Lisbon: Richard and Rose, Book 8

by Lynne Connolly

  Lizzie met me at the door, but I brushed her fussing away. “I have tea,” she told me, the first thing she’d said that held any interest for me.

  “Order more.”

  I had to make sure my children were well, see them for myself. I lifted my skirts high and took the stairs two at a time, then ran to their nursery. The nurses were feeding them, and after, they would sleep. I kissed the babies, hugged Helen and left to find Lizzie waiting for me outside.

  “Under Nichols’s direction, the servants took them into the gardens when they felt the first tremor. Before they brought them back inside, Joaquin insisted on having every part of the house scrutinized. They found a few cracks, and we’ve lost some of the stucco and pilasters, but the building is sound. We are safe here.”

  I thought of the people streaming away from Lisbon. “There are many people about, much more than usual. Lisbon is gone, Lizzie. Destroyed. I didn’t get down into the city, Carier wouldn’t let me. He told me the mob was about, and Richard would need to keep his wits about him. That’s all I know. I saw—” I broke off and shuddered, “—terrible things. But those who are able are leaving the city.”

  “I’ve set people at the perimeters and around the house.” She closed her eyes as the import of what I told her took hold. “No news?”

  I shrugged.

  I followed her to one of the smaller salons at the back of the house. Glancing out the window, I saw the garden no longer had its almost military precision. Now it seemed almost dishevelled, some of the cleverly cut hedges and bushes drunkenly askew.

  I motioned Carier in. Nobody questioned me, although Lizzie gave me a quizzical look. Joaquin had stood at my entrance, and I had no compunction in taking the chair he led me to.

  I glanced back at Carier. “Come and sit, man. You’ll fall over if you don’t.”

  Lizzie cleared her throat.

  I had no patience for the proprieties right now. “He has news. He’s ridden all day, and he needs to rest so he can tell us what he’s learned.”

  At once, Lizzie found another dish and poured an extra serving of tea. She didn’t object any further when Carier found a chair and sat. He’d have to be exhausted to contemplate doing so. He refused the tea, but I took it from my sister’s hands and pressed it on him. “Don’t be foolish. Drink, and then tell us. Consider it Thompson’s business, if it helps.”

  He gave me a grateful smile and drank. He didn’t stop until he reached the bottom of the dish, then he handed it back to Lizzie with great care.

  “I fear I have no good news, my lady.”

  I knew that. “Tell me he’s not dead.”

  “Not to my knowledge. He was living when I left.”

  “Then why—?”

  “Why did I leave him? Let me tell you in order, ma’am. It will make more sense that way.” He glanced around, but he needn’t have done so. He had our complete attention. He frowned. “You’re sure this house is safe?”

  “Perfectly,” Joaquin said. “Some repairs are needed, but it won’t tumble down, unless we have another earthquake.”

  “Ah God, don’t say that.” It spoke for the way Carier had taken the disaster that he would even display such weakness. He buried his face in his hands. “I’ve served in the army, I’ve followed my master into the bowels of hell, but I’ve never seen anything like this. I knew something was wrong when the rats came out.” He lifted his head, staring at us from suspiciously watery eyes. “Rats always know when something is wrong. There were far more in the streets than you would expect to see.”

  He paused, but not for long. I could see determination in his granite features, a decision to tell his story to the bitter end. I prayed that it wouldn’t be too bitter.

  He didn’t look at me, or at Lizzie, making me fear the worst, but addressed Joaquin who sat quiet and still, all his attention fixed on him.

  “I didn’t let up until I got to the house, at about twenty past eight, but Kneller had beaten me to it. He had only one purpose in mind—to cause my lord as much harm as possible. To hurt him and kill him. He had a lock of hair he claimed was your daughter’s, and he’d contrived to bloody it. Probably by using his own gore. He had the master and the marquês at gunpoint. My lord didn’t twitch, didn’t move when I entered the room, and I would have put all right, but the marquês looked in my direction and the—Kneller turned on me. He shot, I ducked and then fell, feigning injury. But there was no blood on me, so he told me to get up.

  “By then my master was on him. Kneller had other weapons tucked into his belt, and my lord grabbed one and tossed it to the marquês. We had him. Or so we thought.

  “I told my lord what we knew, that the boy had mined the house or rendered it unstable in some way. Kneller laughed my notion to scorn, but then I would have expected that. He struck a theatrical pose, and drew his final weapon, which he’d had hidden, holding it to his own head. That gesture affected my lord deeply, though I suspect nobody present knew it but me. Most of the servants in the house had already left for early service at the church, so the house was nearly empty. ‘You’ll never know,’ the boy cried. ‘And I will die before I tell you!’” Carier made a scornful noise. “Kneller should have stopped then. Shot them and got away. Thank God he did not.

  “The marquês told him to drop his weapon, to no avail. My lord turned away, feigning indifference, and the boy lowered his weapon, aiming it at my master. I could do nothing, since I lay too far away to get to him before he fired. I should have moved faster, I should have done something, but I thought the best way was to wait and to choose my moment. I didn’t know we had so few moments left.” With a visibly shaking hand he accepted the second dish of tea Lizzie held out to him and drained it like a man dying of thirst.

  Joaquin rose to his feet. “I’ll get some brandy.” Carier was obviously in deep shock.

  Carier shook his head. “In a while, sir. Let me get this out first. Please.” He would get blind drunk if he wanted to, but not before he’d told us.

  Now Carier met my gaze. “I failed, my lady.” He took a deep breath, pushing the air into his body. “Kneller forced us out of the room and towards the kitchen stairs. There was one servant down there. He shot him. The kitchen is below the ground, a small window at the top letting in air, but it was hot there, as hot as hell because of the kitchen fire blazing away.

  “I think the boy was half mad, confronting his—my lord in that way. I made my move, stumbled and came up with a small weapon I’d hidden about my person. He responded, but he switched pistols almost immediately and had a fresh one ready. I ducked, but Kneller leaped over me and into my lord, who fell the rest of the way down the stairs, collecting the marquês on the way. The gun went off, but it hit the wall. Kneller must have known they could overpower him and he ran.

  “I couldn’t do anything but race up the stairs after him. Then I heard the explosion behind me. The bomb had gone off. It rocked the house. Windows exploded out, and I was lucky not to be hit by flying glass. People screamed, but the house stayed upright, although there were great cracks in the outer part. It was sturdily built, but when I went inside, I discovered some of the inner walls had fallen in, and I couldn’t get to the steps down to the kitchens. I needed help. I ran to muster some likely men, but it took too long. I had gathered half a dozen and we had returned to the house and were assessing the damage. I had every expectation of digging them out.

  “Then the earthquake struck. I’d felt the ground move under my feet once already that morning, and it confused me. The shifting ground made me fall. I saw buildings falling, like paper houses, not bricks and mortar. I ran up the street and found a horse, a good mount and saddled ready. It would have charged—its ears were back and I could see the whites of its eyes—but I took the bridle in a firm hold and let it know I was master and it was safe with me. The sound was terrible, roaring and crashing as buildings fell. I’ve been in the heat of battle and nothing was as bad as that sound. I’ll hear it to my dying day.”

&n
bsp; His voice shook. “When I returned to the house, it was gone. Just a pile of bricks and glass.”

  Lizzie gave a cry and clapped her hand to her mouth. I stared at him, just stared, my mouth open but no words emerging. “Then he needs digging out,” I managed eventually. “There is no time to waste.”

  Carier shook his head. “I mounted the animal and raced off for help. People ran by me, heading for the harbour. I tried to call to them, followed some, cried out. But I was calling in English and they were yelling Portuguese. If they’d ever known English, they didn’t now.” He sighed and dropped his chin, staring at his scuffed and scarred shoes. “I saw enough to know I could do nothing, so I decided to ride for help. With a few likely footmen we could set to and dig out their lordships.”

  I sprang to my feet. “That sounds like a good plan. What are we waiting for?”

  Carier rose immediately, a little slower than I had. “Ma’am, you’re forgetting. The great wave.”

  My blood ran cold. I could feel every rivulet, every tiny blood vessel, and I swear it all ran completely icy in an instant. “Still, we must go.”

  “We can do nothing, ma’am. They were trapped belowground.” He touched my arm, and I was so shocked I didn’t shake it off. “I will go back and with men to help, but you must swear to stay here. One of you must stay alive. For the children. You know that, ma’am.”

  “Gervase—” I couldn’t bear it. Everything we’d planned and discussed meant nothing now. I would not stand by and do nothing.

  “Besides, you can do no good there. Only attract the lower orders, the mob. We would be protecting you, not searching for their lordships.”

  I heard the sound of muffled sobbing and realised it wasn’t me, but Lizzie. I was too numb to cry. I wouldn’t weep, not yet. I wouldn’t give up.

  Waiting would be the hardest thing I’d ever done in my life, but Carier was right. He would get on better without me, and I should stay with the children. If the mob came this way, if the country turned lawless, we’d have to get out to safety. Thanks to the great wave there was little opportunity of our getting on the yacht. That was probably in pieces at the bottom of the harbour.

  Nothing could have survived that wave. Nothing and no one.

  I refused to think that way. I nodded. “Bring him back, Carier. Send me word as often as you can, even if it’s no news, or worse. I want to know as soon as possible, so I can take the appropriate steps.”

  “My lady, I swear it. I will not return without him. One way or the other.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  I put down my pen and dusted the letter with sand. So much had survived the earthquake in this lovely house, it seemed a travesty that so much else had not a mere twenty-five miles away. The sander was made of fine crystal and not a chip marred its deeply cut surfaces. I ran my finger over the sharply incised pattern, wondering if my lord would ever feel anything similar again. I’d refused to let my mind wander too far that way over the last few days, but sometimes I found it impossible.

  I still hadn’t wept. I wouldn’t, not until they brought him back.

  After three days of searching, the men we’d set to dig out the house still hadn’t found Richard and Paul. Not for want of trying. Fires raged now in the ruins of what had once been one of the most beautiful cities in the world, some accidental, started by open fires and upset candles and lamps, and others deliberately by the rampaging mob. What had survived of Lisbon was now destroyed in flames. Carier and his men had fought the destruction, but he wrote that he despaired of locating the correct house. The area appeared so changed. He sent notes via the men who had worked themselves into exhaustion, men he sent back to sleep and eat before they returned. God knew how Carier managed. Probably the same way I did, on hope and prayer.

  Lizzie had spent most of this day in the chapel, praying for her husband’s soul. We didn’t talk much, unless in the presence of our children. I spent as much time as I could with them, especially Helen. Before I came into this quiet boudoir to compose the letter, I’d played with her, romping on the floor among the large cushions the nursemaids used to help her retain a sitting posture, to break her fall if she tumbled, as she did often, getting up again with a merry laugh.

  Before I left, she said one word. “Papa?”

  I stared at her, eyes wide, my hand clapped to my mouth as I gasped. Right there, my heart broke in two.

  An appalled silence fell, breached only by the cry of a baby. My baby. Edward, the stoical, quiet baby, had sensed the mood changed and didn’t like it. I crossed the room and took him from his nurse, glad of the distraction.

  The room regained its normal tone, and I set to comforting my child. I held his sweet-smelling head to my face and kissed his soft baby cheek before I rocked him and sang him a song my sister-in-law Martha used to sing to her babies at night. One that most Devonshire children had heard. Because that was part of their inheritance too. Not just the fashionable, high society, exclusive and expensive part.

  I would take them home. Perhaps I’d buy a house near my brother’s and let them grow to adulthood in peace, visiting London and their relatives enough to let them become comfortable with their future station in life.

  If Richard was—if I never saw him again in this life, I’d sell the Oxfordshire house. I wouldn’t want to see it and recall the memories we’d left there. I might want to remember him, but not to torture myself with what I couldn’t have.

  I just wanted him back.

  Setting my jaw against tears, I glanced through the letter. I’d couched it in formal terms, telling Lord and Lady Southwood that we were safe, but Richard’s fate was not yet decided. I’d put off writing it for days, every minute hoping that some news would arrive, the kind of news I needed to hear. But nothing had come, except exhausted men, here only to rest before returning to the area where the town house had once stood.

  I put it on top of the letter I’d written to Gervase. That was more personal and had nearly moved me to the tears I’d sworn I wouldn’t shed until I knew for sure if he lived or died. If I was a happy wife or a grief-stricken widow. I wouldn’t weep for him before I knew. And I would know, I was determined on that.

  My life would be over. I would live for my children then pray for death.

  That sounded so dramatic, but it was the raw truth. Without him, I had nothing except my duty, which I would execute meticulously. I would have been a fool not to make plans, because once his death was confirmed, I feared I wouldn’t know myself for a time. I drew a sheet of paper towards me and started writing. This was for my maid, my manservant and Gervase, who would do what I needed him to do.

  I wish to move to a quiet house in the country for a time. I want to buy a moderately sized establishment close to my brother’s house in Devonshire. I do not want to live with my brother or with anyone else. I will start my new life as I wish to live it. Alone. My existing children and servants will come with me, and unless Carier desires otherwise, I wish him with me too. He will become my steward. Unless he wishes to retire, that is.

  That was all. I knew Gervase would see it done. I signed it and sealed it, putting, In the event of Richard’s death on the outside. I enclosed it in the letter for Gervase. I told Gervase not to come to Lisbon until I sent word. Then I would need him. I would come home with the children and I could trust Carier to make the arrangements and keep me safe. We would have to wait until after the funeral. I would take Richard home, to his family chapel in Eyton, and he would rest there, as was his right. Alone, until the blessed day when I would lie by his side once more.

  I wasn’t sure when the letters would reach England, but it was my duty to write, and I couldn’t put the melancholy task off any longer. Word about an earthquake of those proportions must be flying around the Continent and England. They might even have felt the tremors, however slightly. And they would worry and send for us, if I didn’t inform them. Gervase would be frantic. I’d send the letters by courier. They’d go overland until they reached a s
afe place on the coast, so it might take three weeks for them to arrive.

  I called a servant and entrusted the missives to her care. She assured me they would leave the house that very day.

  Now I had nothing more to do. Should I go to the chapel and share my sister’s vigil? I hadn’t known she was so religious—she’d never shown signs of it before. Perhaps she wasn’t, perhaps she was seeking solace anywhere she could. Both of us knew that if we gave way, we wouldn’t be of any use to anyone. This from my sister, who had merely looked for a suitable marriage. She had fallen as deeply in love with her Paul as I had with Richard, and on this visit I was beginning to see why. Paul’s generosity to his tenants, his kindness and a sense of humour that could take a person by surprise, all demonstrated his love for life and for his home.

  I wondered if Lizzie had written to Paul’s mother. I would ask.

  When I left the study, planning to take a walk on the grounds, I saw what looked like an old man, bent over with care, his short gray hair clinging to his head in damp spikes, his gait uncertain.

  Carier had returned. I hurried towards him, holding my hands out. I needed human contact. “Tell me,” I said.

  He shook his head and lifted his gaze to mine. In the bloodshot depths, I saw despair. Not grief. Perhaps he was too exhausted for grief. “We haven’t found him, although we dug through the remains of a kitchen earlier today. But all we found was an unfortunate boy, someone left behind when the servants from that house fled. That boy had drowned when the tidal wave overwhelmed the building.”

  I knew what he was telling me. If Richard had survived the house collapsing on top of him, he would have drowned afterwards.

  But I couldn’t believe it. I had heard that people, gone in grief, refused to believe the truth, that their loved ones had gone beyond recall. They would see them in the street, even chase them, only to find perfect strangers. I stared at him, and I felt—nothing.

  “He’s not dead,” I said.