The Burning (36 page)

Future! She blushed at her own naïveté. She was thinking of a future with a man who was two thousand years old? If he lived through tonight, and if he returned to her, that did not
mean there was a future for them. She would die in the blink of an eye and he would go on and on. Her blonde-white hair would become only white, her skin shriveled, and still Stephan would exist in the fullness of his manhood. There was no future where she and Stephan were concerned.

Stephan must know that even more clearly than she did. If he lived through his confrontation with Kilkenny, he would return to Mirso.

So he might never know she loved him. Had Stephan felt the magic she had felt being with him? He must, to have stayed from his purpose for so long. She sorted through her memories from him. He loved her. She was sure of that, because he was sure of it. But for him it was not the happy revelation it was for her. He thought of loving her as a crime which must be expunged. He believed what he had done would weaken him for his battle ahead. Guilt washed over her. Why had she not realized what she was doing to him?

She sat up abruptly and clutched the covers of her little bed around her.

Because he was wrong.

Images flashed in her brain; Rubius’s admonishments, the principles of the training. No emotion. Suppression of sexual energy until it was channeled and transformed into devastating power. The Daughters’ dreadful training techniques and how Stephan had suffered at their hands, and the demands of their lust.

They were
all
wrong.

And she must find Stephan before tonight to tell him just how they were wrong. It might be the only way to save his life.

The way ahead unfolded before her. Horrible events. Danger to her person and her mind. Danger she must embrace to reach her end.

And what was the end she craved? A world shared with Stephan. It seemed so impossible. They might love each
other, but they were from two different worlds. It was absurd.

Well, she wouldn’t think of that. First Stephan had to live. No, first she had to survive to tell him how. That meant facing Erich. She wouldn’t just run away, leaving the servants to face him, and abandoning Maitlands and its tenants. Her resolve crystallized inside her, hard as a diamond. It was high time. She could never go back to hiding in her nursery, no matter what happened. Now she had something she wanted. If Erich stood in her way, then he must be vanquished like the dragon he was. Dragon or chimera? She would find out.

She threw off the covers and leapt out of bed. Stephan had shown her the way. If the worst happened and Stephan was killed and she wasn’t, then she must take his advice. And now his advice served her purpose in another way. She sat at her writing desk. Mrs. Simpson would come with breakfast soon. She had to have the note for Jennings written and the others, as well.

Ann came downstairs in a plain, serviceable gown of gray-blue, not the one that Mrs. Simpson had brought up as Erich’s gift. She would never give him the satisfaction of obedience. Mrs. Simpson was waiting for her in the main hall. Ann raised her brows in question.

Mrs. Simpson nodded. Jennings had done his part. Her hasty plan was in train.

Ann had her emotions almost under control. She would mourn for her uncle. There would be time for that. But just now she had to muster every one of her faculties, and that meant putting grief aside. The library was the only habitable room suited for the ceremony, according to Erich. She threw open the door. Inside, three men turned to look at her. Squire Fladgate frowned at her from his place standing by the fire. Mr. Cobblesham rose from his chair, beaming, as if a wedding
were a cause for joy in any circumstance. Erich was dressed in his dandified finest, with primrose-yellow pantaloons, a coat of blue superfine, a cream wool waistcoat stretched over his paunch, and a cravat so high he could barely turn his head. He stood by the sideboard, pouring himself a brandy. Not surprising. His horror at her plain dress was almost comical.

“What? Are you not wearing the gown I sent, Cousin?” His voice had palpable outrage in it. “Do you insult me?”

“I have much to do today,” she said calmly. “I have no stomach for frills.”

Mr. Brandywine, her uncle’s steward, and his solicitor, Mr. Yancy, were not here. Mr. Brandywine she had no doubt of, but Mr. Yancy had to come all the way from Wells. Had Jennings found him? Was he willing to undertake the journey? Erich strode forward to loom over her. “You may insult me but the result will be the same.” He looked up to see Mrs. Simpson bowing herself out of the room. “Simpson, you are wanted here as witness.”

Mrs. Simpson looked as though she might faint. But she stepped back into the room.

“My, my,” Ann marveled. “And Squire Fladgate as well as Mr. Cobblesham to attend. I am quite honored.” She let her voice go hard. “And to think I am to be married even before my uncle is laid to rest. Strange priorities, Mr. Cobblesham.”

“We thought it best,” Squire Fladgate chuffed.

“Such haste!” Ann tut-tutted. “Beware of wasted effort.”

Behind her, she heard a scuffling in the hall. The door was opened. Murmured greetings. Male voices. Two of them. Thank God! “Gentlemen, should we not wait for our other guests?”

“Guests?” Erich was suspicious. As well he should be.

“Think of them as the bride’s party,” she said kindly. There was a good chance her gambit would fail. Perhaps these “guests” would range themselves with Erich. But she
had never felt so . . . strong. Was it Stephan’s faith in her? He might know her better than she did herself.

Polsham let Mr. Brandywine and Mr. Yancy into the library and withdrew. Mr. Brandywine was a short man, lean and energetic. Mr. Yancy, on the other hand, was tall, an elegant figure whose many wrinkles could not hide that once he had been a very handsome specimen. Each man carried a portfolio of papers. Mr. Yancy’s was of leather. Both looked round the room and took in the situation before they focused on her. Mr. Brandywine’s eyes were snapping with anger. Mr. Yancy gave her a slight smile. His old eyes seemed wise, even for one who had lived only seventy years. My, how her standards had changed of late!

“What does this mean?” Erich asked.

Ann took charge. “Mr. Brandywine, Mr. Yancy, I believe you know Squire Fladgate and Mr. Cobblesham. But let me introduce you to my cousin, Erich Van Helsing. And this is Mrs. Simpson.” Mrs. Simpson looked as though she wished heartily she was elsewhere.

“Brandywine, I don’t know that you belong at a wedding ceremony.” The squire puffed himself up and tried to look consequential. “And Yancy, I hardly think these proceedings call for a solicitor. The license is in order, I assure you.”

“Who are these interlopers?” Erich snapped.

“Mr. Brandywine is my uncle’s steward, and Mr. Yancy his solicitor,” Ann said smoothly. “I invited them here today just to clarify the situation. Do sit down, gentlemen, all of you, and you, Mrs. Simpson, please sit.” She gestured at the comfortable wing chairs with which the library was provided. Mr. Yancy and Mr. Brandywine took their seats. Mr. Cobblesham resumed his. Squire Fladgate sputtered in indignation, but he sat. Mrs. Simpson perched nervously on the edge of her chair. Only Erich remained standing, looking mulish.

Ann sat in a wing chair upholstered in red leather. “Thank you, gentlemen. Now, to get to the point. Mr. Yancy, you are the keeper of my uncle’s will?”

“Yes, Miss Van Helsing. I registered it this morning when I heard of his death. I have a copy here, if anyone would like to see it.”

Ann watched Erich’s eyes narrow. “Has the will been altered recently?”

“Lord Brockweir made some slight adjustments in it in the last few weeks.”

Erich’s expression went wary. “Are there any unexpected provisions in it?” he asked.

“None whatever, Mr. Van Helsing. There are some small bequests to servants and Lord Brockweir’s favorite charities. But aside from those, the whole estate, including Maitlands and Bucklands Lodge as well as Lord Brockweir’s own lands in Derbyshire and his town house in London and the rents and revenue thereof, and all the money invested in the Funds, are left to Miss Van Helsing.”

“Not tied up in any way?” Erich asked sharply.

“No. With the exception, of course, that if Miss Van Helsing dies before she marries, they revert to the Crown. But you knew about that.” Mr. Yancy’s voice was so measured and logical. “I wrote to you some years ago at Ann’s father’s direction.”

Erich looked like a cat who’d caught a mouse. He inclined his head in condescension.

“And why are they not tied up?” Ann asked.

“Because you are of age, Miss Van Helsing.” Mr. Yancy’s quiet voice was reassuring.

“Just so, Mr. Yancy.” She glanced to Erich, who had a grim, determined look on his face. He must know his danger. She saw his eyes turn calculating. “And therefore I myself can dispose of the property as I choose?”

“You can,” Mr. Yancy confirmed.

Erich looked wary. “Immediately?” she asked.

“Yes.” Yancy’s stentorian tones were most assured. God bless him! Just what she had hoped he’d say.

“
If
she’s of sound mind.” Erich said it as if he was throwing the card for a huitième on the table in a game of piquet. He glanced at the squire and Mr. Cobblesham. “According to one of your clerks, Mr. Yancy, the will says if Ann is not of sound mind, you continue the trust until her death or such time as she is married, in which case the fortune passes to her husband. I think we have had some very graphic demonstrations of late that Ann is hardly of sound mind.” He sighed. “But it is a mark of my love and respect that I’m willing to take on that burden by marriage and care for her for the rest of her natural life.”

And my money,
Ann thought. But she gave no sign.

“Well, thank you for the news, Mr. Yancy.” Erich rose. “I’ll be in touch. Now if you’ll excuse us, Mr. Cobblesham has other obligations today and would like to get on with the ceremony. Mrs. Simpson can show you out.”

“Oh, there’ll be no wedding,” Ann remarked. “I have not agreed to marry you.”

There it was. By the set of his chin, she knew Erich had not given up yet, though.

“He has a special license,” Mr. Cobblesham protested. “And your uncle’s blessing.”

“Surely both you and Squire Fladgate realize that is of no consequence if the young woman does not consent?” Mr. Yancy asked, his voice hard.

“She did consent. I have witnesses. The fact that she’s retracting now only proves her instability.”

She didn’t ask who he had procured as witnesses. He’d be able to buy testimony on the promise of his coming into her money. Mrs. Scrapple? Jemmy? Even the squire? She had no doubt potential witnesses to her “consent” would abound. “Mr. Yancy, I’d like you to draw up a settlement. I’m sure
my uncle would not have wanted to exclude my cousin, had he had more opportunity to reflect. I should like to rectify that error. I think ten thousand in a one-time settlement and my uncle’s secondary property in Derbyshire, the one that fronts along the river, would be generous.”

Mr. Yancy nodded in agreement, a certain look of satisfaction on his face. “I’ll see to it.”

“Mr. Brandywine,” she continued, “I shall be opening the house in London again immediately. Here is a letter to the Countess of Lente.” Here she produced Sincai’s letter. “She will provide assistance in procuring me a companion. I shall require the services of a full house staff. I expect to entertain. Could you also open an account with a London bank to provide for ready cash? Which do you prefer, Hoare’s or Drummond’s?”

“Drummond’s,” Mr. Brandywine declared, eyes gleaming now with a new sentiment. “I shall see to it at once. I will need your guidance on the crop rotation for the coming year as soon as possible, as well.”

That was a nice touch. She almost wanted to hug him. “Of course. I believe it should be oats and rye this year, but I’m open to your suggestions, of course. And could I prevail upon you to find someone to accompany me to Tattersall’s when I go up to London? I’d like to keep a carriage there, so I shall need to purchase some blood cattle.”

“I know just the man. Colonel Wilton. Capital judge of horseflesh, and knows how to make his way around the pitfalls.”

“This is ridiculous!” Erich almost shouted. “Why are you talking all this nonsense?”

Everyone turned toward Erich, who was flushed with anger. Her two supporters wore looks of studied curiosity. Mrs. Simpson smiled encouragement outright.

Erich gritted his teeth. “You can’t buy me off with ten thousand and a paltry property in Derbyshire. The girl’s a
loon. She needs to be tied up safely in a marriage. She terrorized the whole town only yesterday.”

“I was upset,” Ann said calmly.

“Who wouldn’t be?” Mr. Brandywine chimed in. “False accusations, her uncle sick?”

“She . . . she—”

“I think she seems of very sound mind,” Mr. Yancy observed.

“Simpson here knows that Maitlands can’t even keep staff, people are so afraid of her.”

Everyone turned toward Mrs. Simpson who flushed to the roots of her hair.

“It’s true, isn’t it, woman?”

Mrs. Simpson cleared her throat. “Some folks are superstitious, ignorant. Especially among the lower classes.”

Ann had never been prouder of her. It was all she could do to keep her mouth still.

“I should think you two would be ashamed of yourselves, Fladgate, Cobblesham, promoting a sham marriage to an out-and-out fortune hunter.” Mr. Yancy’s eyes had gone remarkably hard. “Justice of the peace and spiritual guide are positions that come with responsibility. In fact, Cobblesham, isn’t your living gifted by Brockweir? Which means it can be given elsewhere by Miss Van Helsing if she chooses.”

Cobblesham blanched. “I . . . I thought her uncle . . . I mean, a special license . . . I had no idea the lady didn’t—”

“Well, now you do,” Mr. Brandywine said.

“There is still the matter of the accusations. She may have killed four men, or helped someone to kill them.” This from the squire, trying to save face.

“I shall gladly answer Mr. Steadly’s questions,” Ann said. “And submit to his judgment.”