The Fall of a Saint

by Christine Merrill

  Who were these people and how was he expected to know them? He had known his wife only a few weeks and had learned nothing about her past. But in that time, Eve seemed to have gathered a wealth of information.

  ‘I did not think it necessary to inform them. I have not seen them in years,’ Madeline said, still not looking up.

  Perhaps she had thought he would not allow common folk in his house. If so, it was unfair of her. What difference would a few more guests have made to that bird-infested farce of a breakfast? ‘If there was family that you wished to have, we could have arranged it,’ he said as patiently as possible.

  Madeline raised her eyes and gave him a pointed look. ‘They were not my family. They were the people that my true parents paid to keep me until I was old enough to board. Then they washed their hands of me. If they should hear of my rise in station, they will likely appear. But I see no reason to seek them out.’

  ‘Then you are...’

  ‘A bastard,’ she informed him.

  Why had he even begun the sentence? It was beyond tactless to discuss her parentage at dinner. It displayed his total ignorance of Madeline’s past and her feelings about it.

  Eve was nodding in satisfaction, as though she had scored a point in a game. If they were playing, she could at least have shared the rules with the rest of them.

  Sam seemed very busy with his roasted potatoes and oblivious of the conversation, but then he found it amusing to let his wife run wild and torment the rest of them. Michael ground his teeth and struggled to maintain his composure.

  Now that Eve had finished with Madeline, she turned the conversation, indirectly, to Michael.

  ‘As I was saying, the tour of the house was delightful. Especially the bedrooms. They are quite unique. But I based my opinion on the duchess’s wing only.’ She glanced at her husband. ‘I take it Michael showed you his rooms, Sam?’

  When addressed directly, Sam could not ignore her. So he nodded and took a large bite of meat, chewing slowly so that he could not answer.

  ‘Well? What were they like?’ Evelyn leaned forward to hear the answer.

  The doctor swallowed. ‘They were...’ Sam glanced at Michael, as if wishing to spare him pain.

  ‘As ghastly as the duchess wing?’ Eve supplied.

  ‘A bit much to take,’ Sam said diplomatically.

  ‘Details please, Dr Hastings,’ she said with the impish smile that Michael had found rather irritating when he’d courted her. ‘You are a man of science. Do not make diagnoses using such vague words. How did you find the duke’s wing?’

  ‘Evelyn.’ Michael smothered the anger he was feeling and kept his tone low and cautionary.

  Sam gave him another apologetic look, then replied. ‘It was a cross between a gaming hell and a house of ill fame.’

  ‘So it was a fitting contrast to the seraglio on the other side of the house.’

  Michael threw his napkin aside. ‘That is quite enough, the both of you. You come into my house and defame my family—’

  ‘Our family,’ Evelyn corrected.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘We are in your house because you invited us here. You have encouraged us for some months to treat your properties as our own. Sam is your brother. I am your sister-in-law.’ She glanced across the table. ‘And Maddie is your wife. Soon, she will be the mother of your child. We are your family, Michael. If there is a burden to bear, who better than us to share it with you?’

  ‘It is not a burden,’ he insisted. But if it had not been, why did his heart feel easier now that others had seen it?

  ‘It is an unnecessary secret to the people at this table,’ Eve said. ‘It is obvious changes will need to be made if you wish to reside here. You could have informed Madeline of the fact rather than dropping her into the middle of it.’ Then she turned to Madeline. ‘And you, Maddie, might have explained your past to Michael to prevent embarrassment later. Illegitimacy need not be a shameful thing. But openness between the two of you would have prevented the awkward exchange I orchestrated tonight.’

  ‘We hardly know each other,’ Madeline argued.

  ‘But you will have a child between you. And while you might go your separate ways later, it is less shocking to claim ignorance of the present behaviour of a spouse than to know nothing of their past.’

  Michael glared at her. ‘I suppose you mean to give us no peace until you are sure every stone has been turned up and we have no privacy at all?’

  Sam sighed, pushing aside his plate. ‘I suspect that is true. The woman is relentless, your Grace. I have not had a moment’s peace since I married her.’

  ‘And you have never been happier,’ Eve informed him.

  ‘Yes, Evie,’ he said, and shrugged in defeat. But Michael could tell by the glint in his eye that he was secretly amused. ‘Now, if you will excuse us, Michael, I think we will forgo pudding and port and make our way back to the dower house. It is a short walk, but the weather appears to be changing and I do not wish to be caught out in the rain.’

  ‘Very well.’ Michael stood and, with his wife, they escorted their guests to the door.

  When the other couple had departed, a moment of silence fell between them, as he searched for words. ‘I am sorry,’ he said. ‘For Evelyn.’

  ‘Evelyn is—’ Madeline smiled. ‘Evelyn is Evelyn. She cannot help but meddle, I think.’

  ‘I am sorry for my own behaviour, as well,’ he added. ‘I was rude and neglectful of you. I should have asked after your family and your past.’

  ‘There was very little time,’ she said, staring out the window over the dark grounds.

  ‘I should have made the time.’ Eve had been right. Even if this was not a love match, there should be respect and courtesy on his part. ‘There is another wing to view, you know, other than the bedrooms.’

  ‘The nursery?’ If she was curious, it did not show.

  ‘Come. We will tour it, then we can retire.’ Behind locked doors on opposite ends of the house. No matter how he tried, life here had not changed so very much. But if it was necessary to share secrets with one’s wife, the last of them were there.

  Chapter Nine

  They mounted the stairs and he fished in his pocket for the key. The lock on the door to this wing was unusually heavy. Judging by the slight scratches in the wood and the shininess of the brass compared to the other doors, it was more recently installed. What could be here that needed to be so tightly contained?

  ‘I keep my slaughtered brides in the last room, if that is what you are wondering,’ he said with a sigh.

  Despite herself, she started.

  He sighed again. ‘I am not actually Bluebeard, if that is what you suspect. It is just a nursery, as I said yesterday. I keep it locked because...I had no need of it.’

  But the strange pause told her there was more to the story.

  He had found the correct key, and it turned smoothly in the lock. It was well oiled, as were the hinges of the door. When he crossed the threshold, he shivered. ‘It is good that you are dressed warmly. There is sometimes a chill in this corridor. We will not linger long here.’

  It was an odd statement. In a wool coat, he should be warmer than she. Yet she felt no change in temperature. He had taken a taper from the hall and lit candles as they went, opening doors and explaining the rooms and their purposes.

  If he had sought her professional opinion as a woman who had seen more than the usual share of nurseries, this one was every bit as splendid as the ground-floor rooms had been. There was none of the ridiculous ostentation of the duchess wing, nor the maze of interconnected rooms. The nursery wing was laid out quite sensibly. The main room was more pleasant than any she had worked in. In daytime, light would shine through the mullioned windows. She was sure, when she opened them, she would feel
a fresh breeze and hear the faint sound of the river a few miles away.

  The room would serve as a sitting room for the children and their teacher. She could see the varying doors leading from it lead to a schoolroom, a suite of bedrooms for older children and a proper nursery with cradle for little ones. The last door she opened led to a bedroom and sitting room for the governess.

  She could not help the little thrill of satisfaction she felt at the sight of it. It was well appointed and cheerful, and much nicer than anything she might have expected from her last posting. This was the sort of place that suited her, not the grand room of a duchess.

  She fought to control the smile as she turned back to him. She was not brought here to tend the children. He would think her quite mad if she requested to move her things to this bedroom. No matter how preferable it might be, it was not meant for her.

  The duke stood, his back to her, staring out the window into the darkness. Lightning flashed in the distance and the first streaks of rain marred the glass. ‘As you can see, it is quite grim here. I would be obliged if you devoted some portion of your time to have it properly equipped for the child. You have some professional knowledge of such places after all.’

  ‘Grim?’ she said, surprised. That was the last word she’d have used for the shelves of books and the cupboard that must be full of playthings.

  He nodded, still not turning. ‘I have not been here in quite some time. I had hoped it had changed. But unfortunately, no. This room is exactly as I remember it. Strip it to the bare walls and start again.’

  She had thought to spend his money like water out of spite. But every fibre in her resisted making changes to a setting so perfect for the raising of children. She imagined her own child here and felt the little stirrings of excitement in her heart at the thought of a baby of her own. It would be St Aldric’s child, of course. And he would be possessive of the heir and the law was quite clear on his ownership.

  But by nourishing it with her heart’s blood, and keeping it safe in her belly, it was hers, as well. Despite what Eve had said in the dining room. It would be her first true family.

  But this room called to hold a large and happy brood, not just the only baby they were to have together.

  ‘So much space for one child.’ She imagined the neat rows of beds in the school that had housed her. She’d had not a moment’s peace until she’d left it. She had longed for privacy. But as the only child in this monstrous house, he would have been lonely. She felt an unbidden sympathy for the man.

  He did not turn. ‘There were nurses, of course. Teachers. A governess or two.’

  ‘Did you enjoy their company?’ The children she’d watched had grown quite fond of her.

  ‘Father chose them and discarded them according to their education and my needs.’ He described them as though they were so many possessions. But for a twist of fate, he might have thought the same of her.

  She turned to the cupboard to see what it was that the young marquis had entertained himself with. The shelves were surprisingly empty. She had expected blocks, puzzles, balls and lead soldiers. Instead she saw row upon row of carefully aligned models. She took one up: a tiny sheep with real wool and four dark legs that were little more than twists of wire. Behind it was a fishing boat with full crew and nets made of thread full of tiny lead fish. After that came houses, farms, shops and mats of straw painted like water, crops and roads.

  ‘This was yours?’ It was surprising. Knowing children as she did, she’d never have trusted them with something so delicate and so obviously valuable.

  ‘And my father’s before me.’ He had come to stand beside her, taking up a tiny farmer and turning it in his hands. ‘Each little figure was modelled on an actual tenant. The houses you see here in miniature still stand on the roads.’

  ‘You played with real people?’ It was strange and barbaric to think of a little boy playing God over this tiny world.

  ‘Of course not.’ He shuddered again and placed the figure carefully on the shelf. ‘I learned from them. I knew names, places, each brick in the road and each sheep in the field.’

  ‘If they broke, were you punished for it?’

  ‘They did not break,’ he said. ‘I saw to that. If they were damaged, I mended them. If they wanted paint, I took up the brush and did it myself. They are as clean and perfect as the day they were made.’

  But he did not seem happy about it. His usual, somewhat artificial, smile had become something much more grim.

  ‘Will your son play with them, as well?’

  He hesitated. And since he rarely did, the pause was profound. ‘It is an excellent way to learn one’s holdings.’

  ‘But it is a great responsibility for a small child.’ She picked up the sheep again and touched one of the legs, giving it a gentle push with her fingertip, seeing the wire bend.

  The man beside her was holding his breath. She was sure, if she went so far as to break the little animal, he would feel his own leg snap.

  She released the pressure and set it gently back on the shelf. ‘It is very interesting. But I see no reason to keep the wing locked. Or to have a lock on the door at all. Why did you bother to seal it up?’

  ‘Why did I install a lock?’ He laughed. ‘My parents did that when I was still young to keep me from roaming the house.’

  ‘Your parents locked you in.’ The idea was unfathomable. She had been in strict households, of course. And dealt with undisciplined children. But never had there been the need to keep them prisoner. It was beyond imaging that the little boy who had cared for toy people as though they were real could cause enough trouble to need a lock on his door.

  ‘I was too curious,’ he said with a shrug. ‘My parents had little time for me. I had the run of the house and grounds when they were in London. But when they were here, they retired to their wings with their friends and did not wish to be bothered.’ He reached to straighten one of the toy buildings and returned the sheep she had examined to what must have been its proper place.

  ‘Sam was concerned that his birth had caused the estrangement between them,’ he said, ‘but I am sure it was far deeper than that. It was my birth that gave them the excuse to lead separate lives. Once they had an heir, they did not need each other.’

  Apparently they had not needed him either. ‘It must have been very lonely for you to be shut up here, away from everything.’

  ‘I thought so, at first,’ he said. ‘Until they locked the door, I would creep about the house at night, trying to discover what it was that so fascinated them.’

  ‘And what did you find?’ She could guess the answer.

  ‘Not my parents, that is for certain. My mother kept her doors locked, long before they closed up the nursery. But my father’s wing was open. And there was a woman there who offered to explain everything to me.’ He shut the cupboard door, but did not look at her as he spoke. ‘I suspect she was angry at having to share my father’s attentions. Or perhaps she was jealous that her husband was with my mother. She said she would show me everything. So I followed her into one of the bedrooms and had my answer.’

  ‘While you were still in the nursery?’ Surely he would have gone away to school when he was old enough. But that meant he was... ‘Just how old were you?’

  ‘I don’t remember,’ he said firmly, as though he did not like to look too closely at the past. ‘But not more than twelve. She said there would be cake after.’ He smiled, as though it were a joke. ‘I remember it was a deciding factor.’ He paused. ‘To this day, I cannot abide sweets. And I cannot stand this house. But perhaps now you understand how I came to be the sort of man who might attack governesses. For all I know, it is a family trait. Now, if you will excuse me, I am tired.’ He fished in his pocket and handed her the keys to the nursery. ‘Put out the candles and lock the door when you leave.’

  The
n he turned and left her in the most silent wing of the house.

  Chapter Ten

  The storm that had been just a threat during supper had finally broken and was hammering the windows. Maddie slid down under the covers, waiting for it to end. It was unusual that rain bothered her. When dealing with children, it had been her job to provide the comfort. But this house was so very strange. She had been too tired to notice it last night. But tonight, after talking to the duke, she felt it in her bones. To be the only person in a wing made her feel all the more isolated.

  And to do that to a child...

  Even with governesses and teachers and nurses, and the fact that the surroundings were far from appropriate, a child would want to see his parents. It sometimes seemed that the less interested the parents were, the more the little ones craved attention. They must have thought they were protecting him by keeping him isolated. It had come too late, of course. The story he’d told had been quite horrible. He had been far too young to understand what was happening to him.

  When she had come to London, St Aldric had seemed so far beyond the reach of ordinary humans that she could hardly comprehend. The world bowed to his title and thought him a saint. And in her mind, he had been by parts a villain and a sham.

  She had never expected to find him so human once all artifice had been stripped away. To see the house, and his reaction to it, she could imagine the frightened little boy he had been. His parents had not known what to do with him and had locked him away. And so he had retreated into his toy fiefdom to become the man his father had not been.

  He had been wrong. The nursery had been warm enough. But the bed she was lying in was large and cold, and she hated it. If she stayed here, was she destined to become as his mother had been, entertaining favourites in secret and keeping her child behind a locked door? At one time, she might have thought it a fit punishment for St Aldric. But no matter the past, she would not stoop so low. Whatever else she might say of him, the duke did not want to turn his back on his offspring as his parents had done to him. Or as hers had done to her.