Brenda Joyce

by The Rival

  It was the last place she wished to be—inside their coach with Arlen. She sat stiffly on the front-facing seat, hands clasped in her lap, as many inches as possible between her and her husband. The coach rocked forward as it departed Stanhope Hall. But Arlen had been adamant that they leave, in spite of the late hour. Soon they would reach Ashburnham. Olivia was finding it difficult to breathe within the tight confines of the carriage. Being alone with Arlen was terrifying.

  He had not yet said a word.

  She was perspiring. She could feel his rage. It was emanating from him in waves. She dared not look at him. But the explosion was inevitable, and she did not need her gift to tell her that.

  She could not go on like this for much longer.

  He twisted to face her. “When,” he said bluntly, “were you going to tell me?” His tone pitched upward, high and odd.

  Olivia stole one swift glance at him. His nose was swollen, but hardly as ghastly as his left eye, which was closed shut and discolored. She looked at her lap. “I do not know what you are speaking of,” she said huskily.

  “No?” His fist came down on the leather seat, so hard it sounded as though a gun had been fired. Olivia jumped.

  “When,” he shouted, his face now in hers, “were you going to tell me the truth about your daughter?”

  Olivia paled.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Olivia knew she had to have misheard. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I am very close to strangling you,” Arlen ground out. “Hannah sees ghosts, does she not? And what else does she see?”

  Oh God oh God oh God, was all Olivia could think. Breathing was no longer a function she was capable of. Neither was a coherent verbal reply.

  “You have lied to me! She is a witch—just like you, her mother!” Arlen cried, vainly attempting to keep his voice low so that the footmen and driver would not hear them.

  She swallowed. “No. I have no idea what you have heard, but I swear to you, Arlen, with my life, that Hannah is no more than a small, imaginative child who lacks any vision at all—she can neither see you nor me nor ghosts nor … anything else.”

  Arlen’s chest heaved. “Caedmon knows about you, does he not? You told him.”

  “He knows nothing,” she lied desperately.

  He hit her. Across the face, on the same side as before. “Bitch! He knows about you, and our daughter is like you, and I should have gotten rid of the two of you years ago,” he shouted, no longer trying to control his voice.

  Olivia had crammed herself into the far corner of the seat as the coach swayed along the midnight-darkened road. Her heart burst with fear. She must protect herself now—so she could protect Hannah when they got home. If only she could “see” whatever it was that Arlen was going to do to them. But she could not. Her terror had thoroughly incapacitated her gift. “Arlen, please, listen to me. There has been no deception. Hannah is just an ordinary little girl—and she is your daughter,” Olivia pleaded, her face burning from his blow. Vaguely she wondered if her jaw were broken.

  His face twisted as he faced her. “Is she my daughter? Is she? I question that.”

  Olivia stared at him in shock.

  “You are an adulteress, my dear, and we both know it. If you could cuckold me now, who is to say that you did not do so many years before? And that would explain my having such a child—if the child were not mine!” he cried triumphantly.

  She was going to lose everything, including Hannah, if he continued to convince himself that Hannah was not his daughter. “Arlen!” Her tone bordered on a scream. “I was with no one but you in those days. Hannah is your daughter!”

  He grabbed her by the shoulders. “In those days? So now you confess to laying with Caedmon?” His eyes were black, glittering with near madness.

  She nodded, crying now as he shook her ruthlessly, all the while knowing that such a confession would ultimately be her last mistake.

  Satisfaction filled his eyes. “At least you admit that Caedmon is your lover.” He threw her away, against the far side of the seat, where Olivia cowered in relief. She had thought he would hit her again, if not beat her to death. As it was, her upper arms throbbed from his cruel grip.

  He turned his back to her: As the coach raced through the dark, Olivia tried to control her trembling, her fear. She must regain the power of her mind, she must think, she must feel. Arlen was sitting as far from her as he could get, planning God only knew what for her and Hannah. Tears filled her eyes. Disaster. She felt it coming, it was imminent. But hadn’t her gift foretold it from the first moment she had met Garrick De Vere? Yet she could not blame him. She could only blame herself. She should have denied him, herself, she should have denied them both.

  Olivia covered her mouth with one hand so she would not make a sound if a sob escaped her. She must think, she must plan. She and Hannah must escape before Arlen could decide how he was going to punish the both of them.

  Cornwall.

  Like a bolt of lightning, it struck her. Of course, she would take her daughter and flee there. She no longer had a choice. She would spend a few days hiding at Caedmon Crag, just enough time to plan some kind of future for her and Hannah, to decide where to flee to and how to get there undetected. While she plotted and planned, Garrick would protect her, keeping her and Hannah safe.

  And it was not her gift that told her that; it was her heart.

  The moment their coach stopped in front of the house, Arlen swung open the door, unaided by a footman, for he was too quick. As he leapt down and strode purposefully to the house, terror seized Olivia again. And she saw the future so clearly.

  Hannah, clad in rags, surrounded by the oddest people, old, stooped women, young, greasy-haired hags, and gaunt, bony children, in a wooden room bare of any furniture. Something was very wrong, and not just with the place, but with everyone present—the women leered or wept, drooled or rolled their eyeballs, or even danced about, making monkeylike gestures and sounds. And Hannah sat as still as a statue in one corner, as if in a trance.

  Olivia jumped out of the carriage, stumbling, one of the footmen steadying her by the elbow. She shrugged him off, the vision hardly receding, every instinct telling her she must not let the future unfold as she had seen it. She lifted her skirts and ran after Arlen, shouting for him to stop, to wait. “Please, Arlen!” she screamed.

  But Arlen had disappeared into the house, and when Olivia skidded across the stone foyer, she saw him pounding up the stairs. Hannah was upstairs—hopefully sound asleep.

  “Please,” she screamed again, racing upstairs, tripping on her skirts, and landing briefly on her hands and knees. She hurled herself upward again. “Arlen! Stop! What is it that you think to do?”

  But he did not stop, and by the time Olivia had reached the third-floor landing where the nursery was, she saw him thrusting open Hannah’s bedroom door. Olivia was panting from her mad chase, but she sucked in more air and forced her legs to turn at an even faster pace. When she reached the threshold, she saw Hannah sitting up in bed, pressing her spine into the headboard, with Arlen leaning over her, his expression frightening, it was so filled with menace. From the expression on her daughter’s face, which was taut and pale with fear, Olivia was certain she had been awake.

  “Can you speak, or are you a mute, too?” Arlen spat at her. Hannah recoiled.

  Olivia grabbed him unthinkingly from behind. “Leave her alone! She is only a child!” she cried.

  Arlen whirled and threw her off, and Olivia landed hard on the wooden floor.

  “Mama!” Hannah cried. “Mama! Are you all right?” Tears spilled down her cheeks.

  “Forget your mother, damn it,” Arlen gritted, grabbing her. “Now tell me the truth. You and your mother have deceived me, haven’t you?”

  Hannah did not answer, whimpering both in pain and in fear.

  Olivia forced herself to sit upright. “Arlen, stop. Please, God, please.”

  He smiled coldly at his daughter. “You are a witch, l
ike she is, aren’t you? You can see ghosts. What else can you see, Hannah?”

  Hannah’s mouth was pursed as tears now fell from her sightless eyes. She shook her head wordlessly, trembling.

  Olivia had lunged to her feet. Recognizing Arlen’s expression, she leapt on him from behind before he could strike their child. Engulfed in rage, she tried to claw his face. He cried out, turned, and pushed her roughly away. This time Olivia hit the floor on her side, and pain shot through her hip. Hannah began to cry.

  “Miss Childs!” Olivia cried, spotting the governess standing upon the threshold, her face white with shock and terror.

  Then Olivia cried out, as Arlen grabbed her by her coiled braid. He dragged her to her feet.

  “Mama! Mama! Don’t go!” Hannah sobbed. “What is he doing?” she screamed.

  Arlen was pushing her forward, across the room, to the threshold. “Miss Childs,” he ordered calmly, “return to your room.”

  Miss Childs blanched, met Olivia’s gaze, and turned to go.

  “Please help me!” Olivia cried, knowing that Lucy Childs could not disobey Arlen.

  “Help Hannah!”

  Miss Childs hesitated, received a burning look from Arlen, and fled to her room.

  “Mama!” Hannah screamed as Olivia was thrust inside her own bedroom. Arlen slammed the door in her face, and then she heard the lock turning. For one instant she stood by the door, stunned, barely comprehending what he had done. Then she realized her predicament. She was locked in her own bedchamber like a prisoner, and Arlen was insane with fury and alone with Hannah. Screaming, she began to pound on the door.

  Pounding and pounding.

  But no one came.

  Hannah cowered in her bed, as far from her father as she could get, sobbing, the sounds jerky and interspersed with hiccups.

  Arlen smiled at her and sat down. He could hear his wife banging again and again, ceaselessly, on her locked door. He ignored the sound, which now gave him immense satisfaction. “I am not going to hurt you. I only want to know the truth. I am your father, the lord and master of this house. So tell me, Hannah, about the ghost and everything else that you see.” He smiled at her.

  Hannah blinked at him through her tears. “Why did you hurt my mother?” she whimpered.

  “Your mother lied to me. And if you lie to me, you shall be whipped.” He was very calm, knowing now that he was in absolute control, that every mistake in his life was about to be rectified.

  Hannah wept again.

  “Have you seen a ghost?” Arlen asked.

  Hannah nodded, her face starkly white, gulping on a sob.

  “What else can you see?”

  Hannah hesitated.

  Arlen reached out and took her face in one of his hands. “Answer me,” he said softly. If he squeezed, he thought, he might crush her jaw.

  “She told me to never, ever tell,” Hannah whimpered.

  “And she will be punished for her lies. But surely you do not wish to be punished? Or should I beat the truth out of you?”

  “I saw a ghost at Stanhope Hall,” Hannah cried. “A very unhappy lady. I wanted to help her! I knew …” She stopped.

  “You knew what?” Arlen asked in his deadly soft tone,

  “I knew you were coming tonight,” Hannah said, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I knew you were coming home to hurt me.”

  Arlen stood. “So you are cursed, too. Like your mother.”

  “Please don’t hurt her,” Hannah whispered, wiping her runny nose with her hand. “Please don’t hurt us.”

  He grimaced with disgust as he regarded her. “You are not allowed to leave this room.” He turned on his heel and strode out, shutting and locking the door behind him. He ignored his wife, who continued to bang on her locked door, screaming both his name and Hannah’s. Would she continue this way all through the night? He did not care. He was leaving for London immediately, but not without giving the staff strict orders. And not without taking care of Miss Childs.

  Elizabeth would know what to do.

  Arlen went to Miss Childs’s room and knocked sharply.

  The door was opened instantly. Miss Childs stared at him out of wide eyes. She was now fully dressed.

  He smiled.at her, unpleasantly. “Pack your bags. You are dismissed. I expect you to be gone in the morning.”

  Olivia awoke. For one moment, before coherent thought returned, she did not understand why she lay on the hard, cold floor or why her body hurt her so, especially her face, hip, and hands. Then comprehension struck her with the force of a bolt of lightning. She pushed herself into a sitting position, wincing as she did so, for her hands were bloody and bruised from having pounded on the door for as long as she had. Oh, God. The house was absolutely silent. Where was Hannah? Was she all right? What had Arlen done to her?

  She knew he had left last night. She had not been able to see the drive from her window, but she had heard him ordering the servants about in preparation to departing. Had he taken Hannah with him? She was sick at the thought.

  And the vision she had had last night returned to her, more graphic and intense than before. Of her beautiful blind daughter sitting in some sparse room in a trance, surrounded by strange, mad people.

  Olivia stood up, the pale gray light of dawn filtering into her room through the draperies she had never drawn. She teetered in her low-heeled slippers, at once severely exhausted and ready to run and do battle, if need be. She tested the door. It remained locked.

  She wiped strands of hair out of her face—her braids had come undone long ago, and she did not care. Arlen might have left Ashburnham, but he had undoubtedly left instructions with the staff, and no one was going to free her from her room. She thought about Garrick, not for the first time, wishing with all her soul that he might come and rescue her and her daughter from the abysmal future. Had he, too, left, but for Cornwall?

  Olivia walked to the windows and parted the draperies more fully. Outside, it was promising a beautiful day, for the morning lacked mist or rain. She lifted the window as high as it would go and put one leg across the windowsill.

  The oak tree was some distance away, but she must not think of that now. She had no choice but to succeed in her escape. Olivia straddled the windowsill in her silver gown, fear rising rapidly inside of her. The closest branch of the tree that could support her weight seemed many feet away. Could she actually jump to it?

  Olivia looked down. If she fell, she would die. And that wasn’t going to help Hannah.

  She needed Garrick De Vere. Desperately. She closed her eyes, not for the first time willing him to come. She no longer cared if he killed Arlen. Then she corrected herself, for she must care; if he did such a thing, the consequences would be severe. She did not want him imprisoned or, worse, hanged.

  Olivia jerked, certain she was hallucinating, for she thought she had heard a soft rapping at her door. But no, she was not hearing things—someone was knocking. She sidled off the sill and ran across the room, seizing the knob. “Who is it?”

  “My lady, it is I, Miss Childs,” came a terse whisper.

  “Lucy!” Olivia almost fainted with relief. “Hannah? Is she all right?”

  “She has also been locked in her rooms. His Lordship has told everyone the two of you are to be left this way until he returns. He has not said when that will be,” Lucy Childs whispered quickly.

  “Did he hurt her?” Olivia cried. “Did he?” She had both hands on the door, which she leaned upon frantically.

  “No. I have just spoken to her. But she is very frightened, my lady. And—I must leave. He has dismissed me. He ordered me gone by breakfast.”

  Olivia inhaled, clawing the door, furious with Arlen, hating him with all of the passion that roiled in her veins. “Can you help us? Please, Lucy, I beg you. Unlock my door.”

  “He has taken all of the keys. I overheard the butler saying so.”

  “Does he mean for us to die of starvation and thirst?” Olivia asked blankly.

&nbs
p; “I do not know what he is thinking, my lady. But I thought I should stop at the Hall on my way back to town and tell Lord Caedmon what has happened.”

  Olivia’s heart jumped. “You are brilliant, Lucy, and I will never forget this, not ever! Please, go, and do hurry.”

  Olivia listened to Lucy’s footsteps receding as she rushed away. She leaned against the door. Garrick would come. She was certain of it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Garrick swung down from the carriage he himself had been driving, his setter leaping out with him. He was grim. His heart continued to thunder in his ears. From the moment he had spoken to Miss Childs, he had been filled with an iron determination. He stormed up the front steps of the Ashburn country home, intent upon rescuing Olivia and her daughter. Clearly Arlen was far more than dangerous; clearly he was insane.

  He pounded upon the front door. It was opened instantly by a footman, whom he ignored. Garrick strode past him and into the foyer, the setter on his heels.

  According to Miss Childs, the nursery was on the third story. And Olivia had her rooms there, across from her daughter’s. He spied the stairs and ran to them. As he did so, the butler appeared. “My lord,” he actually gasped.

  Garrick did not stop, already halfway up the first flight of stairs.

  The butler, ashen, raced after him. “My lord! I beg your pardon! May I be of some service?”

  “Unless you have the courage to free Lady Ashburn and her daughter from the confines of their rooms, no,” Garrick said, already on the second landing.

  “My lord!” the butler cried, half a flight behind him.

  Garrick took a brief look over his shoulder as he hit the third story running. Two footmen were also in hot pursuit. But he focused his attention on the task at hand, seriously doubting the servants would waylay him. And her door was the third on the left. “Olivia!” he shouted.

  There was a moment before she replied, a moment in which he felt her surprise—and her extreme relief. “Garrick! Thank God!” she cried from the other side of the door.