A Devilish Slumber

by Shereen Vedam

  Helen’s murderess.

  Eve?

  Before she was halfway to the door, other emotions began to crowd out her fear and her steps halted. She could not help being curious. Rose stared at Mrs. Rochester’s angular face, her trim figure. She was shorter than Eve. Rose frowned in confusion. Could she be wrong? Why would Eve not approach her directly?

  Rose was suddenly overcome by a warm familial feeling. This might be her sister! She thought back to all those late night talks they had as children, the games they played, the secrets shared. Sister.

  Where had Eve been these last three years? And what could have turned her beloved sister into a cold-blooded murderess?

  Rose gripped her arms tight until her nails painfully bit into her skin and then she slowly approached the window to see what fascinated this lonely lady.

  A faint whiff of jasmine assailed Rose and her heart hammered in response.

  Mrs. Rochester’s perfume was fainter than it had been in the carriage, but it was recognizable enough to make Rose’s nose twitch as tears flooded her eyes. For months, Rose had cried herself to sleep picturing Eve being tossed out of that carriage and into the sea, screaming, Rose, help me.

  Standing side by side, Mrs. Rochester only came to her chin, whereas Eve had been of a similar height to Rose. As well, this lady’s voice was deeper. But these were all things that a shifter could control. Certainly a shifter who could pretend to be a sailor for weeks on end onboard the Lady Tourville. If this was Eve, she was an even stronger shifter than when Rose knew her. Had she learned to heal, too?

  There was one puzzling aspect to Eve’s shift. In Rose’s experience, a shift could not displace weight. To be this short, Mrs. Rochester should be plumper than she seemed. Or Eve must have grown very gaunt indeed. Suddenly, Mrs. Rochester strode over to the hearth.

  Eve, talk to me.

  The lady turned around the picture frame leaning against the fireplace.

  Rose followed her, ostensibly so she could gain a better view of the portrait, but truly because she was drawn to this woman. Hugs were out of the question. “That is a portrait of my grandmother,” Rose said. “The little girl by her side was my mother.”

  “This was not here the last time I came,” Mrs. Rochester said.

  The flush on her guest’s face seemed unnaturally bright. Was she ill? “My new housekeeper rousted this from the attic. It used to hang in my room, but, after my grandmother’s death, I could not bear to see it. However, time heals.”

  “No, it does not.” Mrs. Rochester released her grip and the frame tipped forward.

  Rose grabbed it before the frame could become damaged and gently leaned it against the wall beside the fireplace, so the portrait faced outward. The afternoon light glinted off the silver charm hanging around her mother’s throat.

  “Would you care for a cup of tea, Mrs. Rochester?” Rose asked, anxious to entice this lady to linger a little. “I can have one of the maids bring us a fresh pot.” She raised her hand to the bellpull when Mrs. Rochester’s hand clamped across Rose’s wrist.

  “You are hurting me,” Rose said and Mrs. Rochester released her. Rose rubbed at her sore wrist, her heart thundering in sudden alarm. Time to summon help. Rose tugged at the bellpull.

  “You have many servants about,” Mrs. Rochester said moving over to the grand piano.

  “As I planned to open the house for visitors, hiring more staff was a necessity.”

  “It did not take you long to find them.”

  The door to the drawing room opened and Daniel and a maid, Mary, rushed in.

  “You rang, my lady?” Daniel said.

  “Yes.” Relief bathed her at sight of him. “Please ask Mrs. Weatheringham to join us.”

  “Who is Mrs. Weatheringham?” Mrs. Rochester asked.

  “She is my companion, and I am sure she would be enchanted to meet you. And Mary, bring us more hot tea.”

  The maid took the cold teapot and left.

  Daniel, who appeared reluctant to leave, hesitated by the open doorway. Behind him, Stony stood with arms crossed, his glare aimed at Mrs. Rochester.

  Daniel bowed. “I shall return shortly with Mrs. Weatheringham, my lady.” He left the door wide open so that Stony could keep Rose and her visitor clearly in his sight.

  “Your new servants are protective,” Mrs. Rochester said. “Did Sir Phillip hire them on your behalf?”

  “No, Mrs. Weatheringham found them. Please have a seat.” Rose sat on the settee.

  Mrs. Rochester hesitated a moment, and then took the same chair she had occupied on her last visit.

  Mary arrived with a steaming pot.

  “Thank you.” Rose smiled to ease the girl’s tension and poured for her guest and herself.

  Mrs. Rochester picked up her teacup with a precise movement that spoke of monumental control. Whether she was Eve or not, from her guest’s puckered lips to the cold set in her eyes, Rose was immensely glad that Stony was within shouting distance. Hostility fairly oozed from the woman.

  Her guest placed her cup back in its saucer and laid it back on the table. Her hand returned to her lap and clenched until the whites of her knuckles showed bright against the dark blue of her gown. “I have watched you often this past week.”

  “Watched me?” Rose glanced out the door. Stony had moved closer, to better overhear the conversation. What kept Daniel and Mrs. Weatheringham?

  “You intend to reclaim your place in society,” Mrs. Rochester said, “do not deny it. All to obtain the prize of the delectable Sir Phillip Crispin Jones’s hand in marriage.”

  “Do you speak on Miss Warwick’s behalf?”

  “That child is a rattlepate. I merely used her to become acquainted with you.”

  Mrs. Rochester had dropped the deeper tone in favor of a too-familiar sultry voice, and ice trickled down Rose’s back.

  A heavy, cold silence settled in the room like air filled with coal dust after a particularly chilly night. “Eve,” she said, certainty washing over her, “it is you.”

  Mrs. Rochester’s gaze turned malevolent. Her face shifted, and though her sister sat before her, it was an Eve that Rose did not recognize. She was once again Eve’s regular height, but that was all that was familiar. Her eyes were sunken. Her pale hair lay flat against her face where once it had held life and vivacity. Her skin looked sallow and dry. And where a moment ago, Mrs. Rochester’s body had filled out her blue gown, now Eve appeared emaciated within the loose material. She was like a grotesque creature from a circus side show.

  Stony approached until he stood beside Rose, a look of shock and horror on his face.

  Though she felt grateful for his presence, Rose remained seated, her fingers clenched. Eve was alive. Yet, she frightened her. “What has happened to you?”

  “After our uncle’s death, the French authorities seized all his assets. Once I reached France, the only way I could survive was by agreeing to spy for Napoleon.” She looked about the room, her bony neck revolving jerkily at the center of her shoulder bones like a puppet manipulated by strings as she casually spoke of high treason. “While you stayed in this cozy nest, I was forced to sell my body to put food in my belly and have a safe place to rest.”

  Rose’s heart hammered at Eve’s sorry life. How she had suffered. Rose inched forward on her seat. “Why did you not come home? I would have taken care of you.”

  “And be hung for my sins by your beau?” Eve’s body shifted and beautiful, short Mrs. Rochester once again reappeared. “Now I am home, I plan to reclaim all that you stole from me.”

  Mrs. Weatheringham and Daniel rushed into the room.

  Stony pointed to Eve. “She is a shifter. I seen it. She looks like a walking corpse in her real self.”

  Rose cringed at that accurate description.

 
With his dagger pointed at Eve, Daniel pulled Rose off the settee and pushed her behind him.

  Rose placed a restraining hand on his arm. He must not hurt Eve. She was wounded enough.

  “So, they know about our shifting ability,” Eve said in a sinister voice. “Strange that you would confide in your servants.”

  “They are my friends, Eve,” Rose said. “I think if you will allow it, they might be able to help you.”

  “Why should we?” Daniel asked. “Stony, find Sir Phillip and tell him we have the killer he seeks.”

  “Yes, sir.” Stony ran to the door.

  “No,” Eve shouted and stood. “Rose, do not let them take me! I promise, all I want is to be your sister again. Help me. Do not deny me again.”

  “Stony, wait,” Rose said.

  “Are you balmy?” Daniel asked. “She killed Helen. I will see her dead before I let her walk out of this house a free woman.”

  “We do not know that,” Rose said, but his words brought back the shock of finding out about Helen’s murder. The brutality of the act alone still horrified her. Was Eve capable of such a violent act? Her answer had been on Eve’s gaunt face earlier but she had to hear it.

  She stepped around Daniel. “Eve, did you kill Helen?”

  Eve took her hand. “Only in self-defense. I had barely returned to London and was coming to see you when that woman accosted me. She threatened to drag me to the authorities. All I had done to reach this precious English soil to see you would have been for naught. You, my sister, would have watched me hang from the gallows like a common criminal.” Releasing her, she covered her face. “I could not bear it.”

  “She lies,” Daniel said. “This is an act. If she wanted to see you, why did she make herself look like you?”

  Eve looked pleadingly at Rose. Her tear-stained face was flushed pink. “I know how horrid my real body has become, Rose. I just wanted to look pretty again.”

  The argument lacked conviction. Rose hardly considered herself pretty, certainly not compared to how her sister had once looked. Eve had deliberately chosen to implicate Rose in Helen’s murder. Did she hate her so much?

  There was also the matter of the corpse in the cargo hold. She crossed her arms, stiffening her determination to get to the truth. “What about the sailor on the Lady Tourville?”

  “Rose, those French dogs refused to allow me to leave their employ. The only way I could escape was to pretend to be someone else. Do you think it was easy, holding the features of a man for weeks during that voyage? Do you wonder that I appear emaciated now? You know how difficult it is to hold a shift. I have seen you put on the guise of a man when you meet with Sir Phillip. Does it not drain you to hold that shift? Help me.”

  Eve’s plea was enticing, doubly so because the last time her sister begged Rose to help her, Rose had refused. She desperately wanted to accede to Eve this time. Yet, her sister’s words felt like a warped version of the truth. “Daniel, what should I do?”

  “She lies,” he said, sounding so much more certain than Rose felt. “Have you forgotten? She tried to kill you at the Lockharts.”

  “Not kill you,” Eve said. “Merely take you away so I could reveal to you who I really was.”

  “By hitting her and dragging her off with your henchman?” he asked in a scoffing tone. “Not likely. And who was that man? Where is he now? Is he watching this house? If so, we will find him, never fear.”

  Rose’s heart ached to help her sister and her conscience pounded with guilt at having abandoned her three years ago. But Daniel was right. Eve could not be trusted. Her grandmother once suggested that Rose view of Eve’s character was erroneous.

  Her arm was jostled and whispers abounded around her. The drawing room had filled with Rue Alliance members. Miss Wood came forward to stand at Rose’s side. Seeing her friends, Rose remembered that too many people’s lives were at stake for her to make a mistake in judgment.

  Her sister, too, glanced at the newcomers. “So many servants in such a short time. I know of ladies who have a difficult time finding one respectable maid, and yet you have this legion, all loyal to you, who know about your shifting.” Her gaze returned to Rose with frightening intensity. “Tell me, Rose, who are they? For I would wager my life that they are not ordinary servants.”

  “Who we are is no concern of yours,” Mrs. Weatheringham said. “What we must decide now is how best to deal with you.”

  “We must allow Sir Phillip to take her into custody,” Miss Wood said. “We have no other choice.”

  Eve began to weep and she slumped to the floor, her shoulders shaking.

  Rose pulled free of Daniel and ran to hug Eve. Her sister fought against her hold, but Rose refused to release her and finally, Eve sagged against her, sobbing.

  “Do not tell Sir Phillip that I am alive,” Eve whispered in her ear. “Else, he will not rest until he sees me hung.” She drew back and stared at Rose. “Will you remember the love we once shared and pity me, sister? Let me go and I will leave London. This time, forever. I promise.”

  Rose sighed heavily.

  Daniel and the rest of the alliance remained silent.

  Her sister’s future rested with her. If she did as Eve bid, a killer would walk free. For the rest of their lives, Rose would have to lie to Phillip, a man who valued truth and justice more than life. And who knew how many others her sister might harm if allowed to continue? She touched Eve’s hair, Mrs. Rochester’s hair. Though she looked healthy in this guise, a few dark strands dropped off on Rose’s finger, attesting to Eve’s illness. Her sister was obviously beaten. Was Rose capable of taking away her life, too?

  She stood and stepped away.

  “No.” Eve clung to her skirts. “Do not abandon me, Rose. I love you.”

  Daniel pried Eve’s fingers away from Rose and restrained her.

  Rose glanced at the timepiece on the mantel. In less than an hour, Phillip would be here to take her to meet his family. She needed time to think. “Kindly see to it that Eve remains secured.”

  Weaving her way past alliance members, she left the room, covering her ears to shut out Eve’s pleading.

  A short while later, dressed for dinner with Phillip’s family, Rose once again descended the stairs with Hannah trailing behind her, adding last-minute adjustments to Rose’s hair. Eating and socializing with Phillip’s family, especially his acerbic mother, however, was the last thing Rose was in the mood to do.

  Her mind was awhirl about what to do about Eve. She was mentally and physically exhausted thinking about all the ways she could handle this mess.

  Reaching the first floor landing, she spotted Miss Wood at the bottom of the stairs, watching her descend with a strangely shuttered expression. The librarian glanced over her shoulder toward the drawing room and then back at Rose.

  An eerie silence pervaded the entryway. No servants walked about, and except for the candle Miss Wood carried, all the lights in the overhead candelabra had been extinguished.

  “My lady.” Hannah took her hand and drew Rose to a halt. “I am afraid.”

  Rose squeezed her hand in comfort. This had been a trying day for everyone, including no doubt, Miss Wood. The lady reminded Rose of something she had forgotten. “I need the Cimaruta back before Phillip’s arrival, Miss Wood. And where is Daniel? I have instructions on how Eve is to be cared for while I am away.”

  Miss Wood’s lips trembled and her tears spilled, taking Rose’s breath away and sending her nerves ricocheting.

  The drawing room door swung open and Eve, her clothing hanging off her projecting bones, stood silhouetted in the glow spilling out of that room. “Why not come in here and tell me about your instructions yourself, Rose?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  BACK AT HIS MOTHER’S home, Phillip automatically walked upstairs in the darkness to the
bedchamber he had shared with Rose. With no one else but him here, he did not bother lighting a candle. He knew this house as well as the streets of London and Paris.

  In the darkened decadent room where Rose seduced him—with a grin, he affirmed that it had indeed been the lady’s choice to spend the night in his arms—he climbed the two steps to slump onto the bed on his back. The bedding sank under his weight, and memories surged of their memorable dance here last night.

  He wished again that she would have chosen to stay. It would have been as safe here as in her home, but infinitely more pleasurable for both of them. The clock downstairs chimed eight times, reminding him it was time to dress and go collect Rose for dinner at his cousin’s place.

  If he hurried, he could steal a kiss or more from the lady before they reached their destination. That hope was the impetus he needed to jump off the bed and sprint toward the door. Instead, in the darkness, he tripped on the steps by the bed and landed flat onto the floor.

  His shin smarting, he rolled over and kicked the steps out of his way. They refused to budge as if held in place by something. With a grunt he got up and lifted the wooden steps to move them aside but material bound to the bottom came away with the structure. Not the curtains, which remained in place, but something else.

  He pulled the cloth up. It was silky smooth. He turned it over, but could not discern what it was. He brought it close to his face. Lavender. So something Rose left behind?

  He had detected that same scent somewhere else recently. Ah yes. At Monsieur Tessyier’s.

  Lavender, his tailor had said as he sniffed around Ben’s shoulders. Rather a feminine scent.

  Phillip chuckled. Ben would be chagrined to learn he sported the same scent as Rose. His humor died. In his business, coincidences were not his friend.

  He raced to the window with the cloth and threw open the shutters. He held the garment up to the moon’s glow. A silk ball gown. Fit for an empress. Rose’s Cleopatra costume. If she had not worn this when she left this house, what had she worn? She could hardly have left in her petticoat and stays. Had she borrowed something from another room?