by RITA GERLACH
“This is not in my hand,” Bray said. “What person would send you this and forge my name?”
Seth's heart lurched with fear, and he set his mouth hard. A sudden sensation, as if his body had been plunged into icy water, shot through him. He stood. “It is clear I’ve fallen into some scoundrel's trap.”
He hurried out into the hall, strode to the front door. “I must leave at once. Juleah could be in danger. She also received a message and no doubt it too is a lie.”
His hand trembled as he reached for the brass door handle. He would have gone out into the street to his horse, but Bray thrust his body between the door and the jamb.
“I’m going with you.” His voice was determined, his face taut. “If there is danger, two are better than one to face it. Ella!” She appeared from the back of the house. “You must pack me a change of clothes. I’ll saddle my horse and bring it around front.”
Her eyes enlarging, Ella nodded. “When will you return, sir?”
“I do not know. Tell Cook, I shall not be needing dinner tonight.” Bray pulled on his leather riding gloves and hurried out the back.
Seth sprang into the saddle and pulled Jupiter away. Impatience overwhelmed him. His heart pounded in his chest hard and rapid. The palms of his hands were slick with sweat beneath his gloves.
A moment later, their horses’ hooves pounded the earth as darkness swallowed the last glimmer of twilight. Out of the city, the wind shoved against their bodies, as if unseen forces prevented them. Keeping to the high road toward the west, they rode with swiftness, beneath a night sky darkening with ponderous clouds.
On the evening Juleah left Henry Chase, the sun sank below a ragged horizon flushed violet and gave way to the descending night. The cart rattled over the road misty with twilight.
Juleah pinched her brows and stared out at the fields. “Why would Yates send me a message claiming Mother was ill and it not be so?”
Claire shook her head. “Lady Anna would never conceal an illness from you, Miss Juleah.”
“I must write Yates a letter as soon as I arrive home. He owes me an explanation.”
“I never trusted that man.” Claire crossed her arms over her bosom. “He has shifty eyes.”
Darkness fell along the rim of the sky. Two bright stars rose in the east, and a brilliant moon tripped above the horizon. For all the stress of the recent days, the beauty of creation caused it to ease. But along the horizon, a dome of clouds darkened the sky. Cold wind blew against Juleah's face.
When they passed through the gates of Ten Width, the house looked empty to Juleah, for Seth was not there. She stepped over the threshold and entered the dark foyer. She drew her cloak from her shoulders and handed it to Claire. A rush of loneliness filled her with longing for her husband.
Candle in hand, Claire went ahead of her mistress up the staircase. The flame caused shadows to quiver over the walls and along the floor. Inside Juleah's room, she lit the fire in the hearth, for the night had grown chilly. The fire crackled, seethed, sparked, and glowed as if a thousand stars had been born within it. It warmed Juleah's skin.
She slipped off her shoes and tossed them aside. “You must be tired, Claire. It has been a long day. Go to bed. I can manage on my own.”
Claire picked up Juleah's brush. “But I haven’t brushed out your hair.”
“I am accustomed to brushing out my own hair. Wake me in the morning for breakfast. Good night.”
After Claire left, Juleah stretched her arms upward and sat on the bed. She lifted her skirts to roll down her stockings. The silk felt smooth against her hands as she pushed the first one down. It made her think of her wedding night, how warm Seth's hands were, how gentle his touch as he rolled each stocking down her thighs, over her calves, and slipped them off her feet.
“Oh, Seth,” she whispered. “How I wish you were home.”
Wind blew down the flue of the fireplace, stirred the ashes, and rushed along her legs. She was seized with the sense of eyes watching her. A chill ran up her spine. She shivered, and then froze.
Her gaze drifted toward the window. The green satin-lined border of the curtains quivered and a figure, shrouded in shadow, stepped out from behind them.
24
Seth could not reach home and Juleah quickly enough. He decided to make for Ten Width first. It was closest, and if he did not find her there, he’d go on to Henry Chase.
Anxiety mounted in his heart, as he and Michael rode on, until they reached the lands that bordered Ten Width. Shadows swayed over the road, swept across the stretch of dirt and sand. He twisted the leather reins through his hands. His body ached from the journey, as his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness.
The moon rose full that night, large and brilliant, an opal specter set against a cold, ebony sky. A moon dog surrounded it—a huge ghostly swath in the sky that washed the heavens. It prophesied rain, though a silver light trembled over the fields and illumined the path.
He urged his mount forward where the road broke through woodland bathed in grim moonlight. The air filled and reeked with what he believed were hearth fires, for it was a chilly night. Yet, the closer they drew to Ten Width, the heavier the air became. He frowned. It was unlike the homey scent of a warm sitting room fire, of mellow cedar and heady oak. Rather it became the distressed smell of danger, smoke, and burning wood.
Uneasy, Seth glanced up at the top of the hill before him. A band of gold rimmed the dark edge of the mound. It appeared as if the sun was beginning to rise. He glanced above to see the clouds illuminated with an eerie ocherous glow. Beneath them stretched a milky sheet of what appeared to be fog. Baleful light quivered, and his heart slammed against his ribs. Fear gripped him hard and fast.
He suddenly realized what his eyes beheld, and he snapped the reins. He pushed his horse to a gallop up the shimmering hill. He reached the summit and looked down. His heart tightened in his chest and pounded against his ribs. A chill rushed through his body as if a cold winter blast struck him naked.
Seth raced his horse down the hill and across the dewy grass. He yanked at the reins and the horse skidded to a halt. The smell of danger wafted in the air, and Jupiter reared and beat his hooves down into the spongy ground. Before the horse could steady, Seth leapt from the saddle and ran toward the house. He heard, over the roar of the blaze, a woman's soft, mournful cry.
Intense heat seared his skin. He raised his arms across his face. In the east wing, windows glowed from within. Glass cracked and shattered. Tongues of flame spouted from the casements like the tongues of demons and licked against brick and mortar. Wind blew from the north against the blaze and pushed back the pyre. Soot blew against his eyes. A dry, hot taste coated his tongue. Relentless, the heat exhaled against his face.
“Juleah! Juleah!”
Bray pulled him back. Seth struggled free and stumbled ahead. Will fell on his knees beside him, his face smudged with charcoal, his shirt scorched.
Breathing rapidly, Seth fixed his eyes on him. “Where's my wife?” The words choked in his throat. Will stuttered, trying to reply. Seth reached down, grabbed Will by the front of his shirt, and yanked him to his feet. “Where is Juleah?”
Will shook his head. “I don’t know, sir. I tried to reach her, but the fire was fierce.” He put his hands over his face and trembled. “I called and called. I tried, sir. I tried hard.”
Seth hurried forward. Bray and Will held him back. As if it were meant to deepen the crush in his soul, clouds shut out the moon. Then rain began to fall in a torrent. Thunder boomed and shook the earth. The fire seethed and hissed. Steam rose. Smoke vanished as it stretched higher. Charred wood crackled. Flames fought against the deluge, but the storm conquered.
Numb with shock, Seth stared at the ruin before him. “It's dying out. She's inside … somewhere safe.”
Seth broke free from the arms that held him. He hurried into the smoldering ruins. He called her name and coughed from the smoke and weightiness of the air.
A to
ngue of flame leapt from a piece of charred wood. From beneath it, a blackened hand stretched out to him. A body lay a short distance away at the bottom of the staircase. As if run through with the sharpest of rapiers, Seth's heart tore and bled out grief.
The stench of burnt wood and seared flesh filled his nostrils. He staggered toward the body. It could not be distinguished, yet a blackened gown still covered her form. Juleah lay face down with one hand flung over the back of her head, as if to protect it. Her glorious hair had been burned off. He dared not look at her face.
Violently, Seth's body trembled. If he did not look away, he’d go mad staring at her body lying in a heap of debris and ash, molested by fire, emptied of her spirit. His crazed mind agonized over how she suffered. To lose her in this way! His anguished cry echoed through the empty house.
Blinded by his misery, Seth saw Michael move toward the grizzly body. Bray shoved the seething wood away with the toe of his boot. A ring glinted against tarnished flesh. The ruby and pair of diamonds sparkled through ashy dust. Bray pulled it loose from the scorched finger it encircled, careful not to break and tear away the charred flesh.
At first, Seth fought the hands that urged him back, but weakened as they dragged him out.
Latterbuck stood out on the lawn. Rain dripped off the edge of his hat. “What is that you have in your hand?” he said to Bray.
“A body lies within, a woman's body. I believe it is Juleah Braxton. This is her ring.” Bray went to leave, but Latterbuck put his hand on his chest to stop him. “If you fear God, Constable, let me pass.”
“I sense this fire was no accident. Give it to me.”
Bray refused, and jerked away. “I shall not. It belongs to her husband and he shall have it.”
Bray hurried to Seth and handed him the ring. “I am sorry, Seth.”
Heartbroken, a cry clawed its way up his throat. “Juleah! Juleah!” If ever a man like Seth Braxton were to cry, it was at that moment, when his world collapsed around him in one hailstorm of misery, as if the hands of hell reached up from a molten abyss to rend his heart from his body.
Bray put his arm around Seth's slumped shoulders. “Do not look any longer, Seth. Come away.”
He gasped in agony and sobbed. He staggered into the darkness, as a cold moon, crueler than the dark, broke through the cloudy sky. Its beams touched the earth, and mist coiled around his boots.
Seth gripped Juleah's ring in his palm. The image of her body could not escape his mind and the wound deepened. Anger rose with the want to destroy, to beat something.
“Juleah,” he whispered through his tears, his teeth clenched. “Juleah, my love.”
He stared down at the ring, put it to his lips, and with a trembling hand, he slipped it inside his breast pocket beside his heart.
“I should not have left you.”
He balled his fist and struck a tree. Rough bark tore his skin and left his knuckles raw. Again and again, he struck it, until his hands bled, until all strength emptied from him.
He reeled away, drunk with sorrow, possessed by grief. The roar of the sea surrounded him, and the taste of salty air mixed with the salt of tears.
Rain battered against the cliffs high above the cove. Stricken beyond measure, Seth stared down from the edge. Through the haze, he watched raindrops fall downward and splash onto the rocks. He wished he were one of them, to fall, smash, and spread into oblivion.
Rain drenched his hair and matted the dark strands that touched his shoulders. It covered his face, blurred his vision, and deafened his ears. Wind blew with the pulse of the sea and moaned through the crags.
At the cliff's edge, Seth fell to his knees and stared out at the dark water. A maddening mix of emotions gouged out his heart and left him weak and broken.
He stared out to sea. The lantern lights of a ship, set against the backdrop of the horizon, faded and the vessel disappeared.
So was her life.
As she had died, so had he. His hell was to stay behind and face the agony of living on without her.
Burying his face within his hands, he moaned and rocked as he wept. The pain was unbearable. A double-edged sword turned within. Razor sharp it ripped into the chambers of his heart, plunged deep into the hollows of his soul to destroy him.
Michael Bray called to Seth, and when he reached him, he touched him on the shoulder. Seth turned to see his friend and stood.
“I don’t care about the house.” He breathed hard, his face tense with feeling. “It can burn to ash. I wish I’d never come here. If I had stayed away, she’d be alive. I should have known not to go to London without her.”
“You cannot blame yourself.” Bray took a step forward.
“Tell Will and Claire they cannot stay.”
“It is not their fault, Seth. They were fortunate to get out in time. Be kind to them.”
“I cannot stay here. With her gone, there is nothing left.”
Soberly Bray nodded.
Seth raked his hands through his hair. “How shall her family be told? How am I to do it, Michael? How can I face them? I pledged to protect her, and I failed. How will I live without her?” His body shook. “I loved her. I loved her!”
Bray's face twisted with emotion. “I know, Seth.” He put his arm over Seth's shoulder and helped him down the rocky expanse.
They did not follow the path back to Ten Width, but instead followed the road leading away from it.
25
Will and Claire stood by the roadside. With stunned faces and bewildered stares, they waited in grim silence. They had the horses with them and helped the grieving patriot climb into the saddle and put his boots into the stirrups.
They took him down to The Sea Maiden, after passing under the shadow of the ruins of a Roman tower. A great flurry of activity arose when they came through the door. Men put their mugs of ale down and stood.
“What's happened?” asked the tavern-keeper.
“Ten Width caught fire,” said Will. “The squire needs help.”
Through the strands of hair that covered his eyes, Seth glanced at Will's desperate face. Claire let out a stifled cry and the tavern-keeper's wife gathered her into her arms. Then she ordered the men to carry Seth upstairs.
“Take the poor lad to the room at the far end. ’Tis my best.” She then turned to Michael Bray. “Open the windows, sir. The air will bring him ’round.”
As Seth stumbled up the stairs, Will spoke in a low, strained voice. “The squire's wife is dead. She didn’t get out.”
Seth moaned deep in his throat and hung his head.
Upstairs, in a room darkened by heavy timber beams, where no fire glowed, and where the latticed window seemed too small to let the moonlight in, Seth lay across the bed and covered his face with his hands. For an hour, he forced back the tears that stung his eyes and the sobs that raked his throat. Lying with his face covered in his arms for the space of an hour, feeling he’d go mad, finally he wept quietly. When he lifted his hands away, he glanced over at Michael Bray. He sat in a chair beside the empty hearth, his face ashen with pain.
“I will send for Yates,” Bray said, breaking the silence.
Seth frowned hard. “I don’t want him. I must go.” He threw his legs over the edge of the bed and strode to the door.
Bray grabbed his arm. “You are not fit to go anywhere, Seth. Let me.”
The corner of Seth's mouth twisted, and he drew himself up. He stepped out of the door and clattered down the dim staircase to the smoky room below.
Out into the damp night, he stumbled. Finding Jupiter, he pulled himself onto the steed's back, flicked the reins, and moved him out into the darkness onto the winding road from the tavern.
The moon, an ivory disk set against black mourning cloth, lit long stretches of grim clouds. Wind braced Seth's body, smacked his face, and whipped the horse's mane against him.
The roads were muddy, but not enough to delay him. His breath hurried along with the cadence of Jupiter's hoofbeats, and he cri
ed out to God for strength.
By the time he reached Henry Chase, the lower lights of the house were absent. Although he regretted the duty he must now perform, he headed toward the house, his trembling hands slick with sweat.
A candle passed a window. He supposed the thud of hooves had awakened the occupants. The door swung open and Sir Henry appeared in his slippers, nightshirt, and cap, holding a lantern high over his head.
“Who is it?” he called out through the dark.
“It is I, Sir Henry.” Seth climbed down from Jupiter's back.
“Why, Seth. ’Tis late, lad.” Sir Henry took a few steps out onto the grass, his face pinched with alarm.
“Forgive me, sir, but I …”
“You smell of smoke. Has there been a battle? Should I fetch my pistols?”
At those words, Seth pressed his hand against his eyes to forbid what he did not want his father-in-law to see. Troubled, he stared back at Sir Henry, saddened to see what was in the old man's eyes. How was he to tell him his daughter was lost to him, that she had died a painful death, and that he felt responsible?
He searched and prayed for the strength to do it.
“I must come inside and speak to you and your lady,” he said, and turned Sir Henry back toward the front door.
26
When the moon dipped below the zenith of the sky, Edward Darden's hackney rolled over the high road toward The Sea Maiden. Trees swayed and shadows quivered along the eerie, windswept road. Above, cold stars peeked out from the clouds. Fog lay low in gullies and curled over hedgerows.
His body stiffened with impatience when the horses slowed to a halt, and he climbed out. He had heard of the place, but had never stepped foot inside, not until the day Benjamin Braxton left this world, when drink became his friend and numbed him from the inner demons that raged within.
