Song Of The Nightingale (DeWinter's Song 1) (26 page)

She gently pulled the pillow from under him so his head would lie flat. “I will want you to remain as still as possible. And have faith in me, Raile. I really do know what to do.”

“Damn it, Kassidy, you are only a woman. How can you know more than the doctors?”

She merely smiled and placed a cool hand on his brow. “First, I want you to be as relaxed as possible.” She massaged his forehead with some of the ice-cold mixture, as she had seen her mother do many times before when someone was ill. “That’s right, Raile, already I feel your tension lessen.”

By now Elspeth had appeared with the sewing basket and a steaming kettle of water.

Kassidy peered into her basket, indicating what she would need. “Take my needles and clamps and pour steaming water over them. Then I shall want you and Oliver to hold the candles steady at my husband’s head so I can see.”

“Damn it, Kassidy—“

“I feel you growing tense again, Raile,” Kassidy warned. “You must relax.”

He rolled his eyes at the ceiling, knowing he would have to endure her worst because he was too ill to make her go away, and it was certain she had made Oliver her ally.

The room was silent as Kassidy parted Raile’s hair and found the jagged wound. She felt sadness at what he must have suffered, and was still suffering. Carefully running her finger over the scar, Kassidy located the sharp fragment. “Hand me the clamp,” she told Elspeth.

Tense moments passed while Kassidy examined the wound. “I’ll need a knife, and I shall also want it washed with boiling water.”

Raile’s eyes were so dulled with pain, it tore at Kassidy’s heart to know she must cause him more agony. She had never seen him like this, and it made her angry that some doctor had left this fragment in his head.

Kassidy gripped the handle of the knife and nodded to Oliver to hold Raile’s head still. As she cut into his scalp, Raile let out a soft moan. She threw down the knife and reached for the clamp. Her hand was steady as she removed the wide sliver object that was about an inch long. She dropped it into Oliver’s hand while she washed away the blood and poured her healing herbs on the wound.

After this was accomplished, she wrapped Raile’s head in clean bandages and gave him a glass in which she had mixed a sleeping potion. “I’m sorry if I hurt you,” she said, clutching his hand.

“Give me the fragment you took from my head,” he said in a bitter tone.

Oliver handed Raile the offending object, and his grace turned it over in his hand. “So this was the source of my pain for all these months.”

Kassidy nodded. “I would assume it was pressing against a nerve. Your color is already better, but I suspect your head will be sore for a few days.”

Raile stared at Kassidy. “Which are you, a witch or an angel?”

She gathered up her instruments and smiled at him. “I’ll let you decide.”

“The medical profession could benefit by your knowledge,” Raile said dryly.

“I have other obligations. I belong to an arrogant young duke who is reluctant to accept help when it’s offered.”

Raile caught her hand. Already the potion was making him drowsy. “I suppose I should thank you.”

“Go to sleep now. We’ll see how you feel tomorrow.”

Raile watched her walk to the door and close it behind her.

Oliver spoke up in a voice of amazement: “Her grace is most remarkable, your grace.”

“Yes,” Raile said sleepily, “the pain is gone. She is my angel.”

The next morning Raile awoke early. He sat up, waiting for the usual pain to hit him. He touched his head and found it a bit sore where Kassidy had removed the fragment. He stood up and moved to the window. For months he had lived with the headaches; sometimes they were mild, sometimes severe. Today there was no pain at all.

He was deep in thought. Kassidy was becoming too important to him—too much a part of his life. He had to put some distance between them so he could think clearly.

He instructed Oliver to pack his trunks.

“Will we be gone for a short time, or for an extended stay, your grace?” the valet inquired.

“We shall be away for at least a fortnight.”

Kassidy placed Arrian in bed. She was amazed how quickly a baby could change. Already Arrian was crawling, and today for the first time, she had stood on her own. Kassidy moved down the hall. Dressed in her green riding habit, she found herself humming happily as she descended the stairs. She paused at the bottom, thinking how good life was.

Glancing at the closed door of Raile’s study, Kassidy resisted the urge to knock. She was almost certain she was with child and was anxious to share the happy news with him. But, no, perhaps she should wait until she was positive.

She felt Raile was beginning to care for her. Perhaps he didn’t love her yet, but he did desire her, and she knew he enjoyed her company. She hoped a baby might bind them together.

Her attention was drawn to the stairs where two servants carried trunks with Oliver issuing orders that they be placed in the traveling coach.

Kassidy’s heart plummeted.

“Oliver, is his grace going away?”

The valet avoided her eyes. “He has already left for London, your grace. He asked that I tell you he will be gone for some time.”

Kassidy turned her back so Oliver would not see the hurt in her eyes. With determined steps she moved back upstairs leaving the valet to stare sadly after her.

Dr. Worthington confirmed that Kassidy was indeed with child.

The news about the baby had awakened in Kassidy conflicting emotions. A new and wondrous awareness came over her. It was extraordinary to nourish and give birth to a new life. But sometimes at night she would be haunted by visions of Abigail as she writhed in pain giving birth to Arrian.

The weather had turned cold, and Kassidy was confined to the castle. Time lay heavily on her hands. There had been no word from Raile.

As days passed into weeks, Kassidy’s waist disappeared, and it was obvious she was with child. She received kindness and consideration from the servants, but still there was no word from Raile.

29

Jack Beale was awakened from a deep sleep by the pounding on the door.

“See who’s there,” he called out to his brother in an angry voice. “And no matter who it is, send them away.”

Grumbling about people calling too early in the morning, Gorden went to the door, swung it open, and wordlessly stared at two men who were dressed in double-breasted blue coats and trousers and the telltale scarlet waistcoat which earned them the name, Robin Redbreasts.

“Well, who is it?” Jack called out from the other room.

One of the men pushed past Gorden, making his way to Jack’s bedroom, while the other subdued the startled Gorden.

Jack jumped to his feet as the man entered. “Bow Street Runner!” he exclaimed, looking to the door and seeing his only route of escape was blocked.

“Mr. Jack Beale, you and your brother, Gorden Beale, will be coming with us, and will be prosecuted for crimes against the king.”

Jack could only stand helplessly as the Bow Street Runner clamped irons on his wrists. “Why are you taking us? Me and my brother ain’t done nothing against the law.”

“I have a message for you,” the runner said, pushing Jack into the front room, where he was chained to his brother. “I was told by my superior to ask you, on behalf of the duke of Ravenworth, how you would like to spend the rest of your life in Newgate.”

Gorden looked at his older brother with anger. “It was you that brought this down on us, Jack. You always saying how smart you was, and how you had a good friend who was titled. Well, look what that good friend with a title got you!”

For once Jack was speechless, but Gorden had found his voice after all these years.

“He’ll have us put in Newgate, sure enough—he wants us to know what she felt like in there.”

“Shut up, Gorden,” Jack said, his eyes downcast. He knew Gorden was probably right.

Winter was encroaching upon the land, and gloom hung over London. Every day for the last week, a cold dreary rain had fallen.

Raile spent most of his days at his club, trying to pass the time, but he found he was no longer amused by playing cards and gaming, and had little in common with his friends there.

A weak sun had broken through the clouds. But Raile paid little attention as he entered his London house.

Oliver rushed forward, taking Raile’s damp coat. “Lady Mary’s here to see you, your grace. I informed her you might be late, but she insisted on waiting for you. I put her in the sitting room.”

“Kassidy isn’t ill, is she?”

“Her ladyship didn’t say, your grace.”

Raile hurried down the hall to find Lady Mary sitting in the window seat. As always, he was struck by the serenity and beauty of Kassidy’s aunt.

“Have you word of Kassidy?” he blurted out.

“Not since last week. I received a letter telling me her waist has thickened and she can hardly fasten her gowns.” She looked at Raile searchingly. “You must be so proud that you are to be a father. Although I admit it’s difficult to think of you in that respect.”

“Doctor Worthington only told me yesterday. I’ve waited a long time for a son.”

“I would have thought you would want to share this time with Kassidy.” There was a hint of reproach in Lady Mary’s voice.

Raile unbuttoned his coat. “I have instructed Doctor Worthington to go to Ravenworth every weekend, and he will keep me informed of Kassidy’s progress.”

“An admirable arrangement, I’m sure.” Lady Mary noticed Raile was in formal dress. “You must have been out all night.”

He sat down wearily. “If you’re asking, I was at the club all night. I won twenty-three hands straight and had nothing to drink. It was a dull night, and I saw no other women.”

“It’s none of my affair, I’m sure. I just came by to give you something that belongs to Kassidy.”

He glanced at the carved wooden box she held in her lap. “Are they girlhood treasures?” he asked.

“In part. Actually, these are all of Kassidy’s earthly possessions. Her brother, Henry, sent them to me, hoping I would take them to Kassidy. Of course, he wrote me that her clothing had all been passed down to her nieces.”

“Why did you bring this to me?”

“You’re her husband. Surely you wouldn’t mind taking them to her… when you return to Ravenworth.”

There was no rebuke in Lady Mary’s tone now, but there was a light of concern in her blue eyes.

“I’ll be glad to take them to ... my wife . . . when I return to Raven worth.”

Lady Mary opened the box and withdrew a yellowed handkerchief and gently touched the initial that had been embroidered there. “I found something very astounding in this box that I would like to share with you.” She handed him the handkerchief. “Have you seen this before?”

He recognized it. “Yes. It’s mine. Oliver always has my handkerchiefs made by a seamstress in Dorchester.” He looked at her curiously. “But how did it come to be with Kassidy’s trinkets?”

“You may well ask. Kassidy has had this in her possession for a very long time. I remember the day you gave it to her. She was bursting with information about the handsome officer who rescued her in the park.”

“You have me in the dark, Lady Mary. When did this happen?”

“It’s very strange sometimes how life has its little twists and turns. Imagine you and Kassidy meeting each other so many years ago, and neither of you remembering the other.”

“If you wanted to intrigue me, you have succeeded.”

“The day you gave this to Kassidy was the very day she learned that her mother and father had drowned at sea.

“Pray explain, Lady Mary.”

She smiled, knowing she had his complete attention. “Do you remember a little girl who had been pounced on by a chimney sweep, who threatened to throw her in the pond across from my house?”

He frowned as a vague memory tugged at his mind.

“Yes—yes, I do! As I recall, the boy soiled the child’s dress and I”—he looked down at his handkerchief—“I cleaned the spot for her and gave her the handkerchief.”

Raile shook his head in wonderment. “I often wondered what happened to that lovely little girl. She had the most expressive ... my God, the green eyes—Kassidy!”

“You could not have known that day that Kassidy cried for her dead parents, using your handkerchief to dry her tears. Also, you could not know that she said a prayer for your safety every day of the war.”

Raile felt a lump forming in his throat and he could hardly speak. “I... no.”

Lady Mary smiled in satisfaction. “Oh, well, who can tell how life will turn out?”

Raile gently touched the handkerchief. “Do you think she remembers me as that officer—I believe she called me her champion that day?”

“I don’t know if she does or not. Why don’t you go home and ask her?”

“I see scorn in your eyes, Lady Mary.”

“Not scorn, Raile. Concern perhaps.”

“Do you judge me harshly?”

“I’m not doing that—at least I hope I’m not. Did you know that Kassidy is having nightmares again?”

Raile felt sick inside, remembering how terrifying those dreams were for her. “No. She didn’t tell the doctor.”

“Kassidy only told me because she was afraid it would harm the baby. You have been away for two months, Raile. Don’t you think you should go home?”

His eyes were full of misery. “I think I have been punishing myself by staying away.”

“I don’t know what happened between the two of you. But go home, Raile. Kassidy needs you.”

“Perhaps I shall. But first I need to settle several matters here in London. You might like to know I have had a man following Jack and Gorden Beale. He has gathered enough evidence on them so they will be imprisoned without us involving Kassidy in any way. Their crimes are so many they will be locked away for a long time.”

“You’re a shrewd man, Raile. I would hate to make an enemy of you. I knew you would find a way to punish those two, I just didn’t think it would be so soon.”

“The matter is closed as far as Kassidy is concerned. She will never have to fear those two again.” Raile handed Lady Mary back the handkerchief, and watched as she placed it in the small chest.

“I wonder if she will ever connect you, Raile, with her champion in the park?”

“The man I was that day no longer exists.”

“The little girl Kassidy was no longer exists, either. She is going to have your child—and she needs her champion.”

He looked into warm, seeking eyes. “You need not fear that your niece will have my child alone. I am not my brother. I will be there when she gives birth.”

Dr. Worthington had cautioned Kassidy against riding horseback, so she could no longer take her daily rides. Feeling restless, she had ordered the carriage with the intention of going into the village.

Elspeth settled Kassidy in the coach and spread a woolen lap blanket over her legs. “You’ll want to keep warm, your grace. We can’t have you taking a chill,” the Irish girl cautioned.

As they rode along, Kassidy could see there had been a morning frost, and the meadowlands were still heavy with moisture. “I never liked winter, Elspeth. But I can imagine that this valley covered with snow would be beautiful.”

“In Ireland, the snow comes early and stays late. Sometimes I’m lonely for my homeland, but I don’t miss the winters.”

“Perhaps you shall go home one day, Elspeth.”

“It wouldn’t be the same now. I doubt I’ll ever return. Besides, I’ll never leave you.”

“Thank you for your loyalty, but still, I will want you to visit your family one day.”

The coach had now reached the village. Today, as always, the people called out friendly greetings to her.

“There, Elspeth,” Kassidy said, “the shop with the china displayed in the window. That’s where I want to go.”

Elspeth signaled for the coachman to stop, and Kassidy was helped to the ground.

When the shopkeeper saw the duchess approaching, she opened the door greeting her warmly. “Welcome, your grace. I’m Sally Mayhew. How can I be of service to you?”

Kassidy smiled at the woman and then glanced about her. The shop was bigger than it appeared from the front. It was neat and clean, and articles and crafts were displayed in shelves cut into the thick walls.

“Mrs. Mayhew, your shop is charming.”

“We’re pleased you think so. Would your grace care to have tea? It’s a chilly day, and I have just made a nice pot.” Mrs. Mayhew’s eyes gleamed hopefully.

Kassidy picked up a delicate china teacup that had been hand-painted in a lacy pattern in blues and white—a pattern she had never before seen on china. “Not just yet, Mrs. Mayhew. Perhaps later. Who is responsible for the china painting?”

“This design’s been in our village as far back as anyone can recall, your grace. The craft is always passed on from mother to daughter. No one knows who started it, but it’s said Queen Elizabeth once ate off our plates.”

“It’s extraordinarily beautiful.”

“If only others would share your views, your grace. We hardly make enough to keep this shop open.”

“But the village is not far off the main London thoroughfare. You should get many patrons who travel that road.”

“The village of Ravenworth’s fallen on hard times, your grace. My sister’s family had to move to London ‘cause they couldn’t put food on the table here. Our young people leave as soon as they are old enough. Of course, the reconstruction of the castle has brought work to many families, and we’re grateful to his grace.”

“I want to look around the village, and I’ll be back to take tea with you later.”

Mrs. Mayhew beamed. “I’ll just have some nice little cakes for you, too, your grace.”

Kassidy found the same friendliness in each shop she visited, and the same story of misfortune. And each shop displayed pieces of the unique china.

Kassidy wondered why Raile had done nothing about the poverty here in his own village. She could see the thinness of the children’s faces and the hopelessness in their parents’ eyes. Perhaps Raile had been too busy rebuilding the castle to notice what was happening to the villagers.

Kassidy’s mind was racing. She was sure there was something that could be done to help the people who lived in the shadow of Ravenworth Castle.

She returned to Mrs. Mayhew’s shop and was met at the door by the shopkeeper. “I have your tea laid out in my kitchen, your grace. I thought you would be more comfortable there. I’ll just pour your tea and leave you alone.”

“No,” Kassidy said, “Please stay. I want to discuss something with you.”

Mrs. Mayhew held the curtain aside so Kassidy and Elspeth could enter her quarters in the back. The room was small, but spotlessly clean, and smelled of lemon wax. A white cloth covered the kitchen table where tea and cakes awaited.

Kassidy’s gaze went at once to the beautiful tapestry on the wall behind the table. “This reminds me of the tapestries at the castle,” she said, touching it carefully. “But this has only been recently done, hasn’t it?”