As Alissa kept watch on the now sleeping child, she fought her growing doubts. And finally, she dozed, too, the truth still left undiscovered.
CHAPTER
Nine
“Jared,” Patricia cooed, five days later, as they were gathered in the informal dining room for the afternoon meal, “you really must allow me to take Megan into Selkirk. Since the doll didn’t suit her, perhaps she will find something in one of the local shops that would please her more.”
“That’s up to Megan,” he replied as he raised his freshly refilled wine glass to his lips. Realizing it was his third in less than a quarter hour, he became annoyed with himself and set the thing aside. He’d been imbibing far too much, just as he’d predicted. But he’d been in need of a tranquilizing agent of late; his nerves were on the verge of splintering and his temper on the verge of exploding. As a result, his liquor supply was dwindling—fast. “And of course,” he finished, “you must consult Miss Pembroke.”
Wanting to protect the child, for Megan had withdrawn into her shell again, Alissa started to respond that it would be all right with her, if she were allowed to accompany them, but Patricia immediately leapt to a new topic. Annoyed, she transferred her gaze from the incessantly chattering woman to the reserved man sitting next to the redhead, opposite herself.
Robert, she decided, had been exceptionally quiet since his arrival. Although they’d all been chained to silence, because of the constantly clacking Patricia, Robert was probably the least talkative of all. Alissa noticed his eyes intent upon Jared, who, in turn, viewed Patricia with a somewhat dazed look.
There it was again, Alissa thought, noticing that certain something flash in Robert’s eye. She’d caught the look on several occasions, mainly when they were gathered at meals, but she couldn’t quite capture its meaning. The emotion had flickered so briefly, she wondered if she’d actually seen it at all. Whatever it was, it was always directed at Jared.
Perhaps he was trying to quietly signal his cousin, in hopes that Jared would somehow put a stop to Patricia’s continuous babble. With luck, Jared would decipher the message, if that’s what it truly meant, and bestow upon all who were within earshot the blessing of silence.
“Where’s Megan?” Patricia asked, suddenly realizing her niece wasn’t at the table. “She’s not ill, is she?”
Alissa noted the false mask of motherly concern which had slipped over the woman’s face, and again she decided Patricia should have been an actress.
The redhead set her napkin aside and placed her hand over Jared’s where it rested along the tablecloth. “Perhaps I should see to her.”
Having endured one episode too many of Patricia’s theatrics, for she knew it was not the child who held the redhead’s interest, but the father, Alissa tossed her own napkin onto the table. Her meal practically untouched, she rose from her seat. “Megan is resting, at the moment,” she announced almost rudely. “She’s already eaten and has gone to her room for some quiet time. Unfortunately, not all of us are so lucky.”
Angrily, Alissa set a course for the doorway. Just as she passed through the panels, she heard Jared’s full-throated laughter burst forth, and Patricia’s incensed voice, “I find nothing funny in that impertinent woman’s comment.”
“You wouldn’t, Patricia,” Jared replied, his laughter subsiding to a deep chuckle. “But I, for one, am in complete agreement with her. Unfortunately, I was too much the coward to voice the words myself. Now, if you’ll excuse us, Robert and I have some bookwork to finish.”
Open-mouthed, Patricia stared after the two men as they disappeared through the doors. Then, forgetting Mr. Stanley stood in the corner, switching from one foot to the other, fighting to stay awake, she pounded the table with her fist, her gray-green eyes flashing in anger. The sudden thump jerked the butler to attention.
“That’s the last time I’ll let that plain-as-paste prude do that to me!” Patricia vowed aloud, determined to have the frumpish governess ejected from Hawkstone by nightfall. “She’ll receive her just deserts, that I promise!”
Already in motion, his narrowed gaze aimed at the redhead’s back, Mr. Stanley tripped himself up. “Oops!” It was the only warning Patricia received before the large bowl slid from the ornate silver tray.
“Eeeyow!”
Hearing the yell, Jared came sliding into the dining room, Robert at his heels, to see a glob of custard slide down the redhead’s face and fall to the bodice of her gown.
Instantly, she leapt to her feet, turning on his manservant. “Why, you odious fool! Look at me! My hair! My dress! I’ll have your head for this!”
Reaching her side, Jared had to forcefully bite the inside of his lip to contain his laughter. “What happened?”
“This fool, whom you call a butler, dumped the custard on me!” Patricia screeched anew. “He’s ruined my dress!”
Still fighting for control, for Patricia looked like she’d taken a tumble into the slop bucket, Jared turned a curious eye to the man next to him. “Mr. Stanley?”
“Had an accident, I did. Heard her say somethin’ ’bout just wantin’ some desserts, so I served ’em up to her.”
Jared had caught the stressed word. “I understand.”
His man gave a quick nod. “Thought ye would.” Then with a loud sniff at Patricia, he turned on his heel and headed for the door, his nose pointed at the ceiling.
Patricia glared after the man. If it weren’t for the fact he’d heard her every word, she’d demand his punishment. But she could do nothing, not unless she wanted to confess her vindictiveness to Jared.
Jared’s brow arched in question. “Just deserts? Would you care to explain, Patricia?”
“No … I mean … there’s nothing to explain,” she replied in a rush. “Mr. Stanley misunderstood … I mean, he’s forgiven. Excuse me, I must change.”
As he watched Patricia flee the room, he felt as though he were losing touch with all that went on in his home. The bookwork almost completed, his dealings with Robert were drawing to a rapid close. Most likely, it was more from his own swift doing, for he was anxious to see Patricia on her way. Once they were gone, he’d be left with Agatha Pembroke. That, alone, was enough to drive him insane!
Spinning on his heel, his cousin having retreated earlier, Jared strode back to his first-floor office, his study used for more formal meetings. If luck were with him, and he planned for it to be, he’d conclude his business by early afternoon on the morrow. Until then, he hoped he could keep his smoldering temper under control!
Alissa quickly ran along the garden path, her heart pounding in the same cadence as her feet. Where can she be? she wondered as she frantically skirted the exterior of the summerhouse, knowing it was one of Megan’s favorite places.
When she’d gone upstairs, she’d glanced in to check on Megan and found her gone. A quick check of the entire floor had produced no results, not even her dared entrance into Jared’s quarters. Again, she’d checked the girl’s room. The drawer where she’d stored the doll had been opened, the empty box on the floor. Instantly, she’d feared the worst.
Now, as she stood in the gardens, not knowing where to search next, her fingers rubbed across her forehead, trying to stimulate her thoughts. Think! she told herself, but her massaging fingers became entangled in the hated hairnet, and in a fit of temper, as with the bonnet, she jerked the thing from her head to clench it in her fist. The light breeze caught a few loose tendrils of hair, caressing them, and it seemed as if once her head was free so were her thoughts.
“The east wing!” she exclaimed, and hiked her skirt. At a full run, she headed back toward the house.
“Do you have those figures for the net profits on last month’s cargos from the Indies?” Jared asked after he’d reseated himself at his desk, the episode in the dining room set aside.
Robert turned from the window where he’d watched the suddenly agile Miss Pembroke flee the gardens. “Right here, cousin.”
Jared stopped shuffling
through the papers on his desk. “Well?”
“Your five ships brought in a profit of over £50,000.” He handed the file to Jared, then silently reviewed the scene he’d just witnessed. Sealing his lips against sharing it with Jared, Robert stored the bit of information away for future reference.
Alissa made her way along the exterior of the desolate east wing, in search of an entry. Midway along the abandoned portion of Hawkstone, she found some narrow stone steps and descended them. A small door stood slightly ajar, wide enough for a child to squeeze through. Giving the weathered panel a good shove, she inched herself into the musty-smelling basement.
Her eyes finally adjusted to the bleak interior, and aided by the periodic streams of sunlight that shone weakly through the small windows, she quickly followed the dimly lit path, fighting the cobwebs knitted from wall to wall. At the end of the dank corridor, new wood blocked her way, and she decided, if the heavy boards were down, the course would lead her beneath the main house. As it was, she could go no farther.
Then, as she started to retrace her steps, intending to find the stairs leading up into the destroyed portion of the house, and hopefully to Megan, she noticed a recessed area. Her foot lifted, settling onto a stone step. Frowning, she debated whether to climb the passageway. Except for a murky shadow of light at the top, it was as dark as the grave.
“Megan,” she called up the stairwell and waited, praying the child would appear. She tried again, but the house remained silent, no movement within.
Suddenly it occurred to her, if Megan had taken a misstep in the ruins, the child could be lying, helpless, unable to respond to her calls. A mental picture of a fallen beam, trapping Megan’s small body, set Alissa into action, and although she realized the stairs could have given way from the blistering heat of the fire, she nonetheless shot up them. More webs swathed her face, and this time she was certain life scurried through the fine threads. Dashing safely to the main floor, she breathed a sigh of relief and pulled the silken strands from her face and shoulders, then knocked an uninvited traveler from her breast; the spider scrambled into a crack.
Not finding Megan on the first floor, Alissa hoped the east wing was constructed like the west and sought the alcove. Small arched windows lit the steps ascending from the basement, and Alissa decided the child had taken this path and not the narrower set of stairs she had followed. If she’d only thought to turn left instead of right when she’d entered, she’d have saved herself a scare.
Amazingly, as she followed the second-story corridor, cautiously stepping over fallen timbers, Alissa noted the scent of smoke still lingered. Its acrid bite sent a chill down her spine, and the words of the gossipy maids flashed into her mind. Again she considered whether Jared had truly plotted to murder his wife, having set their quarters ablaze while Celeste slept, then fled with Megan.
No! Jared Braxton was many things, but Alissa refused to believe he was a murderer.
Lifting her skirt, she stepped over yet another obstacle, her eyes intent upon her path. Then, she noticed them. Small footprints marked a trail in the soot and dust that covered the floor, and she quickly trailed them to the end of the hallway, into what she imagined was once a magnificent suite of rooms.
As she viewed her surroundings, she noted the interior was blackest here, the wall coverings fused into what was left of the interior walls. A four-poster bed lay blistered and broken, save for one spire, its surface charred. It stood like a hellish monument, a testament to the past.
Alissa wondered if this had been their bed. Then she briefly envisioned Jared’s long, hard body covering the softness of his wife’s, his passion taking hold. Quickly, she shook the thought from her mind and rounded the bed to stop in the doorway, leading into another room.
Near the corner, by the large, drapeless windows, sat Megan, the porcelain replica of her mother hugged tightly in her arms. Her back to Alissa, she rocked to and fro; an odd chanting sound escaped her throat. To Alissa, Megan’s movements seemed ritualistic.
Suddenly Megan shifted position to reveal a lighted candle. Before Alissa could react, she shoved the doll into the flame. Without hesitation, Alissa stretched the distance separating them, her hand knocking the doll into the corner, its china face shattering as it hit the wall.
The child jerked startled eyes to Alissa’s face, then she sprang to her feet and ran. “Megan!” Alissa cried after her, but the child kept on running.
Quickly snuffing the candle and smothering the doll’s dress, before Hawkstone burned anew, Alissa entered the hallway within seconds, but Megan was gone. Jumping the charred debris in her path, the doll still in hand, she ran to the alcove and descended the stairs to the basement Her feet flew along the passageway to the small door as she dodged a multitude of cobwebs again. Once outside, she headed toward the gardens, but Megan was not to be seen.
Her shoulders slumping in defeat, Alissa turned just in time to see a small form disappearing into a thick copse, heading toward the north fields. Casting the doll aside, she grabbed her skirts and ran after her. As she fought the thicket, she realized Megan knew these woods far better than she. Although the child was never allowed to wander the grounds by herself, Jared had taken her on outings whenever his time had permitted.
How far had she come? she wondered as she paused in her uphill trek to catch her breath, then glanced over her shoulder to barely see Hawkstone’s chimneys.
Renewed by her short rest, Alissa topped the knoll to find a clearing. A small cottage stood in its center, patches of wildflowers bursting forth in the long grasses surrounding it. Quietly she made her way to the door, and as she stepped inside, she heard the strains of a throaty hum. As heartrending as its melody was, Alissa was relieved to hear it, and she followed its refrain of despair.
Huddled in a corner cluttered with broken furniture, Megan stared, eyes lifeless, as her body rocked in time to her intonation. Alissa surveyed her a moment, then whispered softly, “Megan.” The child stopped her chant, but kept to her to-and-fro movement. “Megan,” she said, the girl’s name almost torn from her soul as she crouched next to her. “It’s all right, darling. You’ve done nothing wrong.”
The rocking stopped.
“Megan,” Alissa said her name again gently, but the girl would not look at her. “What happened with the doll is my fault. Had I not promised you when your aunt arrived that you had nothing to fear, then your trust in me would not have been broken. If I had known her gift would upset you, I’d never have allowed her to give it to you. In fact, I’d never have taken you to greet her. But I didn’t know. I made a promise that was based on assumption.” It was true, for Alissa never thought an adult would purposely hurt a child. “And it was based on ignorance.” Which was also true. Had Jared told her the truth about Celeste, none of this would have happened. She was angry with him for his stony silence and angry with herself for allowing it to continue. She only had her suspicions to go on, but she was certain that part of Megan’s problem stemmed from being deprived of a mother’s love. “Can you ever forgive me and be friends again?”
Still the child refused to respond, and Alissa’s heart seemed to rend in two. “Sweet child,” she breathed, her hand lifting to smooth Megan’s tumbled hair from her brow, “there’s so much sadness in you. If it were in my power, I’d take all your pain into myself, so you’d never have to suffer it again.”
Megan blinked; her eyes searched Alissa’s for a long, endless moment. Her own gaze never faltered as her heart beseeched the child to believe her, to believe she was her friend. Then, as she watched, tears formed in Megan’s huge green eyes; they flooded and spilled over the rims.
Alissa pulled the sobbing child to her breast and soothed her with soft, gentle words. Her own heart ached with overwhelming sorrow as she began absorbing the small girl’s pain. After a while, Megan quieted, and Alissa found the lace-trimmed handkerchief, tucked at her wrist, and dried Megan’s eyes.
Taking the cloth, Megan blotted Alissa’s face. N
ot until then did Alissa realize she’d shared in the tears. But, when Megan pulled the handkerchief away, she frowned. Her small hand reached toward Alissa’s face; her finger trailed lightly beneath Alissa’s eye.
A grayish mark stained the once white handkerchief, and Alissa realized her makeup had smeared. Seeing the child’s quizzical look, she said, “Just as you have secrets, so do I, Megan. One day we’ll share them with each other.”
Megan vigorously shook her head; fear etched her face.
“We’ll share them when we’re ready,” Alissa said softly, “and not before.”
Again, Megan studied Alissa’s eyes, then nodded slowly. In that moment, both woman and child felt an instant bonding, and Alissa thought, if it had not been for the doll, she might never have been able to gain Megan’s trust. Although tenuous, at least it now existed. Perhaps she should thank Patricia.
Never! she vowed in silent anger, knowing that if she hadn’t found Megan in time, the child could have set herself afire, her silent screams gone unheeded. And all because of the redhead’s interference—the presentation of the doll in particular. Patricia was a fool! Alissa raved silently. An empty-headed fool!
Feeling the touch of Megan’s hand on her arm, she quickly masked her anger. “Let’s say we return to Hawkstone before we’re missed.” Megan seemed hesitant, then Alissa noticed her concentration drop to the dusty floor, and she understood why. “What transpired in the ruins will be our secret. Your father and Aunt Patricia will never know about the doll. Agreed?”
Megan gazed up at Alissa, her eyes burdened with guilt.
“Are you afraid you’d be lying by not admitting what happened?” Seeing Megan’s nod, she smiled gently. “If a person were to ask you a direct question and you were to answer no, with a shake of your head, when you should have said yes with a nod, that’s a lie,” she explained, having become an expert on the subject of late. “But if no one asks, you have not lied, because there is no answer until such time when they do.”
Masque of Enchantment Page 13
