by Candace Camp
“I agree that Madame Valenskaya doesn’t have the intelligence or the skill to come up with the visions or the dreams or what happened tonight. But if she is not causing them, where are they coming from? Is there someone else involved? Do you think it could be Babington who has orchestrated these other things somehow? Or that there is someone else, someone not here, but outside somewhere, manipulating it all?”
“I have no idea,” Olivia said. “But, frankly, it is beginning to frighten me.”
Stephen’s thoughts went back to the scene at the séance earlier—Howard Babington’s unearthly voice and wild face, his uncontrollable shaking and twitching and eventual collapse—and he nodded. “Yes, you’re right. It’s very frightening. And I haven’t the slightest idea what to do about it.”
Madame Valenskaya rubbed her hands together as she paced up and down the floor of her bedroom, as she had been doing almost the entire time since Mr. Babington’s collapse.
“I don’t like it!” she burst out, shooting a glance at her companion that was both wary and ill-tempered. “I’ve never seen anything like that in my life. And I hope never to see it again.”
“Calm down,” the other woman said quietly. “I didn’t expect it, either, but it will work to our advantage. As long as you can keep your mouth shut. Babington’s performance is bound to scare Lady St. Leger into doing whatever the ‘spirits’ tell her.”
“What if she can’t get it? You said her son is the one who controls it.”
“He will get it. I could see that even he was shaken this evening. And if his mother is scared out of her wits over it, he will do it for her. He hates you, but he will do it just to get rid of you.”
The dumpy medium made a noise of disbelief. “I’m not so sure of that. That one’s a hard man. I’ve known men like him before, and there’s no scaring or bullying them.”
“It will work,” her companion said flatly. “As long as you don’t lose your nerve.”
“I don’t know what’s so special about this Martyrs’ treasure, anyway. I was getting coin and jewels just fine without all this. Lady St. Leger will continue to give me money as long as I can give her her ‘Roddy’ to talk to,” Madame Valenskaya said, sneeringly mimicking Lady St. Leger’s pet name for her son. “I don’t know why we have to try to get this gold casket.”
“You don’t have to know why.” The other woman’s voice was sharp and disdainful.
“It’s not worth it,” Madame Valenskaya whined. “I want to leave. I want to go back to London.”
“Don’t even think about leaving. I have put far too much time and effort into this—seducing that lack-wit Babington into helping us, dragging you along, producing those tricks—to let you ruin it all because you are a coward. You are staying right here, and you are going to keep on giving your séances until we get what we want. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, yes, all right,” Madame Valenskaya said grudgingly. “I will stay. And I won’t give us away.”
“All right. That’s better.” She gave the medium a last piercing look, then turned and walked out of the room.
Madame Valenskaya closed the door after her and turned the key. Letting out a shaky little sigh, she leaned against the door for a moment, then walked across the room and pulled open one of the drawers. She rummaged around in it for a moment and triumphantly pulled out a bottle of gin. She poured a healthy amount into a glass, her hand trembling so badly that the bottle clinked against the rim. Then she lifted the glass and drank it down greedily, giving a little shiver afterward. The heat exploded in her stomach, and everything seemed better.
Olivia dreamed that night of the woman she and Stephen had seen in the great hall, the woman who, in the dream she and Stephen had shared, had been called Lady Alys. She was dressed as she had been in that dream—in a plain blue tunic and undergown, with a simple veil holding back her hair. She was folding clothes and putting them in a trunk, gracefully bending and turning. She turned and looked straight at Olivia and smiled.
“It’s very important, you see, to make sure one’s precious goods are saved,” she said, her voice softly accented.
She turned back and picked up a gold box, about a foot long and seven or eight inches high. It was ornately engraved along the edges. She set it down on the bed and opened the lid. Inside, golden objects gleamed. Lady Alys lifted out a necklace of gold beads, then a cross the size of her hand, centered by a dark red stone, and laid them on the bed. Inside lay a tangle of gold chains and several rings, some engraved and some with polished colored stones. She opened a large wooden trunk and reached inside, pulling out a belt, or girdle. It was long and made up of links of gold, and in the center of it, three of the links were embedded with polished stones. Carefully she folded the girdle and put it into the golden box, then replaced the large cross and the gold necklace and closed the lid.
There was the sound of shouts, and she turned and ran to the narrow window and looked out. “Soldiers!” she cried, her face filled with panic. “There are soldiers in the bailey!”
Suddenly they were no longer in the same room but in another one with rounded walls and no square corners. A tower room, Olivia knew. There was smoke, and outside the air rang with the clash of swords and the shouts of men. Lady Alys was wearing the same clothes, now dirty and torn and stained with blood. The smoke grew thicker, and the lady coughed, her face taut with fear. Olivia felt the woman’s fear, and her own throat tightened.
It was hard to breathe; she felt as if she was suffocating. Olivia’s eyes opened, and she realized that she was in her own bed, not some medieval tower room. But still she could not breathe. Something dark and heavy lay in the air all around her, pressing her down, pushing her into the bed, crushing the air from her chest.
Panic filled her. She could not move…All around her the air hung like iron, filled with menace. Squeezing her. Killing her.
Olivia finally broke the paralysis that enveloped her, swinging out wildly with her arms. She sucked in a breath and shrieked, tumbling out of her bed, still swinging. There was nothing there. She encountered no resistance except the bedclothes tangled around her. But she was still gripped by the terror that had seized her, and she ran for the door and flung it open, stumbling out into the hall.
Stephen came running toward her from his room, his chest bare, wearing only a pair of trousers hastily pulled on. “Olivia! What is it? What’s the matter?”
“Stephen!” Olivia flung herself into his arms, and he held her close, stroking her hair and bending his head to hers, murmuring soothing endearments.
She held on to him, trembling, as her fear slowly subsided. His arms were tight and strong around her, and she wanted to stay inside their safety forever. But finally she stepped back from him, letting out a shaky little sigh.
Olivia glanced around her. Up and down the hall, several other doors had opened, and she found Lady St. Leger and Belinda, as well as Irina Valenskaya, watching them with great interest. Olivia blushed and brushed back her hair with her hands.
“I’m sorry. I’ve made a terrible fool of myself,” she said.
“Don’t worry about that.” Stephen took her arm and led her back into her room, away from all the interested eyes. He lit a lamp and turned the wick up, giving them light. “Now, tell me, what happened?”
Olivia shivered, cold, and realized for the first time that she was wearing only her nightgown, with nothing underneath. Her blush deepened, and she grabbed her dressing gown from the chair and wrapped it around her. “I—I must have had a bad dream.”
“What happened?” His eyes were grave and concerned, and despite the fact that she felt increasingly foolish over her momentary fright, Olivia found herself telling him about it.
“I was dreaming about Lady Alys.”
“The woman we saw?” He stared at her. “The one in our dreams?”
Olivia nodded. “She was dressed the same. And she was packing things into a trunk. Then all of a sudden we were in another room—the way
things happen in dreams, you know. This room was round, and it sounded like there was a battle outside, and Lady Alys’s gown was torn and bloodied and dirty. And there was smoke. It was horrible, choking. But then I was awake and in my bed. But…somehow I was still choking!”
“What?”
“I can’t explain it. But I could not breathe. It was as if something was holding me down, pressing into my chest, and I couldn’t catch my breath. I felt as if I was suffocating. And—and there was this darkness around me. This sense of menace and evil. I knew—I don’t know how, but I knew—that it wanted me to die. I was terrified.”
“My God. And you were awake?”
“I thought I was. I suppose I must have still been dreaming. I guess I awoke, for suddenly I was able to move and breathe, but I had no sensation of waking up. I just started flailing my arms around and screamed and jumped out of bed. Then I took off running.”
“Wise girl.” Stephen pulled her back into his arms and held her tightly.
“I was so scared,” Olivia whispered. “I can’t tell you how real it all felt. And I thought—I was sure that I locked the door before I went to bed. Yet when I ran out of the room, the door just opened. It was not locked.”
“Do you think there was someone in here?” Stephen asked.
“I don’t see how there could have been. If there were, where did he go? But I felt someone—you know, the way you can feel that someone has come up behind you, and you just know they are there even though you can’t see them? I felt as if someone—or something—was here. And I was certain that it wanted me dead.”
His arms tightened instinctively around her. “Nothing is going to happen to you,” he growled. “I won’t let it.”
He stroked her back soothingly, and Olivia melted into him. It felt so good to stand with him this way; she wanted the moment to go on forever. Wherever his hand moved, she grew warmer. The fear and the darkness were slowly receding. She made a soft noise, part pleasure, part relief, and snuggled closer. She could hear his heart speed up in his chest beneath her head, and his hand where it touched her was suddenly hot. Stephen laid his cheek against her head; her scent was in his nostrils.
“You cannot stay here alone,” he told her.
Olivia smiled and leaned back, looking up into his face with a flirtatious expression. “I am afraid, sir, that it would be quite scandalous for you to remain here all night. You are pushing the boundaries right now by coming into my bedroom this way.”
“Well, then I suppose I would just have to marry you, wouldn’t I?”
His words left her breathless. Olivia pulled away from him. His words were teasing, she knew, and for that very reason, they pierced her heart.
“Don’t be foolish,” she said shortly, crossing her arms and walking away from him.
He looked at her speculatively. “Would it be so terrible a thing?”
Olivia turned back, holding her head high in a proud, almost defiant pose. “I am sure you would not wish to risk marrying into the ‘mad Morelands.”
“Ah,” he said, moving closer to her, his eyes smiling at her, “but, you see, some men prefer a bit of risk in anything they undertake.”
There was no mistaking the heat in his eyes or the underlying meaning of his words. Olivia was certain he was about to take her in his arms again, but this time to kiss her, not soothe away her fears. She waited, not moving away, an answering challenge in her stance.
Just before Stephen reached her, Tom Quick barreled into the room, shattering the moment. “Miss! Are you all right?”
On his heels came Joan, a dressing gown wrapped around her, her hair comically rolled up in rags to induce curls, the concealing nightcap half off her head. “My lady! I heard—they said it was you who screamed.”
“Yes, I did, but it’s all right,” Olivia hastily reassured her. “I had a bad dream.”
“It was more than a bad dream,” Stephen corrected. “She felt threatened.”
“By who?” Tom demanded belligerently. “You tell me, miss, and I’ll take care of him.”
“I don’t know. There was no one there. I am sure it must have been merely a dream.”
“I think it would be best if your maid slept on a cot here in your room,” Stephen said. “I’ll have one of the footmen set up a bed immediately.”
“I am sure that isn’t necessary,” Olivia protested, but her heart was not in it. In fact, she knew that if she had to stay in this room the rest of the night by herself, she would not spend any of it sleeping. So she gave in and allowed Joan to sleep in the room, and even accepted Tom’s offer to sleep in the hall across her door, just to make absolutely sure that nothing could enter.
Even so, it took a long time before Olivia could go back to sleep, and she awoke several times during the night. Only when the dawn shone in around the draperies was she finally able to fall deeply asleep.
The next morning, after breakfast, Stephen took her arm, suggesting a stroll around the garden. They walked along the paths, coming after a while to the vine-covered bower in the center of the garden. A wooden bench sat beneath the arch of the trellis, for sitting and contemplating the beauty and peace of the garden. Stephen led her to the bench, and they sat down.
“I hope you are feeling better,” he said, looking into her face with concern.
Olivia nodded. “Yes. I am sorry to have been such a nuisance. It was foolish, no doubt. Probably the peculiar events of yesterday evening made me have such a…a disconcerting dream.”
“Perhaps.” He paused and looked down at his hands. “Still…we have dreamed of these people before. Together and separately. It puzzles me. It seems—I cannot help but think there is some significance to them. I know it sounds superstitious, but…” His voice trailed off uncertainly.
“I, too, cannot help but feel they are somehow significant,” Olivia agreed. “Yet I cannot understand the dreams. I am not one to believe in signs or portents.”
“But neither can we overlook what keeps presenting itself to us,” Stephen added. “Why do we keep dreaming of these people? Have you ever dreamed of this woman before?”
Olivia looked at him, startled. “No. Never. Not until I came here.”
“Nor have I. Until the night I met you.”
Olivia wrinkled her brow. “Are you saying that somehow our meeting set off these dreams?”
“I don’t know. It sounds ridiculous.” He sighed. “Tell me in detail about this dream of yours. You saw Lady Alys packing?”
“Yes. She was folding clothes and putting them in a trunk. And she looked straight at me and said something about it being important to keep your things safe. I can’t remember her exact words—oh, wait, she said ‘precious’—to keep what was precious to you safe. It was so odd, it was as if she were talking right to me, and yet I wasn’t in the dream, not as a person. It was just something I was seeing. Then she went and got a gold box.”
“A gold box?”
“Yes. It was about this big.” Olivia gestured with her hands. “And quite prettily engraved around the edges. It was so vivid in the dream! She set the box down on the bed and opened it. Inside it was some jewelry—gold chains and gold and silver bracelets, some rings. She took out a gold cross. It had a red stone in the center of the cross—” Olivia stopped abruptly and looked at him. “It was, well, I guess it was like the cross Madame Valenskaya was talking about, the one you told me was in the Martyrs’ treasure. Oh, of course! The gold box! You told me about the treasure box and the gold cross. That must have been why I dreamed about it.”
Olivia realized she felt strangely disappointed to think that her dream had had no significance but had simply been caused by things she had heard about the past few days.
“Did I tell you it was gold?” Stephen asked.
Olivia hesitated for a moment, thinking. “I’m not sure. I don’t remember your saying it. I was picturing it as a wooden box while you were talking. That is why I did not connect it at first. Is it gold?”
“Was there anything else in the box?” Stephen asked, sidestepping her question.
“Yes. She took out a necklace, as well. It was beautiful, made of gold beads, and the beads looked as if they had some kind of engraving on them.” Olivia was gazing blankly out across the garden, recalling the dream in her head, and so she did not see Stephen stiffen at her words.
“She went to another trunk and took out a belt that was made of gold links, and in the center of the belt, where it fastened, there were stones like the one in the cross, three of them, one centered in each link. It was the belt she was wearing when we saw her.”
“I didn’t notice the belt,” Stephen said abstractedly. “But I—”
He stood, reaching down to take her hand and pull her up, too. “Come with me. There is something I want to show you.”
11
Stephen whisked her back into the house and seated her in his study, then left. He had refused to answer any of her questions as they walked back through the garden, merely shaking his head and telling her to “wait and see.” By the time he reappeared at the study door, Olivia’s curiosity was at a fever pitch.
He stepped into the room, carrying a small bundle, and closed the door behind him. Olivia stood up as he carried the bundle over to his desk and set it down. Stephen carefully unwrapped the blue velvet covering from around the object, revealing it at last as a golden box about a foot long and over half as tall. Around the edges of the box were engravings, and in the front it fastened with a clasp that came down over a small bar, which then turned to open and close it.
Olivia stared, her hand going to her stomach. She felt as if someone had knocked the breath from her. The box before her on the desk was the same one she had seen in her dream last night.
