their walk. “Winston is a wonder with many things, a stalwart companion, but isn’t at all useful in the face of illness. If one empties one’s stomach in his presence, he soon empties his own. Nevertheless, he took a turn sitting with you, ready to leap to your aid, if need arose.”

Dash shook his head. “No Jessa, no strange woman would ever have been able to get near enough to threaten you.” He smiled at her again. “Perhaps it was simply the effects of the laudanum. You had a drop or two, just to help you rest. Or it might have been a reaction to one of Mrs. Penrose’s herbal teas. Thrashing about as you were, you may have gotten the pillows, or a blanket, over your face, and being unable to remove it in your weakened state, mistaken it for an attack upon your person.”

“No. Those awful words.” She shook her head. The woman—the attack—hadn’t been a figment of an overwrought mind or drug-addled sleep. A woman who looked like Lily had tried to kill her. “There was a man as well. He came into the room—stopped her. They fought.”

“Further proof it couldn’t be real,” Dash said. “We have a few footmen, but they wouldn’t be upstairs at night. The coachman sleeps over the stables. The only other men in the house are Winston and myself. I most assuredly did not fight with a homicidal woman, and I’m quite sure Winston would have mentioned it if he had.”

He switched the reins to one hand, patting Jessa’s knee with his other, much as he’d soothe Holly. “I’m sorry Jessa, but really, it was no more than a very frightening dream.”

Good heavens, the man had no sense of propriety, touching her that way. Although, since he’d already seen her in her night rail, at her absolute worst, there was no sense being prudish about it at this late date. There was also no point in arguing with him. Whoever he was protecting, he’d never tell her the truth.

They drove on in silence for a quarter hour more. Dash slowed the carriage, pointing ahead to a stand of trees on the right of the road. He inched forward, then came to a full stop next to them.

Unlike the green trees around them, the trees in this spot were charred and twisted. It was clear they’d been burned in some horrific conflagration, centered in the small copse. The ground beneath the trees was blackened, although undergrowth was beginning to reclaim the scorched earth.

Dash held the slack reins in one hand, then reached for Jessa’s gloved hand with his own.

Jessa flinched. What was it about this man? Every time he touched her, even through both his gloves and her own, a peculiar tremor sparked through her. She blushed, remembering the way he’d kissed her in his study. The wild, dangerous taste of him. The way her blood coursed through her veins.

The way she’d lost her breakfast in his rosebushes.

“What do you know of Lily’s death?”

Jessa’s hand flew to her throat, as if to stop her heart from leaping out through her mouth. She could only stare at Dash, stunned by his unexpected question. His eyes, gray in the late morning sun, held no antagonism, only sorrow.

She turned to study the scorched woods. “Is this where it happened?” she asked, struggling for composure. “Is this the place where Lily died?” She watched his grim face, seeking the truth.

The answer was in his silver eyes.

“May we climb down?” she said. “I want to stand here. I want you to tell me about it. We—Marguerite and I—know so little.” She withdrew her hand from Dash’s. Clasping them in her lap, she closed her eyes, uttering a heartfelt prayer for her lost stepsister.

“Why didn’t you come to Lily’s funeral?” he said. “I sent a messenger. The journey isn’t that long. You could have come then, instead of now, when it’s too late. We would have held off the funeral until your arrival. We had only a brief letter in return, saying you’d not be able to attend.” Dash’s low voice held no chastisement. Only sadness. And curiosity. “Why Jessa? Did Lily mean so little to you?”

Jessa opened her eyes, staring straight down the road. “Marguerite has—spells, I guess you’d call them—that incapacitate her. When they come upon her, she takes to her bed for days. She can’t tolerate light or noise or commotion of any sort.” Jessa’s voice sounded far away in her own ears. “Sometimes, though, it’s far worse. Growing up, I would sit on the floor outside her bedroom door, listening to her sobbing or screaming until she was hoarse.”

Jessa lowered her gaze to her hands. “Word of Lily’s death set off the worst spell we’d ever seen.”

“If your mother couldn’t come, why didn’t you? Couldn’t you, at least, have come to say good-bye to Lily for your family? Your Luther could have brought you, I’m sure.”

Jessa finally looked at Dash. Tears ran unchecked down her face. She made no effort to stop them. “I wanted to, Captain, but even the mention of it set Marguerite off more. I’ve seen these fits of hers all my life, but I’d never seen anything like this. I truly feared for her sanity—for her life. You must remember, Captain—” Jessa swallowed hard. “Marguerite had already lost Lily once. In her troubled mind, word of Lily’s death somehow linked with all those old nightmares. At that moment, my care was not for the dead, Captain Tremayne, but for the living.”

Jessa shook her head, at last thinking to look for her handkerchief in her reticule. Before she could pull open the drawstrings, Dash waved his own oversized kerchief in her face. She took it gratefully, dabbing at her cheeks. “She’s been very ill ever since. That’s why I didn’t come sooner. That’s the only reason Luther didn’t accompany me. He’s in London, with Mother. She can’t be left alone, although she was getting better before I left. In the end we decided, Luther and I, not to tell her.”

Jessa looked back once more to the scarred trees. “Please Captain. Tell me what happened to Lily.”

15.

…there was many a time I wished Lily gone…

EVEN WITH TEARS streaking her sun-tinted cheeks, there was dignity—bravery—about the forlorn woman next to Dash. How much should he say? To tell her everything, he’d have to go back to the beginning. He wasn’t prepared to do that today. Probably not ever.