Karen Ranney

by The Devil of Clan Sinclair

  When Macrath married, she’d find a way to be glad about his happiness. She wouldn’t think of them living at Drumvagen, a jewel of a house mirroring Macrath’s hopes for a clan. Soon, he’d have children, Elliot’s half sisters and half brothers.

  Elliot would never know his father, and the knowledge rested on her soul like a huge black stone.

  Macrath married was the same as Macrath in Australia, out of sight and out of her life. Not entirely, however, with his son’s face looking back at her every day.

  If she did keep a daily journal, what would she write?

  Today, our child turned four months old. He is growing faster than I would have thought possible in size and knowledge. He knows my face as I lean over him and reaches for me.

  He reminds me of you, dearest Macrath. Not only because of his intent look, but his smile. It seems to have been taken from your face.

  Elliot’s nose wrinkled and his face started to turn red. His cries were full blown in seconds. She propped him on her shoulder and rubbed his back, hating to hear him whimper.

  “I think he’s hungry,” Ellice said, coming into the garden followed by Eudora. Ellice was carrying a tea tray and Eudora another plant that she placed near the bench were Virginia was sitting.

  They each wore summery dresses of black silk with white cuffs and collar. Eudora looked well in black but it washed out Ellice’s coloring.

  “You’re right,” she said, standing and cradling Elliot in her arms. “If you’ll excuse us, I’ll go and feed him.”

  The girls look startled, just as they did every time she reminded them she was rearing Elliot in a forbidden way. Granted, she’d allowed Enid to hire a nursemaid, a sweet young girl named Mary who cared for Elliot at night. Even so, she still nursed him.

  Enid had lectured her almost every day that such behavior was not done in London society. She had stood firm, however, refusing to be swayed. Every day, she simply walked away, taking Elliot to a secluded corner where she could feed him in peace.

  As she left the garden, she looked down into his face. “You’re going to be such a handsome man, aren’t you?”

  His mouth twisted.

  “Will you break a woman’s heart? Just like your father? Please don’t do such a thing,” she told Elliot, placing him against her shoulder and rubbing his back.

  His head bobbed against her cheek, and she placed a kiss on his delicate ear.

  “Do not let a woman yearn for you. Find one you can love, and make her yours, even if you have to spirit her away.”

  What would’ve happened if she’d stayed in Scotland with Macrath? A selfish act, and one that would have pleased her but put Enid, Eudora, and Ellice in peril.

  Now their future was assured. Their present was protected. All she had to worry about was forgetting the past.

  Someone should warn Virginia that sitting in the sunlight would cause her skin to darken and look more common.

  Paul watched her caring for the child, the spawn of the Scotsman, like he was the eleventh Earl of Barrett in truth. He admired her for the courage of the ruse, for daring to do something few of her contemporaries would do, even as he loathed her for it.

  She could have chosen him. Together, they could have raised their child as the earl. He would even have stayed in the background, allowing her to be portrayed as the earl’s widowed countess, content to be her lover by night and her servant by day.

  She’d never given him the chance.

  He supposed the child was comely. Children had never interested him.

  Each of these titled brats boasted a better future than the one he’d been granted. Without doing one thing, they would be feted and applauded, supported and praised. They would, simply by drawing breath, be congratulated.

  He didn’t hate the rich and the titled. He hated that they never saw anyone beneath their aristocratic noses. They believed they were touched by divine providence and were special. They saw themselves as different people than the masses, graced by privilege and deserving of it.

  Virginia was unique, however. First, she wasn’t born to the peerage but had come from America. Second, she noticed people around her, often conversed with the maids, thanked Cook for a lovely meal, and never considered anyone beneath her. She’d even been kind to Lawrence, who didn’t deserve her consideration.

  Did she know what else Lawrence had done besides spending her father’s fortune?

  He doubted it.

  The only person she wasn’t considerate of was him, the one individual who deserved her notice and appreciation. He’d protected her. He’d done what he could to ease her life. He’d carried her to her room when she was in labor and she’d not once mentioned it.

  He’d never forgotten the feel of her in his arms.

  Now, her sisters-in-law joined her, the sound of their laughter carrying across the lawn like crystal chimes.

  He was glad she was happy, even if he wasn’t the source of it. For now, he was content to watch.

  When it was time, he would go to her and tell her everything. She’d welcome him. She’d open her arms to him, seeing him for who he was, a man of great ambition and talent, who would provide for her for the rest of her life.

  Perhaps they’d go to America together. He’d leave the spawn of the Scotsman here and take her away. There, they’d be alone, and when she bore another child, it would be his.

  He watched as she stood and entered the house, then walked around to the kitchen entrance.

  Someone spoke to him, but he ignored the summons, intent on intercepting her. There she was, at the base of the stairs.

  “Have you quit the garden, your ladyship?”

  She turned her head and regarded him. Did she think he was handsome? The maids did, and Ellice thought so as well. Eudora was curiously indifferent to him.

  He placed one hand on the banister, the other on the wall, trapping her.

  The scent of roses trailed after her, marking the air as special. Did she wear it for him? He doubted it. She didn’t yet notice him.

  One day she would look at him differently. One day she’d seek him out wherever he was.

  “Yes,” she said, starting up the staircase and cooing to the baby in her arms.

  He followed her slowly, mounting the steps behind her.

  “He’s a lovely boy,” he said. “All hale and robust. Not at all like his father, is he? He doesn’t have Lawrence’s heart problems?”

  She stopped on the steps but didn’t turn. “No. He’s very healthy.”

  “He doesn’t look like him, though, does he?”

  She kept her gaze on her son’s face. “I believe he looks a great deal like my father,” she said.

  “Pity no one remembers what your father looked like. Were his eyes that shade of blue?”

  She gripped the banister tightly with one hand until her knuckles whitened.

  No, she didn’t like that comment at all, did she?

  She half turned, gazed down at him.

  “Why do you care, Paul?”

  He smiled. “I am but curious, your ladyship.”

  “Is curiosity a wise emotion in a servant?”

  He kept his smile anchored with difficulty.

  “You’ll never find a man more devoted than I, your ladyship.”

  He bowed slightly, not above such gestures in her presence. He would have knelt at her feet if it would have done any good. No, time was what he needed, and time was on his side.

  Smiling, he descended the steps, patient for the day when she realized who he was.

  Virginia watched as Paul descended the stairs, taking the first deep breath since seeing him.

  Wasn’t there any way to prevent him from approaching her?

  If they’d still employed a majordomo, she would have gone to him with her complaints about Paul. But Albert had left their household two weeks ago, citing illness in the family.

  Someone needed to take Paul in hand. He laughed with too much abandon with Ellice. The girl’s excuse was
that she was sixteen. He complimented Eudora outlandishly and the elder girl smiled, accepting the words as her due.

  How dare he question Elliot’s health? Nor did she care for his examination of her son, almost like he was matching physical features and coloring with his memories of Lawrence.

  What did he know? What he might suspect was an entirely different thing, however.

  Perhaps she should think of retiring to one of the other properties Lawrence had purchased with her father’s money. Surely the girls and Enid would be willing to quit London for a while.

  Lawrence had spent a goodly sum on a house in Cornwall. From what she’d heard of the region, the winds were fast and chilled. Although too close to the sea, at least they wouldn’t be subjected to the odor of London’s sewers.

  She would go and try to talk Enid into Cornwall, and while she was with her mother-in-law, she would bring up the subject of dismissing Paul Henderson.

  A few minutes later she put Elliot in his crib, bid the nursemaid to watch over him, and went in search of Enid.

  She found her in the library.

  “I’ll come back,” she said when she realized Enid was going over menu plans with Cook.

  “Nonsense,” Enid said, motioning to the other woman. “We’re done.”

  Cook stood, bobbed a little curtsy to both of them, and left the room, shutting the door behind her. Cook always smelled of bread and the scent was a pleasant one.

  “The price of beef is so dear today, we have to conserve where we can.”

  Virginia nodded, but her attention was on what she was about to say or perhaps how to say it. She eased into the chair in front of the desk.

  “We need to dismiss Paul Henderson,” she said, a little more bluntly than she intended.

  Enid settled back, her eyes on the papers in front of her. “Do we?”

  “Yes,” she said firmly. “We do. He does not act appropriately with either Ellice or Eudora. Nor does he seem to do anything except watch people.”

  She smoothed her hand over the curved edge of the mahogany desk. How long had it been in the Traylor family? Was it, too, another possession that must pass from heir to heir?

  “I know he reminds you of Lawrence,” she said.

  “Don’t be foolish.”

  Startled, she glanced at Enid. Her mother-in-law stared back at her, eyes steady. Her lips were clamped together, plumping her face in an unattractive way, until she bore a striking resemblance to an angry bulldog.

  “He knows about your trip to Scotland,” Enid said. “He’s intimated Elliot is not Lawrence’s child. I’ve kept him on because if I don’t, he’ll go to Jeremy.”

  Virginia clenched her hands together. “Oh.”

  “Indeed.”

  Beyond the door were normal sounds. Ellice laughed. Eudora said something to one of the maids, who answered with a lilting voice.

  “What are we going to do?” she asked, all thoughts of Cornwall pushed to the back of her mind.

  Enid picked up the pen in front of her, studied it, then let it slide from her fingers.

  “What can we do?”

  When she didn’t answer, Enid continued. “Employ him for the rest of his life or ours. Ensure he’s happy.”

  If she told Enid that Paul looked at her oddly, would Enid do anything about the situation?

  Her mother-in-law couldn’t dismiss him, for all their sakes. The minute she did, Paul would go to Jeremy. This elaborate ruse they’d concocted would come falling down.

  As she folded her hands tidily on her lap, a stanza from Sir Walter Scott came to mind:

  Oh what a tangled web we weave,

  When first we practice to deceive!

  She couldn’t help but think that Enid and Paul were spiders on either side of an elaborate web, while she was in the middle, trapped like a fly.

  Chapter 18

  Virginia knew something was wrong because of the silence. Eudora and Ellice were not chattering at each other. Ellice was not picking up her skirts and flying down the hall, violating at least three of her mother’s tenets. The maids weren’t congregating at the stairwell engaged in gossip.

  Even the day was quiet. The garden was perfectly still, without a gentle breeze.

  She found Enid in the doorway of her eldest daughter’s room. Her mother-in-law was pale, perspiration dotting her upper lip and forehead. Before she could ask what was wrong, Enid shut the bedroom door and leaned back against it.

  “Where is Elliot?” Enid asked, her voice quavering.

  “In the nursery. I’ve put him down for a nap. Mary’s watching him.”

  Enid nodded. “Good. Good.”

  “What is it, Enid?” she asked, taking a few steps back from the doorway.

  “You need to keep him on the third floor.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ve only seen it once before,” Enid said, “and I hope my memory is false. If not, my darling Eudora is very ill.”

  “Enid, what is it?” She pressed her fingers against the brooch at her neck. A gift from Enid, it contained a lock of Lawrence’s hair.

  “Smallpox.” Enid pressed a hand to her chest as if uttering the word had caused her heart to flutter.

  “I was never vaccinated,” Virginia said. Her hands were cold, panic stiffening her spine.

  “We were,” Enid said. “But somehow, my darling Eudora is still ill.”

  Virginia wanted to gather up her child right this moment, leave her belongings behind and simply race away from this house. They’d go to Cornwall, or America, or even Scotland. Somewhere safe, where the hint of disease couldn’t touch them.

  Was any place safe in the world?

  She grabbed her left wrist with her right hand, holding on so she didn’t fly to pieces.

  “Do not be around Elliot, Virginia,” Enid said, leaning her head back against the door. “Keep Mary and only Mary with him. She doesn’t mingle with the rest of the staff.”

  She nodded. “What if he becomes ill?” she asked, giving voice to her worst fear.

  “Then we’ll have to be as prayerful as we can, Virginia. Starting now, I think. Say a prayer for Eudora.”

  She turned away from Eudora’s bedroom, but not before she heard Enid’s softly spoken words. “And a prayer for the rest of us, too.”

  Virginia took the stairs to the nursery, her heart pounding so rapidly she thought she might faint. Standing at the door, she called out to Mary, but when the girl would have opened the nursery door, Virginia held onto the latch.

  “Do not open the door to anyone, Mary,” she said. “Not even me.”

  She was giving the care of her child over to another child, but she had no other choice.

  After she explained the situation to the young girl, she said, “Every day, Hannah will come and ask about Elliot.” She placed her hand flat against the door. “Tell her if you need anything. I’ll arrange for your meals to be placed on a table in the hallway.”

  They would have to get a wet nurse, a woman from outside the house. Someone safe, who could feed her son.

  Pressing her hand against her aching breasts, she gave Mary further instructions, all the while distracted by a growing fear.

  Maybe Enid was wrong. Maybe she’d been mistaken. A hope that lasted until the doctor attended Eudora.

  A week later he returned to the house to treat Enid, but not for smallpox.

  Eudora, lovely and talented Eudora, had died of pneumonia, and Enid was inconsolable. At her shocking and rapid death, Enid had simply collapsed in on herself, retreating to her bedroom much like Lawrence had, leaving instructions she was not to be disturbed.

  When a scullery maid died four days after that, her family took possession of the body, the transfer done at midnight at the rear of the town house. She was a sweet girl, with a gap-toothed smile and pleasant disposition.

  Virginia had been left the task of conveying their condolences to the parents. A difficult task when she could not seem to keep from crying herself. Grief over Eu
dora and fear for Elliot made her weep incessantly.

  After three more days she thought she might be as exempt from illness as Enid, Ellice, and the rest of the staff seemed to be. When they got word that Albert, too, had died, one mystery was solved: how they had been exposed to the disease in the first place. The majordomo’s family had been infected, and he’d unknowingly carried it to the town house.

  Every day, Hannah relayed news of Elliot’s health. Every day, she sat in her bedroom, afraid to be with the other people for fear she would either catch the disease or pass it on.

  One morning she awoke with an ache in her temples and a feeling of growing discomfort, like she was coming down with a cold. The small of her back hurt, reminding her of when she was laboring with Elliot.

  When the maid delivered her breakfast tea, she kept her outside.

  “Are you ill, your ladyship?” the girl asked, her voice fearful.

  Virginia was panicked as she stood on the other side of the door, leaning her forehead against the panel.

  “Yes,” she said, “I’m ill.”

  Would the maids refuse to serve her? In all honesty, she couldn’t blame them.

  She stared down at the palms of her hands. A painful rash had appeared there this morning and on the soles of her feet. Her mouth was sore, her tongue swollen, and the taste at the back of her throat was something she’d never experienced before, almost like she’d eaten something made of metal.

  Five minutes later Hannah entered her room.

  “You should leave,” she told her.

  Hannah only shook her head. “I’ll stay, your ladyship.”

  She was so grateful that tears sprang to her eyes. Above all, she didn’t want to be alone when she died.

  Hannah coaxed her back to bed and closed the draperies. She brought in several brown glass bottles, set them on the chest, and started unrolling long strips of material.

  “What are those?” Virginia asked. “They look like bandages.”

  “You’ll have some pustules in the worst of it,” Hannah said, matter-of-factly. “You’ll want to scratch at them, but if you do, you’ll scar.”

  “I’m not concerned about scarring.”