Somewhere My Love

by Beth Trissel

  Will didn’t get far into Hamlet’s discourse on the fleeting nature of life before his grandmother found it tedious. She arrived with the funeral procession made up of her queenly self and his evil uncle, alias the sweaty Douglas. The parish priest whom she’d bullied into conducting the service was also present, a bespectacled, gray-haired man in a black clerical suit and white collar.

  Lyle, as Laertes, was in the group, incensed with Hamlet for his part in Ophelia’s death and not much happier with Will. Paul slouched among the extra mourners. One vital player was missing.

  Grandmother Nora gestured at the empty stretcher that would be decorated with fresh flowers the night of the play. “Well, sir. We have a funeral bower and no corpse. Where is Miss Morrow?”

  Will cringed to hear Julia spoken of that way. “Resting,” he said lamely.

  “Now?” Nora’s silver brows lifted in marked disapproval. “She’s to be lying here drowned.”

  Charlotte flew into the hall, heading straight for Will. His stomach sank at the anxiety creasing her face.

  “Julia’s not in her room. I can’t find her anywhere!”

  Will had one glaring thought. He flew at the Aussie. Seizing him by the shoulders, he gave him a furious shake. “What in God’s name have you done to her!”

  Lyle goggled his eyes at him. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “You tell me, you bastard!” Will drew back his fist and let it fly in a crunch of bone against bone. Lyle’s jaw would be even more bruised now.

  The big guy staggered back, shaking his head. “Wentworth, I swear I’m gonna kill you!”

  “After I’m finished pounding your lying mouth!”

  Father Seth held up a conciliatory hand. “Please, please, gentlemen.”

  Ron rushed at Will and grabbed his wrist with callused fingers. “Lyle was with me today! We never saw her again after she went off.”

  Will faltered in Ron’s iron hold. “When was that?”

  “Late morning,” Ron said.

  Grandmother Nora glanced from one to the other in arched astonishment. “With whom did the young lady leave?”

  “Why, with herself, I assumed,” Will said.

  She looked down her nose at him. “Never assume. Know.”

  Blast it all, she was right. Sick desperation drove into his gut, sped by the hammering in his heart. “Who saw her last?”

  Lyle seemed to have lost his crude humor. He was in dead earnest. “Those girls she ticked off wouldn’t really harm her, would they?”

  “What girls?” Grandmother Nora pressed.

  “Your grandson’s jealous fans.”

  The older woman sank onto a stool. “What have you incited now, sir?”

  “Nothing,” Will fervently hoped. “Surely envious women will only go so far?”

  Heads shook, worry writ on every face.

  “Whatever happened to proper chaperones?” his grandmother bemoaned.

  “What, indeed.” Charlotte fixed her attention on Paul. “Julia was with you last I saw. Did she say where she might have gone?”

  Paul lifted his shallow shoulders and let them drop. “She www––was sad. I ggg––gave her a sss––soda.”

  Will studied the twitch in his reluctant gaze. “Then what?”

  Paul clamped his thin lips together, a mulish set to his jaw. “PPP––Pretty Julia’s sss––safe,” he sputtered, and stabbed an accusing finger at Lyle. “From him.”

  “What the––” Will began, and broke off. He forced himself to speak calmly so as not to rattle the unstable youth, but it took every ounce of fortitude he possessed. “Lyle hasn’t seen her since this morning.”

  “He lll––lies. YYY––You said.”

  “Not this time, he isn’t. What do you know about her?”

  Paul slid his eyes everywhere except at Will.

  Father Seth laid a firm hand on Paul’s arm. “If you know something about the young lady, you must say. The Bible commands us to speak the truth.”

  Paul’s pointed face flushed. “I ddd––did! She’s OK!”

  The little weasel. Will had had enough, evidently at the exact instant Lyle arrived at that same decision.

  Swooping at Paul, Lyle grabbed him by his scrawny elbows and ripped him up off the floor. He dangled him helplessly. “Where have you put her, you lying toad!”

  Further reddened, Paul kicked helplessly, but refused to answer, only saying, “WWW––Where you ccc––can’t find her!”

  Will had never felt so desperate in his life. He pushed away the horrific image of Julia locked inside a coffin-like chest. Praying Paul had at least a basic grasp of her need for oxygen, he rounded on the young delinquent. “Tell us or I swear I’ll thrash you myself.”

  Paul narrowed outraged eyes at him.

  Grandmother Nora thunked the floor with her cane. “That will not be necessary, William.” She stood, leaning on her stick, and cocked her head at the youth dangling in Lyle’s grasp like a rat. “You have put this young lady through Lord only knows what ordeal and upset us all. Worse. You’ve interfered with the play. If you do not come forth at once with her whereabouts you shall not be in it.”

  For the first time since the questioning began in earnest, Paul appeared truly alarmed. He stilled, and Lyle lowered him to the floor so that he stood chin to chin with the indignant woman.

  He worked his angular jaw back and forth. “No play?”

  She regarded him as a monarch might an unruly serf. “Not unless you produce Miss Morrow at once.”

  “MMM––Miss Maury,” he dissented.

  “Miss Maury is long dead.”

  “NNN––No,” Paul sputtered. “SSS––She’s in the attic.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Captain Wentworth! You damn scoundrel!”

  Julia froze in mid-step, her gloved hand in Cole’s, as Cameron’s voice boomed through the merry assembly of bejeweled ladies and impeccably clothed gentlemen.

  Somewhere between the time Cole had thrown Cameron out of Foxleigh and the zenith of the ball, he must have found a tavern and wet his wounded pride. The poetic side of the Scotsman she’d witnessed was gone, replaced by unveiled belligerence. He lurched, red-faced, through the appalled gathering.

  Musicians seated up on the landing overlooking the great hall, broke off in the middle of a lively English dance. Silk gowns swirled to a halt as graceful dancers paused in long promenading lines. Women covered parted lips with their fans and men frowned. Some stepped protectively in front of their feminine partners.

  Cole dropped his eyes to Julia’s, steel in their brown depths, and calmly said, “Pray excuse me, dearest. It would seem I am summoned.” With a reassuring squeeze, he released her hand and started toward Cameron.

  The duchess narrowed her glittering gaze at the Scotsman reeling through the parting dancers. “Begone sir. Your vulgar behavior disturbs my guests.”

  “Not until I’ve had satisfaction from your lout of a son!”

  The majestic woman held her head high. “You dare call him a lout, you drunken oaf.”

  “‘Tis a pity women can’t be challenged.” Cameron clumsily drew his sword. The finely honed blade glinted evilly in the dazzling room as he wove dangerously close to the scattering assembly.

  Cole interposed himself between his mother and the drunkard. “I assure you, sir, you are in far less danger from me than this lady. She regrets the demise of a torture chamber for such as you.”

  “Really, Cole,” the duchess reproved him.

  He flashed his mother a devilish grin that sparkled in his eyes. Steel sang as he drew his sword from the emblazoned sheath that had been his father’s. Motioning everyone back, he swiped it, whistling, at Cameron. Bottle-green buttons flew from the weaving man’s coat and hit the polished floor with a ping, then rolled across the wood.

  “Bloody hell!” Cameron bellowed.

  Cole spoke coolly, “The next slice will cut flesh.”

  “Damn right––yours, Capt
ain––” Cameron grunted, and lunged.

  Cole stepped aside.

  The incensed man barreled past him and collided with a low table. The fine furnishing toppled to the floor, smashing crystal goblets the guests had set aside. Cameron wound up alongside the wreckage, waving his sword overhead.

  Titters of amusement rippled through the incredulous onlookers. “Ludicrous!” one gentleman guffawed.

  Cameron clamored to his feet, his coat flapping open, and turned on Cole. “Fight! You coward!”

  Cole regarded him with catlike disinterest. “For that, I must have an opponent.”

  “You’ve got one, laddie!” Cameron rushed at him like an enraged bull.

  Cole’s expression was one of polite disdain. No animal lust like Cameron’s, just simple scorn. Steel struck sparks as he swung his sword with effortless skill.

  Cameron staggered back under the force of Cole’s well aimed blow. Fire in his bloodshot eyes, he sprang forward again and swung hard.

  With a twist of his blade, Cole disarmed him. He sent Cameron’s sword clattering to the floor. Cole caught it up in his other hand and aimed both lethal points at the red-faced Scotsman. “Do you insist on first blood or shall we stop now?”

  As drunk as he was, Cameron could see the biting metal at his throat. “I concede,” he spit out.

  Ever the gentleman, Cole lowered the weapons. He returned Cameron’s sword, hilt first, to its owner with a bow. “We shall consider the matter resolved. I will escort you from the house.”

  The mounting hum of conversation buzzed around Julia as Cole walked Cameron across the hall. The intoxicated man stopped just before the doorway. Then he did the unthinkable. Pulling a silver-handled dagger from his side, he raked it across Cole’s sword arm in a wild swipe. The crimson silk was torn. He jerked back, scarlet running down his sleeve.

  Julia’s dismay resounded from the throats of many women.

  “Foul cheat!” one man shouted.

  “Ought to be taken out and horse whipped!” belted a second.

  Jerking up her skirts, Julia ran at Cole. She pushed through the crowd in a decidedly unladylike manner and stopped only a few feet from the two men.

  Every feature of Cole’s handsome face was tightly reined. “Leave now, sir, and do not return on pain of death.”

  After that gross insult, he was letting Cameron walk away? Julia couldn’t take it in.

  Cameron blinked at Cole in glassy-eyed disbelief.

  “You are intoxicated and not yourself,” Cole said by way of dismissal.

  Lady Pembrook’s face was a barely contained mask of fury. “It’s a far sight more sporting than he deserves. If your aunt were not abed she would have choice words for this wretch.”

  Even with blood dripping from his arm, Cole quipped, “I told you Mama regrets not having a dungeon at Foxleigh.”

  Laughter lessened the grim mood of the uneasy assembly.

  Julia wasn’t appeased. She snatched a snowy napkin from a table and rushed to Cole. “Get out, Mr. Cameron! I never coveted your affections and don’t ever wish to see you again!” she shouted, and pressed the cloth to Cole’s wound.

  “As you wish,” Cameron slurred. The emerald in the dagger’s hilt caught the light as he sheathed it. With a look somewhere between indignation and shame, he turned and tracked unsteadily out the door.

  Lady Pembrook motioned to the shaken parlor maid. “Summon, Peter. Tell him to go and fetch Doctor Morris.”

  Cole was a shade paler than he’d been only moments before, but he shook his head. “There’s no need for a physician, Mother.”

  “That wound will require stitching, I shouldn’t wonder.”

  “A poultice will serve until the morrow. Don’t drag the good doctor from his bed at this late hour.”

  His mother hesitated and stayed the servant with a regal hand. “Old Tom is heavily asleep from imbibing too much wine. Tell Peter to gather yarrow root and pound it well. Old Tom has put him to use in the garden. The boy knows his herbs.”

  “Yes,” Julia agreed. She’d often seen Peter in the company of the head gardener. A former slave, wrinkled and wise, Old Tom was renowned for his knowledge of plants.

  With the matter apparently settled for the night, Cole held up his uninjured arm to hail the rattled gathering. “Pray excuse me, all. Forgive my abrupt departure.”

  Everyone in the hall applauded his gallantry.

  Julia peeled off her blood-stained gloves, dropping one in her haste to help Lady Pembrook assist Cole to his chamber. And then it struck her with unbearable heaviness, like flood waters engulfing her in a choking tide, that she never saw him alive again.

  ****

  Will had to get to Julia. He couldn’t mount the torturous stairs to the attic fast enough. The electricity was out at this level and he shone a flashlight as he hammered up the narrow confine. Reach her––reach her––drummed in his mind with every pounding step.

  He’d insisted on coming for her alone, even pushed Lyle back. Hell, he’d practically snarled at the Aussie like a wolf claiming its own, and left Paul with Father Seth. God only knew what kind of shape she’d be in emotionally. What on earth was that crazy juvenile thinking to shut her up here? This was a stretch even for someone of Paul’s limited capability. Will was sorely tempted to wring his puny neck.

  Panting from the adrenalin rush and rapid climb, he reached the top of the flight. As expected, the door was locked. Fortunately, Will didn’t need a key. Paul probably would have hidden it if he had, damn him. Rather than unlock the heavy door, he turned the bolt and stepped inside. He wanted to explode into the dark space, but feared further alarming Julia.

  Fighting for calm, Will skimmed the light over the dusty trunks and shrouded costumes. “Julia? It’s me, Will.”

  No reply. Then, he heard the weeping, soft at first and rapidly increasing in volume.

  He shone the light into the corner beside the chimney. There! Seemingly unaware of him, she lay curled on the floor shaking like a reed in the wind.

  Relief at finding her rose beside the fresh alarm washing through him. She sounded crushed beyond all bearing. “Oh, Julia. It’ll be all right,” he half-promised, half-pleaded, and bounded across the creaking boards to her.

  Will knelt beside the distraught young woman, glad for the flask of brandy Charlotte had the presence of mind to slip into his pocket. He laid the flashlight on the floor. The white beam made unworldly shadows on the walls and left Julia mostly in the dark as he reached down to gather her against him.

  “I’ve been out of my mind with worry over you,” he said, battling breathless emotion. One of them had to be in control.

  Scooping her up into his arms, Will held her to him as if he’d never let her go. Never. He instinctively knew she was dearer to him than anyone and anything in the world, though not entirely sane.

  She wept racking sobs against his chest, the sort that rendered coherent speech impossible.

  For a time, he simply held her and let her cry. “I’m so sorry, so sorry,” he said over and over.

  He pulled out the handkerchief Charlotte had also stuffed in his pocket and gently mopped Julia’s wet face. “No one had any idea you were up here. Paul had some crazy idea he was keeping you safe from Lyle.”

  Still, she made no attempt to speak.

  Will unscrewed the flask and held it to her lips. “Here, sip this.”

  She did as he urged, coughing a little.

  He plied her with more brandy, praying it would calm her hysteria. She was in even worse shape than he’d feared. He should get her out of this attic and tucked into bed. Maybe even call a doctor.

  “I’m going to help you up now. Ok, Julia?”

  No answer.

  He glanced down and saw that she was clinging to something, red cloth, by the looks of it. He hesitated a moment and stayed as he was. “What have you got there?”

  “Cole’s coat––stained with blood,” she choked out.

  A cold chill ran
down Will.

  She drew in a quavering breath. “Oh, Will. He’s dead. Cole’s dead.”

  With that, she completely broke down.

  She must have had another one of her vivid dreams. Even so, Will was stunned by the depth of her grief. He cradled her convulsing against him. “You already knew this, sweetheart.”

  “But I saw––” she gasped out.

  Will was suddenly intent on her every word. Maybe in her odd way, Julia had picked up on something. “You know how he died?”

  “Not the very end. But Cameron cheated after he and Cole dueled and slashed Cole’s arm. I bound his wound––dropped my glove. Cameron must have come back later in the night and stabbed him.”

  It seemed to take everything Julia had to tell Will this much. He hesitated to press her for more. Instead, he held her to him, stroking her hair and kissing the side of her damp cheek. Tears even wet her ears.

  “Shhhh...don’t weep so hard,” he whispered.

  “I’m afraid I won’t ever see Cole again. He said we had so little time––and now––”

  A sob broke her reply and she slumped in Will’s arms as though she couldn’t go on.

  That must have been one hell of a dream. Somehow, Julia was reliving Cole’s death and the resultant anguish all over again. She seemed helplessly lost, but Will knew she was still in there, somewhere. He had to find her.

  He blotted her face again and prodded her to another swallow of brandy, trying not to let his jealousy over this dead ancestor interfere with his all-out effort to help her.

  “You still have me, Julia,” he soothed.

  “But you think I’m nuts. That hasn’t changed, has it?”

  He couldn’t deny rather strong, lingering questions. “The difference is that I no longer care if you are. I just want you.”

  “I need you to believe me, Will.”

  “I believe you truly think you’ve seen Cole.”

  She lifted her tear-stained face, partly concealed in the eerie half-light, and fixed him with swollen liquid eyes. “I’m looking at him now, only he doesn’t know. So I’ve lost him.” She gulped in a shallow breath. “Forever.”