Unexpected Danger

by Lisa E. Pugh

  Yet she was still beautiful to him. Her hair a silvered-chestnut color, she smiled when he approached her bedside. Her green eyes always lit up whenever she saw him or his father.

  Although no longer shining and vibrant, she glowed with warmth and love, exuding a gentle inner strength and resolve he envied. She would go bravely into the next life. A titled colonel's wife, she had always possessed more courage than most men he knew.

  She raised a trembling hand to him. He caught it and kissed her fingers. “You needed me, mamma?” he asked, kneeling by her bed so they were eye-to-eye.

  “Ah, my darling boy!” Leaning forward slightly, she kissed the crown of his head as she always did. He bowed and lowered himself to help her reach it, aware of how weak she truly was.

  “What can I do for you, my sweet mother?” he asked in the old formula that always made her laugh.

  She coughed and wheezed, the closest thing she could come to a chuckle these days. Yet she grinned and, for one brief moment, the pain seemed to leave her anguish-wracked body. He was so glad he could grant her even such a small reprieve. He felt so helpless otherwise.

  Frequently stopping to catch her breath or to wipe bloodied spittle from her lips, she spoke in a weak uneven voice. “My dearest Christopher, I wish I could stay with you, but things never turn out the way we plan. Where is your father?”

  “I’m here, Alexandra,” the old earl said, coming up behind his son.

  “Ah, Richard, there you are. Christopher, leave us a moment—don’t worry, I’m not going yet.” Waiting until her son moved to the far end of the room, she said haltingly, “Richard, I wanted to ask you… to do something for me.”

  “Anything.”

  “Don’t let Christopher feel too alone… when I’m gone. You were never very demonstrative towards him. It's your nature and your upbringing, I know.” She paused to cough blood into a bowl. “I’ve never blamed you for it. However, in the past three years, you have withdrawn even further. You’ve viewed him… as if that accident was his fault, a deliberate action to discomfit you. Don’t give me that look! You know that’s the way you saw it.”

  “Perhaps at first,” her husband admitted. “I never could hide my feelings from you.”

  “When your pride is involved, it’s not hard to tell. Now, promise me.”

  “I promise I will try.”

  “Good. Christopher?”

  “Yes, mamma?” The young gentleman strode back from the window, pretending he had not heard the conversation.

  “Come sit here. And remove your hood; I want to see your face. Wonderful. Here are the two men who mean the most to me. I love you both so much, remember that.”

  “We will,” the earl replied.

  “I will,” the young nobleman mumbled.

  She kissed them both. Then, with a last smile, Alexandra Tobias died. It was quiet, that final release of the tight hold she had kept on life. She held on as long as she could. When she could not do it anymore, she simply let go. It was her decision, the last act of a beautiful strong-willed woman.

  To the best of his ability, Richard Tobias kept his promise to his wife. Never having been taught how to be tender, the earl tried to relate to his son in the only ways he could. When his son was home from his work at the Army supply depot or, later, the War Office, they went hunting on fair days and spent the evenings drinking brandy and smoking cigars before the fire.

  During those hard middle years of the war, he provided a haven for his son whenever the young man returned from his clerical work at the War Office. When he could, he provided distractions and a sense of normalcy. When his son came home with the demons of war riding him hard and distractions were not enough, he sat silently as his heir talked about the familiar names he had filed in the casualties lists, the friends he had lost.

  Richard Tobias understood the pain his son went through, having lost friends to war as well. Yet he had always taken an active part in the fighting, doing his bit for queen, country, and comrades.

  Christopher did not have that luxury. He could not even feel the satisfaction of taking out the enemy in requital. He could only watch from the sidelines as families he knew were decimated by the ravages of war. Unsure what else to say, the older man tried to console his heir with the platitudes his own father had used.

  Bless the old blighter, he tried. Though the light of his life was gone, he soldiered on for the sake of his son. He stayed and listened and kept his boy company.

  However, his father could not live long without his wife. She had been his anchor, his constant, his “little general” he had always relied on. Less than two years after his wife, the old earl died. Then Christopher was really alone.

  Christopher snapped out of his daydream to find himself standing over Maggie's still form lying in his mother's bed. Wiping his wet eyes, he sat in the chair beside her and gazed at the young woman’s pale almost translucent face.

  “Don’t leave yet, Maggie,” he murmured, clasping her hand in both of his and pressing his lips to the fingertips. “Please, my dearest. Please, not yet.”

  For the rest of the night, he and Louise kept vigil. There were plenty of scares, terrible moments when it seemed Maggie was losing the battle for survival. There were times when her heart slowed and her breathing faded. She had horrible episodes where her face would pale still further and her skin would turn as cold as stone.

  Yet she held on to life. She was amazing and tenacious, crawling back from the precipice again and again. As Christopher watched her fight, his love and admiration for her grew like Jack's beanstalk.

  To all threats, he and the maidservant responded with swift action and coordinated teamwork, guided by the instructions left by the doctor. When things were quiet, the watchers took turns monitoring the patient’s health. The moments of terror surrounded by stability lasted well into the next morning.

  The sun rose to find Christopher awake and restless. He paced the room and gazed out the window at the dawn. Against tradition, he insisted the drapes be pulled wide to let in as much light as possible. As the day progressed and the weather warmed, he opened the windows as well.

  “Do you think that's wise, my lord?” Mrs. Niles asked. “She could catch a chill.”

  “With the number of blankets we have on her? The breeze is warm and relatively dry. As I remember it, air scented with stagnant blood and antiseptic doesn't encourage healing. Whenever possible, changing it is a good thing. That's what they did for me, if you remember.”

  “That was your mother's idea. She said you wouldn't want to get better if all you smelled was sickness and death.”

  He shuddered at the memory and nodded. “She was a wise woman.”

  “Yes, she was.”

  He hesitated and then explained, “I want Miss Taylor to feel the sun on her face and smell our fresh country air. It will give her something to look forward to. After such a horrible attack, it will remind her there is still beauty in the world.”

  The old woman's eyes saw too much. She softly expressed his secret wish. “You want to convince her to stay and keep fighting. You hope to persuade her that life's worth living.”

  He dropped his eyes and admitted, “Yes.”

  “As did your mother.” When he nodded, embarrassed, she smiled and clasped her hands together. “I think it's wonderful.”

  “You do?” He glanced up, shock plastered on his face.

  “Yes. You're fighting for Miss Taylor in your own way.”

  “I’m trying. Thank you, Nanna.” He sat beside his friend's sickbed. Taking Maggie's hand, he raised it to his lips. “You hear that, Maggie? You're not alone. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere.”

  Christopher was as good as his word. Through the rest of the day, he remained by her side. He helped with her care when he could and battled terror and despair the rest of the time. It was a long horrendous vigil.

  Chapter 21

  Lara stared around her room uneasily. She did not understand her restlessness, but
she could not shake the feeling either. It nagged her with a sense of unfinished business, of something left undone.

  The past three days had been hell on Earth for the entire village. Her family was no exception. The adults had all been out looking for Donald Markum who, though he had a habit of wandering off, did not usually miss any meals. In an effort to maintain the other children's routine, school ran as usual. Lara helped out, frequently letting her parents rest in preparation for the afternoon's search.

  After classes were over, the students and younger children were taken to the church hall. There, Lara and some of the older girls ran a sort of activity camp to keep the young ones distracted and busy while their parents continued to scour the countryside. That way, they could have as many adults as possible out looking for the boy.

  Donald had been found just this afternoon, curled up and shivering in a tree far from his home. Wet, hungry and exhausted, the boy had been taken straight to Doctor Rowan's office to make sure he did not have to go to the hospital. The physician checked him over, gave him some medicine for his cough and chills, and prescribed a warm bath as well as a little broth at frequent intervals and lots of rest.

  All in all, the madness of the last few days had ended on a remarkably high note. So why was she not happier and more relaxed? She should be delighted that everything turned out so well.

  She paged through the papers in her satchel again. Everything was in order, ready for the next day of school. She did not forget a single essay, and all of them had been corrected and graded. So why was she so sure she was forgetting something?

  That night, Lara did not sleep well. Tossing and turning, she could not quiet her mind, which was running obsessively over the list of things to be done. What was it? What had she left unfinished?

  As the first rays of dawn filtered into her room, Lara swung upright in bed with a cry. She held the bed sheets to her chest as she gasped for air. She knew now. She remembered what she had overlooked in the chaos of the past few days.

  Covering her eyes, she whimpered, “Oh, Mags!”

  Christopher Tobias did not come downstairs. He did not leave his friend's side at all. Maggie stabilized some a day or two after she arrived. Her situation was still grave, but at least she did not have the sudden dips in her health. To a certain extent, it was just a matter of letting her body heal and hoping nothing went wrong.

  The doctor's nurse stopped by every day to administer sedatives and check her patient's condition. She tried several times to take over the vigil, but he would have none of it. In the end, she spent a few hours with her patient and the rest downstairs with the servants, remaining near at hand in case she was needed.

  Despite all the worried looks and suggestions that he should rest, Christopher absolutely refused. He would not leave her. He knew he was being unreasonable, but he simply could not help it.

  Others said she was getting better, but were they just trying to mollify him? He did not trust his luck that far. If she died while he was away from her side, he would always wonder if he could have saved her had he been there. Instead, he just sat beside her bed and, for the first time in years, he prayed.

  Oh God, how he prayed! He sent his petitions flying to heaven with a fervency and passion he had never felt before. He fought against his skeptical, jaded world-view, hoping against hope that there was a greater power that might take pity on him. Desperately, he willed there to be a loving god, one that would never let such a resplendent soul as Maggie's leave this world so soon.

  He silently begged and pleaded and promised, not caring what he swore to do. He always kept his word. He would do it all, if only she did not die.

  Brenlaw was proud of his staff. It was a credit to them that the house barely noticed his lordship's absence. Food was brought upstairs, and dishes were cleared away. Besides that, the routine went on as usual, more or less.

  The atmosphere of the place, the tone of the household, however, was muted and darker than a moonless night. No one laughed. Few spoke above a whisper. Whenever the floorboards of the upper room creaked, every servant stopped and held their breath, bracing for news.

  As the days dragged on, Mrs. Niles suggested his lordship take occasional walks in the garden to clear his head. His piercing glare said everything. She did not propose anything else for quite a while.

  By the third afternoon, Miss Taylor had shockingly improved enough that the sedative was greatly reduced, and she could sleep almost unaided. There were periods of lucidity where she could whisper and gesture to communicate. She sat up in bed with very little wincing. Still he did not leave her side, afraid these positive signs would not last. He seemed to expect a relapse at any moment.

  On the fourth day, Brenlaw came several times to say his master was needed on the phone. The earl refused to be interrupted. When the fifth summons came, the gentleman let loose such a flurry of curses that the butler just bowed and said, “I'll tell the Inspector you aren't available.” His lordship barely registered what his servant said.

  Around seven in the evening on the fourth day, his lordship dozed in a chair. He had worn himself out with worry and fear, with anxiety and attentiveness. Even totally exhausted, he would not leave her side.

  As he slept, the hood slipped from his head.

  A young maid named Gwen, bringing supper from the kitchen, walked in and froze. For a moment, she did not know what had happened. When she realized what she saw, she quietly walked across the room and put down the tray on a side table.

  She was fairly new to the household and had rarely seen her employer without his cowl up. When he remembered, he kept his visage hidden even from the servants who had served with him all his life. She examined his looks, now that she was given the opportunity.

  He has a strong face, she thought, smiling softly, a remarkable face despite the damage.

  Leaning over, she repositioned the hood which had been part of his attire for as long as she had worked at the manor. She stepped softly to the bureau and removed a blanket from a drawer. The portrait on the wall above drew her attention. She studied the picture, comparing the past with the present.

  Poor man, she thought, shaking her head with a melancholy sigh. What’s done is done. No one can change the past; more’s the pity.

  Returning to her master’s side, she covered him carefully. She slipped a pillow behind his head and straightened her back. Then with a last glance back, she crept quietly from the room.

  Chapter 22

  The clock had just struck nine when someone pounded on the door of Tobias manor. As Brenlaw crossed the hall, the noise increased. Masking his inner resentment with practiced ease, he opened the portal. He immediately came face to face with Police Inspector Vincent Matthews, several constables, and a large number of people from the village.

  “Good evening, Mr. Brenlaw,” Matthews said, in his gruff professional tone. “Is his lordship available?”

  “To what is this pertaining, Inspector?” Brenlaw asked with polite formality, reflecting the officer's serious tone. This must be official business. Usually the policeman was not nearly so pro forma.

  In fact, the Inspector was always approachable and friendly. Clever and efficient, the man proved a real asset to the village. He never came across as arrogant and was remarkably broad-minded for a country policeman. Only prying and needling when necessary, he generally let people run their own lives. Brenlaw respected and liked him. Now, his severe look made the butler uneasy.

  “We want to talk to him about the disappearance of one Margaret Taylor.”

  Matthews kept himself trim and correct in every way. He remained clean-shaven except for a thin mustache. He used only a small amount of hair oil to keep his thick black hair under control.

  “Disappearance?” Brenlaw replied with a quirked eyebrow.

  “As you know, we have been trying to contact him all day. He never seemed available.”

  “He's had a very busy and stressful day, Inspector. I was given strict instructio
ns not to bother him, no matter what.”

  “That's interfering with police procedure, Mr. Brenlaw.”

  “I know, Inspector, but when he puts his mind to it, his lordship doesn't do what he doesn't want to do.”

  With a ghost of a smile, the policeman asked, “Like his father, eh?”

  “Very much like his father.”

  “Well, we're sorry for disturbing him, but the matter is urgent.”

  At that moment, Brenlaw’s gaze registered the presence of one particular member of the crowd. She watched him intently, a faint arrogant smile curling her lips. With a veiled glare in that person’s direction, the butler said, “If you will wait, I shall see if his lordship is at home.”

  At this traditional reply, one of the men from the village laughed, “As if he’d be anywhere else!”

  A young woman’s voice shouted, “We waste time. Is he going to let us in or not?”

  “Patience, Lara,” Constable Daniels chided gently. “Let the professionals handle it.”

  “Fat lot of good you've done handling it so far,” she snapped back. “I understand that young Donald took precedence, but he's been found, and the doctor's looking after him. We've had the whole day to deal with this. All the evidence led here, but you couldn't disturb the earl enough to find out the truth. Her car is sitting right outside his door for God’s sake!”

  “Lara, we did our jobs. We just followed all the other clues first. We called her mother. Unfortunately, she wasn’t at home. Then we traced her movements. We found the spot where it happened, didn't we? And we followed the trail back here.”

  The young woman was not going to give up her point easily. Just as loudly, she argued, “We should have come here first. She visited this place often enough; it was an obvious spot to check. She could be dead, and it would be your fault!”

  The Inspector stepped in. “Young lady, that's enough! We've already explained that it isn't as simple as that.”