“It isn’t devotion, Eldren. It’s servitude. Captivity. Torment,” she said. “Can you not see that?”
“I do. But I have never envisioned a life without it. I am not certain who I would be without this. It is all I have ever known.”
She rose then as well, crossing to him so that she could stand behind him. With her face pressed between his shoulders and her hands resting on his arms, she said, “And I never imagined a life with a husband whom I desired above all things… a man whom I love. Please, Eldren. I am begging you to consent to this, even if it seems like the worst sort of madness to you. For me, Eldren. For us.”
With the weight of her pressed against his back, and the weight of her words piercing his very heart, Eldren knew he would never be able to refuse her. “We will do it. Because I love you, too. Because I can’t deny you anything and if this is our one chance to have the kind of life I long to give you… then so be it.”
“You love me?”
“I do. I love you more than my own life. Certainly more than a pile of brick and stone,” he agreed. “We’ll need to be discreet. No one can know about this who frequents the house.”
“Have the miners’ wives weave the garlands of greenery for the house and then you will place the dynamite in them before you bring them home,” she said. “None of the servants will know and the only people in the house who will know, at least for now, are you and I. Lord Mortimer and Madame Leola will be given vague details as they are needed. We can do this. I know it.”
“I trust you, my love. And I believe in you. If this is how we must do it, then so be it,” he pledged. “And when we leave this wicked place as a pile of rubble, where shall we go?”
“We could go to London… or settle in Chester as it’s closer to your mining enterprises,” she offered.
“Or we could go further. America. Do you have no wish to return home, Adelaide? I cannot see fear holding you here any longer… You can face sailing across the sea if you can face this.”
“I am home. Wherever you are. I am home.”
Eldren let out a sigh, not of weariness or exasperation. It was a sound of contentment. For that brief moment, he was as close to being at peace as he had ever been in his life. But they could not afford to linger there. “We should return. The magistrate will have been by. And there is still Frances to contend with. If he did not collect her, or if he could not locate her to do so, that will fall to me.”
“What do you mean to do with her?”
“There will be an inquest. She will be arrested formally, but I can ensure that she goes to an asylum instead of the jail for the time being,” he explained.
“I’m not certain jail would not be better.”
He blinked at that. “For Frances?”
“For everyone. She is not ill, Eldren. This is not like your mother. Frances knows precisely what she is about. Your mother had long ago lost sight of what was real, what was not, and what was simple manipulation from Igrida. Frances has never been manipulated by her that way. They are in league together. It’s a different thing entirely,” Adelaide insisted.
“And the child she carries… would it fair better in a cold and drafty jail cell or in an asylum?” He asked. “I’m not doing this for Frances. I’m doing it for an innocent child who does not deserve to be borne to one such as her.”
It was Adelaide’s turn to sigh. “You’re right, of course. You’re absolutely right. I only hope it isn’t too late.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Frances was hiding deep inside the cellars of Cysgod Lys. To most, they were impassable following the explosion that had rocked the main corridor. But few knew the secrets of the house as she did. The passages and tunnels that wound through the ancient halls and intersected with caverns far beneath the house. She’d made use of them.
The whispering voice of her conspirator had come to her in the wee hours of the night, warning that Charles’ body had been discovered. But Frances saw through her. Igrida was as full of lies and deceit as she was herself. It was Igrida who’d led them to the body of Charles. And Frances knew why. She’d not shielded her thoughts carefully enough, not concealed her intentions regarding the child she carried. Igrida meant to insure the safety of the vessel that would once more give her life.
“I know you’re here,” Frances said. “And I know why you did it.”
I only mean to insure that our bargain is kept. The child in your womb is mine… It is the life promised to me!
“And when I’m locked away in a prison or an asylum, how will you claim it?” Frances demanded. Sometimes she wondered if the years of being trapped in the house, formless and forced to use glamour and manipulating the minds of others to have presence had robbed Igrida of sanity.
I am not bound to this house as I once was. I have more power now that I ever have. The more people in this house who suffer, the stronger I become. Physical pain. Emotional pain. Fear and anxiety… all of it gives me strength. And the dead, well, they give me everything don’t they, Frances? If you harm the child, I will end your life. You will remain trapped here forever, powerless and alone. Do you understand?
“I am not some novice mystic like my sister-in-law. Her fledgling abilities are nothing compared to my own… Do you think I am without protection from you?” Frances rose to her feet, her fists shaking at her sides as she clenched them tightly. She would not be cowed by the ghost of a woman long dead, by a woman who needed her.
Only silence greeted her proclamation. Frances felt a moment of victory, but it was a brief one. Pain began stabbing at her eyes. She felt the first drops of blood that ran from her nose and dripped down onto the fabric of her gown. Within seconds, the pain became so intense it felt as if her skull would surely explode.
She sank to her knees, clutching her head in her hands as a wail escaped her. “Stop it! Stop it!”
I need you alive because I need the child to live. But I can inflict damage to you, Frances, that would render your mind useless and leave your body intact. Do not test me again.
The pain simply vanished. It was there one second and gone the next, much like the being who had wrought it. Frances touched the skin between her nose and lip. Her fingertips came away coated with blood. She could taste the coppery liquid on her tongue and her stomach heaved in protest. It made her violently ill.
Retching until her stomach had emptied itself of every crumb or morsel she’d consumed, Frances stood there shaking. She had underestimated Igrida. And now she was well and truly trapped.
Placing one hand over the slight rounding of her belly, for the first time, Frances felt something for the life growing inside her. Anger. Resentment. Hatred. Those things blossomed inside her like pouring black ink into a bowl of water. It spread and undulated until everything was pitch dark. She would not be cowed by Igrida, but she would make her plans far more carefully and far from Cysgod Lys. That would mean surrendering to the less than tender mercies of Eldren. No doubt he already had an asylum chosen for her… a place to put his problems and forget them. She’d find what she needed there, and then use her own considerable talents to sway others to aid her when it was time to flee.
Wiping the blood that still trickled, although much more sedately, from her nose, Frances turned and worked her way back through the labrynth of tunnels and to the only other entrance to the cellar that opened in the house. It was a hidden door into one of the sculleries. Finding it empty, she slipped past the kitchens and climbed the stairs. She’d plead her case to Warren. If she confessed her infidelity and then claimed that she’d killed Charles because he attacked her and she feared for the life of her unborn child, he would help her. Because he always helped her.
* * *
The magistrate looked at Warren skeptically. “And you never saw who struck you?”
“I can’t say if I saw them, my good man. I can only state, again, that I do not remember the attack. The blow to my head was rather vicious and it rendered me unconscious. I remained in that state
for nearly two days.” Warren was quickly losing patience with the man. His head ached abominably and the magistrate was only making it worse with his incessant and repetitive questioning. He was on the verge of telling the man so when the door to his room burst open. Frances rushed in, her nose bloodied, dirt on her clothes and a wild look in her eyes.
“What in the devil happened to you?” The magistrate demanded.
“I fell. I’ve been staying in the dower house and when I heard you were here… well, I had to come. I killed Charles,” she offered breathlessly, a little sob hiccuping in her voice.
It was a performance worthy of the stage, Warren thought bitterly. “We know that, Frances.”
“But you don’t know why,” she said. “It was Charles who attacked you and he did so because of me. I should never have indulged in such a flirtation with him!”
“It was significantly more than a flirtation, Frances… or at least that’s my understanding,” Warren said. It should have hurt. But in truth, all he felt was relief. Relief that he hadn’t done what she’d accused him of, relief that he would not forever be bound to her by a child they shared.
She fell to her knees in a display that was beyond any dramatic he’d ever witnessed. “Forgive me, Warren. I’m so sorry. But with all your drinking, I was so terribly lonely… I was weak and foolish. Still, you must know that when he attacked you I was horrified. It was a brief moment of weakness! I didn’t love him and I never imagined that he would think it was anything more than that. Please tell me you understand?”
“What happened to Charles, Mrs. Llewellyn?” The magistrate demanded.
Frances began to weep desperately, sobbing into her hands as if she actually possessed the ability to feel remorse. “I confronted him about what he’d done to Warren… and he became so enraged. He attacked me. But I had my sewing basket with me.”
“In the tower?” Warren asked. “Or are we supposed to believe you dragged his body up there by yourself? Or perhaps he went there of his own accord and neatly tucked himself into a trunk to be discovered later?”
“Warren, how can you be so cold?” Frances sobbed. “I was carrying my sewing basket with me when I saw him make for the tower. I followed him because I knew we had to to discuss what had happened. I was encouraging him to turn himself in! But he was so angry and so violent… I feared for my life and for the life of my child. I had no choice.”
The magistrate sighed heavily. “There will be an inquest, Mrs. Llewellyn and I will have to place you under arrest.”
“I understand. That is why I’m here,” she said. “I would never have attempted to conceal the crime if not for my shame at why it occurred. But I know the truth will come out and I have accepted that.”
“Clean yourself up, madame,” the magistrate said, “And I will escort you to Chester where you will be held until the inquest.”
Frances rose and left the room, swaying on her feet in a very melodramatic fashion. If nothing else, she was committed to the performance.
“There is a sanatarium in Chester that is perhaps more suited to a woman in her condition,” Warren remarked. As much as it pained him to come to her defense, she was his wife, for better or worse. And it would be far less scandalous for her to be in the sanatarium than in the jail with common criminals.
The magistrate looked at him as if he were the one who had gone mad. “I will see what I can do, in light of her condition. It speaks to your character, Mr. Llewellyn, that even now, after her confession, you can concern yourself with her welfare and that of the bastard she carries.”
“She is my wife, sir. Any child she bears is, by law, mine and therefore not a bastard. I’ll thank you to remember that.”
The magistrate’s eyes widened in shock, but then he nodded curtly. “Certainly, sir. I’ll keep that in mind. And I’ll be discreet in sharing that information.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Adelaide entered the house with Eldren close behind her. They’d walked up from the beach, she exhilarated and he resigned. As they entered, Tromley was there to relieve them of coats and scarves.
“Madame Leola and Lord Mortimer are in the drawing room. I believe that Madame Leola is feeling much improved,” Tromley offered.
“She must be to be up and about,” Eldren remarked.
“Lord Mortimer assisted her,” Tromley said and there was some sort of hidden meaning in his words. Of that, Adelaide was certain.
“Have they asked for tea and refreshments?”
“No, my lady. I believe they were waiting for the two of you to return.”
Adelaide nodded. “Then have a tea tray prepared and sent in. We will join them immediately.”
Leaving the butler to take care of the small details, Adelaide crossed the great hall and moved down the corridor to the drawing room and their waiting guests. Eldren was right behind her. Entering the room, she found Madame Leola sitting in one of the wing chairs near the fireplace. She looked a bit pale, but otherwise appeared to be doing remarkably well.
“This is something of a shock. I did not expect to see you up so very soon,” Adelaide commented.
“I have had great motivation, Lady Montkeith,” Madame Leola said. “Lord Mortimer—John—has proposed to me and I have accepted. As soon as I am well enough, we are to be married.”
Adelaide could not have been more stunned. “What wonderful news! I am so very pleased for you, my friend… and a hearty congratulations to you, Lord Mortimer. I am certain you will be very happy together.”
“Congratulations, indeed,” Eldren seconded. “And my felicitations to you, Madame Leola. If it were a bit later in the day I would suggest ordering something stronger than tea, but given your state of convalescence, that might be overdoing it a bit.”
“Quite, Lord Montkeith,” Madame Leola agreed with a smile. “I am still quite addled from the laudanum. Tea will suit me quite well.”
“Perhaps you would consider marrying here in Machynlleth. On Christmas Eve? I’m certain Father Thomas would be pleased to perform the service,” Adelaide suggested. “And we would host a wedding breakfast for you, but not here. Obviously, given all that has occurred, it’s not a very happy place for people to visit. There is a small set of Assembly Rooms in town that would do nicely.” She moved forward and took the seat next to Madame Leola’s. Reaching out she took the other woman’s hand in her own. For anyone observing them, it would have appeared a gesture of goodwill or affection. But Adelaide felt that same buzzing sensation along her skin as they communicated in a way that defied logic and reason. She saw Madame Leola’s eyebrows raise slightly and then the other woman smiled.
“What a marvelous way to celebrate our marriage,” she replied. “I can think of nothing better. John, will you have friends coming from London?”
“I hardly think so. With the holidays they will no doubt have other plans… but I am not inclined to wait longer than that regardless. I would marry you tomorrow if I thought you could walk down the aisle without my assistance,” he replied.
“Christmas Eve I will not only be able to walk without your assistance, but we will be able to dance. And I mean to. A waltz. I know it’s a wedding breakfast, of course, but I think musicians and a bit of dancing would not be remiss. Do you, Lady Montkeith?”
“On the contrary, I think that musicians and dancing should be a requirement,” Adelaide said. “We shall send to Chester for a dressmaker. You must have something suitable to wear as a bride. And we have so many arrangements to make.”
“Yes, we certainly do,” Madame Leola said with complete understanding. “I’ve never looked so forward to the future and all that it might hold. For all of us.”
* * *
Eldren had watched them communicate without words. He knew that Madame Leola had somehow, through the simple act of holding his wife’s hand, had somehow become privy to their plan and all that they had discussed. On the one hand he was fearful of such things, and on the other hand, quite envious. What would it be like to
know with a casual touch what she was thinking and feeling?
He had just committed to destroy his ancestral home. They would blow the family seat to smithereens and embark on a new life together far from all the misery that it had created. And despite his misgivings, he also felt something else. Excitement. But they would need to be more careful than ever. They were less than two weeks from Christmas, less than two weeks from carrying out their entire scheme.
A commotion sounded from the hall. Turning, he opened the door in time to see Frances being led down the stairs by the magistrate. She was dressed in a simple gown of black that he seemed to recall had been his wife’s. Her hair was pulled back in a severe fashion and she looked to be quite composed despite the strange circumstances.
“What is going on here?” He asked.
“Mrs. Llewellyn has confessed to the killing of your footman, Lord Montkeith. At the request of her husband, I have agreed to see her held in custody at the sanitarium in Chester rather than in the jail in Machynlleth. If you are in agreement, of course,” the magistrate offered.
“Of course, I’m in agreement. Whatever my feelings for Frances personally, she is a member of this family and she is a woman with child. All necessary care should be taken for her health and comfort,” Eldren agreed. He was still reeling from the notion that she had confessed. Why? And there was still the issue of Madame Leola. “Is that agreeable to you, Madame Leola, and you, Lord Mortimer? Or are there things you wish to discuss with the magistrate before he departs?”
“I think not, Lord Montkeith,” Madame Leola said. “Under the circumstances, I daresay that justice will prevail for Mrs. Llewellyn, regardless of anything I might add.”
Lord Mortimer offered a jerky nod. It was clear he was less enthusiastic about taking his chances on Frances’ receiving appropriate punishment, but he would not go against his betrothed in such a fashion.
The Victorian Gothic Collection: Volumes 1-3 Page 28
