Cast in Shadows

by Laura Landon

  “As usual, you’re right, Eve. But if you ever—”

  “I’m fine, Father. I have you. I have our work. It’s what I’ve always wanted.” But as Eve searched through the box in front of her, she wasn’t so sure a life here at Shadowdown was all she wanted. How could it be after she’d met Gideon and he’d allowed her to glimpse what more there was to life?

  She found a folder she thought might be important and placed it on the papers they would take with them. For several hours she worked alongside her father in companionable silence until they finished going through the last box.

  “We’ve reached the end,” her father said, rolling his shoulders. He picked up the papers in one hand and one lamp in the other, then made his way to the stairs. Eve followed behind him. When they reached the top of the stairs, they set their lamps on a shelf where they belonged, then walked toward her father’s office.

  “Would you mind if I took what we found and went home, Papa? I’d like to start going through the folders and I can’t do that very well here. There are too many interruptions.”

  Her father handed her the folders, then gave her a loving hug before walking away. “I’ll probably be late,” he said over his shoulder. “I have a lot of work to catch up on.”

  “I’ll keep your dinner warm for you,” she said, then left. She’d stop at Shadowdown cottage to see Gideon on her way home, but she wouldn’t stay long. She needed to be alone. She needed to stop spending so much time with him. Being with him would only make leaving him harder when the time came for him to go.

  And he didn’t have a choice but to leave her.

  CHAPTER 18

  Eve sat curled in a large wing chair before the fire in the study reading the files she’d brought home with her. She’d arranged the papers in chronological order, from the date of the duchess’s arrival, to the last entry Dr. Milton made—the entry that issued the dire warning that the duchess was in danger.

  Many of the entries contained little more than general information, such as the time of day Dr. Milton visited, how the duchess felt when he saw her, what they talked about, and what he deduced as her mood. Sometimes he noted she was calm and content, other times agitated, and anxious. No matter her mood, she always wanted to return home.

  The conclusion Eve found most interesting was Dr. Milton’s repeated assumption that the duchess seemed a rational, intelligent, and pleasant person to be around. He also noted several times that he saw no reason for her to be at Shadowdown…

  …until she suffered one of her violent seizures.

  As Eve read through the papers, she saw Gideon’s mother as a person. She realized how passionately she loved her husband, and how deeply she regretted that she’d failed him. She read how desperately she loved and missed her son, but how afraid she was that she would suffer from one of her seizures while with him, and hurt him. Or worse.

  Over and over the duchess repeated how desperately she longed for her seizures to stop so she was able to return to Townsend Manor and be a wife and mother again.

  The more entries she read, the more obvious it was that Dr. Milton’s tone was changing. His words took on more of an urgency, his warnings became more ominous. He was truly afraid for the duchess.

  “Her Grace had company again today. I’m not sure why such an occurrence disturbs her. One would think she’d be delighted. I ask, but she refuses to confide in me. The doctor in me tells me to take her disturbances more seriously.”

  Eve opened another folder and sifted through the papers. She heard warning after warning repeated in Dr. Milton’s entries. She wondered if the direness in his words would have stood out so vividly if she hadn’t already read his note stating that Her Grace was in danger. He repeated his advice to move the duchess where she would be safe.

  The more she read, the more dire his warnings became. Dr. Milton’s call for action turned more desperate, as if he realized disaster was close at hand.

  Eve lifted the next folder from her lap, but when she opened it, a narrow journal fell to the floor.

  Eve stared at the book, then slowly reached for it and held it in her hands. Her heart beat more rapidly in her breast and her breathing came faster. She knew before she opened the brown leather-bound notebook that she’d finally found Gideon’s mother’s journal. This was the book she wanted most to read. She could finally hear―in Her Grace’s own thoughts―her feelings for her husband and son from whom she’d been separated.

  Eve skimmed her fingertips over the rich leather.

  The word ‘JOURNAL’ was etched in gold embossed lettering on the cover and Eve let her fingers rest on the raised imprint.

  A part of her couldn’t wait to open the cover, couldn’t wait to read Gideon’s mother’s account of her time at Shadowdown cottage. Another part of her knew that after she’d read Her Grace’s words, she wouldn’t be able to separate herself from the woman sharing her thoughts, her emotions—her fears. Once she read the entries, the Duchess of Townsend would become a real person to her. A human being who’d had her future stolen from her. A gentle woman who’d lost a lifetime of love and happiness.

  Eve took a fortifying breath and lifted the cover of the journal. She stared at the first page of written words. The pages had yellowed slightly from the years, but the duchess’s handwriting was neat, with a flourish to her letters.

  Eve touched the words as if contact with the written word would somehow allow her into the world of the woman writing her story. But she felt nothing except a foreboding trepidation because she knew the story she was about to read would not have a happy ending. Avoiding reading the journal, however, would not change the tragic ending to the Duchess of Townsend’s all-too-short life.

  Eve began reading:

  The day is Monday, the 23rd day of June, in the year 1832

  I am writing my thoughts at the request of Dr. Milton. It is another experiment he is trying in his attempt to discover the cause of my seizures.

  The reason for my attacks is a mystery to him, and if there’s one thing the good doctor can’t abide, it’s having a patient with an ailment to which he cannot put a name.

  I have been a prisoner at Shadowdown Cottage for fifteen months now. Since March of 1831. Although the ‘cottage’, as Edward calls it, is a wonderful place to live, complete with every comfort I could ask for, it is not Townsend Manor. It will never be my home. And my husband and son are not here with me. But until we can be assured I will not harm little Gideon, I must remain here.

  Dr. Milton works hard to find a cure for my seizures. He has tried several new and untried medicines, but so far nothing has helped. I pray daily that he finds an answer. I so long to be well enough to return home.

  I cannot put into words how much I miss Edward and Gideon. My son recently celebrated his fourth birthday and is growing up far faster than I want him to. He and Edward are the light of my life. I can’t imagine being separated from them for much longer.

  I have written enough for today. My dear friend Ernesta has just arrived with a plate of my favorite cookies. I don’t know what I’d do without her help and support.

  Until tomorrow.

  The words stopped, and Eve turned the page.

  Wednesday, the 25th day of June in the year 1832

  I could not bring myself to write yesterday. I suffered another seizure last night—this one worse than the last. I fear the day will come when I am not strong enough to survive them. The pain is unbearable, the pounding so fast and erratic, I fear my heart will explode in my chest. I think Dr. Milton fears the same. He has asked Edward to visit more often in hopes his nearness will calm me and ease my mind, but how can my mind be eased when the future is so uncertain.

  I am more afraid than ever. I have lost such a large part of my life. I have missed so much of my son’s life. My arms ache to hold him. My body longs to be held like Edward used to do.

  I am so lonely.

  Until tomorrow.

  Eve swiped the wetness from her cheek, then turned
the page. Her heart weighed heavy in her breast. If she weren’t so desperate for any information that might help Gideon, she would hand the journal to her father to read. She wasn’t sure she could stand the suffering she knew the Duchess of Townsend had endured. Would still endure. It was the same suffering that afflicted her son. And the outcome was just as frightful. She was desperate to find an answer.

  Time was running out. If the seizures didn’t kill him, the assassin someone hired would.

  Friday, the 27th day of June, in the year 1832

  Dr. Milton instructed me to write about a happy event so I chose the happiest memory I could recall. It was a time before I suffered my first seizure. A time when I finally felt the depression that had plagued me was finally lifted from me. It was June 21, 1829. It was Gideon’s first birthday. The day my darling son took his first steps by himself. I remember it clearly.

  Little Gideon toddled on wobbly legs from one side of the room to the other. He left the safety of his father’s arms and walked to where I stood on the other side of the room. I still remember the feeling of ecstatic joy when Gideon held out his chubby little arms and, with a squeal of delight, rushed into my extended arms. It was his first birthday.

  Ernesta had gone back to London for a short stay, and it was only Edward and I and our son. Cook baked a special cake to mark the event and Edward and I let Gideon experiment with this strange novelty. He attacked the cake with such enthusiasm that Edward and I couldn’t stop laughing. I also remember how angry our son was with us when we took the mutilated cake from his grasp. Lettie came to our rescue, although I’m not sure how she managed to get him clean.

  When Lettie sent word Gideon was ready for bed, Edward and I went to give him one last birthday present. We kissed our son goodnight, then gave him a stuffed bear I had purchased for his birthday.

  The day was perfect. I was truly happy. And I was certain that the depression that had plagued me for the last year was finally gone.

  I’m glad I was unaware of what was to come. It would have ruined my perfect day. Even though the darkness was lifted from my life and I was truly happy, I did not know that an even worse sickness lay ahead of me.

  I suffered my first seizure exactly one month after Gideon’s first birthday. Thank heaven Ernesta had returned from London and was with me. I don’t think I would have survived otherwise.

  The emotions that clutched at Eve’s heart nearly stole her breath. She wanted nothing more than to have the power to halt the passage of time. She wanted to believe the Duke and Duchess of Townsend had lived the rest of their lives as happy as they’d been on the day of Gideon’s birthday. But she knew that wasn’t possible. And no matter how much she wanted to stop reading and pretend there was a happily-ever-after for the duke and duchess, she knew there wasn’t. She knew their futures.

  Eve turned the page with an aching heart and continued to read one entry after another. They mostly said the same: days free from the seizures when life held some semblance of happiness, then days when she suffered another attack and the duchess was thrown into a pit of darkness. The next memorable entry came six months later.

  Thursday, the 25th day of December, in the year 1832 – Christmas Day

  I spent the holidays at Townsend Manor. I prayed fervently that I wouldn’t have a seizure during the two weeks I was home, but my prayers weren’t answered. I suffered from my second seizure today and frightened little Gideon half to death. He is only four years old and can’t understand why his mother turns without warning into a monster. He will no longer come near me.

  I pray this nightmare ends soon.

  Eve turned the page. She was more anxious to read to the end. She knew that perhaps soon she’d uncover another clue to what Dr. Milton had discovered.

  Tuesday, the 3rd of February, in the year 1833

  I’m afraid.

  Yesterday had been so perfect. Edward came in the morning and brought little Gideon with him. Oh, what a handsome little man he is. Our visit was wonderful. Then, Ernesta came in the afternoon. We went for a walk around the park. I thought there could not be a more marvelous day. But, I suffered another seizure last night.

  The attacks are more severe, and are happening more frequently. I fear the day is not far off that I won’t be able to survive the next one.

  Eve struggled with the ache in her breast. The heartache that consumed her. In less than six months, the duchess’s words would come true. She would suffer one last seizure and not be able to survive it.

  She was desperate to continue reading. She prayed that somewhere in the duchess’s words there would be a clue that would help her find the answer to who or what was causing Her Grace’s seizures. She knew if she found the answer, Gideon would be saved. She turned the page and read the next entry.

  Friday, the 12th of March, in the year 1833

  Ernesta came again today. She brought some good news as well as news not so pleasant. The good news was that she brought cookies Cook baked especially for me. Gingerbread. My favorite.

  The not pleasant news was that she would be gone for two weeks. She needed to go to London for a bit. I know I shouldn’t be so selfish, but I so look forward to her visits. And to Edward’s, of course. But she would only be gone two weeks, and she promised the time would pass quickly. And Edward will still be here.

  I am content.

  Wednesday, the 4th of April, in the year 1833

  I suffered another seizure last night. It had been a day or two more than two weeks. I thought perhaps… But it was not to be. At least Ernesta has returned from London.

  We visited all afternoon and she told me all the latest news from Town. How I miss being able to go there. It’s been so long since Edward and I have been to London, to an opera, or to a ball. I miss being held in his arms as we waltz around the room. I miss the excitement, and seeing friends I haven’t seen for years.

  I wonder if I will ever enjoy those days again.

  Thursday, the 28th of May, in the year 1833

  Wonderful day. Winter is finally past. The weather is ideal and spring is making an exemplary showing.

  Ernesta visited and we took a long walk through the park. The weather was perfect. She stayed most of the afternoon and the time passed quickly. I hesitate to admit how many of her lovely cookies I ate with my milk before I went to bed.

  The seizure I had during the night was the worst one yet. This can’t continue much longer.

  Eve closed her eyes and let her head drop to the corner of the wing chair. The letters were full of common threads, innocuous visits by much-loved family and friends. Charming events all, not places where evil might lurk. Or was she just so tired she couldn’t see it? Her impatient hands flipped multiple pages, then stopped. Eve knew the answer was here. It had to be. She turned back the pages she’d skipped and resumed reading.

  Wednesday, the 8th day of July, in the year 1833

  The attacks are coming at least once a week. Edward has taken to visiting me every day, and so has Ernesta. I know I should be grateful for her visits, but I can’t abide companionship. Only Edward’s. He’s the only person I want near me. The only person with whom I feel safe.

  I know I must be crazy. Why else would I have such thoughts? Why such doubts and suspicions? Sometimes I am frightened of everyone around me and I don’t know why I should be.

  Thank God for Dr. Milton.

  Eve’s breath caught. An answer flashed before her, but she quickly swiped it away. It was too impossible to consider.

  Monday, the 20th day of July, in the year 1833

  Edward came to see me today. I cried on his shoulder and clung to him like a helpless child. I know he fears for me. I know he doubts my sanity. I can see it in his eyes. Feel it in the tightness of his hold. It’s as if he believes if he holds me close enough, long enough, he can make my sickness go away. But he can’t. It is too late.

  Ernesta came to see me, too. She has been gone to London for nearly a month. I did not have a seizure the entire
time she was away. But she is back now and so desperate to assuage my panic, so intent upon pretending all is normal. I made a pig of myself again on her sweet gingerbread cookies. I refused to eat any at first, but she insisted. She said everything would be better after we shared tea and cookies together. But I knew it wouldn’t.

  I finally gave in and ate some cookies. Ernesta did not, but then she has Cook make them for me and cannot abide them herself. My one true friend.

  Why is it that she never eats any of the cookies?

  The oddness that flickered across her eyes when I broke a cookie in half and tried to tempt her to join me was…unsettling.

  I chastise myself for a fleeting suspicion of my dearest friend. How dare I fear that she is trying to harm me.

  Eve’s heart skipped a beat. She read faster.

  Tuesday, the 21st day of July, in the year 1833

  I suffered another seizure last night. The worst one yet. I want to tell Dr. Milton my thoughts, but I can’t. He will doubt my sanity for sure. But my fears will not go away. Every hour I am more afraid. I know this cannot be, but I am convinced Ernesta is poisoning me.

  Wednesday, the 12th day of August, in the year 1833

  Dr. Milton came today. Something is wrong. He was terribly agitated. He said to pack a few of my clothes. Enough for a couple of days. We are going on a trip. We are to leave early in the morning, but I’m not to tell anyone. Especially Edward or Ernesta. I can’t imagine why I can’t tell Edward.

  Eve’s heart thundered in her chest. This was the Duchess of Townsend’s last entry. There were no more after this. But Eve didn’t need there to be another entry. She already knew the cause of Her Grace’s seizures…and the person responsible. And so did Dr. Milton. This was why he’d been killed.

  He knew who was responsible for the duchess’s seizures and he was going to take Her Grace away because he feared for her safety. Because he’d guessed, just as Eve had, that his patient was ingesting something that triggered the seizures.