She drew a handkerchief from the pocket of her silk day dress and dabbed at both eyes to stop the tears. “Your mother adored you, Charles. Angela conceived almost immediately after marrying your father, and she had a very difficult time with you. In fact, at six months along, she nearly miscarried. It was in early 1855, shortly after Twelfth Night. I’d been staying at Rose House during Christmastide, but Abigail and Robert hadn’t been able to leave Briarcliff due to heavy snow in the Highlands. They arrived on the tenth of January. We three sisters had gathered together to celebrate the promise of a new generation. Angela, Abigail, and I. Both my sisters were expecting, you see, though Abigail had only confirmed it a few weeks earlier. Four months apart. That’s what you and Paul are. Four months. It was the excitement that did it, you see. Angela was so very happy to see our sister, that she ran to meet Abby and tripped, striking her head against the base of a flower pedestal. Angela was unconscious for nearly an hour, and the doctors feared she’d miscarry. As a precaution, Dr. Jensen confined your mother to bed for the remainder of the pregnancy. It all turned out well, though, and when you were born—after many hours of labour, I might add—my dear, you were perfect.”
She took a deep breath, touching his hand. “Most babies are born crying, but not you, Charles. They delivered you, and you very calmly looked up at the doctor and midwives in all seriousness, eyes wide, as if to ask the time of day. Your serene expression caused us all to gasp. You weighed nearly ten pounds, and I remember you measured just under twenty-three inches—destined to be quite tall, so the doctor said. You had a perfectly shaped head, beautiful skin, and those remarkable eyes! Even then, their blue had a most unusual tone. I’ve never seen their equal in any other person.”
She stopped, noticing a large white owl sitting outside the window. To her surprise, the bird had blue eyes.
“I must need my eyes tested,” she muttered, wiping her face. “Anyway, you have charmed all the ladies since that first breath, my dear. After Patricia’s death, James wrote to me and mentioned that he thought he may have found you. I assumed he was mistaken, for how could we even imagine that the boy we’d thought long dead had come back to us? I didn’t meet you when Beth’s mother was laid to rest, else I’d have recognised you then, but when I saw you for the first time last month, I knew immediately. Those eyes! What is it Beth calls them? Sea blue? She’s right. They look like the sea in the south of France. Just at the shoreline, it takes on a shimmer of turquoise mixed with cobalt blue. I thank God for sparing you, my dear! It’s why I must believe he will bring you through this, as well. My only worry is that you’ll awaken to discover Beth isn’t yet here.”
His hand twitched in hers, and she wished she’d said nothing. “Perhaps, you can hear me. Then, hear this, my darling nephew. Beth is well and waiting for us to bring her home. I know it! Now, your only job is to recover. She mustn’t return to find you sleeping. She must see those eyes, my dear. Her handsome Captain’s sea blue eyes.”
The stalwart peeress bent to kiss his stubbled cheek, and a tear dropped onto his shirt. “I love you, Charles Robert. My beautiful Charley Bob. Get well now, and open those remarkable eyes.”
She left the chamber, and Sinclair’s head moved slightly, his hands clenching. His breathing quickened, for in his dreams, a very strange conversation was taking place.
Chapter Seven
“You are my daughter?” Sinclair asked the child. “Forgive me, but I find that rather confusing.”
“Is it?” the girl asked. “One day it will all make sense, I imagine. This may be one of my dreams, actually. I often have vivid dreams like this—about this place, I mean—but I’ve never encountered you before, Father. Not until now. You used to tell me that a day would come when I’d lead you through a very dark place. I suppose that day is today. Don’t worry, darling Father. Follow me, and we’ll find our way together.”
“And your mother?” he asked as he took her small hand.
“I’ve not seen her. Only you.” Her dark eyes widened. “Is this when Mother was missing?”
“I suppose that is one way to describe it,” he replied cautiously. “You know about that?”
She stopped and looked at him. Charles observed the calm expression, the soft contours of her heart-shaped face and the posture of her petite body, and it struck him very hard how this child was a perfect copy of Elizabeth when he’d first met her in 1879. The girl who claimed to be his daughter possessed the duchess’s nose, chin, brows, ears, and mouth. Even her laughter and voice sounded so much like Beth’s that it brought him great comfort, though it also made him weep.
“You’re sad,” she said plainly. “I hardly ever see you sad, Father. Only a few times, and even then, you usually try to keep me from seeing it. Why are you sad today? Have I said something wrong?”
He wiped his face and knelt beside her, searching for a way to explain the impossible situation to a child. “No, darling. If I seem sad, it’s because I’ve been so very alone, and quite honestly frightened. Yet, seeing you gives me great hope. You’re so very much like your mother.”
She giggled and kissed the tears from his cheeks. “I wish I had a penny for every time you’ve told me that, Father. It must be a thousand or more by now. What day is this?” she asked him. “Did you and Mother just marry?”
“Yes, we did. Why do you ask?”
“Then, I know all about this. You’ve told me the story many times. I’m sure this is why I’ve dreamt of this world so often. So that I could help you. Come now, my darling Father. Keep to this path. A few more steps, and then we’ll pass through another gate,” she instructed him as they neared a dense thicket of yew trees. “Stay close to me. There are traps all along this section. The trees can move, and those that aren’t asleep can be quite cross.”
He followed alongside her, pondering the implications of her statements. “Darling, may I ask a few questions?”
“Of course. I’d expect nothing less from someone like you.”
“Someone like I?”
“You’re head of the most important intelligence gathering organisation in Europe. You advise the prime minister daily, and you visit the queen almost as often. I don’t think anything in government is ever settled before you offer an opinion. Everyone says the Duke of Haimsbury is the most influential man in all the realm.”
“I see,” he answered, still wondering if he dreamt. “Wait. Did you just say Duke of Haimsbury?”
She stopped, her dark eyes growing thoughtful, and she bit her lower lip. “Oh, dear. If this is your wedding day, then I may have misspoken. You made me promise never to reveal future events to you.”
“Not even this one?” he asked.
Her expression reminded him of Beth’s whenever she felt torn betwixt two decisions. “I’m not sure, but as I’ve already said it, I suppose the harm is done. The queen raised you to a duke long ago, even before I was born.”
“Did she?” he asked, laughing, for the notion struck Sinclair as altogether improbable. “Why on earth would she elevate me from marquess to a duke?”
“I cannot say, for there are many secrets in our family, but it may have been when the queen asked you to join the Privy Council. Oh, wait,” she sighed, “that is another secret. Perhaps, we should just forge on ahead rather than talk.”
Deciding to leave off interrogation for the moment, Charles asked a less probing question. “What year is it—for you, I mean?”
“1899, of course. It will be 1900 soon, a brand new century! Tomorrow is Christmas Day, and we shall take our trip.”
“Where do we plan to celebrate?” he asked as she led him around a gnarled and rather angry looking yew. The tree’s branches quivered, and a pair of knots widened, the scaly bark stretching like wooden eyelids.
“You there!” the girl shouted, facing the strange tree. “Do not stare at us! We have permission to walk here, and if you continue to spy
on us, I shall poke out both your eyes!” Without another word, the small girl retrieved a long branch from the ground, and despite the fallen limb’s fierce objection (for it screamed rather like a peacock might), she waved it at the menacing yew. “Do not think I won’t do it! You know better, old man! Don’t you remember what happened the last time you defied me?”
The ocular knots blinked twice, and then the bark eyelids snapped shut. The spiral leaves rustled angrily, but the youngster waved the branch again. “Quiet! I’m trying to think!”
The tree fell silent, and the girl set the branch upon the ground. “That’s better. Now, I shall return this branch to you, but tell all your brothers to let us pass. This is my father, and I will not allow you to harm him! Do you understand me, old man?”
Charles gaped at his daughter. “It seems as though you inherited your mother’s temperament and bravery, Georgie.”
“So you’ve told me many times,” she answered proudly. “What did you ask me?”
“When?”
“Before that annoying tree started watching us. Was it about time?”
Sinclair found it difficult to maintain a clear head, but he seemed to recall asking her about the year. “Yes, I think so. It’s all rather strange here, and I’ll admit to some confusion. That gatekeeper creature claimed that time doesn’t exist here, but surely it still passes for you. I’d asked you what year it is, and you mentioned it was almost 1900.”
“That’s right. You asked where we intend to celebrate. That’s what it was. It’s a strange question for you to ask me, Father, for we celebrate the same way every year. First at Branham, and then we take your special train to Rose House. We arrived here three nights ago. Tomorrow we’ll travel to Great-Grandfather’s castle and then go to Briarcliff for the New Year. I always love celebrating holidays, but especially Christmastide. Doctor and Mrs. Emerson will join us with their children, and Della is bringing her new baby, and...”
“Wait,” he pleaded. “Emerson is married? And he has children? But Della is, as well, and has a baby?”
She stopped. “Oh, I’ve said far too much, haven’t I? You made me promise not to tell you things you didn’t already know, and I felt sure I could manage it. But surely you know that Della and her husband always share Christmas with us! And Uncle Paul as well. He’s been in New York for the past month, but he’s joining us at...”
“Uncle Paul?”
“Of course, we’ve always called him that. He acts more like your brother than a cousin, which is why we call him our uncle. It’s perfectly sensible, you know.”
“We?” he asked, blinking to clear his head. “You and others?”
She shook her head. “I rather doubt that I’m allowed to answer that. I’m sure you don’t know about that part, yet. You did make me promise, and though I’ve not been very good at complying, I must try, you know.”
“Well, then, you must do as I ask.”
The child grew thoughtful, and her dark eyes swept across his face as though trying to memorise his features.
“What?” the marquess asked. “Do you find something irregular about my face?”
“No,” the girl answered, smiling softly. “It’s just that I’ve never seen you like this. Not in a very long time. Your hair has no grey in it. I’d forgotten that it used to be completely black. And it’s much shorter than I remembered it.”
Charles laughed. “My hair is now long and grey? Is this new ducal title so very hard on me that I’ve completely fallen apart?”
“I should never have told you that,” she pouted. “You’ll most likely be cross, when I tell you about it today.”
“When you tell the future me, I assume. Perhaps, I shall simply tell you that I knew it all along, because you told me when I had short hair and no grey. How long?”
“What?”
“The hair. Do tell me that I’ve not let your Uncle Paul convince me to wear it at my shoulder! I wonder that your mother allows it, actually.”
She laughed, and he bent to offer her a kiss. “Uncle Paul’s hair is shorter than yours, if you must know. I’ve seen photographs and paintings of him with long hair, but that all changed when... No, I mustn’t say more. I’ve said far too much already.”
“Very well, Daughter, but may I ask when you were born?” he enquired as they continued along the gloomy path.
“1889, of course. On your birthday, in fact. We turn right at this next tree. One of those awful shadow spiders sits in it, and it will try to talk to you, but you mustn’t listen, Father. It is a shameless liar.”
“I shan’t listen,” he promised, looking up into the dense evergreen foliage of the gnarled yew. He perceived a set of red eyes within a nebulous, shifting shadow, but nothing more. However, a voice whispered into Sinclair’s mind, and it felt like a sharp knife entered, probing for weakness.
“It’s difficult to avoid hearing its voice,” he admitted. “And it’s decidedly uncomfortable.”
“Yes, I know, but the pain will stop in a moment. There’s a very large stone up here, Father. We go through it.”
“Through it?”
“Yes. The stone isn’t really there,” she told him. “Trust me, Father. I’ve spent years walking this land in dreams, and I know it quite well.”
He pulled at her hand gently, forcing her to stop. “You say your name is Georgianna?”
“Yes, of course it is, but you and mother call me Georgie,” she answered patiently.
“You’re how old now?”
“Ten. Well, Ten and a half, actually. You told me that I’d find it rather confusing when we finally met in this place, but I hadn’t realised how very confused you would be, Father.”
The back of his head ached, and Charles struggled to retain his link to reality, if indeed, such a thing existed for him now. “Darling, tell me the truth. Is your mother still alive?”
“Of course, she is! Why would you ask me such a very strange question?”
Though he suffered from shifting upheavals in his mind that caused memories to rise and fall, Charles had the distinct impression that Beth had been caught in a great fire, and that he’d failed to rescue her.
The girl reached up and touched his cheek, and that simple act caused the marquess to break down weeping.
“Don’t cry, my darling Father,” she told him. “I think I know why you’re so very worried. You and Mother have told me a little of the many troubles you suffered during the early years of your marriage, but all is happiness now. I wish I could tell you more, but you made me promise. Now, we must push on, Father. We’re nearly to the cottage. You’ll be all right once we get there. I promise.”
He wiped his face and decided to place all his trust in the remarkably bright child.
“You are so much like your mother,” he told her proudly. “And I’ll give you a penny for that once I see you again, my darling daughter. Now, lead the way.”
Georgianna Sinclair didn’t hesitate at the rock’s rough face, but walked straight into it, and the two of them passed through the massive stone, disappearing from view.
Chapter Eight
Istseleniye House – 23rd November, 11:03 pm
“She dreams,” the prince told the physician. “I can see it in her face. Note the eyelids, Doctor. How they dart back and forth. It is a sign of deep sleep and active dreams.”
Lord Salperton yawned as he removed the stethoscope from his ears. “Five days and still no change. I don’t understand it. She should be awake by now.”
“And her fever?”
“It ebbs and flows,” the Scotsman answered, “but her lungs have become congested. I believe she’s on the brink of pneumonia, Your Highness. Why on earth was this woman permitted to go out in unsuitable clothing on such a cold, snowy night?”
“It was unavoidable,” Romanov told him. “The alternative would have been far wors
e. Have you no remedy?”
“Not for the extended unconscious state, but I might have a therapy that would aid her lungs. The ingredients are back at Montmore. I’ll need to return there for an hour.”
“I’ll send Vasily to fetch the medicine. I prefer you remain here with the duchess.” Romanov said, his tone making it clear that it was an order, not a suggestion.
“Regardless, Your Highness, I must return to my clinic eventually. I’ve four patients to look after. My nurse may be proficient, but she expects me to make rounds periodically. Ordinarily, Dr. Simon would cover for me when I’m called upon to remain with a critical patient, but as you know, he is in America.”
“I appreciate that you’ve kept to your bargain and remained here,” Romanov answered, “but I beg you not to abandon the duchess! She is in desperate need of your ministrations.”
Henry stared. In the five days since arriving at the castle, he’d spent many hours in the strange prince’s presence, but he had never heard such anguish in the Russian’s voice. “You’re afraid for her.”
“I am terrified for her! You cannot imagine the struggles she’s enduring just now. Please, if you will remain here, I promise the effort will be rewarded.”
“I’m not interested in money, Your Highness.”
“I do not refer to material gain, Doctor, but to greater rewards.”
Sighing, the viscount conceded. “Very well. I might be able to arrange for a colleague to look in at Montmore.”
“I could arrange for someone to visit your patients.”
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