Demonwood

by Anne Stuart

  "Let me help you," she murmured insistently when we reached the surprising warmth of my room. The copper and enamel bathtub was steaming in front of me, and the thought of that warm water soothing away my aches and pains made me want to cry with longing. But the last thing I wanted was to undress in front of Lillian's avid eyes, and expose to her my bruised flesh with the marks of Connell's rage still on me.

  "I . . . I can manage myself," I said with as much firmness as I could muster. "But if you would brew me that posset?"

  "I don't think I should leave you alone," she said worriedly, her plump fingers fidgeting with her fussy gown.

  "I'll be fine. By the time you're back I'll be warm in bed," I promised, inwardly begging her to leave.

  When at last I was alone I sank into the steaming water with tears of gratitude, keeping my weary eyes averted from the dark blue and purple stains on my arms and legs and torso. Using the lavdnder scented soap which was Mrs. Carpenter's pride, I scrubbed every inch of my body fiercely, including my tangled black curls. They would wave around my face more wildly than ever, I knew, but I had the almost desperate need to feel clean once more. I finally stepped from the tub when the water turned chilly. Drying myself with slow, exhausted thoroughness in front of the blazing fire, I kept an ear out for Lillian's return. Having discovered the extent of my damages, I was even more determined that she shouldn't see what her brother had inflicted upon me. If only he had finished what he had started so brutally I could have hated him. His last- minute mercy left me guilt-ridden and secretly, shamefully filled with frustrated longings I wouldn't even begin to define.

  I pulled a fresh, clean flannel nightgown from my trunk, noticing for the first time its tumbled appearance. Surely I hadn't been that overwrought last night, that I had just thrown my clothes in helter-skelter like that? But my mind was too tired to cope with questions that couldn't be answered, so wearily I crawled into my bed, averting my eyes from the gray, wet landscape outside my myriad of windows.

  "Drink this." I heard Lillian's voice through a haze of sleep, and found myself swallowing a hot, spicy brew. And a moment later everything drifted into a soft, warm world where I was loved and cared for and protected, and no one would ever hurt me.

  I awoke in bits and pieces. Perhaps it was the silence, so strange after the constant drumming of the rain on the roof above my head. Or maybe it was the crackling of the fire, the fresh dry logs burning merrily, spreading heat through the room. I opened one eye and mentally thanked my silent friend who'd cared enough to build up my fire. I listened carefully in the strange afternoon light, and then placed the strange sound. It was the quiet creak, creak of the rocker, and I opened my eyes wider to recognize Maeve's still form, her blond curls trailing down her back, her red dress glowing in the firelight.

  "Maeve?" I questioned hesitantly. She didn't move, didn't turn around. "Maeve," I said louder, more insistently. Still she didn't move. Sighing, I rose from my warm, safe bed and padded across the cold floor to her side, reaching one hand to her shoulder to shake her. My hand stopped short as I saw her face. And the red sash wrapped so tightly around her once-lovely throat like a trail of blood, a sash that had cut the life off from her many, many hours before.

  I stumbled backward, opening my mouth to scream, but no sound came out. My cousin's corpse just kept rocking, rocking, in a macabre parody of life, and in numbed horror I ran from the room, down the long flights of stairs and straight into Con's study.

  He was at his desk, and the expression on his face as he looked up and saw me in my nightclothes would have quelled a braver person. But I was in no state to care.

  It took him only a moment to recognize the shock and horror on my face. "What is it?" he asked hoarsely, knocking over his chair as he jumped up. ''Is it Maeve?"

  Dumbly I nodded. "In my room," I choked out, and he rushed past me without another glance.

  I stood there for a moment or two longer, before I realized how very cold this cold, cold house had become. Dazedly I moved over to the fire. Reaching for the cut glass decanter, I unstoppered it and held it to my lips, pouring a good mouthful of whiskey down my throat, then another. It suddenly dawned on me that I had let Connell go up to my room unaccompanied —he could destroy any damning evidence. And I couldn't have cared less. Taking one more stiff drink, I sank down on the sofa in front of the fire and waited.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The normally empty, cavernous rooms of Demonwood swarmed with people and activity for the next hours. All the servants, inside and outside, seemed intent on hurried and mysterious business, while the constable from Lyman's Gore and his myrmidons strode around looking very grave and officious. Lillian would wring her hands and cast frightened bewildered glances at Connell's stern, impassive face whenever she thought no one was watching, and Daniel stayed huddled next to me on the loveseat, a blanket over the two of us, while we listened in bewilderment to the subtle questions and threats from Constable Hardy, to the guarded, quiet replies of the widower. And never once did he look at me, meet my questioning eyes. Lillian's damp, accusing ones were enough to convince Hardy.

  The long, long day passed into an even longer night. The police removed poor Maeve's body with the stern injunction that no one was to leave Lyman's Gore without permission.

  "This isn't something that can be covered up this time," Hardy warned pompously, and I watched Con's mouth tighten with barely controlled anger.

  Lillian, Daniel, and I made a half-hearted attempt at eating, but Mrs. Carpenter, her rosy cheeks streaked with tears for her beloved Maeve, refused to prepare anything, and none of us possessed the skill or the will to make an appetizing meal.

  "Sleep is what we all need," Lillian murmured, pushing away her plate with its half-finished dinner.

  "You'll share my room, Mary." There was a sudden assumption of authority, an authority she would never have dared usurp had Maeve still been alive. Controlling a strong wave of distaste, I nevertheless replied with as much forcefulness as I could muster.

  "No, I think not, thank you, Lillian. I don't sleep well unless I'm alone." And Con, damn his soul, chose that, moment to enter the dining room. One coldly raised eyebrow was enough to flood my fair complexion with blushes, blushes that failed to escape Lillian's avid attention.

  "But the police have locked your room. I do admire your nerve, but nevertheless . . ."

  "I'll stay in one of the smaller bedrooms on the second floor; that is, if no one has any objections. Near Daniel's room—he's rather off by himself right now." Daniel threw me a look of gratitude from his sleepy, tearless eyes, so different from his aunt's red-rimmed and grieving ones.

  "My dear Mary," Con broke in smoothly, "why should we have any objections? Not that I consider you in any way fit to protect Daniel if one can judge by past performances." And with those cold, cruel words uttered in such a gentle voice he turned on his heel and left.

  Lillian's mouth was a perfect "O" of wonder, but one look at the stormy, desperate expression on my face was enough to convince her not to pry this time. She shrugged her sturdy shoulders. "As Con said, dear, whatever you wish. I . . . I'm sorry he's in such a nasty temper. I did warn you, didn't I?"

  My eyes met her soft brown ones across Daniel's dozing form. "Yes, you did warn me."

  I slept fitfully that night, disturbed by the unfamiliar bed, the myriad aches and pains still wracking my tortured body, and the memory of Maeve rocking back and forth in the red-flocked rocking chair. And every sound, every creak, every sigh of wind would make my eyes fly open, certain that Con was outside my door, ready to finish the punishment he had begun.

  It was almost daybreak before I slept, and the stillness of the house combined with the cold, dark gray- ness of the day kept me lost to the world till noon. When I opened my eyes to the dull, gloomy day I wanted to burrow deeper under the covers, do anything rather than face the murderous reality of life at Demonwood.

  Grimly I pulled myself out of the comfortable bed, grimly I dre
ssed in a dull black dress that Lillian had unearthed for me from among her mother's stored clothing. Elaine Carradine Fitzgerald, daughter of the famous countess, had been a tall, stately woman with a motherly figure that dwarfed even my well-rounded proportions. The graceful elegance and cut transcended style and modishness, and I was slightly cheered.

  The kitchens were deserted when I finally slipped downstairs, and I rummaged in Mrs. Carpenter's usually well-stocked bread box while I heated some of the iron-flavored coffee on the back of the massive cookstove. I dosed it with generous amounts of sugar and fresh cream to try and nullify some of the bitterness and buttered a slice of hardened bread when Mrs. Carpenter appeared, one of Maeve's discarded, frivolous hats clamped incongruously on her iron-gray head. Her tiny eyes were red-rimmed with crying, her prim mouth pursed with hate and disapproval.

  I stopped mid-munch, awash with guilt that I hadn't even bothered to mourn my own cousin. I swallowed hastily. "Are you going somewhere, Mrs. Carpenter?"

  She sniffed. "I'm leaving, Miss Gallager. And I suggest you do the same. Your precious murdering paramour isn't long for this world—it's time you found yourself another protector."

  "What are you talking about?" My guilt and pity vanished before her belligerence.

  "Don't you think I don't keep my eyes open? I saw him go to your room two nights ago. I was waiting to tell your poor, deluded cousin, but she, sweet lady, was already dead. Murdered by her own husband." Her cold black eyes were flecked with madness, and I edged nervously away.

  "But you needn't think he'll get away with it this time, missy. Perley Robinson is seeing to that. Before that fool of a constable can pull a few strings and let that wife-killer go scot-free he'll be strung up higher than a flag. People in the state of Vermont don't take kindly to having rich murderers in their midst." She smiled then, baring her stained and rotting teeth, and I took my cup of lukewarm coffee and hurled it in her face. And then, being a coward at heart, I ran from the room before she could retaliate with anything worse than screamed imprecations.

  "Where's Con?" I found Lillian in the lavender drawing room. She looked up from her needlework with an expression of mild surprise.

  "Why, I believe he's taken Daniel over to stay with Mrs. Riordan for a few days. He's anticipating some trouble, although of course I told him he was absurd. No one will ever convict him of murdering Maeve. A man of his wealth and position should be safe from these local people."

  "Why do you say it like that, Lillian?" I asked quietly. "Do you think he murdered her?"

  Her eyes filled with ready tears. "Oh, Mary," she murmured piteously, but my heart was like ice. "Don't ask me such a thing! He's my baby brother—I have to protect him, no matter what he's done."

  I stared at her woebegone face with helpless rage. "Would you tell him I need to see him when he returns?" I asked after a long moment. If he returns, I couldn't help but think. "I'm going for a walk right now. When I come back I'll be in the schoolroom. It's very urgent, Lillian."

  "Of course, dear. But what . . .?" I was already out of the room-.

  But several hours in the strangely warm, damp weather, plowing my way through slushy snow did little to solve my problems, to answer the questions that were plaguing me. When I finally arrived back at the gilt and rose-colored halls of Demonwood, my wet, shivering body matched my sodden spirits. I had nothing to change into—all my clothes were locked up in Maeve's death chamber. The only alternative was to try and squeeze my ample proportions into one of Maeve's gowns, and that I would not do.

  Before I could lose what little courage I possessed, I tossed my damp cape onto a nearby chair and strode purposefully up to Con's study door.

  He answered my summons politely enough. Swallowing once, I opened the door.

  "What do you want?" He made no attempt at courtesy, not even deigning to rise from behind his massive mahogany desk.

  "I . . . I came to warn you," I stammered nervously.

  "Oh, really?" Sarcasm was heavy in that lovely, lilting voice. "I don't think I'll be needing any help from you, Mary Gallager. Carpenter has deserted the sinking ship, but I'm sure Peter will be glad to escort you to the train tomorrow. Unless you choose to stay on with him." The expression on his dark face was cold and hateful, and some of the dam of pain and anger broke within me.

  "Damn you, Connell Fitzgerald, I'm trying to save your worthless life!" I couldn't tell whether it was really horses I could hear coming down the road at a steady pace, or a figment of my terrified imagination. "They're going to hang you. Perley Robinson has got everyone in town worked up . . . he's determined you won't . . ." I let it trail off guiltily, and the look in his blue eyes was ironic.

  "He's determined that I won't get away with it again? Well, I can't say that I blame him." He rose, shuffling his papers together in an abstracted attempt at neatness. "I've left instructions with Mrs. Riordan over at Stonewalls. She's promised to take care of Daniel. He'll be happy there—he's always been fond of her."

  "But what about Lillian?"

  "Lillian can live her own life for once. She's not to have a hand in Daniel's raising," he said coldly. "This is really the best way. It will save everyone a great deal of trouble, don't you think?"

  "Don't be daft!" I half shouted at him. "You can't just let them murder you! Daniel needs you!" And I need you, I thought desperately, hating myself for my weakness.

  "Daniel will do well enough. He couldn't have done much worse with Maeve as a mother and you as a guardian."

  I flinched before his biting contempt. "I didn't dare tell you she'd beaten Daniel. Connell, you would have killed her!" And then I bit my lip, aghast at what I'd said.

  "Do you expect me to thank you for that? You'll have a long wait in front of you, Mary Gallager!"

  The tears that I'd fought against so long were flowing freely down my cheeks, but still he stared at me with a cold, unmoved countenance. "Won't you even listen to me?" I cried. "Let me try and explain . . ."

  "There's nothing to explain. I think you've said everything you ever need to say to me. Now get out."

  "They're going to hang you! They're going to storm the jail after you're arrested and drag you out and hang you and no one will be able to stop them," I sobbed helplessly. "And I won't be able to bear it."

  In two strides he was across the room, shaking my weeping form until my teeth rattled and the desperate hysteria left me abruptly.

  "That's better." There was a momentary softening in his hard, cruel voice. And then his grip tightened as we heard the pounding on the front door, and we stood there, immobilized as we heard the sound of a score or more feet trample into the front hall.

  "Warrant for Connell Fitzgerald's arrest on the charge of murder." Constable Hardy's voice was unnaturally loud in the deserted house. We couldn't make out Lillian's reply.

  "It seems you were right," Con said with soft grim- ness. And then pulled me into his arms and kissed me as I'd never been kissed before, with a gentle desperation and a deep, yearning passion that knew no bounds. And then he flung me away from him and slammed out of the room.

  "Good afternoon, Zeke." I heard him greet the constable casually. "You boys all here to take me in? I assure you I have no intention of trying to escape."

  "I'm awful sorry about all this bother, Mr. Fitzgerald, sir. I'm sure it'll all be cleared up in no time." Hardy's voice was suddenly nervous and unsure of himself, and I felt a surge of hatred.

  "Of course." Was it only me who could hear the gallows humor in Con's voice—the voice I might never hear again?

  "I brought along a few boys for your own protection. Seems like Perley Robinson's been stirring up some trouble in town. Nothing to worry about, of course, but it never hurts to be too careful, does it?"

  I watched them from the window till they were out of sight, my tears drying on my cheeks.

  "You need some rest, Mary dear," Lillian spoke from behind me, and I turned to her wearily. She looked curiously calm for a woman about to lose
her beloved brother, and a gentle smile played around her full lips. "I have some tea made. Come sit down and we'll have a nice, soothing cup. And then an early bed. You'll find that things will look a lot better in the morning."

  "Will they?" I questioned listlessly, accepting the fragile bone china cup.

  "Of course, Mary." She patted my hand. "You drink that down and I'll go get some of Mrs. Carpenter's nice ginger cake. You won't be wanting any dinner tonight, will you?"

  "No, Lillian. You needn't bother . . ." But she was gone before I had a chance to stop her.

  I sipped at the bitter tea, then made a moue of distaste. Without a moment's hesitation I tipped the contents of my cup into the potted ferns and replaced it with whiskey. That would be much more helpful in providing me with sleep and forgetfulness than all the tea in China.

  Dutifully I nibbled the stale ginger cake she brought, dutifully I kissed her plump cheek, dutifully I climbed the stairs to my second-floor bedroom. I lay down on the bed, not even bothering to remove my shoes, certain I would never sleep. And before long I was dead to the world, when I thought I would never rest again.

  It was the smoke that brought me fully awake, the thick, choking, strangling smoke, blinding my eyes with tears and smothering me as I tried to call out. I struggled to my feet, fighting blindly against the bedcovers, and staggered in the direction of the door.

  As I fought my way through the deserted hallways there was no sign of flames, but the ominous crackling of wood being devoured by the conflagration reached my ears, and the heat scorched my skin until I thought my clothes would burst into flames.