The Victorian Gothic Collection: Volumes 1-3

by Bowlin, Chasity

  Then the outer door opened and the sound of Dyllis bustling about in her chamber brought an abrupt halt to their exploration. Eldren drew back and Adelaide opened her eyes slowly, looking up at him.

  “Well, that can’t be blamed on wine or brandy,” she said.

  He smiled. “No, it cannot. Go and get dressed, Adelaide, and we’ll make our way home.”

  “You’ve decided then?”

  “It wasn’t really a decision,” he said, his lips curving in a slight smile as he stroked his fingertips over her cheek. “I’ve wanted to do that since the first night you stepped inside Cysgod Lys. I’ve been battling it every moment… and I’ve decided to admit defeat as graciously as possible.”

  Adelaide bit back a smile of her own and rose to her feet. “I promise not to gloat… too much.” With that, she exited the bathing chamber and went to dress. Despite everything, she found herself eager to return to their home, even if it was only so she might be alone with him again to share another of those drugging kisses.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  They reached Cysgod Lys by mid afternoon. All of the servants had lined up outside to greet them as the carriage approached.

  “Is it like this every time you leave and return?” Adelaide asked.

  “No. But we did not return after the ceremony yesterday morning. This will be the first time that they are all greeting you as the new Countess of Montkeith… their mistress,” Eldren answered.

  “Oh,” she said. “I hadn’t considered that.” In truth, she hadn’t thought much of her new position at all. Countess. It was strange to her ears and stranger still to her very American sensibilities. But it would be something she would accustom herself to in time, she thought.

  The carriage halted and Eldren jumped down, turning back to lift her down beside him. As the servants bowed and curtsied to them as they walked past, the reality of it all began to sink in. A wicked thought bubbled in her mind. How horrified Muriel would be to think that her greed and ultimatums had resulted in having a titled stepdaughter who would never benefit her socially. She didn’t laugh, but a smug smile did tug at her lips.

  “That’s a disquieting expression,” Eldren commented. “Rather like that cat who got the cream.”

  “I was just thinking how infuriated Muriel will be to have a stepdaughter who is now a countess… and whom will never acknowledge her publicly.”

  He said nothing, but shared her smirk for a moment as they made their way inside. Tromley halted them at the door. “My lord, I am terribly sorry, but we’ve had an incident.”

  Adelaide felt her heart sink. What could have happened? Was it Eldren’s mother? Warren?

  “What is it, Tromley? Without any dramatic pauses, if you please,” Eldren urged.

  “Mrs. Llewellyn returned. We denied her admittance but she insisted that she speak to Mr. Llewellyn, and so he joined her outside. When he returned, she accompanied him. It appears that she visited her physician in Bristol and it has been confirmed that she is with child,” Tromley explained. “I understand it violates your orders, my lord, and if you wish me to resign, I will do so. But under the circumstances, I did not feel I could send her away nor did I feel it was my place to countermand the wishes of Mr. Llewellyn.”

  Adelaide could feel the tension in him, the quiet fury that all but crackled beneath his skin as he stood beside her. Was it directed at Tromley or at Frances?

  When Eldren spoke again, her question was answered. “Of course not, Tromley. I understand your reasons and if, in fact, Frances is with child and this is not some elaborate scheme of hers, she should be here.”

  Tromley nodded and then hurried away to see to the retrieval of their bags. Alone with Eldren in the foyer, she glanced at him, noting his tightly clenched jaw and the muscle that ticked there. “Is it true do you think?”

  “It’s possible. Unlikely, but possible,” he acknowledged.

  A bitterness settled in Adelaide then. She knew it immediately for what it was. Jealousy. Resentment. If Frances was having a child, a woman never more undeserving, and she would be denied that joy—there was simply no fairness or justice to be found in that. Did Eldren feel the same? Or was it simply anger at having his wishes countermanded through her schemes?

  “I’m sorry,” he said softly.

  “Sorry for what?”

  “That you’ll be forced to endure her presence. That she may get to have something she does not deserve while it would be denied you.”

  Adelaide shrugged. “Are you God then, that you control all of these things?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then it isn’t an apology you are required to make, Eldren. Not everything falls to you,” she uttered softly. “I’m rather tired. And since the vagaries of this house seem to be less apparent in daytime hours, I think I’ll lie down.”

  Adelaide turned and headed for the stairs, fighting back tears at all of it. That small moment of victory, of gloating at Muriels’ expense, had been ripped from her and she had been put firmly in her place it would seem.

  * * *

  Eldren stood where he was for a moment, torn between wanting to go after her and needing to find Warren and make sense of all that had occurred. In the end, duty won out. He went in search of his brother and found him in the study. He was drinking spirits of low quality, something he’d likely convinced one of the footmen to procure for him.

  “Will that help?” Eldren asked softly.

  Warren shrugged “It’s not about helping or hurting, brother dear. It’s about finding that brief and beautiful moment of numbness where not a damn bit of it matters.”

  “Is she really carrying your child?”

  Warren put his bottle down. “Must we discuss this now?”

  “Yes. We must. I demanded to have her banned from this house. If the child isn’t yours—.”

  “It’s bloody well mine,” Warren admitted.

  Eldren sighed and settled himself into a chair near the windows. He could see the moor just beyond the gates, taunting him. “Not to be intrusive or indelicate, but it was my understanding that the two of you had not shared a bed in some time.”

  “We do not, typically… But there was a night two months, or thereabouts, back where we fought bitterly,” Warren said.

  “And this is the product of reconciliation?”

  Warren’s gaze never left the floor. “No. The fight became physical. I struck her. I hurt her. And ultimately, that wasn’t enough for me in my drunken rage. I wanted to punish her… and so I did.”

  Eldren had no response to that. It was more than he could take in. Despise Frances as he did, he could not condone the sort of behavior his brother described. It was also impossible to see his brother as someone capable of such detestable violence. “Warren—,” he began, and then stopped. What could he say?

  “You do not have to castigate me for it, Eldren. I do so myself every day of my life. I despise what I am and what I’ve done. You worry we cannot escape mother’s madness, and I quietly succumbed to father’s brand of cruelty instead. I’ll see mother to London in a few days and get her settled at the hospital you’ve chosen, then Frances and I will return to Bristol. You won’t have to tolerate our presence any further. Perhaps with mother away and the two of us gone, you and your own bride may find some measure of peace in this crumbling pile of rocks.”

  “You will see mother to London and then you will return here. You and Frances will stay here for as long as you wish so long as she does not create difficulties for Adelaide. You will stress that to her, Warren. Her welcome here is conditional… And brother, I have loved you all of your life. I love you still. But if you ever harm another woman again, I will not hesitate to see you punished.”

  With that, Eldren rose and left the library. He couldn’t bear to look at Warren any longer. Neither could he bear to face Adelaide with the knowledge his brother had imparted weighing so heavily on his mind. Instead, he retreated to the dark, dank basement and the small room there where
he practiced the pugilistic skills that offered him a strange sort of respite from the workings of his mind.

  He descended the steps into the dark cavernous spaces beneath the house, hoping to relieve the anger that burned inside him. But it wasn’t simply anger. It was the bitterest of disappointment. If Warren, who had never harmed anyone in his life save for himself, could succumb to the rage and madness that dogged the men of their family, what hope did he have of avoiding it?

  * * *

  Frances was closeted in one of the many empty rooms of the house directly across the hall from the locked door that barred the way to the tower. Her mother-in-law’s new quarters were as heavily secured as any prison.

  Finally, after what seemed to be ages, the door opened and Mrs. Alberson emerged. The portly nurse locked the door behind her, secure in the knowledge that she possessed the only key. And it was true enough that she did. But Frances possessed something else, or perhaps it was better to say that something else possessed her.

  From the moment she’d stepped foot on the Llewellyn land, she’d known that something was different. The dark forces at Cysgod Lys spoke to her as they did to others, but for her it was a gentle whisper, a soft lullaby. It sheltered and cradled her, loved her, and all she had to do in return was its bidding. And now it wanted to torment poor Sylvia a bit more. For her part, Frances didn’t mind. She despised Sylvia and her apparent weakness.

  When Mrs. Alberson had vanished from sight, Frances opened the door to her borrowed chamber and slipped across the hall. It was easy enough to pick the lock. She’d come prepared.

  Easing into the darkened stairwell that led to Sylvia’s chambers. The whispering grew louder, more dense, as if dozens of voices clamored for her attention at once. With that, came a surge of power, a feeling so intense that it made her knees weaken and invoked a kind of ecstasy in her that no man’s touch ever had. Power. Those whispered voices promised her the one thing that women were so often denied. Power.

  At the top of the stairs, another locked door barred her way. Frances placed her hand on the doorknob, and her lips moved, shaping the words of a silent plea. The snick of the lock disengaging was confirmation that her request had been granted.

  Entering Sylvia’s room, she found the other woman huddled in the corner. Her hair was wild about her, a dark tangled mass that made her look every inch the mad woman she was reputed to be. But Frances knew the truth. Sylvia wasn’t mad. She was tortured.

  “How far you have fallen,” Frances said, her voice dripping with mock sympathy.

  “What do you want of me? Have you come to torment me further?”

  “I’ve come to share good news with you,” Frances said. “We both know why you despise Eldren.”

  “I do not know anyone by that name!”

  “Bastard, then. Do you know him as your husband’s bastard?”

  Sylvia’s eyes flashed. “I do.”

  “This house wants one thing and one thing only… an end to the Llewellyn reign over this land. And I carry in my belly the means to see that end.”

  Sylvia’s gaze dropped to Frances’ still flat stomach. “You are with child. With Warren’s child.”

  “No. Not Warren’s. But I do carry a child… a child that could inherit all of this with not a drop of Llewellyn blood in its veins. All you have to do is end the bastard usurper and his young bride.”

  “And what of my son? What of Warren?”

  “Warren will slowly drink himself to death, and once he has, then my child, who is not of his blood, will claim the title and all that comes with it. Then the dark spirits here will be appeased, and even you can rest,” Frances promised.

  Sylvia rose and lunged toward her, but the restraints at her ankles kept her from gaining enough ground to do so. They pulled taut and the woman fell onto the hard stone floor with a broken and pitiful gasp.

  “Lies,” Sylvia croaked. “All that escapes from your lips are lies. You cannot be trusted and if you trust the promises of the evil within these walls, you are not just a liar but a fool!”

  Frances smiled. “I’m not the one who raised another woman’s bastard child as my own son, am I? There is only one fool in this room, Sylvia. But you can be free…”

  “What must I do?”

  “What you’ve already been told to do. Kill the girl. Kill Eldren. Leave the rest to me.”

  “I will,” Sylvia said, still lying on the floor. Her dark hair spilled over her face, hiding the gleam of hatred in her eyes.

  “You have a weapon… concealed in here,” Frances said. “I know that you do. You’ll do it tonight.”

  “He has not made her his wife yet… not truly,” Sylvia replied. “I know of his vow to bear no children into this dark place.”

  “They’ll be together. Forces are aligning to be certain of that,” Frances promised. “Just be ready. I will untie you now and you will return to your corner, remain calm, and conceal the fact that you have been freed, until the time is right.”

  “How will I know?” Sylvia demanded.

  “They will tell you,” Frances answered with a laugh. “Just as they always have.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Eldren sat in the corner of the small room, body slicked with sweat and knuckles bleeding. He hadn’t taken the time to wrap his hands properly and the skin had split in several places. Blood smeared the leather covering of the bag and his own skin as he sat there struggling to catch his breath.

  He was still struggling to come to terms with what Warren had confessed. Between that, the idea that he would have to tolerate Frances’ presence indefinitely, the worry regarding his decision for his mother and then the house and its strange effect on Adelaide who was coming to mean far more to him than he had ever expected—was it any wonder that his mind was still awhirl with it all?

  Outside the small room, he heard a noise. Thinking it was one of the servants going to the wine cellar or root cellar that was also down there, he ignored it. But then the sound came again. The slight scuffling, scratching noise was grating and impossible to ignore. It was also made by something far too large to be a rat or mouse. There was intent behind that noise. Something was making its presence known to him. He recognized that whatever was happening, it was intended to create fear in him.

  Rising from the floor, Eldren opened the door and peered out into the corridor. It was dim, the gaslights along the wall failing to penetrate the deepest of the shadows there. A frisson of unease snaked through him, but he ignored it. He would not be cowed. Despite Adelaide’s experiences, he’d been in that house his entire life and nothing of the sort had ever happened to him.

  Stepping out into the corridor, he called out, “Who’s there?”

  There was no answer. Just more scuffling.

  With a muttered curse, Eldren moved toward the sound. The door to his small sanctuary slammed behind him with enough force that it rattled in the frame. The sound of it echoed in the darkness. There was no wind, no draft, and no one else down there to blame for that occurrence. His unease grew, but so did his determination to confront whatever dark force had decided to torment them.

  “Show yourself,” he demanded. His heart pounded in his chest and no longer had anything to do with the exertion of his exercise moments earlier. His sweat slicked skin prickled, the hair on his body standing on end with an awareness that he was not alone in that dark corridor. Something other was there with him.

  The scuffling came again, along with a shifting of shadows at the end of that corridor. They seemed to draw together, to eddy and swirl before finally coming together in one large mass. It appeared as if they were becoming more dense, taking on a solid form in the distance. It was menacing. Terrifying. And it was sentient. It had acted in response to his demand.

  It was doing what he’d asked, he realized. It was showing itself. The impetuous challenge was something he now regretted. He wanted to retreat, to run back to the narrow stairs that would take him to the bright lights and milling servants of t
he upper floor. Yet he was rooted to the spot. Whatever commands his mind relayed to his body, his body was unable to meet them. It wasn’t just fear that paralyzed him. It held him in some sort of sway, its power rendering his own will utterly moot.

  The shadow thing moved, undulating as it dipped and swirled, growing ever closer to him. And he was helpless to do anything but wait for it.

  * * *

  Adelaide awoke with a scream trapped in her throat. Scrambling from the bed, she ran toward the door and into the corridor beyond. “Where is his lordship?” The question was shouted at the first servant she passed, a startled footman who blinked at her in alarm.

  “I could not say, my lady. I have not seen him since your arrival home. Tromley will know,” he replied, looking at her askance, utterly scandalized by her behavior.

  Adelaide didn’t bother thanking him or even acknowledging his statement. Instead, she ran toward the stairs, yanking her skirts up past her ankles as she took them as quickly as she dared. Tromley emerged from one of the many closets tucked here and there in the house that held silver and linens. If he was shocked by her ragged and slightly wild appearance, he said nothing.

  “Where is my husband?”

  Perhaps it was her urgent tone or the slightly manic air that surrounded her in that moment, but he simply answered her question. “He is in his exercise room in the basements, my lady. He often goes there, especially if he is troubled. I think his earlier conversation with his brother troubled him greatly.”

  “Show me.”

  “Is everything quite alright, ladyship?”

  Adelaide knew that in that moment she both looked and sounded like a mad woman. “I do not know, Tromley. But I must find him quickly.”