by Wylde, Anya
A brief smile touched his lips. He led her to the chair and gently pushed her back into the seat. “I was thrown out of Oxford—” he began.
“I know,” she interrupted, “the duke told us.”
“He did?”
“Yes, when you were asleep this afternoon.”
“Did he tell you anything else?”
“You were shipwrecked, kidnapped—”
“No, about my family?”
“Your brother was meant to be the heir, but his Spanish bride insulted the king. Your father is not fond of you—”
“What about my mother? Did he say anything about my mother?”
“Mother? No.”
“I knew it.” he exclaimed.
Was it relief or pain in his voice? She couldn’t make it out, for he had moved into the shadows away from the candle light.
“My mother,” he said unhappily,” died when I was but a young lad.”
“How young?”
“How old is Dorothy?”
“Thirteen.”
“Yes, that sounds about right. I was around her age when she died.”
“How did she die?”
“I am telling a story here. Have the courtesy to let me tell it my way. Do not interrupt,” he said irritably. “Now, my mother was happiness, love and joy bundled up together in a neat little round package. We loved her. All of us loved her. Each one of us loved her. In fact, even her lady’s maid loved her. One day I overheard a footman cooing in the chambermaid’s naked ear about a circus that had come to town. I had never been to a circus and being a young, sane boy I naturally wanted to go to this circus. However, my father refused outright.”
Celine clucked sympathetically.
“My father had refused, but my mother, my brave mother who everyone loved, decided to take us all by herself … By us, I mean my brother and I,” he clarified. “She took our tiny hands and walked into the circus tent. And that was the last time that she walked,” he told her sadly, “for the circus had a snake charmer and the snake charmer was a very bad snake charmer. He didn’t know how to charm snakes, and that is why one of the poisonous creatures escaped and bit my mother. I still remember its black sinewy body moving towards her, baring its teeth and sinking its fangs deep into her flesh. I screamed and my brother swooned—”
“You said she took your tiny hands and led you into the tent. But before that you said that you were as old as Dorothy when your mother died. You must have had large hands by then. I know my neighbour’s son is thirteen and his hands are fairly large—”
“I was a small child,” he said through gritted teeth.
Celine blushed, “I am sorry. I didn’t mean to question you. Losing your mother at such a young age must have been tragic. Is that why you refuse to return … because her memory haunts you?”
He shook his head, “No, because soon after her death my father married again and brought home a woman as kind as my mother had been. She was a wonderful stepmother. We loved her. Everyone loved her. In fact, even her lady’s maid loved her. My wounds were healed.”
“And then?”
“She died.”
Celine gasped, “How?”
He took a deep breath, “One balmy day, I found my stepmother swinging on a tree branch. You see, her wits had unhinged and raced away never to be found again. It was a tall tree and the branch fairly high. She was swinging, singing and searching. She said she had lost her monkey up the tree and she was trying to coax it down with a song.”
“She must have been a wonderful singer,” she said in a hushed voice.
“My stepmother was an awful singer, but that never stopped her,” he sighed. “She was full of life, singing and swinging on that tree branch, her wits wandering in some whimsical land. I will always remember her like that. It was just before she fell and broke her neck.”
“Good lord, no!”
“Yes, well, that was not the end. My father did not give up.”
“Bless him.”
“He went and procured a third bride.”
“Did you all love her as well?”
“No, because the day she got married she disappeared.”
“Oh my. Did she also die?”
“No, but her wits did ferment. She went loony on the wedding morning, and my father learned the truth only on the wedding night.”
“And then she died?”
“Can I tell the tale?”
“Sorry, continue.”
“Are you sure? ”
“Yes, please.”
“Right, my father told us she was dead.”
“That’s—”
“And then,” he spoke over her, “one day I was sleeping in my bedroom. It was a warm summer night and I was sixteen years old. I had kept my windows and room door open to encourage the reluctant breeze. I was in the half asleep, half awake state where you are exhausted and yet so warm that you can barely sleep. My eyes would open and close …”
“And then?”
“I heard it.”
“What?”
“The pitter patter, pitter patter of tiny feet walking on my room’s cold stone floor. I squeezed my eyes shut, my breath froze and my whole being stilled to hear the next sound. The pitter patter stopped, but someone was in the room with me. I could feel it in the air around me. My fears were confirmed when I heard something pant. Something was panting in my room, some creature, and then came the pitter patter again. Pitter patter, pant pant, pitter patter, pant pant. I sucked in a breath and steeled myself and opened one eye. One single eye. My lashes lifted up and I dared to look. The moon light streaked in through the windows and what I saw—”
“You saw?” Celine asked breathlessly.
“I saw blood dripping from a dagger held in a thin white hand. The other hand held a burning candle, its hot wax dripping onto her fingers. The owner of these hands wore a torn dress, her long matted hair hanging over her shoulders. And with her was a large hound, a vicious looking creature with a frothing mouth and large wild red eyes. And then… and then the clock went tick tock, tick tock …”
“Tick tock, tick tock,” Celine breathed.
“Yes,” he whispered, “it went tick tock, tick tock in the house somewhere. The feet of the dog went pitter patter, pitter patter. Tick tock. Pitter patter. Tick tock, pitter patter. And that was when I screamed and my father came rushing in, and I realised that the woman standing with a bloodied knife and a mad dog was no other than my third stepmother who my father kept locked in the attic. She wanted to murder me.”
He whirled around and looked Celine in the eye, “She wants to murder me, Celine, and I cannot blame her, for she does not know her mind. It seems my presence aggravates her, which is why she has tried to kill me twice already. How can you ask me to return knowing that my very own stepmother wants to kill me? I don’t want to die. I am too young. It would be tragic if I died. Think, Celine, not about my young life being snuffed out but of all those feminine hearts that would break at the news. You have to help those beautiful young women who want me to live. Help for the sake of your kind. Do something for your country women, my dear. You have to save my life.”
A small silence ensued while Celine digested this story. After a while she said, “I am so sorry. Your life sounds incredible. The tragedies … I am surprised you can even smile. Looking at you no one would think you have had such a hard life.”
“I hide the pain well,” he said modestly.
“But I can’t help you. The duke will never listen to me.”
“Celine,” he pleaded, “won’t you try?”
“You can stay at an inn. Or a friend’s house? You must have friends. What about taking a cottage in the country until Lord Adair returns?”
“Nowhere else is safe. The Duke of Blackthorne is one of the most powerful men in England, and no one would dare trifle with him. Besides, no one even knows he is in England. They think he is in the country with his wife and Blackthorne is lying empty. It is exactly what I need.”
“Your stepmother is in your father’s house. In his attic. Locked up. How will she discover you at an inn in London?”
He glared at her. “You ask too many questions. If you want the letter back in your hands and not someone else’s, then find a way that lets me stay here or …”
“Are you blackmailing me?”
“You are not leaving me with any other choice. You won’t do it out of kindness knowing I have a mad stepmother and a rabid dog out to get me.”
She stared at him in shock.
“You have until ten o' clock tomorrow to convince the duke.”
“How can you?” she asked, her heart thundering. Her situation suddenly became clear to her and she was terrified. If he spread the word, she would be ruined.
“You leave me with no other choice,” he repeated.
He avoided her eyes as he walked out of the library.
She stared after him in abject horror.
Chapter 8
The sun rose above the horizon and amazingly the clouds over England parted to let the rays through. The birds lifted their beaks up to the sky chirping a greeting, the cows mooed, horses cantered and the dogs barked in pleasure. It was a wonderful morning, but for Celine everything seemed tinted in shades of grey.
She had spent the night wishing all sorts of painful things upon Lord Elmer’s handsome head and wondering how to coax the duchess into letting him stay. All those hours of thinking had resulted in only one thing, and that was a headache and no solution.
Now she sat trying to find answers in a tepid cup of tea with occasional glances across the breakfast table at Penelope. She slathered a piece of toast with dark red jam and then proceeded to stab the centre of it with a butter knife. Repeatedly. It was hard to behave like a lady with puffy eyes, no sleep and an overwhelming desire to pummel every inch of the guest in the house.
“Air them out,” Penelope commented.
“Eh?” Celine asked.
“Your views, ideas … your thoughts. You should always air them out. Give them an opportunity to run around the room a bit or they get musty.”
“I see,” Celine frowned.
“I see that you don’t see. What I mean to say, my dear, is that something is troubling you and I would like to know what it is. Now out with it.”
Celine bit into an egg and chewed.
Penelope watched her chew.
“Nothing is worrying me,” Celine finally said.
“Then why are you eating an egg?”
“Because I am hungry.”
“You hate eggs and never eat them unless you are upset. And when you are upset all you do is eat eggs. Father is the same, except with him it is rabbits and mushrooms.”
Celine pushed her plate away, “Penny, don’t you think we should ask Lord Elmer to stay with us until Lord Adair returns?”
Penelope put the spoon down and looked at Celine. “Why?”
“You said you were bored and he is entertaining.”
Penelope sighed, “It is very sweet of you to think of my amusement, Celine, but Charles will never agree. Lord Elmer is not exactly a kitten that I can beg to keep so I can tickle him under the chin when I please.”
A few moments of silence ensued while Celine spooned the porridge and plopped it back into the bowl.
Penelope buttered the toast and delicately sniffed it. She waited for a minute and then ate it.
“I think you should ask him to stay,” Celine repeated. She was feeling particularly dense that morning.
Penelope picked up the tea cup, sniffed it, clapped her hand to her mouth and rushed out of the room.
Celine ordered the serving maid to remove all traces of tea.
Penelope sailed back into the room. “Why are you so keen on having him stay?”
“I haven’t spent much time with you because I am busy running the household as well as taking care of Dorothy. And I know how dull you have been feeling lately with nothing to do and nowhere to go. A new face around the house will improve your mood, and Lord Elmer will make excellent company. You seem to like him,” Celine finished, pleased with how convincing her argument sounded.
“I do like him. Whatever Charles may say, he seems to be such a nice, likeable young man. But would it be proper?”
“He is the duke’s second cousin. He is family,” Celine reminded her.
Penelope carefully nudged away the jam pot and searched Celine’s face. “Have you taken a fancy to him?”
An automatic denial rose to her lips, but Celine bit it back down.
Penelope took Celine’s silence as assent. She immediately brightened and cooed, “My dear sister, you do like him. This is wonderful. This is exactly what I needed to restore my mental equilibrium. It was awfully good of you to go and fall in love with Lord Elmer,” she said rubbing her hands together, “It will give me something to do. A man to help catch, a wedding to plot … Oh, I can barely contain my excitement.”
“I am not in love,” Celine feebly protested. She wasn’t sure if she should protest, and yet she thought she should, but perhaps not too much … Confused, she frowned, “Truly, Penny, I don’t … I mean … well ….”
“Oh, look at you blushing and stuttering like a dim witted virgin. It’s sweet,” Penelope smiled.
Celine had not turned red but green. She had a feeling things were getting a little out of hand. “You are mistaken—”
“Oh, this is splendid,” Penelope said, clapping her hands and completely ignoring Celine’s protests.
“What is splendid?” Lord Elmer asked, entering the breakfast room.
Penelope shot Celine a wink. “Why, Lord Elmer, the fact that the duke has agreed to let you stay here at the mansion for as long as you like.”
Celine’s mouth dropped open. Penelope had just lied. She had lied without remorse and with complete confidence. The duke had done no such thing. She eyed her sister with renewed respect.
“Thank you, I would love to accept your kind invitation,” Lord Elmer said ladling four boiled eggs onto his plate.
Penelope beamed at Lord Elmer and Celine in motherly affection.
“Penny,” Celine hissed in her ear, “you have not asked the duke. What if he refuses?”
“He won’t dare,” she retorted with a militant look in her eye.
Celine released Penelope’s sleeve. The duke was an intelligent man. Penelope was right. He would never dare. Now the only worry was getting the letter back. What if Lord Elmer decided to hold on to it until the next time he needed something from her?
Her troubled thoughts received a brief respite at the sight of Lady Bathsheba, Penelope’s pet goat, prancing into the room. She bounded into the room wearing a flowery bonnet, and a pink ribbon was tied to her tail.
“This is Lady Bathsheba and this, Lady Bathsheba, is Lord Elmer,” Penelope introduced.
Lord Elmer politely bowed to the goat and offered it a bit of his apple.
Penelope was charmed. “You chose well,” she whispered to Celine.
Celine forced her lips to lift at the corners.
“Your mother loves animals as well doesn’t she, Lord Elmer?” Penelope asked, scratching Lady Bathsheba’s glossy back. “I remember meeting her at Lady Davenport’s ball.”
“You must be mistaken,” Celine said uncomfortably. Since Penelope had become pregnant, she had also become forgetful. How painful for poor Lord Elmer to hear her sister speak about his dead mother.
Penelope shook her head adamantly, “I am not mistaken. I clearly recall meeting Lady Elmer. I am certain of it, for she had a charming little pug with her, and I could never forget a face that has dared to bring a living animal into Lady Davenport’s home. I fondly recall how Lady Davenport had a silent fit, her mouth contorting in the most fascinating ways as she watched Lady Elmer feed the choicest bits to the pug off the refreshment table. What was the little dog’s name? Oh yes, Mr Smith. It was a gentle little thing. I fed it a bit of biscuit and he licked my fingers clean. Lord Elmer, am I rig
ht? Doesn’t your mother have a pug called Mr Smith?”
“Penny, his mother has been dead for years. He has a horrible stepmother who has lost her mind and a snarling, drooling giant dog,” Celine whispered urgently.
“Nonsense, Celine. Lord Elmer, is your mother dead? Has your father married again?”
Lord Elmer pushed his plate away. He avoided their eyes as he said, “I wonder where the duke is?”
“He is in his study,” Celine said through clenched teeth, “but before you go let me ask you again, Lord Elmer, do you have a stepmother?”
“It is a lovely day,” Lord Elmer said standing up. “I would love to spend some time with you, your grace, but I just recalled that I have not informed my valet Nithercott that we are staying. If you will excuse me.” And without waiting to be excused, Lord Elmer disappeared from the room.
“Celine, you can’t whisper such ridiculous things to me. He must have heard you. Saying his mother is dead and all that nonsense. Truly, Celine, I did not expect this of you.” Penelope admonished. “Now you have hurt his feelings. Go and apologise.”
“But—”
“No buts. Go.”
Celine stabbed the sausage a few times before abandoning it and going in search of Lord Elmer.
How could he tell her all those outlandish stories? Telling her his mother was mad, locked in an attic with a large rabid dog when, in fact, she was a sweet old thing with a little dog … She stopped and a reluctant smile tugged at her.
She giggled.
The story that had seemed only too plausible in candlelight seemed preposterous in broad daylight. It was partly her fault for being so gullible and believing him. Sensing a slight softening in her stance she firmly reminded herself that Lord Elmer still had the letter. She had to find him.
She found him in the library.
“You lied,” she accused.
“I was desperate, Celine. I have to stay here. I was trying to gain your sympathy. You see the truth is that—”
“I don’t want to hear any more lies. Just give me the letter.”
“I am sorry,” he whispered, hanging his head in remorse. He peeked at her hopefully, his blue eyes shimmering and begging for forgiveness.
