Kindred Spirits

by Allison Lane

  “It is not unusual to put children in the care of a governess.”

  “True, but there was no governess, no nurse, no companion. As near as I can tell, her entire staff consists of a housekeeper and butler, now well past seventy, and a couple of elderly maids. She has been incarcerated there ever since.”

  “For twelve years?”

  “Exactly. Barnett decided she was mad, so he made no attempt to train her or to bring her out, though she is nearly twenty-five. She accepted the verdict, though I do not.”

  Jack relaxed when Devall shuddered, for he knew the reaction was to Marianne’s treatment and not her mental state. He and Devall had faced a madman two years earlier, so Devall knew Jack could recognize insanity.

  “How did you meet if she is so isolated?” asked Devall.

  “There is a patch of forest between her park and mine. The boundaries are not marked, so I wandered onto her land one day. When I learned who she was, we became friends.” His tone closed the subject.

  “So why bring her here?”

  “Lord Barnett turned up yesterday, bound her, and locked her in an asylum. When I reached her, one of the guards was preparing to rape her. She needs a safe harbor until I determine Barnett’s purpose.”

  Devall’s fist clenched so tightly, his wineglass cracked. He set it aside, wrestling his fury under control. “She is welcome.”

  “So I thought. I am hoping that she knows enough that I will not have to leave her here while I investigate.”

  “That would be convenient, but you must have some suspicions.”

  Jack nodded. “Money is the most likely motive. She inherited an estate and fortune from her father. It is currently in trust, but will come to her outright in a few more days. Barnett tried to overturn the will twelve years ago, but failed. Now he has another chance to claim his brother’s wealth. He can lock her away, then have himself appointed administrator of her affairs.”

  Devall scowled, reviving the satanic look that had put off most of society before his marriage. “I cannot abide greed.”

  “I know. That’s another reason I brought her here.”

  “Are you sure she is sane? Some madmen can appear normal much of the time – Atwater did, as you recall.”

  “Marianne is no Atwater. I’ve spent hours in her company every day for a month.” He ignored the renewed gleam in Devall’s eyes. “Her initial problems were a natural reaction to the events in France. They abated along with her grief. Since then, she has suffered a recurrence only when Barnett’s secretary arrives to check on her. From her descriptions – and those of her housekeeper – I suspect Craven’s goal is seduction. Her fortune casts a powerful lure.”

  Devall’s face twisted into a more frightening scowl. “I have unfortunately met Barnett’s wife. She hails from the merchant class. Most people believe she trapped Barnett into marriage, seeking his title and wealth. She overspends every year and is described as an avaricious, unscrupulous matchmaker.”

  “Why?”

  “Too many people rank above a viscountess. She could acquire more status as mother of a duchess.”

  “Good God!”

  “Exactly. She has three daughters out and another at home. An astute lady might have tried to snare another viscount or an earl for the first, then worked upward.”

  “To where? A prince?”

  “We have enough of them. Fortunately, she is too stupid to hide her goals, so none have received offers – eligible gentlemen look at Lady Barnett, assume the daughters will emulate her, then run as fast as possible in the other direction. Even now the girls are sharp-tongued harridans with minimal looks and diminishing dowries – each year the figure wanes, which suggests that Barnett may be suffering financial woes.”

  “Making Marianne’s fortune even more enticing.” That explained Devall’s discourse on Lady Barnett.

  Devall nodded. “How large is it?”

  “I’ve no idea, but a neighbor claims that Marianne’s father had fifty thousand when he died – plus the estate. Halworth is larger than Seacliff and must produce at least as much income.”

  Devall whistled.

  “Richard Barnett had a golden touch for investing,” continued Jack. “He was a scholar whose only indulgence was books, so he rarely spent more than a portion of his income. The trustees have taken a more conservative approach, but again most of the income must be reinvested. Marianne cannot have spent a tithe of what the estate alone earns each year.”

  “I will dispatch my secretary to London to discover Barnett’s circumstances. Fitch has a knack for uncovering a man’s darkest secrets.”

  “Barnett is bound to petition the Chancery Court to become steward of her affairs now that a doctor will certify Marianne insane. We need to know his plans.”

  Devall nodded as a knock sounded on the door. “Enter,” he called.

  “She is stirring,” reported the housekeeper.

  With no more than a nod in Devall’s direction, Jack raced upstairs.

  Marianne was stirring, but not to consciousness. She thrashed wildly, fighting the quilt, her face twisted in terror.

  Nightmare.

  “Damnation,” muttered Jack as he locked the door behind him – if she started screaming, he did not want intruders.

  “Relax, sweetheart,” he murmured, carefully freeing the quilt so it did not bind her. “You’re safe now. I will protect you.”

  Her agitation grew worse. “Baisez la putain anglaise!” she mumbled.

  Jack gasped.

  “Save them, Jacques! Save them! No! Help! Baisez la putain anglaise! Baisez la putain anglaise! Baisezlaputainanglaise!” The words ran together into a scream.

  “Marianne, wake up!” Jack shook her, trying to keep his hands gentle even as he fought to break through her terror. The guard at the asylum may have triggered this dream, but the memories were far older. “Wake up, Marianne. It’s only a dream. You are safe.”

  Footsteps sounded in the hall.

  “Nightmare,” called Jack when Devall demanded to know what was going on. “Send everyone away.” He turned back to Marianne, who had lapsed into heartbreaking sobs. “Wake up, sweetheart. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

  Her eyes fluttered open, widening when they spotted him. She cringed into the bed.

  “It’s all right, Marianne. It’s only Jack. You are safe. I won’t hurt you.”

  “Jacques?”

  “That’s right. You’re safe now.” He released her shoulders so he was no longer touching her.

  “Jack.” Tears flooded down her cheeks. “What happened?”

  “You were having a nightmare.”

  She blinked several times, then focused beyond his shoulder, staring until her eyes showed a white ring around the gray. Scooting to the far edge of the bed, she huddled into a tiny ball. “Uncle— Where am I? What are you doing here?”

  “Relax. You are safe. I am the only one here, but I won’t touch you.”

  “Jack?” Her voice shook.

  “Right. I’m Jack. We need to talk, but you have to stay calm. Can you do that? I promise no one else can come in here.”

  She inhaled deeply several times, then nodded.

  “Mrs. Hastings came to me yesterday after Lord Barnett abducted you.”

  Shivers wracked her from head to toe, but she bit her lip and nodded.

  “Do you remember that?”

  Again she nodded. “He— He was in the hall when I returned home.” Her hand flew to her mouth, and he knew she was recalling their kiss.

  “I’ll apologize for kissing you, if you like. I’m not truly sorry for the kiss, but I would never have knowingly frightened you.”

  She nodded. “He— He said I had to see a d-doctor about my t-terrors. I tried to send him away, but he loomed over me, breathing in my face and g-grabbing at me like before. I c-couldn’t help it. I started screaming. Then I couldn’t stop. I tried to escape, but they were too strong. The hands—”

  “Shhh. Relax, Marianne.
It’s all right. Your reaction is perfectly normal. Mrs. Hastings described the scene. I would be suspicious of anyone who docilely followed his orders. Fighting back is the natural response of a sane mind. Believe me, I know. I’ve seen how a madman reacts.”

  “You have?”

  “I have. It was my duty to escort the fellow to Bedlam. He was docile as a lamb and no more aware of his surroundings than a stone. So do not regret fighting. It proves your sanity.” He nearly broke into tears as hope spread across her face.

  “I don’t recall much after that,” she said in a firmer voice. “They bound me and tossed me in Barnett’s carriage. The last thing I remember is vomiting all over him.”

  Her mind had ceased working, he decided, for she had not been unconscious. Too many people in too many places had heard her screams. But she didn’t need to know that.

  He would prefer to let her rebuild her composure before questioning her, but there was no time. All he could do was pray that her newfound hope and her inner core of strength would see them through the next hour.

  “Put it behind you, Marianne. There are other things we must discuss.” He kept his voice soothing. “I know you would rather wait, but time is too short. All right?”

  She nodded.

  “Good. We’ll start with what I know. Raise your hand if you need me to pause.”

  “That sounds ominous.”

  “It is. But the truth will make you stronger.”

  Again she nodded.

  “I was able to track Barnett’s carriage, but I was still two hours behind when I reached Dr. Carey’s asylum on Morden Heath.”

  “Not Carey’s!” Her face paled.

  “That’s where Barnett left you. What do you know of it?”

  “Very little, but stories when I was a child claimed it was filled with vicious beasts and blood-drinking ghouls who roam the heaths at night looking for victims.”

  “Exaggerations meant to frighten children, especially those who try to sneak out after dark.” That drew a hint of a smile. He tamped down a new surge of lust. “Its occupants are just people, but it is not a place I would leave anyone I cared about. They do not allow visitors, and I was not impressed with the staff.”

  “If they don’t allow visitors, how did you get in?”

  “I waited until the servants were asleep, then overpowered the night porter.” He paused, but she had to face it. “I found one of the attendants preparing to rape you.”

  “No! No, nonono…” The words merged into another scream.

  “Marianne! Stop this,” he said firmly, daring to grasp her hand. “He did not touch you. You are safe. Safe.”

  His words must have registered, for she quieted. “He failed, Marianne. You are fine.” He refused to consider whether the man was the first to attack her, or even if he might have visited her room earlier. If evidence surfaced later of such an attack, she would have to deal with it, but it was too soon.

  “I’m sorry. The terror appeared too suddenly.”

  “There is nothing to apologize for. You have been through a nerve-wracking experience. If we had more time, I would not push you so hard, but I have no choice.”

  “Thank you for saving me – again.” She inhaled deeply. “Tell me everything. I need to know that there is nothing else waiting to pounce.”

  “I suspect that they had given you laudanum to stop your screams. And they had tied you to the bed, both arms and legs.”

  She glanced at her wrists, still red from the ropes.

  “That is all I know about the asylum. You were there only a few hours – six at most. I might have recovered you sooner if I’d brought a magistrate with me, but I have no standing under the law. Without strong evidence of fraud, confiding in a magistrate could have done great harm. Since Barnett is your guardian, there is no question of abduction, no matter how brutal his methods. And I know nothing against Carey, who was merely conducting his business.”

  “Then what am I to do? Barnett can demand I return.”

  “First he has to find you. We will remain out of sight until I learn what is going on.”

  “Here? Is this your house?” She gestured at the room, which was pleasantly appointed in rosewood furniture, with green silk on the walls and gold velvet at the windows.

  “No. In tracing Barnett’s carriage, I left a trail that anyone could follow. Once Barnett discovers your escape – which could already have happened – he will go to Halworth. His next stop will be Seacliff. Knowing that, I brought you to the house of a friend – the Marquess of Blackthorn. You can trust him and his wife completely.”

  She flinched, but said nothing.

  “Is there anything else about yesterday that you need to know?” he asked.

  She shook her head.

  “Good. Time is very short, and I must learn everything possible about Barnett. I can think of only one reason for his actions – to assume control of your inheritance. Devall – the marquess – suspects that he is suffering from financial reverses.”

  “Do you mean he’s kept me hidden for twelve years because he wants my money?” She bolted upright in bed, eyes blazing.

  “I doubt it. That need might be recent, so don’t jump to conclusions.” He forced stillness over hands that longed to soothe her. “Blackthorn is sending his secretary to investigate Barnett’s affairs. Until we have facts, we cannot mount an adequate offensive. So tell me about him.”

  “I know very little,” she said, frowning. “Shocking, now that I think of it. I had never met him before you left me at Barnett Court, and didn’t see him until a month later when he returned from settling Papa’s affairs. I never would have recognized him, for he looks nothing like Papa.” She paused to inhale several times. “He escorted me to Halworth, but that journey remains a blur. I do recall that he was very angry, though having his household so badly interrupted might explain that.” She bit her lip before continuing. “He visited three or four times that first year, but spent only a few minutes in my company. Yesterday he said only that I must seek help.”

  “What did you know of him before?” he asked, appalled at Barnett’s aloofness. The man was her guardian! Yet he’d all but ignored her for more than a decade. Even if she were truly mad, such treatment was unconscionable. “Why did your father leave his estate to you instead of to his brother?”

  “They didn’t get along. He never said why, and beyond knowing that Papa’s brother was a viscount, we never discussed him.” She pursed her lips. “It might have had something to do with Lady Barnett, but that memory may be false – overheard servants’ gossip at best. At any rate, Papa expected Nigel to inherit one day. The trust would have contained only our dowries if Nigel—” She sobbed.

  “Nigel?”

  She sucked in a deep breath. “My brother. He and my sister Cecily died in France.”

  Jack set aside France for the moment. “Do you recall the provisions of your father’s will?”

  She nodded. “I overheard Papa and Mama talking about it – he revised it just before we left for France. Cecily and I were to get ten thousand guineas each as dowries. There was a generous allowance for Mama out of estate funds. The rest went to Nigel. Papa stipulated trusts for anyone under twenty-five. Our shares were to go to Nigel should we die while the trusts remained in force. If he died without an heir, we would share his inheritance. That’s how I wound up with everything.”

  “What if you had all died?”

  “I don’t know. I never actually saw the will. But Papa could not have hated Lord Barnett, for he was named co-guardian with Mama.”

  Jack nodded. Blood always counted in the end.

  Shaking off the reminder of his own blood, he returned to business. “To take charge of your affairs, Barnett must convince the Chancery Court that you are mad. And he must do it before the trust terminates.”

  “Why?”

  “To prevent you from squandering the funds. What you have to do is convince the court that you are sane.”

  “How
?” She sat up, scooting closer so she could lower her voice. Talking seemed to hurt, as if yesterday’s hysterics had sprained her throat. “What if he’s right, Jack? I cannot tolerate people.”

  “You have no problem with me,” he reminded her. “And your aversion has nothing to do with madness.” When she tried to protest, he put a finger over her lips. “We’ve discussed this before. Yesterday changes nothing. Your problem began as a natural reaction to grief and trauma, but it soon became a habit sustained by isolation. If you were truly incapable of tolerating people, you would have fallen into hysterics when you encountered me on the cliff that day – or any of the dozens of times we have met since then.”

  “But I know you would never hurt me.”

  “Exactly. The problem is not people, Marianne. The problem is trust, expectations, and confidence in yourself. To protect yourself from the few people who might harm you, you have turned all men into demons. By avoiding everyone, you eliminate the need to judge others – and thus prevent mistakes. But that does not really protect you, for those who are truly dangerous won’t wait for an invitation – Barnett, for example. And holding the world at bay eliminates the friendships that could sustain you in times of trouble.”

  Like you’ve been doing? demanded his conscience.

  But he ignored it. Dishonor was different. He couldn’t ask his friends to condone his infamy.

  Marianne was frowning. “That sounds easy when you say it, but it’s too late. Even if my fears are habit, they are too ingrained.”

  “Not at all.” He stretched his legs, feigning relaxation. “Anything that is learned can be unlearned.”

  “How?”

  Jack drew a deep breath, for if he was wrong, his demands might truly send her into madness. “The first step is to tell me what happened to your family.”

  “They died.”

  “Details, Marianne. You have to bring the memories out into the light of day. It is the only way to reduce their power.”

  “I can’t.” She was shaking.