by Mari Carr
“Ben,” she cried softly. “You’re what I need. And you are far more than I deserve. You know what I am.”
“What you were,” he added. “Were. No more.”
She scoffed at his words as if they were meaningless. “Why can’t you see what I see when I look at you. You constantly try to paint yourself a villain, and yet everything about you screams of honor and compassion. You’ve shown nothing but kindness for Chelsea, for the Henrys, for me. The reason you have this house is because you cared for your great-aunt. What on earth could make you believe you aren’t worthy of love and happiness?”
“You’re starting to sound like Mrs. Henry,” he replied bitterly. “You don’t know me. Not really. You don’t know what kind of man I am.”
“I don’t believe that. I think it’s you who don’t know.”
“Dammit!” His face was mottled with fury as his voice rose even louder. “I’ll tell you what kind of man I am. I’m a killer. I’m not a man. I’m a human weapon!”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’ve killed so many men in my life, I’ve lost count.”
“You were a soldier,” she replied, confused. “That’s the price of war. That doesn’t make you a murderer.”
“And what about the men I’ve killed since the war?”
“What about them?” She refused to back down. “Tell me, who were they?”
“It doesn’t matter.” His anger was quickly dwindling back into something she considered much worse, depression.
“Oh no, you don’t.” She needed to stop his downward spiral. “Apparently it does matter. So tell me, Lord Benjamin Sinclair. Tell me about these deaths that haunt you so. Talk to me, milord.”
He winced at her return to formality and backed away from her. Crossing the room, he placed his big desk between them as a barrier. She could see his internal walls being reconstructed, silently and swiftly.
“Don’t do that!” She followed him behind his desk. “You aren’t going there again!” She pounded on his chest with her fists. “I won’t let you. Do you hear me? I won’t let you.”
Her blows rained on his chest, but Ben remained motionless and emotionless. He refused to be baited. The blackness of his eyes went blank.
She started to cry in earnest, clinging to him, but he didn’t move to comfort her. In fact, he didn’t even acknowledge her presence in the room.
After several sobbing moments, she pulled away to look into his face. “Ben?”
“Lock the door on your way out.”
Chapter 12
V is for Vow
The gloomy weather outside only served to exasperate the atmosphere inside. Black clouds rolled in over the channel bringing chilling winds and drizzling rain. Ben didn’t emerge from his office. During that time, Vee stayed in her bedroom, canceling her classes with Chelsea.
Why bother? I’ve failed.
She spent the next few days in bed, sleeping for hours on end, although her rest was fitful at best. Disturbing images inundated her mind. Of Ben on the battlefield, swinging that brutal sword, killing man after man until all she could see was red. Of Chelsea as she watched her home burn down, listening to the screams of her mother and grandfather, powerless to save them. Over and over, she replayed the pictures in her mind until she felt as though she’d actually been a witness to all of it. The pain intensified until she fell into a restless sleep simply to escape it all.
The third morning brought Mrs. Henry to her door.
“Weel, my dear.” The housekeeper took in Vee’s haggard appearance, the disheveled bed sheets and the darkened room. “That’s enough of that.”
“Excuse me?” Vee’s voice was husky from lack of use.
“Your pupil is waiting in the schoolroom for her teacher. Two days of feigning an illness is quite enough.” Mrs. Henry’s usually jovial voice was laced with anger.
“I am sick.”
“You’re no more sick than milord.”
“Then why do you allow him to lock himself away? I only ask for the same thing. Leave me alone.”
“No.” Mrs. Henry pulled the covers off her and gripped her arm tighter than a vise as she yanked her from the bed. Vee attempted to pull against her, but the older lady was no slouch.
“Why not?” Vee lost the battle to remain in her bed. “Why won’t you leave me alone?”
“Because they need you!” Mrs. Henry yelled. “You are the only one who can set things right!”
“No. You’re wrong. I can’t make it right. I’ve failed.”
“That is where you’re wrong.” Mrs. Henry tossed a folded piece of paper at Vee’s feet.
“What’s this?” Vee bent down to retrieve the crumpled sheet.
“Read it for yerself. Breakfast is getting cold, so I suggest you hurry up with your morning constitutional.” With that, Mrs. Henry left the room.
Confused, Vee glanced down at the note in her hands. On the outside, she recognized Chelsea’s childish script. It simply said “V.”
Her heart leapt into her throat. Chelsea had written a note. To her?
Quickly she unfolded the sheet and read.
I sory. I be gud. Pleese com bak.
She clutched the paper to her heart as the tears began to fall. Chelsea had spoken to her. For the first time, the child had reached out to her with words. Overwhelmed, she collapsed to her knees and cried. Great heaving sobs erupted from her chest.
“Oh, my God,” she whispered. “What have I done?”
She’d nearly quit. Nearly given up on the sweet, lonely girl. Nearly given up on Ben, the man who’d claimed her heart, despite his attempts to push her away.
Never again, she vowed. Never again would she fail them. She would fight to her last breath, but she wouldn’t give up on Benjamin Sinclair or Chelsea Duncan. It was her task to make things right. For some reason, she’d been sent to this house and she wouldn’t leave until she’d succeeded in saving its inhabitants.
And then, God willing, perhaps I will be saved as well.
Vee didn’t see Ben much over the next couple of days. She spent most of her time in the schoolroom with Chelsea. The two of them had reached an unspoken truce. She would continue to teach her lessons, and Chelsea would no longer pretend ignorance. Although the child did not write any more personal requests, she did master the art of writing in complete sentences. “See Spot run,” “Run Spot run,” and other dull sentences were meticulously copied, and Vee knew without a doubt she was dealing with an extremely bright, young student.
Chelsea also excelled in math, much to her chagrin, as it was Vee’s weakest subject. She had taken to reading chapters aloud from one of Ben’s books about the history of England. After each chapter, she would ask a series of questions to which Chelsea would write the answer. Spelling errors aside, the answers were always correct. Teaching the young girl became a pleasure and Vee was instantly caught up in it.
Mrs. Henry observed the schoolroom happenings one afternoon and, pulling her aside, declared her a natural teacher. She beamed at the praise and felt perhaps she had finally found her niche in this foreign environment. The feelings of not belonging had grown less as the days turned into weeks, but she still couldn’t shake the notion she truly didn’t fit in. She could only assume it was because this house was far grander than whatever hovel she’d actually crawled out of.
She no longer wished for her memory to return, but instead feared the day it would happen. She suspected it would eventually come back to her. There had been numerous times during her days in the classroom with Chelsea when she’d felt a brief sense of familiarity, a small recollection, only to have it disappear into the recesses of her mind again.
After five days apart, Ben appeared one morning as she and Chelsea were settling in to lessons. He’d gone to London after emerging from his locked study under the pretense of buying yet another horse, but she suspected he was really trying to remove himself from her presence. Chelsea was just finishing up her handwriting lesson whe
n they both became aware of someone standing behind them.
“That’s marvelous,” his deep voice said.
Chelsea, thrilled by his arrival, jumped up from her seat and wrapped her arms tightly around his waist. Ben, delighted by her enthusiastic response, picked her up and swung her around laughing.
“What a nice greeting!”
Chelsea giggled at his twirling, and Vee found herself laughing as well.
“I warn you, she’s just finished breakfast. Unless you wish to see firsthand what she ate, you better stop that twirling,” she joked.
Ben, still laughing, returned Chelsea to her chair as the young girl grabbed up the paper she’d just completed and thrust it into his hands.
“What’s this?” He looked at Chelsea’s childlike script on the paper.
“I think she wants you to see how much her handwriting has improved,” she said for Chelsea, who was staring at Ben with such longing in her eyes it almost hurt her to look. The little girl was desperate for her guardian’s approval.
He didn’t disappoint her. “Well, this is perhaps some of the finest writing I have ever seen. I must say my very own father, a duke and peer of the realm, cannot write nearly so beautifully as this. Chelsea, my little angel, you are a wonder.”
Chelsea, blushing, reached up to him with open arms. Bending down to the small girl, he received a welcome home kiss on the cheek that brought tears to Vee’s eyes.
“Oh, my sweet little Chelsea,” he whispered. “I’ve missed you so.” Gathering the small girl up in his arms, he embraced her tightly, while looking down at the paper in his hands. When he finally put her down, he glanced up at Vee. “I must say this is quite a wonderful poem, but I don’t believe I’ve ever heard it before.”
Softly, he began to read it aloud.
“Two roads diverged in a yellow wood…”
“Oh,” Vee added. “It’s my favorite. I know it by heart. You’ve really never read it before? I thought it was quite famous.”
“No,” he replied. “I’ve never seen it and I consider myself to be fairly well-read. Who wrote it?”
“Robert Frost.”
Ben shook his head. “I’ve never heard of him.”
“That’s strange,” she muttered. “Do you think it could be a clue to my past?”
“Perhaps,” he said uncertainly. “Perhaps he’s a local poet. Someone who lived near you, but is not well known to the populace at large.”
“Maybe.”
“Anyway,” he said. “It is a nice poem made even nicer by the way in which it was written.” With this, he pressed an impromptu kiss on Chelsea’s nose, which led to more giggles from both the females in the room.
Ben grasped the moment of peace and jovialness. “And now, I am going to take my favorite two girls out for a ride, and I won’t take no for an answer.”
Chelsea frowned.
“I’ve taken the liberty of having both your horses saddled,” he continued. “They are awaiting their ladies in front of the house. No need to go to the stable.”
Chelsea seriously considered this last piece of information. Truly a horse lover at heart, Vee watched her reticence give way to eagerness as she reached for Ben once more. Unwilling to lose the joy of the moment, he grabbed her up in his arms. “You hold tight to me and I’ll see you safely to the saddle. Your pony has missed you terribly.”
Vee and Chelsea laughed at his words. Perhaps Ben had believed her when she’d voiced her suspicions about Frank Prescott.
“Shall we?” He gestured for her to precede him with Chelsea in his arms.
“We shall,” she said. “But I warn you, if that horse even looks at me sideways—”
The rest of the morning passed in absolute bliss as far as Vee was concerned. Chelsea, delighted to return to her much-loved outdoors and even more beloved pony, giggled and smiled during the entire adventure. Ben, spurred on by Chelsea’s gushing enthusiasm, was at his most charming. Telling funny stories and doing silly tricks upon Scout’s back, Vee and Chelsea laughed so hard they had to dismount to catch their breath.
Mrs. Henry arranged for a picnic lunch, courtesy of Mrs. Cooke. The fried chicken, cheese and fresh bread were delicious. Ben and Vee polished off a bottle of wine, while Chelsea drank fresh water Mrs. Henry had sent along. He told them about his purchase of a new thoroughbred that was certain to be the success of his breeding program, while she gushed about Chelsea’s excellent progress in math and history. Chelsea blushed, but was obviously pleased by the compliments.
The day ended too soon for all of them as they returned to Waterplace in the late afternoon. Frank Prescott was there to greet them as they approached. Vee, still wary of the groomsman, kept a close eye on her young ward and saw the small girl stiffen in her saddle upon seeing the fair-haired man.
“Good afternoon,” Prescott hailed. “Twas a lovely day for an outing.”
“Yes, indeed, it was.” Ben was oblivious to Chelsea’s sudden shaking.
“But tiring.” Vee hopped down from her horse none too gracefully. “Chelsea,” she called, anxious to attract the young girl’s attention, which lay riveted upon the groomsman.
“Chelsea,” she repeated, approaching the girl’s pony and dropping the reins of her own horse into the unsuspecting hands of Prescott.
“Take my horse, will you?” She reached up to lift Chelsea off the horse.
“I will see to the young girl, ma’am,” Prescott was far too anxious to place himself between her and her student. He never took his eyes off Chelsea and Vee wondered at the slightly menacing look behind them.
“That won’t be necessary.” She grabbed Chelsea from her pony, sorry for the roughness, but desperate to get the child safely into her own arms.
“Vee.” Ben viewed her haste with surprise. “I will see to Chelsea.”
“No.” She grasped the child closely to her chest and placed herself between Prescott and her precious pupil. “Not necessary. As you both can see, I have her. Thank you for a wonderful day, Lord Benjamin.”
She attempted to calm the shaking girl clasped in her arms. “Good day, Mr. Prescott,” she said, walking quickly away from the men.
As they approached the house, Vee whispered comforting words to Chelsea. “I’ll always keep you safe, angel. I promise. He’ll never hurt you.” At her words, the girl’s undeniable fear seemed to leave her as she wrapped her arms tightly around her neck.
Vee couldn’t be sure, but she thought she heard Chelsea breathe the words, “I know.”
Chapter 13
V is for Visions in the Night
A summer storm passed through during the night. Bright flashes of lightning jerked Vee out of a sound sleep. Wide awake, she crossed to close the window as the rain that had been threatening to appear all evening began to fall. No sooner had she started back to bed than she heard a cry. Chelsea?
Hastily donning a robe, she rushed down the hall to Chelsea’s room. The small girl was suffering from a nightmare. Crossing to her bed, Vee lightly shook her shoulder, trying to wake her.
“No,” Chelsea whispered. “No, please. Mummy!”
Shocked to hear Chelsea’s voice for the first time, Vee continued to lightly shake her. Terrified the child was reliving the horrors of the fire that killed her mother, she shook harder, desperate to save her from suffering that anguish again.
“Chelsea, wake up. Wake up, sweetheart. It’s Vee.”
Chelsea’s eyes opened slowly, unfocused and filled with unshed tears.
“It’s Vee.” Gathering the small, quaking girl in her arms, she rocked her gently, offering comforting words until Chelsea’s shaking stopped.
“I’m right here,” she crooned. “I won’t leave you. I promise. You’re safe. You’re not alone.”
Only as sleep began to reclaim her did Chelsea’s vise-like grip loosen. Laying her gently on the pillow and covering her up, Vee sat by her bed until the storm passed. As the night ended and the morning sun rose, she still held Chelsea’s hand and
wondering what on earth she could do to help vanquish the poor child’s fears once and for all.
* * * *
In his room, Ben was fighting his own demons. Cursing the storm, he felt his grip on sanity leaving him. Night storms were the worst for him. The thunder sounded too much like the roar of cannons, the flashes of lightning too much like ignited gunpowder. Struggling not to succumb to the powerful grip of madness, he tried to pour himself another glass of brandy but his hands shook too badly. He gave up the effort.
“No.” He gritted his teeth. “I’m not going back. I’m not going back.” Another flash of lightning tore across the sky, illuminating the room. He dove to the floor, feeling the bullets of his imagination whizzing above him.
“No.” He rose to his hands and knees, crossing the room until he reached his bedside table. Reaching inside the drawer, he retrieved his pistol just as another boom of thunder sounded outside.
Burrowing beside his bed, his pistol in his hand, he slowly raised the muzzle to his brow. For one brief moment, he considered what it would feel like to pull the trigger, to drive the visions of blood and pain from his head. He had the power to kill the memories. He didn’t want to see the broken bodies, men wailing in pain, the faces of women who’d lost their children and their husbands only to be raped repeatedly by soldiers. He couldn’t live with the pain, the memories anymore. His finger tightened on the trigger.
In the fog of his mind, he heard a voice. Faintly, in the background. “It’s Vee. I’m here. I won’t leave you.” He listened as she soothed him, struggling to hear each word. “You’re not alone.”
Slowly, he lowered the gun to his lap and closed his weary eyes while waiting for the storm to pass and the battle in his head to end. Long after the rain ceased, he stayed on the floor, cradling his pistol on his lap, aware that for him there would never be any escape from the darkness.
Rising early, Vee let Chelsea sleep in. There were dark circles under the young girl’s eyes left by the visions of the night. Despite her lack of sleep, Vee felt restless. Eschewing breakfast, she took a walk, anxious to shake off her worries. While the storm from the previous night had abated, dark clouds loomed overhead, waiting to spill more rain upon the earth.
