Honour's Redemption
Page 13
“I had a strange dream also,” Ruth tried to calm the woman.
“T’aint a dream. I seen Hobbleday with his lantern.”
“Of course, Sairy Jane,” Ruth soothed the old woman. “But in the morn, all right?”
“Yer lives not be on my soul,” Sairy Jane said even as she wrung her hands. “I warned ye.” With that she turned and in a shambling run hurried back into the kitchen.
Ruth stared after the old woman. When she heard a door slam in the kitchen she gave herself a shake to dispel the foreboding that hung heavy in the air. A scrabbling sound from the direction of the sitting room whirled her about, candle raised.
The candle flame wavered, flickered low and then took hold again. Breathing a prayer of thanks that it remained lit, Ruth listened closely.
Screeeeeech. Scrunch. Screech.
Definitely from the sitting room. Ruth stared at the open door. She took a deep breath and the noise of it unsettled her. Again the peculiar sounds.
It sounds like someone dragging a trunk. Lucian? Ruth shook her head. There isn’t a trunk in the room.
Then what?
Poised for flight Ruth walked slowly to the open doors. Wetting her bottom lip, at the screech, scrunch, screech, she raised the candle high and forced herself to walk forward.
The arch of light the candle cast was not wide but it dispelled the gloom far enough for Ruth to see that nothing was amiss. Lucian lay sprawled on the sofa, one leg dangling, the blanket cast aside. A soft low snore told her he slept soundly.
Biting down the urge to go shake him awake, she set her candle down. She picked up the blanket. Sound asleep like a babe amidst all this uproar. Well, not uproar, she amended as she covered Lucian. “But ‘tis you who should have been awakened. Dratted man.”
Ruth giggled at that and picked up her candle. She walked around the room but heard not a sound but the slap of her slippers on the floor. At the door she cast a last look at Lucian so innocent in sleep. If I hear another noise I shall toss you off that couch, sir.
* * *
Odd noises intruded into the roar of battle as Lucian’s dream moved forward relentlessly. The strange combination of taps, bangs, and screeches swept away the Spanish battlefield but not the bloody sword. A procession of two-wheeled Portuguese carts famous for their screech of wood wheel on wood axle lumbered into view leaving him flummoxed.
And then Ruth and her fragrance curled through Lucian’s senses. He breathed more deeply to draw it closer, sharper. Suddenly the carts overflowed with mounds of lily of the valley in full bloom. Their tiny white bells swung to and fro before Lucian’s eyes. He blinked and the carts were gone.
Now he found himself in a mail coach that jounced and bounced through rut after rut accompanied by the oddest collection of noise. Not the jingle of harness, creak of wood, or thud of hoof but the sort of cacophony that arose when herds of sheep flooded into a Spanish town and blocked all the streets.
A soft feminine scent turned Lucian’s thoughts another direction. He looked to see who sat beside him. When he turned he met eyes green as the stormy sea and full of displeasure even though she tucked his greatcoat more closely about him.
Lucian tried to reach out and finger one of her errant fiery curls but could not make his arm move. The effort nudged him closer to wakefulness. Her softly spoken words lacked clarity as he groped through the haze that clouded his mind but devil’s spawn hung in the air. This and the fading of her scent caused Lucian to stir uneasily.
Without opening his eyes Lucian tried to sort out where he was. His first guess was a Portuguese or Spanish house but the smells were not right. The lack of garlic and smoke put him at a loss as to where he was or what that odd sound was.
Concentrating as hard as he could Lucian listened to the soft “shlump shleps.” Before him rose a vision of his grandmother quietly leaving his bedchamber at Purse Caundle where his father had sent him after Jasmine’s death. Guilt stirred. He had caused his grandmother pain and worry. But Lucian had also come to know and to love her after Jasmine’s death. He never dreamt of her. He could envision his grandmother clearly. See her feet and hear the shlump shlep was the brush of slippers across the floor.
Opening his eyes he saw Ruth’s back. And then the shape of her form through nightclothes illumed by the candle she carried before her. His groin tightened at the curve of her hips. Then she rounded the corner and came back towards him. Lucian closed his eyes, suddenly ashamed of how much he wanted to take the candle from her and remove her night-rail.
Her quiet giggle only intensified his desire. God’s head, Merristorm. Get a grip on your galloping lust. As the shlump shlep of slippers faded he opened his eyes and found total darkness.
Odds blood, Lucian swore as he tried to fathom where he was. His jaw ached as did his lip. His head for that matter, he conceded. Moving a hand he discovered he lay upon some sort of sofa. Odours were English. Polish and candle and something else. Not mouldy. Not salty.
He raised a hand and rubbed his forehead. Bursts of scenes played behind his eyelids. A coach jounced and passengers quibbled, an old man spoke Greek and talked of friends and a red-haired Hecate tried to lure him away from the strangers that wished to buy him drink. None of it made sense.
A different sort of nightmare, Lucian thought. I’ll awake in the morn and find Thornley has thrown me on his sofa. He turned on his side and settled more comfortably. Lade’s sofa. That’s it, Lucian thought and drifted back to sleep.
* * *
Bolstered by the thought that she could tip him from the couch Ruth left the sitting room and slowly walked back toward the stairs. She halted before she reached them when she noticed the dim glow through the open kitchen door.
What is Sairy Jane up to now? Ruth wondered and tromped into the kitchen. The old woman was nowhere to be seen. Ruth walked slowly to the begrimed window. A light bobbed somewhere in the distance but higher in the air than any ordinary man could hold it. Ruth put her hand to the cold glass and tried to swipe some of the grime away to get a better look.
“What’s thet?”
“Goodness, Jemmy, you frightened me half to death,” Ruth scolded.
The boy joined her with a wide yawn. “Do ye think it’s them blokes as beat Mr. Merristorm come ta finish him?”
“I hardly think that—” Ruth began. “Wait,” she called as Jemmy ran to the back door and flashed out of it. She ran two steps before the wavering candle halted her. Setting it down she went to the lantern on the counter. While she lit it Sairy Jane stuck her head out of her door.
“Was thet the lad? Where’s he gone?”
“Out to stop whoever carries the light,” Ruth said. She drew her shawl more tightly about her shoulders and picked up the lantern.
“Ye can’t mean ta follow him. Ain’t ye adreead o’ Hobbleday?”
“I mean to have a chat with your Hobbleday,” Ruth said tartly. Without another word she strode out of the kitchen’s back door.
“There be badness in the air. What ta do? What ta do?” Sairy Jane bustled to the window and saw the orb of light grow ever closer. “Lord help me, I’ve got ta do somethin’.” Whirling about she hurried back to her room as fast as her awkward gait permitted.
“Jemmy! Jemmy!” Ruth cried as she swung her gaze in a narrow arc across the area in the direction of the dancing orb of light. Intent on finding the lad, she ignored the urge to look at it and see what it was. Tromping hurriedly through the overgrown weeds she called his name again.
Then Ruth saw the boy and didn’t realize until she was almost upon him that he stood perfectly still. She was forced to veer around Jemmy to avoid flattening him. When she rounded about she grabbed him arm and gave him a shake. “Jemmy, do not ever run out like that again. Come, let us get you back inside before you catch a chill.”
She took a step but Jemmy made no move to follow her. Ruth looked back and saw paralysing fear in the boy’s eyes as he stared past her. Keeping a hold of his arm, she turned.
The creature gave an odd cry that rose in pitch and strength before it began to fade.
Ruth looked back at it and saw its other arm upraised. In it a huge scythe gleamed with that same odd greenish glow as the rest of the creature. To her great alarm Ruth saw that it was much nearer. When it gave another of its whirring cries she turned and jerked hard on Jemmy’s arm.
With a start the lad broke free of her hand. With a wild cry he raised both arms and ran headlong for the creature.
Whirling about Ruth was amazed at the distance he had covered. Then she saw him stagger and sprawl head first across the ground. “Jemmy,” Ruth shrieked and ran in towards him.
The cacophony from her dream suddenly filled the air along with the creature’s whirring call. With nightmarish clarity Ruth realized that the beast would reach Jemmy before she could.
Something plucked the lantern from her hand and hit her hard in the back. She heard herself scream as if from a great distance and then slammed into the ground. There was tremendous blast and then only her ragged breath in the deafening silence.
Chapter Eleven
At the slam of a door and several loud yells Lucian tried to burrow deeper into the sofa. Then the cacophony returned louder than before. Lucian turned onto his back and clapped his hands to his ears. Had he died and gone to a hell run like Bedlam Hospital?
A strange whirring joined the fray. As it swelled it rose in pitch and then as slowly died away before beginning again. It drilled through Merristorm’s senses like a dull sword.
“Bloody damnation,” Lucian swore and swung his feet over the side of the sofa. Pain lanced through his abdomen and up his sides in counterpoint to the fracas in his head. Using his hand he slowly pushed his aching body upright.
Fire and ice collided in his gut. Lucian’s empty stomach heaved and set off a wave of tremors. Light-headed, he clutched the sides of his thighs and dropped his head between his knees. “God almighty, what kind of swill did Lade decant?”
After what seemed like an eternity Lucian managed to raise his head in tiny increments. Finally able to struggle to an upright position Lucian wondered if the clatter and clack filled the room or his head. Had he run mad?
Merristorm thought it could get no worse but a flare of light blinded him and then fleshless hands pawed at him while a voice screamed. He thought of the legend of the Manticora of India, a beast with the head of a man, the body of a lion and a voice so shrill it could shatter glass. When its claws grabbed his head Lucian opened his eyes.
A crone with mobcap askew turned from the fireplace with a blunderbuss in hand. Sudden clarity drummed Ruth’s name into Lucian’s consciousness along with the word DANGER. He staggered up and teetered on his feet.
“Don’t think to help them,” the old woman cackled as she approached. She put a hand to his chest and pushed.
Lucian grabbed a hold on the blunderbuss as he staggered backward.
“Leave be,” the old woman cackled. She attempted to wrestle the weapon from him. “The boggart Hobbleday means ta swallows them whole. Best not to meddle with Hobbleday,” she jibbered as she tugged to get the weapon away from him. “Miss Ruth said ye were ta stay here.”
At her name Lucian ripped the blunderbuss from the hag’s hands and staggered towards the door. His senses reeled from too many days of drink, drugs, and stark fear for Ruth. The thought that he could not come too late again dominated everything over all else in the chaos of his mind.
“Ruth?” Lucian croaked, swallowed hard. He lurched forward and collided with a chair.
“No,” shrieked the old woman. She latched boney fingers about his arm and tried to tug him down.
Lucian clutched the blunderbuss in his free hand and rammed his elbow into the crone’s stomach. He staggered free and moved with leaden feet towards the open doors. Once in the hallway the cacophony of sound drew him towards the kitchen. Reaching it, a cold breeze blasted him. It cleared some of the fog from Lucian’s mind and his vision as well. Seeing an open door he staggered to it and out just as Ruth screamed.
“Jemmy!”
Her voice cut through the deafening racket and gave Lucian a direction. In a haze he saw the oddest giant of a creature. It glowed a sickly green and had a scythe upraised. Lucian blinked and then realized it meant to hew Ruth in twain.
Ruth.
Lucian braced his back against the door jamb and raised the blunderbuss. It wavered as he tried to sight. He saw the lantern Ruth carried jerked from her hand by some disembodied spirit. As she fell to the ground he pulled the trigger.
The flash in the pan seared his eyes, filled his nose with the scorch of burnt saltpetre while the blast set up a painful ringing in his ears. Pain seared through Lucian’s shoulder at the force of the shot. He sagged and found himself in the old woman’s grip once again. Did I come too late? If only I wasn’t so dammed foxed.
Lucian peered blearily into the darkness as the smoke floated away on the breeze. Belatedly he realized that the only sounds besides the ringing in his ears were the usual ones of the night. The glowing creature had evaporated. Darkness covered the area. Fear gnawed at his gut. He tried to go to Ruth but his legs refused to cooperate.
* * *
Ruth pushed up onto hands and knees and then sat on her calves. She agitatedly brushed the leaves and bits of dried grass from her face. After all the noise, the silence frightened her.
Looking over her shoulder Ruth saw a man framed by the light coming through the open kitchen door behind him. A weapon of some sort dangled from one hand. The other was wrapped around Sairy Jane’s shoulders.
“Jemmy?” Ruth muttered with startled recollection. She slowly pushed to her feet. The pain in her knees she ignored. “Jemmy?” she called in the dark. Ruth cast about the area around her skirts hoping to see the lantern. Glancing back again she angrily wondered why Sairy Jane and the man still stood on the small stoop like fixtures.
Dismissing them Ruth tried to remember which way the boy had run. Was it directly in front of her? Should she go back to fetch a lantern and then search for him?
A moaned groan whispered across the night air.
A little to my right, Ruth thought and pushed through the tall weeds four steps. “Jemmy?”
“Here, miss.” The lad’s voice quavered.
She pushed toward the sound.
“Somit coshed me head.”
Jemmy’s voice, now stronger, eased the knot of fear in Ruth’s stomach. “Keep talking. I’ll come to you,” she called to him
“What were thet thing? What happen’d to it?”
“I do not know,” Ruth said. “Can you see me?”
“Aye–if yourn that glint o’white.”
“Can you stand, Jemmy? Try won’t you.”
“Blasted arse, me head hurts,” swore the lad. “Yer pardon, miss. Don’t think standin’s a good idear. I got fair dizzy when I tried it.”
Ruth took a few more steps in the direction of his voice as he spoke. She bent over and slowly moved her hands to and fro as she inched forward. A few moments later Jemmy yipped.
“Thet’s me leg, miss.”
Her hand met an unruly mop of hair and then stickiness.
“Ouch,” Jemmy winced and pulled his head away.
“Are you hurt anyplace else?” Ruth asked as she squatted down beside him and ran her hands over his legs.
“Nah,” the boy replied.
Ruth cast another glance over her shoulder. Lucian and Sairy Jane continued to stare at them. Why can he not come and help? Ruth wondered. She considered calling to him to do so but then remembered his condition when they dragged him onto the sofa. Could that have been only hours ago?
“Were thet Mr. Merristorm as saved us?” Jemmy asked.
“Let’s
get you on your feet,” Ruth told him. She stepped behind the lad and took hold of him under his arms. “Up now. Easy. How are you doing?”
“I’m not a babe,” Jemmy protested.
“Then you can help me?” Ruth asked quickly. She put an arm across his back and under his arm. “I shall just lean on you as we go back to the house.”
Snaking a hand up to her waist, Jemmy nodded.
His trembling worried Ruth. She let the lad take the lead. By the time they reached the back door Ruth had worked herself into a temper. “Don’t just stand there,” she snapped at Lucian.
“That’s the thanks I get,” he retorted to hide his great relief that she and boy were unhurt.
“Thank you, Sairy Jane,” Ruth said ignoring him.
The old woman touched the boy’s bloody hair. “First blood,” she whispered as if coming out of a trance. “Thank the Lord there be no full moon.” With a shake of her head she pushed past Lucian and went inside.
“Mr. Merristorm,” Ruth said pointedly when he continued to stare at her. Her gut wrenched at the look in his eyes. She hardened her heart and gave his arm a nudge. “Go back into the kitchen, Mr. Merristorm. We are safe for now. I need to tend Jemmy’s head,” she added more urgently.
Fumbling for a hold on the blunderbuss Lucian half staggered into the kitchen. He turned toward the battered table and fell into the first chair.
Ruth hurried Jemmy to the table. She pulled aside the chair at its end and sat the lad on it. “Thank you,” she told Sairy Jane and took the bowl and cloth the old woman offered.
Spying her sister at the door Ruth said, “Marietta, you get back to bed. Check on Father before you do.”
“He still sleeps,” Ruth’s sister said still peering cautiously around the door. “Are you certain I cannot help?” Marietta frowned at Ruth’s hurried wave of dismissal but did as bade.
“Cor, Mr. Merristorm, that were some shot. Did you kilt it? Thet were a brave thing—ta shoot the beast.”
Ruth swallowed an indignant harrumph. She took the boy’s chin in hand and began to wipe away the blood. “It was very foolish of you to run from me like that,” she scolded.