Cursed Once More: The Sequel to With This Curse

by Amanda DeWees

  The first thing that seized the attention was her eyes: dark and undimmed by age, they almost glittered with the force of her scrutiny. They darted over me, assessing, noting, and I found myself suddenly uncertain, wondering if my hair was in disorder or my dress too gaudy. I felt somehow that nothing, no defects of appearance or character, would escape that shrewd gaze.

  Then she released me from that intense examination and turned her attention to Atticus. I was glad to notice that he was not intimidated by her: he stood at his ease, smiling slightly in apparent pleasure at this meeting, and not for the first time I felt a rush of pride that I could call this man my husband. Then, when his hand closed over mine, I remembered that I, too, had every reason to stand tall and proud. There was no reason for me to quail before this old woman.

  “At last,” she said, in that sharp, vigorous voice. She did not speak loudly, but there was no hesitation or sign of weakness in her words. Nor was there a marked accent, as I had expected. “Horace has taken his time in bringing you to me.”

  “The baron and baroness needed to rest and refresh themselves after their journey,” my uncle protested. “They’ve not been here more than half an hour.”

  A thin, fine-boned hand waved him to silence. My grandmother looked as delicate as a porcelain shepherdess, but everything about her manner belied that impression of fragility. Her slight frame was clad in a gown of rust-colored velvet whose spreading skirts must once have been supported by a crinoline. She wore antique lace at her throat and wrists, and pinned to her collar was a large cameo depicting a weeping woman in classical drapery. Her white hair gleamed in the light of the fire that burned on the hearth. But her features were most interesting of all, for in them I thought I saw some resemblance to my own.

  “Come closer, child,” she ordered. “Let your grandmother have a look at you. Yes, you are Miriam’s daughter and no doubt, despite your towering height. That must be from your father’s side; your mother was nearly as petite as I. Kneel down so that I may see you better.”

  I did so, examining her as frankly as she did me. This close to the old woman, I could hear a catch in her chest when she breathed, and I could also see fine wrinkles on her brow and around her eyes. They were especially pronounced around her mouth, and even on such short acquaintance I could imagine that they indicated that she spent a great deal of time with her lips pursed in disapproval. Her skin was thin and delicate with age, and a complexion that must once have been olive like mine had gone sallow with illness. Her cheeks, however, were pink, and I realized that she used rouge. As a belle during the Regency, she had probably grown accustomed to such cosmetic aids. She had a straight, small nose and wide-set eyes with long lashes, nearly white now. There was also something familiar about the determination in the line of her jaw.

  “Yes, yes,” she muttered. “The hairline, the obstinate chin… thank heaven you inherited my ears: small, neat, close to the head. Your mother was not so fortunate. She was always trying to hide hers beneath her hair.”

  “She was?” I exclaimed. It was details like this that I was eager to learn. I wanted to be able to picture her as a girl and young woman and imagine her life in this house. “What else did she do?”

  “All in good time. You may rise now. Introduce me to your husband, child.”

  “Allow me to present Atticus Blackwood, Lord Telford,” I said. So commanding was her manner that I had unthinkingly fallen in with her orders rather than exerting a will of my own. I gave myself a little mental shake. “And how shall I address you, ma’am?”

  The dark eyes, so striking against her sallow skin and white hair, raked me again. “Why, as Grandmama, of course.”

  I had the strong feeling that if she had been displeased with me, her answer would have been different. Evidently I had passed the first hurdle.

  Again I silently scolded myself. I was not here to meet with her approval; rather the opposite. But I wanted the old lady to think well of me all the same, to recognize that my mother, her daughter, would have had no reason to be ashamed of me.

  Atticus was bowing over her hand. “A pleasure, ma’am,” he said, and even just those few words in his warm, genial voice seemed to soften the sharpness of her gaze.

  “You are surprisingly well set up, given all that I’d heard. Aren’t you a cripple?”

  My breath caught in horror, but Atticus merely smiled. “I have a bad limb, but fortunately it does not impede me to any great extent. My stick here is all the assistance I need.”

  “Hmm. Well, I am glad to hear that. You’re charming, to be sure, but that is not necessarily a mark of good character. Still—a baron. That is something.” She drummed her fingers on the arm of her chair. “Tell me about your finances. How many acres have you? Any entails on the property?”

  The barrage of questions pricked my temper. How dare this old woman question my husband as if he were a schoolboy? I opened my mouth to give vent to my indignation, but Atticus said simply, “I shall be more than happy to assure you of my ability to provide for your granddaughter, ma’am—but at another time. I know my wife is longing to speak with you about family matters, and I could not forgive myself if I postponed that conversation any longer.”

  The old lady regarded him closely. “It appears you know how to handle yourself,” she said, in a milder voice. “Be off with you then, Lord Telford—and you go with him, Horace. I want to speak to my granddaughter alone.”

  My uncle clasped his hands behind his back and did not budge from where he stood. “You may overtire yourself if I am not here to see that you don’t.”

  My grandmother’s eyes locked with his. “Did I ask you to be my nursemaid, pray? You’ve more talent for getting underfoot than any man I’ve ever met.”

  Under that sarcastic tone his face reddened. “Very well, I’ll go,” he muttered. “I’ll return shortly, though.”

  Atticus caught my eye and gave me a quick, encouraging smile as he left. He was slowly followed by my uncle, under whose heavy tread the floorboards creaked protestingly.

  When the door closed behind them, the old lady sighed and relaxed slightly. Her back was still ramrod straight, and I wondered if she had been strictly schooled in posture as a girl, for only now did she permit it to touch the back of the chair. “Thank heaven he consented to go. My wishes do not always carry the weight they should with my son.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” I said, but it occurred to me that my uncle might only now be in a position to argue with his mother. I could imagine that growing up under her strong will might have grated on him… as it might have done me, had I been reared in this household.

  “Draw up that chair and sit with me. He is not all that I would have hoped for,” she said as I did so. “As soon as I saw his letter to you I knew it would do more to keep you away than to bring you here. That is why I had to send for you.”

  “You spoke of secrets,” I said. “Secrets that could do terrible damage if you did not disclose them.”

  “Did I? Perhaps I did. I may have resorted to melodrama in my urgency to meet you. What I said about my health was true enough; I’ve been given only a few more months to live.”

  But this evasiveness did not fool me. She knew perfectly well what she had been about, I was certain, and I said firmly, “I am very sorry to hear that, but I deserve to know what you meant.”

  “And you shall, Clara. Just have a little patience. We have so much to catch up on, and I must make certain of a few things first.” Clearly she did not like to be pushed. She would disclose things in her own time, and my pressing her would do no good.

  “You seem to have married well,” she continued, returning to the earlier topic. “The baron is no weakling who will allow you to order him about, but I see no cruelty in him. Is he intelligent, child?”

  The question caught me by surprise. “Very much so,” I said.

  “That is what I heard. I made inquiries, you may be sure, before writing to you. I learned that he is known for un
conventional views, so I feared he might be an inbred idiot who wanted to plant the streets of London with breadfruit trees or some such claptrap.”

  “I assure you, that is not the case. He is a fine man and I love him dearly, as he does me.”

  That did not seem to impress her. “Sentimental attachment is unnecessary in a marriage, Clara. You seem like a sensible girl; I would have thought you would know that.”

  “It may not be strictly necessary,” I said with a straight face, “but it makes things much, much nicer.”

  “Hmm.” She regarded me thoughtfully, and her fingers absently touched the cameo at her throat. “The two of you seem well suited, at least. Any children?”

  I hesitated. “Not yet,” I said, hoping she would not press for details—or guess my secret. I had known women of her age with an uncanny knack for identifying expectant mothers.

  To my relief she responded, “In other words, no. And at your age, very unlikely. Thank heaven for that.”

  “Why do you say that?” I exclaimed, ready on the instant to defend Atticus. “If you are thinking of my husband’s club foot—”

  With a flutter of lace she waved her hand to silence me. “Not at all, child. Be still. But there are reasons… tell me, have you any sisters or brothers?”

  “No.”

  “None living? Or none at all?”

  The questions shot out with a force that startled me. “As far as I know, there were no other children. I was born about a year after my parents married, and my father died soon after, so my mother said.”

  “Ah!” A curious look of regret softened the old lady’s face, and she gazed into the distance. “How I wish I had known. How different everything might have been.”

  “How do you mean?” I asked.

  For a long moment I thought she had not heard me. Then she said, in a gentler voice than I had yet heard from her, “I could have persuaded my husband to let you and Miriam come live here, if we had known you had no brothers.”

  I stared at her in uncomprehending shock. “You mean you would have forgiven Mother?”

  Her eyes closed briefly, and she sank back into the chair. When she next opened her eyes, I was astonished to see tears gathered in them. “It was my husband who forced her out of the house. Oh, I did nothing to stop him, mind you, but if we had known the threat was past—”

  “Threat? What on earth do you mean?” When she did not reply at once, it was all I could do to keep from seizing her by the shoulders and shaking answers out of her. “Why was my mother cast off?” I demanded. “Was it not because she married beneath her?”

  “No,” she said softly. “It was because—she married.”

  In the silence that followed that baffling statement there came the tread of heavy footsteps, and with the most perfunctory of knocks Mr. Burleigh entered.

  “Now, now, that’s enough of your gossiping for one afternoon,” he said with a geniality that irritated me all the more for seeming forced. “I know you womenfolk will talk endlessly if left to yourselves, but it’s time for you to rest, Mother. See, Mrs. Furness has brought your draught for you.”

  “I don’t need a draught.” Fretfully, the old lady reached for my hand. “Clara, come back tomorrow morning so we may talk more. There are things I must tell you—things you must know about the past—”

  “You can tell Clara tomorrow, Mother.” He stooped to draw her arms around his shoulders and slip one arm beneath her knees. He lifted her from her chair and carried her to the bed as if she had been no bigger than a doll. “Now it’s time for us to dress for dinner. Ann will bring yours on a tray, never you fear.”

  The prospect of dinner seemed to distract her from her wish to disclose more to me. “What is it to be tonight?” she asked.

  Mrs. Furness, who stood by with a medicine bottle and a wine glass, answered her. “Pigeon pie,” she said soothingly. “And a glass of Madeira to celebrate Lord and Lady Telford’s visit.”

  “Mind you don’t let my pie get cold. My room is not so far from the kitchen as that.” The old lady seemed to have forgotten my presence. “Mrs. Furness, I believe I’ll take my medicine after all.”

  “Very good, ma’am.”

  Mr. Burleigh took my arm, much to my displeasure, and led me to the door. “Good night, Mother,” he said, again in that tone of false heartiness, and I called out, “Good night,” just as he shut the door firmly behind us.

  “As you can see,” he said, “she isn’t as strong as she thinks she is. Some sleep will set her to rights.” His voice was crisp now without the false cheer.

  “I wish I did not have to wait until tomorrow to speak to her again,” I said, unsettled by how quickly she had seemed to grow confused. “Do you know what confidences she means to tell me?”

  He would not meet my eye but kept a firm hold on my arm, leading me down the hall. “Like as not it’s nothing important. No doubt she’s looking forward to telling you about your mother.”

  “I gathered it was something urgent, or else she would not have said so in her letter. Why do you—”

  He cut me off with a forced laugh. “Now then, there’s time enough to discuss such things tomorrow. If she meant to confide in you the secret location of the missing family fortune, I’m certain she would have done so by now! Best not keep your husband waiting, now. The dinner gong will be going any minute.”

  And to my indignation, the man actually walked me all the way to my door and waited until I had stepped into my room before he would leave me.

  CHAPTER SIX

  When Mrs. Furness rang the small gong in the great hall, the only person absent was my uncle. Atticus and I had been the first to descend, followed shortly by Mr. Lynch.

  Like Atticus, my uncle’s ward had changed into an evening coat, and he looked more slight and youthful than he had in his bulky caped greatcoat. This coat, too, gave his shoulders the appearance of being uneven, so much so that I wondered if it was not the coat after all. His dark hair had a tendency to curl at the ends, an oddly endearing trait, and together with his pale complexion it gave him something of the look of the late poet Shelley.

  “Lady Telford, how elegant you look,” he said, bowing once more over my hand. “You have enhanced the decor of Thurnley Hall with your presence—a much-needed improvement. I trust that my guardian has told you and the baron all about its former greatness and the fine objets it once boasted?”

  I tried to hide a smile. “Atticus and I did hear something about a Sir Joshua Reynolds or two,” I said.

  “And a desk belonging to Oliver Cromwell, or was it Napoleon?”

  Atticus cleared his throat warningly, for our host was now descending the stairs, and we fell silent.

  “Victor, I see you have met our distinguished guests.” Mr. Burleigh’s expression was sour. He looked strangled in his high old-fashioned collar, below which was tied a fresh white stock. That and a change of coat seemed to be all that distinguished his ensemble from his day wear. “Mrs. Furness told me of your arrival. I would have expected some word from you before you planted yourself on my doorstep.”

  “I apologize for having given no warning.” Mr. Lynch held out his hand to shake, and after a moment’s deliberation, the older man clasped it briefly. “You have always given me to think that Thurnley Hall is as much my home as yours, so I hoped it was unnecessary.”

  I caught no reproach in his voice, but his guardian’s face reddened as if he had taken offense. “I’ll not be dictated to by you, sir,” he rumbled. “Don’t think that the presence of our guests means you can tweak my nose without any consequences.”

  Mr. Lynch made a slight bow. “Sir, your nose is entirely safe from me.”

  The older man’s lips thinned, but he did not pursue the issue. Instead, he pointedly turned his back on his ward and offered me his arm. “Lady Telford, if you’ll allow me?”

  I placed my hand on his arm and let him lead me in to dinner. The dining room was much smaller than the great hall, almost cozy in comp
arison. The dark wood paneling was lightened by an elaborate plasterwork ceiling, and a fire lent the room a more cheerful appearance. Mrs. Furness and Ann moved about the table, filling our glasses and serving the soup. I was surprised at first that no footmen waited on us until the reason dawned on me: naturally footmen were a superfluous expense, one that a struggling estate would find dispensable.

  Perhaps I should not have laughed at my uncle, I reflected. I could not blame him for dwelling on the possessions he and my grandmother had been forced to part with, after all. If only his intentions were not so blatantly selfish, I might have been able to feel sympathy with him. And his oafish behavior toward his mother and ward did not endear him to me, certainly. I might have been more forgiving if he were not my kin and thus a reflection on me—and my mother. Would she have ended up like him had she stayed at home instead of marrying? I could not believe it.

  In the past few weeks, my stomach had developed a capricious temperament, and the fragrance of the soup did not awaken my appetite. Of greater interest was what I might be able to learn from my host.

  “Mr. Burleigh,” I said, for I was not yet ready to address him more familiarly, “can you tell me what memories you have of my mother? My grandmother didn’t tell me a great deal, and I am so eager to learn what she was like as a girl and young woman.”

  He shifted in his chair. “There is very little I can tell you, Cl—my lady. I was still in school when the whole scandal took place, and I returned that summer to find her gone and all of her belongings disposed of.”

  “But before that,” I pressed him. “As children you must have spent time together. You were only four years apart in age, weren’t you? You must have been playfellows when you were young.”

  He puffed out an impatient sigh. “I really can tell you very little. Like most boys I preferred to spend my time with other boys getting into mischief, and Miriam, as a young lady, was expected to pursue more decorous activities. I seem to remember that she enjoyed watercolor painting, but I doubt she had much time to spend on it. Mother was training her up in the management of the house so that she would one day be equipped to run it herself.”