Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 04] - Love's Duet (36 page)

Sophia's eyes flew open. Her pulses were racing, and she was
frightened. Yet she was here in the dear, familiar room, and the house
was silent. No workmen now; Camille was without funds. Sunlight
streamed through the windows. The drapes were wide, for he was not
seated at the harpsichord, presenting an easy target. With an
involuntary shiver, she stood as the old grandfather clock chimed the
half hour. She had thought she would sleep for hours once she dropped
off and was surprised to discover it was only half-past nine.

She went over to the harpsichord and with one finger began to play,
her thoughts remote. The yellowed sheet of parchment was gone, and she
looked for it in a vague searching. If only he would come! She started
for the door but stopped. She was being hysterical. He was safe in his
bed, and there was no need to rob him of sleep to confirm his love. She
knew very surely now that she had his heart. Yet this taut restlessness
made it impossible for her to be still. She wandered into the hall.

All was calm and peaceful. The library looked inviting with its dear
old books, and she walked inside. The maids had not yet been in here.
The fire was not set, and the reference table had been left hurriedly,
the chair still swung back. The missing parchment from the music room
lay on the table. Beside it, a piece of paper held Camille's scrawl;
reading the words, she gave a small cry of excitement. He had
deciphered the message! He most assuredly would not have done so and
then gone nonchalantly to bed—he was in the catacombs now! Afire with
eagerness to see what he had found, she lit a branch of candles,
hurried along the corridor, and turned toward the north wing.

Not until she reached the fateful flight of stairs leading to the
lowest level did Sophia hesitate. Only then did it dawn on her that she
was all alone. What if Camille had already found the treasure? But if
that were the case, the household would have been agog with excitement.
Besides, the Priory was empty of servants at this moment; there was
nothing to be gained by going back in search of someone to accompany
her. Resolutely, she hurried on, eager to find Camille.

She had never gone into the real depths and was struck by a growing
sense of something amiss as she crept down the worn stairs. The
darkness was absolute—a stifling blackness that is encountered only in
places never touched by sunlight. However firmly she chastised herself,
she could not keep her steps from slowing, her breathing from becoming
rapid and uneven.

The cypher had said "last room on right," and there it was finally,
just a few yards ahead. She stopped, seized by a strong compulsion to
turn and run. Instead, she called, "Camille?" Her voice echoed eerily,
but there was no answering shout, no sudden flash of light. She saw, in
fact, that the door stood partly open and that it was totally black
inside. He was not here! Disheartened, she started swiftly back the way
she had come. But wait, suppose that pivotal stone led to a secret room
or hidden stair? She turned again and, coming to the door, gave it a
timid little push.

A scream was torn from her. Camille sprawled on the floor, his face
streaked with blood. Sobbing incoherently, she was on her knees beside
him. "Oh, my dear love—do not be dead!" Touching his cheek, she found
it warm and gasped a fervent "Thank God!" The wound had bled profusely,
and her hand shook as she set down the branch of candles. A sick
faintness swept over her, but she fought it away and investigated
gently, only to utter a horrified moan as she saw how cruelly the flesh
was torn. Only the thickness of his hair had saved him.

Her first thought was to get help. She started up but sank back
again. Blood was still creeping slowly down his face; she must fashion
a bandage. He was clad only in shirt and breeches and there was no
large handkerchief available. She sat down and, in tried-and-true
manner, ripped at the flounce on her petticoat. Either her hands were
weak or her petticoat a lot stronger than such garments are supposed to
be. It resisted her efforts with sturdy indifference. This was no time
for modesty. She pulled her skirts up and her petticoat down.

Standing on the hem, she tugged with all her might, and it gave with
a loud rip. She folded a small pad and, kneeling close beside Camille,
wound the cloth about his head and pulled it as tight as she dared
before tying the knot.

Now she
must
get help! She sprang to her feet and then
thought of him perhaps regaining consciousness to find himself alone in
this terrible darkness. She removed a candle and, tilting it, allowed
some hot wax to drip onto the floor. Placing the candle in the small
resulting puddle, she took up the branch and started for the door.

Damon moaned and stirred weakly. She flew back to his side.
"Camille…" Her voice was thready, and she fought to steady it. "I'm
here, my beloved…" She knelt, took up his limp hand, and holding it,
felt a faint answering pressure; then the long dark lashes fluttered,
and he looked dazedly up at her. "Oh, dearest… my dearest love," she
choked.

"Mama is…very worried," he muttered. "About my foot… you know."

She fought tears. "Yes, dear one. But it's all right now."

He moved fretfully. "Did they get her out? They will not tell… me."

She bit her lip and gulped, "They—got her out, my darling. Do not—"

Damon frowned and said in a surer voice, "Sophia? What… on earth?"
He tried to sit up, stifled a groan, and sagged down again, his face
ghastly white.

Frightened, she cried, "Lie still, darling. I'm going for help."

His hand detained her. He whispered faintly, "How… did you…?"

"I found your music and followed you. Camille, can you understand me? I must leave you, dearest heart. Just for a little while."

"No! Stay… here." His eyes were so filled with pain that her heart
constricted. "Must be careful. Monk… he's out there, Sophia. Do not…"
The words trailed into a weary sigh, and he lapsed again into
unconsciousness.

It had not dawned on her that whoever had done this terrible thing
might still be down here! That she was alone, two floors beneath the
ground, in this musty, chill blackness, with a man near death—and a
murderous intruder! She felt frozen with fear. She must get help, or
Camille would surely die. Yet if his attacker had been interrupted by
her coming, he might be lurking somewhere, ready to complete his savage
work the instant she left. She glanced to the hall fearfully. The faint
light from the candles was cut off by a solid wall of blackness beyond
that open door. How could she dare venture into it with the monk
waiting? She looked down at Camille and knew a searing anguish to see
him so desperately hurt and helpless. She raised his hand again and
pressed it to her cheek, murmuring her love even though he could not
hear her.

She
must
go! She picked up the candelabra, hurried to the
door, and peered into the corridor, her heart in her throat. How dense
was the darkness, hushed and menacing, as if something ineffably evil
waited just beyond the small area lit by the wavering candlelight. She
started off, quaking, her hands wet, trembling as she approached each
small dark doorway, any one of which might hold a terrible threat… a
savage murderer, crouching in wait to spring on her.

She was soon so frightened that she could scarce set one foot before
the next, but she went on, her ears straining for the least sound, her
eyes striving to pierce the impenetrable darkness. She came at last to
the foot of the stairs, and her heart missed a beat. A faint glow was
approaching! Had Stephen followed her already, found the music, and—?

Her knees turned to water, her blood to ice. Hooded, tall, and
menacing, the monk drifted down toward her… with candles held high, and
…no face
! Her mind reeled, and she felt suffocated. He had
seen her! Her lips parted, but even her attempt to scream was thwarted,
not a sound escaping her throat, so frozen was she with terror.

Only the thought of Camille saved her and, with the memory of his
helplessness, came new strength. She began to run frenziedly back to
him. Pounding footsteps were following, gaining on her. The corridor
seemed to stretch out endlessly. Breathing in sobbing gasps, she
reached the door at last, but he was much too close. His arm stretched
out to grab her. With a courage born of desperation, she hurled the
candelabra at his head. He threw up one arm and drew back with a
startled shout. She sprang inside, wrenching the door shut even as his
dark form leapt at her. She shot the bolt. The door shook to a
thunderous assault, and she leaned against the damp wall, sobbing
wildly, her face pressed to the stone, her brain spinning.

"Sophia… are you… all right?"

Damon, propped on one elbow, was gazing up at her, his white, blood-smeared face desperate with anxiety.

The sounds outside had ceased. She tottered to him, sank down, and
gathered him gently into her arms, pillowing that battered head against
her heart, looking lovingly into his strained eyes. His hand moved
weakly, and she took it and pressed it to her lips, managing somehow to
smother her panicked weeping.

"You should not… have come back… to the Priory," he whispered.

"I should not… have left!" she gulped. "And I never shall again, sir! No matter what lies and nonsense you tell me!"

He frowned deeply. His eyes closed, and she thought he had fainted
again, but he breathed a gasping "Sophia… I loved you… from that
first"—he looked up and with a twitching attempt at a smile,
finished—"that first… slap."

She bent and kissed him very gently, but when she drew back, he had gone from her again and lay like a dead man in her arms.

Her eyes flew at once to the flame. They must wait here until help
came, but the candle was terrifyingly short. An hour—two at the
most—and they would be enveloped by the horrible darkness.

The minutes dragged by. Her thoughts wandered chaotically, reliving
the events of these past crowded days. Yet always, like a steady thread
through her reminiscences, ran fear for this beloved Viper. Had she
found him only to lose him so soon? Scanning his face, she saw a
relentless creep of crimson down his cheek and strove once again to
tighten the bandage.

Her thoughts turned to Vaille. Damon should have told him the truth.
He would be utterly devastated if… She cringed away from finishing that
terrifying thought and, glancing to the door, was petrified to see the
latch lifting silently. Her heart jumped into her throat. She held
Camille closer as a soft scratching sound came from the door. And, in
that moment, the candle guttered and went out.

A snarling shout. A barrage of blows thundering on the door. Sobbing
with fear, she bowed over Camille, knowing that if the monk succeeded,
they must both die. She would be helpless against him! But at last the
attack ceased, and silence prevailed once more.

Time became an endless nightmare of darkness and despair. Camille
had not moved for what seemed hours, and she knew now, fully, what love
meant, for if he died, her reason for living would be gone, also…
Fighting the dread that threatened to become total hysteria, she began
to sing. Her voice was faint and quavering, but it seemed to give her a
little courage, and she sang on. English folk songs, French, Italian
opera. She was halfway through "The Sands of Dee," her voice becoming
hoarse, when she screamed to a renewed pounding on the door.

"My lady! My lady! Be ye in there?" The voice was a deep rumble.

With a sobbing prayer of thanks, she slipped carefully from beneath
Damon's dead weight and, staggering on cramped legs, swung the door
open.

A blaze of light blinded her. She heard a shriek and a hoarse cry.
And there before her, huge and powerful and comforting, with Nancy
peering from behind him, stood Ariel.

The Priory was silent in the hush of early morning, but on the bench
outside the door to Damon's bedchamber, two people sat in a forlorn
waiting, while others were seated on the stairs. Lord Whitthurst sprang
up at the sound of flying feet, and Mrs. Hatters, her eyes red and
swollen, stood also.

Rushing to join them, Sophia gasped a fearful "Camille?"

"No change, my dear." The Viscount took her outstretched hand and
spoke with a calm reassurance he was far from feeling. "And before you
eat me for letting you sleep—you were exhausted!" He forced a smile.
"Don't even remember Hartwell coming, I'll wager?"

She put a hand to her temple. "Amory? No." Glancing to that closed door, she asked urgently. "Was Mrs. Gaffney able to tell if—"

"She's gone. Hartwell found us a doctor, and he—"

"Doctor?" she echoed stupidly. "But there isn't one for miles!"

Whitthurst drew her to sit beside him on the bench. "A retired
London surgeon lives hereabouts. Amory went into Pudding Park to
discover his direction."

"And brought him? Thank God! Is Amory here? I must thank him."

For answer, the Viscount handed her a note, and she unfolded it and read:

Sophia, my dear,

I found Dr. Twine's house, but he is from home and no word on
when he will return. I have left a message with his butler and at "The
Wooden Leg" that he is to come to you at once. Meanwhile, I am riding
after Vaille and his personal physician, Lord Belmont.

Ever yrs. to command
, Hartwell

Sophia folded the page and returned it to her brother. "How very kind of Amory. Is Dr. Twine with Camille?"

The Viscount nodded. "Evidently don't care to be called on nowadays,
but I collect he didn't dare turn down a person of Cam's consequence."

Relaxing a little, Sophia leaned in the circle of his arm. With a
famous surgeon tending Camille, his chances must surely be improved.
Seized by a sudden thought, she asked why Mrs. Gaffney had left, and
the Viscount replied that Dr. Twine had brought his own nurse.