Dark Hero; A Gothic Romance (Reluctant Heroes)

by Silver, Lily

  “Slavery is a vile business, Elizabeth.” His tone became severe. “You have no idea the horrors that met my eyes when I took over the estate. I came to hate Richard O’Donovan and everything he stood for. I released his slaves. I buy prison indentures to use as a labor source.”

  “What became of the slaves your grandfather owned?” Elizabeth asked, intrigued by his confession. “Surely you didn’t evict them? If they left your estate, wouldn’t they risk being subjected to slavery again by others?”

  “You are very perceptive.” He admitted. “A few left. Those with families still reside on the estate. They run the saw mill and a smithy. Some men oversee the cane operations during the harvest. It is an exacting process, and they’ve done it for many years so I trust their judgment and pay them accordingly for their expertise.”

  He pulled the chair out and gestured for her to sit at the small table.

  She hadn’t noticed Pearl returned with her breakfast. Elizabeth sat down and gave in to her hunger. Donovan sat next to her and continued to converse with her as if nothing were amiss. “Aside from cane production, I breed horses to sell in the local markets. I added a small coffee grove and planted a hundred nutmeg saplings since taking over the estate. It will be years before they bear fruit, but once established the spices will bring a steady profit for years to come.” He took a sip from the steaming cup of coffee before him. The alluring aroma filled the cabin.

  Elizabeth had never tasted the exotic brew. “May I?” She asked. Donovan held his cup out to her. She took a sip and grimaced at the bitter taste. She’d stick to good English tea.

  “It’s an acquired taste.” He mused, lifting the cup to his lips.

  ********

  The vast expanse of turquoise sea gave way to lush emerald foliage. Stark volcanic peaks towered against the brilliant blue sky as the ship passed the small islands of the West Indies. After close to seven weeks at sea, with silence surrounding them and the endless expanse of sea, it was invigorating to see land again, to hear birds and breathe in the the rich scent of foliage. The wind caressed Elizabeth’s face with moist, warm kisses. The aroma of Earth, spices and flowers permeated the sultry air. Birds called to one another from the lush greenery.

  She cast a furtive glance at the ‘Dark Count’ as they stood at the rail. He looked like a highwayman with the black sheath concealing his features. Just before coming on deck he rubbed cream on his cheeks, a rouge containing stinging nettles, he said, as he tucked the small tin in his pocket. The skin beneath the fabric was angry red, giving the illusion of disfigurement.

  As they drew near his island she could see a small village hugging the wharf. Fishing boats dotted the pale, sandy beach. In the distant horizon she could make out the hazy outline of another island; St. Christopher’s, or St. Kitts as the locals called it. The harbor was a town called Basseterre. St Kitts and Ravencrest Estates, a smaller island, fell under British jurisdiction.

  A mount was waiting for him near the wharf, a sleek black stallion that could only belong to the dark count. Donovan lifted Elizabeth up into the saddle and swung up behind her. “It’s not far, just up the hill.” He explained. “They didn’t know to send the carriage. It will take too long to have it brought down now.”

  Wrapping his arms about her, he took up the reins and urged his mount to a bracing trot.

  Lush jungle vines and brilliant tropical blooms lined the road as they traveled up the hill to the plantation house. Vibrant red and brilliant pink blooms abounded among the brush. A cluster of birds called to each other from the thick jungle on either side of the road and were answered with sharp trills and deep, screeching caws in the hot, sultry air.

  They crested the hill. Elizabeth drew in her breath at the stately beauty of the white baroque manor house in the distance. It was enclosed by iron fencing. Beyond the gate, palm trees lined the wide drive. A pillared porch embraced the second story.

  Donovan dismounted at the gate, unlocked a heavy chain, led his mount through, then wound the chain through the iron fencing once more and locked the paddock. A pair of mastiffs came bounding down the drive from behind the manse, snapping and snarling. The horse reared. Elizabeth lurched forward to clutch its neck, bracing herself to hit the ground in a painful thud.

  Her husband snatched the bridle and secured the anxious beast. “Halt.” He commanded the approaching dogs in a harsh, guttural snarl. The dogs stopped in their tracks several feet ahead. He snapped his finger and pointed at the ground. They sat down. “That’s better. Come,” he instructed, holding out a hand to them, while keeping a tight grip on the bridle. The beasts approached him with wagging tails and pressed against him, vying for their master’s attention.

  Donovan pushed the sheath over his brow and smiled up at Elizabeth. She didn’t smile back. The estate seemed far from welcoming as she took in the neglect of the grounds that weren’t noticeable at a distance. There were weeds where flower beds should be and iron fencing with razor sharp spikes preventing anyone from entering or leaving. An empty fountain in the courtyard had moss and weeds in it. The house had most of the shutters drawn on all the first floor windows.

  “It needs work.” Donovan admitted, seeing her apprehension. “It’s lacked a woman’s touch for many years. Just think of all the fun you’ll have redecorating, my sweet.” He led the stallion past the fountain to the front steps, his guard dogs flanking his tall form. The front lawn had been cut recently, she noted, trying to find sunshine among the clouds.

  Donovan helped her dismount and led her up the stone stairs to the front door.

  Just as she feared, he placed a key in the lock. Elizabeth had a bad feeling about it.

  Was there no one here to welcome him?

  Chapter Sixteen

  The large entry hall had parquet flooring and furniture from earlier in the century. Hunting scenes were painted as frescoes in the white plaster walls.

  “Stay here, I’ll be right back.” He admonished, leaving her to gaze up at the winding marble stairs that lead to the second story. The mahogany banister had been polished not too long ago, she noted, feeling hopeful that the interior was not as neglected as the exterior grounds.

  Double doors to the right of the stairs piqued her interest. She decided to peek beyond them. She was relieved to find this door unlocked, only to have hope crushed as she gazed inside. The room was dark, the shutters were drawn to block out the sunlight. The furniture was covered with white sheets, resembling ghosts in the darkened room. She crept in a few feet and waited for her eyes to adjust to the gloom. Slats in the shutters allowed jagged shafts of light to diffuse through the shadows. Something dark and furry scuttled across the floor in front of her. Elizabeth stifled a scream and stepped back, remembering Peter’s tale about hairy spiders the size of tea saucers.

  Who lives here? She wondered, eyeing the room with disappointment. The house had an empty, desolate feel to it, as if no one occupied it for a very long time, at least, no one who cared.

  “Lizzie.” Elizabeth turned at the sound of her husband’s voice, his normal voice, not an affected one. He stood in the foyer, seeming perturbed that she wasn’t standing precisely where he’d left her. “Come.” He held out his hand. “I’ve ordered a bath for you. Tabby will see to your comfort while I’m out.”

  “Where are you going?” She grimaced as she left the dark room for the sunlit foyer. “We’ve only just arrived.”

  “I want to take a ride about the place while I’m still dressed as the count. Enjoy your bath and a nice nap. You look all in, darlin’.” His lips brushed hers, teasing lightly, reminding her of the tender, caring man on the voyage. He smiled down at her, and then straightened as a lone figure stepped from the shadows of the hall. “This is Tabitha Wilkes, my grandfather’s--” He paused momentarily. “Housekeeper. I kept her on after he died, and the cook.”

  Mrs. Wilkes was clad in an informal muslin gown rather than the starched black uniform that housekeepers wore in the wealthy homes in England.
She was barefoot. Her white hair was unbound, cascading down her back in gentle waves. She was thin, graceful, her complexion golden from time spent in the sun instead of indoors, cleaning her master’s home.

  She did not resemble any servant Elizabeth encountered in England. Nevertheless, she smiled at the older woman. This was Donovan’s home. She was going to have to accept his odd ways and get along with the people in his employ. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Wilkes.” Elizabeth responded, knowing her mother would scold her for being familiar with a servant. Alas, putting on airs would not win her acceptance from the count’s household staff.

  “It’s Tabby, Ma’am. I’m not married.” The woman archly corrected Elizabeth, looking her up and down as if she were a dead rodent the cat carried in from the woodpile.

  “Don’t be impertinent, Tabby.” Donovan interjected before Elizabeth could form a response. “My wife is the grand-daughter of the ninth Earl of Greystowe. She’ll put you through your paces, old girl. You might wish to put some thought into retiring. I’m certain my lady will be more particular than I am regarding the household routines.”

  The woman bristled at his words, looking for a brief second as if she might curse out loud at them. She managed a limp smile from taut lips. “Welcome to Ravencrest, your ladyship.” She made a polite curtsy to Elizabeth.

  “Take care of my lass, and mind your tongue, Tabby. I’ll tolerate none of your cheek with her!” Donovan directed as he made his exit, effectively abandoning Elizabeth.

  Elizabeth followed the woman up the stairs and down the hall to the master’s chamber. She sensed resentment within Tabby. She dismissed the impression, reasoning that she’d be cranky, too, if she was in this woman’s place and the master dropped a new mistress on the doorstep without warning and then left again. It was an awkward situation all around.

  Donovan’s bedchamber was furnished in a deep forest green that complimented the oak paneling. Very masculine, indeed, befitting a bachelor lord.

  “Rest Madame, your bath water will take a while to warm.” Tabby said, and left her.

  Elizabeth stepped over to the louvered doors and peered through the slats. They gave access to a veranda winding about the second story. And they were locked. She was suddenly seized by a rush of sheer panic.

  “Watch out!” A thin, frightened voice from beyond the grave warned in the empty room. “He’ll lock you away for his pleasure. He’ll never let you feel the sunlight on your face or the wind in your hair again.”

  “Who are you?” Elizabeth glanced about. No one appeared or answered her query.

  This was just too much; an isolated estate, a house with chained gates and locked doors, a cranky, resentful housekeeper and now a spirit whispering cryptic warnings to her in the middle of the afternoon. Elizabeth whirled about to the double doors adjacent to the veranda doors. Those, too, were locked. She hurried to the hall door as a frightening presentiment of being kept a prisoner in this dismal place washed over her.

  To her relief, the door to the hall opened. “Tabby, bring me the keys.” Elizabeth insisted, hoping her warbled voice carried enough authority to garner the precious items.

  “I have only this one set, Madame.” Tabby called from the far end of the hall. “Why do you need them?”

  “I wish to unlock the doors to the veranda and the next room.”

  The woman padded down the hall on bare feet. She unlocked the balcony doors and then the doors to the adjoining suite.

  “This was Maureen’s room.” Tabby informed her. “She died young, leaving her husband to raise their daughter alone. He let the girl run free, without discipline. ‘Tis little wonder the girl got herself with child and ran off with her French lover at sixteen.” The housekeeper paused and twisted the doorknob beneath her hand in an odd gesture. Apparently she liked doors to be locked. “Alicia broke his heart.”

  “Who is Alicia? And Maureen?” Good God, had Donovan had another wife before her and a child, too? No, he couldn’t have a child of sixteen, he wasn’t yet thirty. Still, she couldn’t comprehend what the housekeeper’s murky tale of undisciplined young ladies running off with foreign lovers had to do with her.

  “Maureen O’Donovan was the old lord’s wife, your husband’s grandmother. Alicia O’Donovan is his mother; a selfish, spoiled, difficult woman. You’ll meet her soon enough. She comes from Charleston to spend Christmas with his lordship each year. Why, I can’t imagine. He keeps the place about as welcoming as a tomb. Fired all the servants here, he did, sent them all packing four years past when he took over. Just Fritz and myself was kept on, so don’t be expecting too much service, my lady.”

  “I’m sure his lordship will not be averse to hiring a few maids to help about the place.”

  “Oh, there’s little hope of that, Madame.” The woman scoffed, giving her another measuring look that clearly questioned Elizabeth’s reasoning. “Your husband don’t like people mum. Keeps to himself, he does. I’m giving you fair warning, because I know how men sprinkle sugar all over a girl when they’re trying to win her favor, but once those favors are won, they show their real colors and we’re left to deal with the mess.”

  Such a bitter soul this woman had become. It was obvious someone broke Tabby’s heart long ago and left her to fend for herself. She deserved kindness, and that was probably why Donovan kept her on after letting all the other servants go.

  Elizabeth walked past the housekeeper and into the adjoining suite. The smell of dust assaulted her senses. She coughed. Tabby moved from the door to open the shutters at the nearest window. The black curtains became royal blue velvet when the sun hit them. The housekeeper tugged up the sash to allow in fresh air. Golden sunlight illuminated the chamber. Elizabeth stood in the center of the room, awed by the revealed opulence as the shadows retreated. The oak paneling had been painted white. The moldings were gilded to create sparkling accents.

  “It’s beautiful.” Elizabeth said, gazing wistfully about her. “I’ll take this room as my own. The two of us should be able to have it tidied by nightfall, don’t you think?”

  “His lordship told me you were to rest, he was adamant about that. He said you’ve been ill. I can’t allow you to overexert yourself. He’ll be angry, Madame.”

  “He promised I could have my own room.”

  “You’ll have to take it up with him.” Tabby paced to the door, head held high as she waited for Elizabeth to follow her back to the master suite. Once Elizabeth returned to Donovan’s room, the housekeeper locked the doors to the room she’d just vacated, preventing any further exploration. “I’ll leave you to rest, Madame. The bell pull is near the bed. Don’t be alarmed if no one answers right away. The cook is deaf as a stone and I have to go out to the stables to fetch the lads to carry up the water up for your bath. Just keep ringing. I’ll come as soon as I can.”

  After the housekeeper left, Elizabeth wore a path on the carpet trying to convince herself her world wasn’t falling apart around her; that she wasn’t married to a madman; that she wouldn’t be locked in a shuttered room in the attic if she displeased him. This place was so sinister, just like Mrs. Radcliffe’s Gothic stories she used to devour years ago.

  Within an hour, the lads from the stables delivered her hot bath water. Tabby lingered to assist Elizabeth with her gown. She accepted the help and then dismissed the older woman once she stood in her chemise.

  “I’m supposed to stay, Madame.”

  “I prefer my privacy.”

  “He said you weren’t to bathe alone. He instructed me to stay with you in case--” The woman smashed her lips together, and looked away.

  “He said what?”

  “You’ll have to take it up with him, Madame.” The housekeeper replied.

  Elizabeth removed her chemise and petticoat and stepped into the luxuriant tub, determined to not allow anyone to spoil the long awaited treat. She closed her eyes and leaned against the tub back, relishing the feel of the warm wetness as it enveloped her body . . .

/>   “Madame?” A hand settled on her shoulder, startling Elizabeth out of a contented doze.

  She sat up suddenly, disorientated and groggy. The housekeeper helped her wash her long hair and then hefted the pail of rinse water and let it drizzle over Elizabeth’s head and back. Oh, it was pure heaven after six weeks without a proper bath. There was the basin of wash water rationed out every other day, but Elizabeth never truly felt clean with that arrangement.

  A nap would be just the thing, she decided as she emerged from the tub.

  “Let’s get you into one of his shirts.” Tabby suggested, seeing where her mind was taking her. “Your trunks are downstairs. Pearl said your bed gowns need washing. Oh, he brought your cat, do you want it up here?’’

  Pearl was here! She’d forgotten about the gentle servant. Having him around would make all the difference. “Yes, his name is Puck, after Shakespeare’s play, the one with the fairies. Can you have a box of dirt brought up—or I could do it if it’s too much trouble.”

  “You’ll not be doing any such thing. I’ll see to it.” The housekeeper huffed, and then her features softened. “Puck, you say? Gareth will be pleased, he adores Shakespeare.”

  “Gareth? Who is that?” Elizabeth asked with exasperation. She’d had her fill of surprises for one day.

  “Oh.” Tabby’s eyes darkened. “My lord didn’t tell you about Gareth?”

  Elizabeth shook her head.

  “Oh, isn’t that just like a man!” Tabby exclaimed, the sourness returning to her features. “Master Gareth is the natural son of your husband’s grandfather by one of his mistresses.” The older woman stopped plaiting Elizabeth’s hair and pursed her lips. “There’s no polite way to put this. Gareth O’Donovan is of mixed blood, his mother was a slave. He lives in the manor, has his father’s name and an allowance, but the property belongs to your husband as the legitimate heir. And as his lordship married so suddenly, Gareth is concerned about how the new mistress will receive him---if she’ll allow him to continue to live here.”