by Rosanna Leo
»»•««
Because we all had rehearsal the next day, we went back to the inn after dinner. Lizzy headed to her room, and I made my way with Finn to his. Although conversation had flowed easily during dinner, mostly because Lizzy had filled in all the uncomfortable silences, we now fell into quiet mode again. I was nervous to try the sleeping pill, not having taken one before. Would mere medication be enough to fend off any Hugh’s attacks? I wasn’t sure.
Besides, a part of me didn’t consider them attacks at all. I still wanted to believe Hugh cared, as silly as it sounded.
We watched a bit of TV in Finn’s room, taking advantage of a Graham Norton marathon. We sat next to each other on the couch, his arm draped across the back behind me. Although the comedian told scads of jokes that would have made me double over at any other time, we just stared at the set in silence. I snuck the odd look at Finn, and had to wrestle with the urge to slide closer to him, to burrow under his arm.
He wouldn’t have objected. I knew it now. Even though he might no longer be in love with me, I knew the old attraction hadn’t fizzled. I felt it, and I certainly saw it in his tense gaze.
Even now, he looked like a general heading into battle. Frowning, his fists clenched. As distracted by our closeness as I was.
It would only take one kiss…
Even still, I resisted. As much as I was beginning to see this thing with Hugh was wrong, I felt like I was betraying him by staying in Finn’s room. As always, his presence seemed to linger, always watching and waiting. Making me doubt my senses.
I’d never felt more conflicted. It brewed in my stomach, a cauldron of seduction and deception.
Around eleven pm, we decided to hit the sack. Finn paced the room while I searched for my night clothes. He’d already retrieved his bottle of pills and waited for me to find my things. Once I grabbed a long T-shirt from my suitcase, he nodded at the bathroom door.
“You can use the washroom first.” He stood and opened the bottle, popping a pill into his hand. He gave it to me and made sure to show me the label. “The directions say one tablet is enough.”
“Okay. Thanks.” I grinned. “And you don’t have to be so diligent in showing me the label. I trust you. I know you won’t drug me and have your wicked way with me.”
“We never needed drugs for that.” His low voice made something thrum in my belly.
I knew if I stood before him any longer, I’d succumb to the same hunger that made me tumble into love with him years before. It was so easy with him, always so easy, but I had to be strong. Before I got into trouble, I disappeared into the bathroom and cleaned up for the night. I took off my clothes and slipped into the T-shirt. I then popped the pill and swallowed some water, praying I’d sleep through the night.
When I emerged from the bathroom, Finn was already undressed. I almost bit my tongue. Wearing only grey fitted boxers, his every muscle on display, he might have been a god. Trim and toned and beautiful. How I longed to dance my fingers over his pecs, only to slide them into his waistband and slide the boxers down his legs. Swallowing my lust, I put my day clothes away.
I expected him to retreat to the bathroom immediately, but I felt his gaze on me and turned back to him. He raked his gaze over my hair, my T-shirt, and my bare legs. Wearing no bra under my shirt, my nipples pebbled under his scrutiny. In spite of myself, I allowed my gaze to drop to his crotch. I shouldn’t have done it. The memory of his substantial erection would now be burned into my frontal lobe. I turned around, ashamed.
He cursed under his breath and stalked into the bathroom. Once I heard the tap running, I jumped into bed and covered myself with the sheet. “Dammit,” I muttered. “How did I ever agree to this?”
Every second that Finn remained in the bathroom, I grew more nervous for his reappearance in the bedroom. I wanted him. I couldn’t deny it.
But I also wanted Hugh.
The bathroom door opened and Finn walked over to the bed. As I blinked, I noticed his hard-on had calmed. Poor guy. He must have dowsed it with cold water. He sat next to me.
“Did you take the pill?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I’m sure you’ll sleep well. I’ll wake you in the morning in case you’re still dozing when my alarm goes off.”
“Thanks, Finn.”
He ran a hand over my hair and his fingers grazed my ear, tickling my lobe. I swallowed hard. He knew I was a sucker for having my ears touched. He knew it, dammit. What sort of game was he playing?
“Have a good night, Lark.” He leaned over, kissed me on the forehead, and walked over to the couch.
He lay on the sofa, trying to get comfortable on a piece of furniture that was way too small to contain his long body. After trying several positions, he finally gave up and let his feet dangle off the edges. He turned out the light on the table next to the couch.
“Good night, Finn.”
He made a noise, a grunt of what sounded like contentment. I lay still for several minutes, not knowing if either of us would have the balls to admit our feelings. However, it wasn’t the night for those sorts of admissions. I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep, wondering if Hugh would come through.
As my eyes began to close, Finn cleared his throat and I opened them again.
“Renata, I can’t stop thinking about how your parents died.”
“Don’t.”
“You have to talk to me.”
The familiar stranglehold gripped my heart. “Another time, okay? I really just want to sleep.”
He paused. “Okay, Lark. Sleep well.”
I closed my eyes, unable to mumble a response.
Chapter Eight
I slept. All night long. No dreams. No dead sons of baronets or dead sopranos.
No Hugh.
I awoke refreshed, happy, and much less guilty than I expected to feel. When I’d popped that pill, I’d felt a little like I’d disconnected my cable to Hugh. As much as his violent kind of love alarmed me, I did desire him. I was curious about him.
But at the end of the day, he was dead and I, alive. I wanted it to stay that way.
Finn had flashed a smile of triumph upon wakening, his hair mussed and his eyes crinkly. Rubbing his neck from his night on the couch, I experienced a barrage of emotion. Some of it gratitude, but most of it a wild hankering to share the bed with him.
Despite my inner conflict, I went about my day with a smile on my face. My solos were still a bit rough but I tried not to let it get me down. After all, the voice was an instrument that wavered under stress. I couldn’t expect it to bounce back over night.
To be safe, I took another of Finn’s pills the next night.
“Just to get you over the hump,” he said.
I nodded and swallowed the pill, feeling Hugh’s stranglehold ease just a bit. When Finn and I holed up for the night, I felt my head droop sometime after ten o’clock. I don’t even remember struggling to my bed. Finn must have put me there because I awoke the next morning, disoriented and in the previous day’s clothes. My tongue felt thick and fuzzy, but no dreams plagued me.
My relief might have been palpable.
One more night and my equilibrium returned. Finn and I agreed a few Hugh-free nights in a row would do the trick. Sure enough, the color returned to my face. I didn’t have trouble breathing at night and at rehearsal, I sang better than I had for a couple of days. For the first time in a while, I began to feel like my namesake, Lark.
Even still, I couldn’t help wondering about Hugh. Had he really gone, or was he just hiding? After a few untroubled nights, it was tempting to believe I’d made the whole thing up.
My confidence restored, I decided to wander through Dawlish Manor one afternoon while Finn rehearsed with the chorus members. He released the soloists for about an hour and I welcomed the opportunity to stretch my legs.
My self-guided tour took me to the lower levels of the manor, an area I hadn’t yet seen. In this section of the house, I discovered the old kitche
ns and the laundry room. Each of these areas was set up as they would have been during the Regency area. Someone had even made up the kitchen tables with plastic renditions of some of the sumptuous dishes people like Hugh would have eaten.
As I walked through these rooms, I couldn't help but pity the servants who would have worked to keep this huge house spotless. Maids would have scrubbed their pots and pans here, and lugged pails of heated water to the upper floors. I could never have survived doing such work myself. As I maneuvered around the coal stove and large basins, I imagined the spirits of young scullery maids, their faces pale from working in the bowels of the house, their hands raw from their hard chores.
Would Hugh have ever come downstairs, or would he have restricted himself to the main floors? At the far end of the kitchen, I spotted a curved wooden staircase, much narrower than any other in the house and clearly meant for servants. The floorboards were dented and grooved from use. Did Hugh ever slip down these stairs to seduce the chambermaids? Wasn’t that what men of his stature did? Had he walked the same boards as me?
People worked, played, lived, and loved in the manor. Perhaps it was no wonder its ghosts sought communion with the living. A million dreams were dreamed under these carved ceilings. Hugh had dreams, too. Had they simply ceased after death?
The floorboards creaked behind me. I turned. Margaret stood there, her face a mask of polite civility, but concern hiding in the depths of her eyes.
“Renata. I had hoped I’d see you sooner.” She stepped toward me. “Did you finish reading the journals?”
“I’m afraid not. I’ve been busy with rehearsals.” I’d left the booklet in the room I’d shared with Lizzy. I didn’t have the heart to tell Margaret that reading Hugh’s words just made me feel more connected to him, a connection I needed to sever. I made a mental note to retrieve the book and return it to her.
“And your dreams?”
“They’re gone, Margaret. Gone. I haven’t seen him for a few nights now. I think I’m…cured, so to speak.”
Her brows came together over her nose. “With all due respect, dear, I find it hard to believe. Has something changed?”
I told her about the sleeping pills, and about how I felt improved.
The furrows on her brow got deeper. “You’re fooling yourself if you think a pill will keep him away. If anything, it might increase his hold over you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Think of it. If you’ve had too much to drink, you can become susceptible. Uninhibited and open to suggestion. The same goes for drugs.”
“But he hasn’t appeared.”
“Because he hasn’t chosen to appear. Make no mistake. He won’t go into the night quite that easily.”
Okay, now I was getting frustrated. “So what do you propose I do? So far you’ve scared me, but with all your experience in the matter, you haven’t given me any advice on how to fight him. All you’ve told me is that it’s my fault.”
“It’s not your fault. And I wish I had the answers. It took me quite some time to put the pieces together.”
“And until all the pieces come together, what am I supposed to do?”
“Well, stop taking sleeping pills, first of all. As much as you feel he is in control of your dreams, you need to keep a clear head. You have a better chance of doing so without medication in your system.” She reached for my hand and squeezed it. “I’ve taken it upon myself to speak with some of the religious leaders in my community…”
“Margaret, I’m not religious.”
“No, but you said yourself you acknowledge intangibles. You recognize the existence of spirits, if not God.” She handed me a sheet of printed paper with several stanzas on it. “These are prayers to ward off an incubus.”
I skimmed the paragraphs and shook my head. “Away with you, Satan? May the Lord Jesus Christ rebuke you? I’m not comfortable with this.”
“Well, if you won’t read the prayers, continue to read his journal. Perhaps something there will resonate with you.” She squeezed my shoulder. “You may have invited him in, Renata, but he came because he recognized your vulnerabilities. He knows the chink in your armor. He understands your deepest fears. Do you?”
My deepest fears. I don’t think I’d ever analyzed those before. I don’t think I’d ever even acknowledged them. Was I willing to? The last time I faced my fears, they’d overpowered me. Was I really any stronger now than I was then?
She released my shoulder. “I’ll be in touch, dear. Please think about what I said.” She turned and marched down the hallway, her low heels clicking on the floor.
It was many minutes before I roused myself to follow.
»»•««
“She wants you to do what?”
“You heard me, Finn. She wants me to give up the sleeping pills.”
He gaped at me, bottle in hand, as we stood in his room at the inn that night. “But…but they help you sleep. You’ve been doing well.”
“I know.” I took a moment to explain Margaret’s reasoning. “She thinks I should keep a clear head.”
“Renata, a clear head is exactly what you didn’t have when you suffered from those dreams.” He looked at the ceiling, as if imploring the heavens for patience. “Look, I’m sure this woman means well, but she’s a complete stranger. She doesn’t know you like I do. Are you really going to accept her advice over mine?”
“That’s not what I’m doing. I’ve tried both options and I agree with her. I don’t want to have to hide in a bottle of pills the rest of my life, Finn.”
“You’re exaggerating. It’s a few tablets to get you over a hump.”
“For how long? We don’t know. And what if what Margaret said is true? What if it’s not really keeping him away? What if he’s just toying with me?”
He sighed and put the bottle down on the nearest table. He grabbed my arms and gave them an affectionate squeeze. “Sweetheart, I think it’s time we accept the truth. No one’s after you. There is no incubus and you are not being haunted by Hugh Dawlish.”
“What?”
“You’ve had a rough time and some bad nights. Somehow your nightmares have taken the shape of this man’s face, but it’s not real.”
My eyes stung at his betrayal but I choked back the tears as they threatened. “You said you believed me.”
“I didn’t actually say it,” he whispered. “I believe you are having dreams, yes, but the rest of it…”
“What about my bruises and marks? How did I get those then?”
“I can’t explain it. However, I do know when we’re frightened, we can convince ourselves of almost anything.”
I retreated from him, pulling away from his touch. “You think I’m a lunatic, that I made it all up. I told you about what happened to me after my parents were killed, and now you think I’m insane. That I’ve fabricated everything.”
“That’s not what I’m saying…”
“That’s exactly what you’re saying, Finn!” I lowered my voice when I saw the shattered expression on his face. “Of all the people in the world, I would have expected you to support me.”
“I want to support you.” He ran a hand through his hand. “Goddammit, Renata. Can’t you see? I want to do so much more than that. But you’re asking me to believe in demons and ghosts and…God only knows what else. What’s next? Do we plan an exorcism? Shall I call a priest?”
“You’re making fun of me.”
“I’m not, Lark. Really, I’m not. I want to help you, love.”
I backed away, right to the door, my throat thick and sore. I will not cry. I will not cry. “With all due respect, Finn, I stopped being your love a long time ago. And not once in eight years did you ever reach out to rectify the situation.” I whipped open the door. “Oh, by the way. You can have your bed back.”
Before I weakened, I ran from the room and back to my former room. Luckily, Lizzy wasn’t in. Probably shagging the drummer again. It was a wonder he had any energy to bang the real drum
s during rehearsal.
I threw myself down on the bed, crossed my legs, and picked at the coverlet. Designed in beige and pink tones, it couldn’t hold a candle to the gold-accented blankets on Hugh’s bed. Serviceable, yes. Lush and exquisite? No.
As I glanced around the room, I noticed the journal, sitting on the bedside table. The more I stared at it, the more it seemed to taunt me. Read me, it seemed to whisper. I’ll make you feel good. Hugh will make you feel good. Lose yourself in his world.
Whether he was an incubus or not, a ghost or not, one thing was certain. Lost in my dreams, I did feel good with Hugh’s arms around me. And right now, Heaven help me, I wanted to feel it again.
Just for a little while.
»»•««
June 7, 1820
I don’t recall ever being as nervous as I was as I awaited Miss Sebastiano’s arrival at Dawlish Manor. She was to join us for dinner and after serenade us with a song or two. My unfortunate manservant Hemmings bore the brunt of my nerves, as I fidgeted with my cravat and condemned his choices of attire for me. Nothing seemed good enough. Nothing looked right.
As I contemplated my reflection in the glass, I inspected every lock of hair and rued every imagined speck on my clothing. This woman had unwittingly destroyed my confidence. I might have been a foolish youth, fresh from the schoolroom, preparing for his first ball.
Content as I would ever be with my attire, I descended to the main floor, careening down the main staircase, nearly splitting open my skull in the process. I hastened to the drawing room for a sip of brandy to calm my nerves.
I discovered my father there, reclining on a settee, an empty brandy snifter ready to fall from his relaxed fingers. He sneered at me, raising his glass in a mock toast. In all my recollections of father, if he wasn’t drunk, he was hitting me, or someone else. Disgusted, I poured myself a drink and quickly emptied my glass.
It wasn’t long before the first guests were announced. I waited with baited breath, eager for Claudia’s arrival. I was forced to wait some time and compelled to make conversation where I wanted none.
