by Mary Nichols
Susan laughed, a high-pitched, unnatural sound, and grabbed Margaret’s arm, pinching it painfully. ‘You will die and Roland will get his wish and marry me. Nothing you do will save you.’
‘I have heard enough! Let me go.’ Margaret tried to wrench herself away and make for the stairs, but Susan reached out for her again, forcing her to turn and face her.
‘Not so fast, my lady. Do you think I am going to stand by and watch you with Roland, watch him smiling at you, even though he only does it for appearances sake? Do you think I can wait another six months to become his wife? I have always been impatient.’ She took hold of Margaret’s upper arms and began to shake her. ‘I cannot wait that long.’
Margaret began to feel very frightened; the girl was crazed with jealousy. Her eyes glinted and she seemed to have the strength of ten as she pushed Margaret until she was leaning backwards over the banister. ‘I mean to give fate a helping hand. After all, what is a month or two when you have all eternity?’ And, before Margaret could do a thing to save herself, she was flung upwards and backwards over the banister and into the well of the stair.
Roland was talking earnestly to Charles in one of the card-rooms and did not immediately notice the commotion in the hall.
‘I’ve got to break that curse,’ he was saying. ‘Even if Margaret refuses to speak to me again, I have to save her.’
‘I’m sorry old fellow; if I had foreseen…’
‘We none of us did and it was not your fault. I did not have to do as you suggested. Besides, it wasn’t only you, it was Grandmama. She hated the Capitains and saw the marriage as a way of being revenged on them.’
‘Not you, though,’ Charles said softly. ‘Not this one.’
‘No, not this one.’
‘What can you do?’
‘I went to the Bishop, thinking he might know how to get the curse lifted, but it is so old and not like a ghost which can be exorcised. There is no ghost, nor a haunted place either.’
‘Is that what he said?’
‘Yes. He also told me to give away all my worldly goods as penance; that if I owned nothing I would be absolved.’ He gave a cracked laugh. ‘He said he would be pleased to receive my wealth and possessions into the Church.’
‘Into his coffers would be more accurate!’
‘Perhaps, but do you think it would work?’
Charles shrugged. ‘I do not know. What would you live on if you gave everything away?’
‘Does that matter?’
‘You have to provide for Margaret. Would he allow you to do that first?’
‘He said it would defeat the object of laying the curse if I tried to cheat it like that. It was all or nothing.’
‘You are surely not thinking of complying? My God, Roland, you would be a pauper.’ He paused, looking thoughtful. ‘I could perhaps…’
‘No, my good fellow, I would not ask it of you. I wish there were some other way.’
‘You may as well consult a wise woman. It would be more to the point.’
Roland smiled wryly. ‘It might even come to that, because we cannot continue as we are.’ The noise of shouting and racing footsteps at last impinged on their senses. ‘What the devil is that?’
‘Someone is calling your name,’ Charles said, running and throwing open the door.
They came out into the rear of the hall and dashed towards the light, where a crowd thronged the stairs.
‘Here he is,’ shouted someone. ‘Lord Pargeter, it is your wife. She has fallen…’
But Roland had already reached the bottom of the stairs and was pushing his way up to the half-landing. The crowd moved back a little so that he could see Margaret in a crumpled heap, and someone bending over her, endeavouring to bring her to her senses. He reached her in one bound. She was very pale and very still.
‘What happened?’ he demanded, kneeling and putting one arm under her shoulders to lift her head on to his thigh.
‘She fell.’ This was Susan, standing on the gallery above them. ‘She caught her heel in her dress and toppled over.’
He glanced up at her briefly before turning his attention back to his wife. She was not dead, was she? He had not left it too late? He thought he saw her eyelids flutter and he breathed a huge sigh of relief. It was then he realised that her left arm was undoubtedly fractured; it was a strange shape and very swollen. He felt along all her limbs very gently but there did not seem to be any other broken bones. He put his other arm beneath her and picked her up.
‘Bring her to my room,’ Susan said.
He followed her with his burden, calling behind him, ‘Someone send for a physician.’
Susan led the way into her own bedchamber, where Margaret was laid on the bed. She looked so deathly pale that his heart almost stopped. If only she would regain consciousness! If only she would open her eyes! ‘Margaret.’ His voice was a hoarse whisper. ‘Margaret, look at me, please.’
‘She’s dead.’ Susan’s voice sounded unnaturally loud. He turned sharply to look at her. She was standing watching him with a gleam in her eyes which horrified him. ‘She is, isn’t she?’
‘No, dear God, not that.’
‘That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? The curse has come true. You are free.’
‘No. Go away, please. Leave me alone with her.’
‘I understand. You must act the grieving husband right to the end. But when you are ready I shall be waiting.’
He did not even hear her go, so engrossed was he with his wife. She must not die! She must live. He could not face life without her.
Margaret’s eyes flickered open. ‘Roland…’ Her eyelids dropped again. She was alive! He turned as the door opened and a little man in a black coat and breeches, with a military pigtail wig, came into the room, carrying a bag which he put on the table and opened. ‘She fell downstairs, I am told.’
‘Yes. Her arm is broken, but she is so still, I believe there might be other injuries.’
‘We shall see, we shall see.’ The doctor pulled out a sharp little knife and a bleeding-cup.
‘I do not want her bled.’
‘Why not? It will clear any excess blood to the head.’
‘Just examine her and bind up her arm.’
‘Very well, but I will not answer for the consequences.’
He pushed Roland away and sat on the bed beside Margaret to run his hands over her limbs and around her head, then down her torso. ‘She has a broken arm, as you said, and a bump on her head which is causing the insensibility.’ He pulled open her gown and laid his head on her abdomen. ‘Good. Good,’ he said, then looked up. ‘The child has a good strong heartbeat. I do not think we need to worry on that score…’
‘Child?’ Roland looked stupefied.
‘Yes. There is no doubt she is with child. Did you not know?’ He went to his bag and took out a splint and bandages and bound the broken arm.
‘No.’ Roland could hardly comprehend what the man was saying. ‘How many months?’
‘I cannot be sure until she has recovered sufficiently to answer questions, but I believe you can expect to be a father towards the end of the year.’
‘My God!’
The doctor looked at him quizzically. ‘You seem doubtful, my lord?’
‘No, no,’ Roland said, shaking his head from side to side. ‘It is just that she did not tell me.’
‘Oh, women do like their little secrets.’ He held up the bleeding-cup. ‘Are you sure? It will relieve the pressure on the brain.’
Roland was too bemused to maintain his objection and Margaret was duly bled, though she looked paler than ever when the doctor at last closed his bag and left, instructing Roland to make sure she was kept quiet and not excited in any way.
‘When can I take her home?’
‘Not until she has fully recovered her senses and that lump goes down.’
Margaret began to come round about half an hour later, though her head ached dreadfully and trying to move her arm was agonising. She
was glad to swallow the dose of laudanum she was given and drift back into unconsciousness. From then on it was difficult to separate reality from nightmare. She felt herself being undressed by gentle hands, washed and made comfortable, but she had no idea of the passage of time, did not know whether it was night or day. She wanted to open her eyes, but her eyelids were so heavy that she could not force them upwards. She heard the murmur of voices, sometimes two or three, sometimes only Roland’s, but she could not make out the words. And once she felt herself being lifted very gently and carried—she knew not where—but then decided she must have been mistaken because she was still in bed and she still could not see properly, and the gentle voice was still close by.
‘Margaret, do you hear me? Live, my darling, live…’
It was Roland’s voice and it was clearer now. But how could that be? He wanted her dead. He expected her to die. She had been pushed over the balustrade. Pushed. Had he known what Susan would do? Had he condoned it? She heard herself screaming, but she made no sound; the screams were in her head. She tried to struggle up, but could not lift her head. Better to die, better than lying here helpless. She sank back into oblivion.
The next time her eyelids flickered open, she was in her own bed in Pargeter House. She could see blue sky beyond the window, and her dressing-table with its little pots of make-up and her clothes-cupboard. She moved her head gingerly; the pain had gone. Someone was slouched in a chair beside her bed and it was a moment before she recognised her husband. He wore no coat or waistcoat and his cambric shirt was open at the neck and so creased that it looked as though he had slept in it. His chin was on his chest and, though his hair was held back by a ribbon, a dark lock of it fell across his forehead. He looked grey with fatigue and had several days’ growth of beard.
‘Roland?’
He started up guiltily, then, realising she had really spoken and it had not been a dream, leaned forward and took her hand. ‘Margaret. Thank God, thank God.’
‘How did I get here? I don’t remember…’
‘I carried you. I thought you would rather be in your own room.’ He had not been at all satisfied with the treatment she had been getting from that fool of a doctor at Chalfont House, who seemed to rely too much on bleeding and tincture of opium. And Susan had been in and out on some pretext or other most of the day. Margaret had been in her room and Susan had been obliged to sleep in a guest room, so he could hardly exclude her. He had been very suspicious of her story that Margaret had caught her heel in her gown. He had undressed his wife himself and there had been no tear in the material of her skirt. He was thankful that she had tumbled no further than the half-landing. If she had gone over further along the gallery, nothing could have saved her from falling straight down on to the marble floor of the vestibule to her death.
‘How long…?’
‘Two weeks and three days.’
‘Have you been there all the time?’
He smiled sheepishly. ‘Most of it. Now you are going to get better.’
‘Roland.’ She paused. ‘Before…before the accident happened, I had something to tell you about…’
‘You are with child, I know. The doctor assures me the baby is unharmed.’
‘Are you angry?’
‘Angry?’ He was puzzled. ‘Why should I be angry?’
‘It was not part of your plan that I should have a baby, was it? Now, if I die, you will lose your son too…’
‘You are not going to die, do you hear?’ His voice was a fierce whisper. ‘You are going to live and so is our child.’
‘Mistress Chalfont said… She told me…’
‘Damn Mistress Chalfont!’ he said with feeling, then more gently, ‘Do not think of her; do not think of anything. Rest now.’
She smiled and drifted off to sleep again, but when she woke the next time Kate was sitting by her bed and there was no sign of Roland. She wondered if she had dreamed that earlier awakening as the true horror of her position came flooding back.
‘Oh, I am so pleased to see you awake,’ Kate said. ‘You gave us such a fright.’
Margaret looked round the bright room. The window was open and she could hear bird-song. ‘Roland was here…’
‘Yes, we persuaded him that he really must rest.’ She reached out and patted Margaret’s good hand; the other was encased in splints and a tight bandage. ‘He has been distraught with worry and has not left your side since it happened. We could get no sense out of him at all and he would not go to bed, but now you are mending and all will be well.’ She paused. ‘Do you remember what happened?’
‘No.’ She could not tell anyone what really occurred; she could not say, Roland wants me dead and Susan pushed me over the balustrade. It was too outrageous an accusation for anyone to believe.
‘Mistress Chalfont said you caught your heel in your gown and tripped. She tried to reach out to save you, but she was not quick enough. Roland carried you to her room, but as soon as you could be moved he arranged a litter to bring you home. Can you recall any of that?’
‘Everything is a blur,’ Margaret said, frowning a little. ‘I seem to remember being carried and sometimes I heard voices, but nothing is very clear.’
‘It doesn’t matter now; you are going to get well.’ She laughed suddenly. ‘Why did you not tell me you are going to have a baby?’
‘I wanted to tell Roland first, and somehow I couldn’t find the right moment.’
‘Foolish girl,’ Kate said. ‘When is it due?’
‘In December.’ Margaret smiled weakly. ‘Somewhere near the anniversary of our wedding.’ The date was significant, she realised. If there was any truth at all in the story Susan had told her about the curse, she was expected to die within a year of marriage. Her child might be born before that, but perhaps not. Perhaps she would die in childbirth. The drugs she had been given had dulled her senses so that she could view the prospect without emotion, almost as if it were happening to someone else. If Roland did not love her, she did not want to live.
She stopped her meandering thoughts abruptly. She did not believe in that nonsense, even if Roland did. She was young and strong and there was no reason why she should not have a healthy child and live to a ripe old age. But with Roland? If his plans were thwarted, would he cast her aside? Did she want to live with a man who wished her dead? If only… If only… She was so tired, so very tired. She drifted off to sleep again.
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘IF ONLY I could see into the future.’ Roland had washed and shaved and dressed properly for the first time in three weeks, although his naturally tanned face looked grey and his eyes were clouded with exhaustion. He was sitting in the breakfast-room with a pot of coffee in front of him from which he had just poured two cups. Kate had gone up to sit with Margaret, and Charles was sharing his breakfast. Not that he had eaten anything; these days he had no appetite.
‘What would you have done?’ Charles prompted him.
‘I don’t know. I would never have married her and condemned her…’
‘Would you have married Susan?’
‘No, I do not think so. Oh, not only because of that curse, but because I would have realised we just would not suit.’
‘You have fallen in love with Margaret?’
‘Yes, by God, and that can never alter.’ He paused, thinking of Margaret as she had been at Winterford, lying in his arms after they had made love the first time, her body glowing and her lovely eyes dreamy with contentment. She was part of him, his other half, his better half, and without her he would wither and die. Perhaps it would be better if he did. ‘Charles, I must have that curse lifted. I don’t care how it is done, even if I die in the attempt.’
‘Perhaps the worst will never happen; perhaps you are worrying for nothing. Curses can only harm you if you believe in them.’
‘How can I not believe? It is not just me, is it? That curse is over a hundred years old and it has been true of every generation since it was made. Why should I be the exce
ption?’
‘I can only suggest you wait and see. After all, your wife has already survived near drowning and a fall that might have killed her. Perhaps that is a good omen.’
‘Omens!’ he exclaimed bitterly. ‘Margaret does not believe in them.’
‘There you are, then!’
‘She didn’t know about the curse, not until Susan told her everything and made it sound as if I wanted her dead. Curse or no, Margaret hates me for that, and who can blame her?’
‘Can you be sure of that?’
‘Wouldn’t you, in her place? And if Susan pushed her…’
‘I say, Roland, that’s a bit brown, isn’t it? You haven’t been fair to Susan either, have you?’
‘I am only too aware of it. But what would you have me do?’
‘What you need is a rest. Why don’t you try to get away for a while?’
‘It is too soon for Margaret to be moved.’
‘I meant without her. If you could part for a while, you might be able to get things straight in your head…’
‘God, man, do you think I can walk away from her now? What do you take me for?’
‘What good will your staying do? If you remember, you had intended to leave her immediately after you married her. You said you could not face her, knowing what was to happen to her…’
‘That was before…’
‘Before you fell in love with her, I know, but that is all the greater reason for leaving her now. She has doctors and nurses in plenty, and if you are absent she may survive.’ He paused to look into his friend’s face. The anguish Roland was feeling was plainly evident; his face was ashen and drawn and there was a bleak look to his eyes. He was a man without hope. ‘Which is more important, staying with her and trying to convince her you do not want her to die after all, or to go away from her and leave her free to live?’
