The Countess

by Catherine Coulter

  “I gave you the drug one other time, watching it just slide down your throat and lock you deeper inside yourself. Finally, you’re getting weaker, just lying here all the time, not moving. Can you even hear me? I wonder. No one really knows. This last drink will send you away, forever, and about time I say.”

  I was afraid. Miss Crislock was speaking madness to me. She wanted me dead? She wanted to kill me? She loved Lawrence? I felt her hands on me. No, no, I must be dreaming, a nightmare, no more than a hideous nightmare. I frowned, wanting desperately to wake up. And then I did. I opened my eyes and looked up into Miss Crislock’s face.

  She had a small glass in her hand filled with a milky-looking liquid.

  My mouth didn’t want to work, but I knew that I said aloud, “Milly? Why? What are you doing to me? You have always loved me. Why?”

  She laughed, but it wasn’t the sort of laugh anyone would ever want to hear. It was an ugly laugh, a demented laugh, one filled with hatred. I realized that I was the object of that hatred.

  “So you heard everything, did you? I’m killing you, you miserable whelp. Lawrence failed, but I won’t. Jameson killed your mother, and I will have to kill him, but you must die first. That will distract everyone, and then I can get rid of him. When your eyes simply remain closed, no one will know what happened to you, just that you faded away, died. The doctor will have nothing at all to say. Nothing will happen to me. No one will ever suspect me. But I will know, and I will smile because I killed you.

  “You thought Lawrence was the old woman who appeared in here with that knife, but it wasn’t. I played that role. I wanted to scare you into madness, but you have no sensitivity in you, you are hard and tough, too much of this practical earth. Yes, I hoped you would simply fall into hysteria, but I should have known better. You are not your mother’s daughter. Lawrence thought it would make you frantic. I hoped it would, but I wasn’t as sure as he was. He didn’t know you, and so he didn’t listen to my concerns. Just look where it got him. It got him murdered by your damned lover, you little bitch.”

  She grabbed my head and jerked me up. I saw that glass coming closer. I had no strength. “No,” I whispered, “no.”

  “You killed my dearest Lawrence. You deserve to die.”

  “He was evil,” I said. “Evil.”

  “Oh, no, he was a man betrayed, both by Caroline and by your wretched father. He was a good man, a man who would have married me once you were buried deep in the frozen ground. I came to know him very well when he came to London. I did not want him to marry you, but he convinced me it was necessary. He told me he loved me, only me, and you were only a pawn, for him to gain his vengeance.

  “I loved him, do you hear? I would have wedded him. But not now. Now I have nothing. As you fall back asleep this time, think of your father and how he will soon join you. He is weaker than you. He will be with you quickly. I believe I will kill him on Christmas Day. What do you think about that? Ah, and then there is John. Will I kill him? I haven’t made up my mind yet.”

  “No, Milly. You mustn’t kill John. He has done nothing wrong. Oh, please, no, don’t hurt my father.”

  “He is pitiful in his weaknesses,” she said, hovering over me, too close now, that glass nearly to my mouth. “Here, now, let’s end this.

  I felt such helpless fear, I was choking on it. Then I heard a man’s sharp voice.

  “Miss Crislock, let me take this.” It was John. He grasped her wrist and pulled the glass from her hand. I saw him hand it to Peter, who stood directly behind him. Then he looked down at me. “Welcome back, Andy.”

  “You’re here. Why are you here?”

  “I wondered about the old woman. I wondered even more why you didn’t wake up. Peter and I discussed it, decided we would wait in here, just to see if anyone came in. When Miss Crislock entered, we nearly welcomed her, but Peter held me back and we waited and listened to her. She is mad, Andy, her hatred has twisted her. But it’s over now, all over, and you’re back with me again, thank God.”

  Suddenly Miss Crislock screamed, a curdling scream that sounded like a demon just released through the gates of hell. She was striking out at both John and Peter, yelling, kicking, her hands flying. I saw Peter pull back his arm and strike her in the jaw with his fist. She collapsed. He simply let her fall to the floor.

  George was out from under the covers, wuffing until John, laughing, picked him up. “Just look at your mistress, George. She’s finally looking at me again. You know what I think? I think it will be quite some time before she once again believes she can best me, either with her wit or with her fists. What do you think?”

  George wuffed.

  I was so happy, but there were no more words in me. There didn’t seem to be anything. I tried to smile at my beloved cousin Peter, and at the most precious man in the world to me, the man who had brought me from the darkness into blessed light, into freedom, but I felt that blankness drawing at me. I wanted to cry out against it, but I only managed to say, “I am so very sorry. It seems I’m not quite ready to come back.”

  “No, no, don’t leave me again, Andy.”

  But I knew I had no choice. Everything just went away from me again, I couldn’t stop it, and I sighed and closed my eyes.

  I heard Peter say, “I will get Dr. Boulder. He is with her father.”

  John said slowly, “No, she doesn’t need him. She will be all right. Look, she’s breathing easily. I think she’s just asleep.” And I felt him kiss my mouth, and say, “I must rub some cream on her lips. They’re dry.”

  And I laughed to myself. When, sometime later, I heard his beloved voice again, I knew my mouth was very soft now.

  I opened my eyes. This time I kept them open.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Deerfield Hall

  Three Months Later

  He came to me at Deerfield Hall in early March. It was still cold, more snow swirling on the horizon, ready to blanket the moors, and the Yorkshire winds howled at night.

  I saw him standing in the doorway, his hair windblown, wearing riding clothes, and he looked healthy and brown and very big. Too young and strong, I thought, and smiled at him.

  “It is time,” he said, striding toward me.

  And so it was.

  Peter gave me away, and our local vicar married us. It was a quiet ceremony, with only our families in attendance and many of our people from both Deerfield Hall and Devbridge Manor.

  It was a lovely time, that day. So much merriment and drinking a delicious champagne punch that Peter made himself. And everyone laughed and smiled and wished us well. My little sister even snagged a glass of champagne, thanks to Amelia.

  We remained at Deerfield Hall that first night of our married lives.

  I will never forget John’s first words to me when he walked into my bedchamber to see me lying in the bed wearing a white nightgown with its ribbons tied under my chin, and George clutched to my chest. I was staring at his bare feet, knowing that he didn’t have a stitch of clothing on beneath that nice blue velvet dressing gown he was wearing belted at his waist.

  He stopped six feet from the bed and said, “I swear to you that I will always love you. You are my wife and will soon be my lover, and together we will share everything there is for a man and a woman to share together. I pray we will have children, an equal number of each, I hope.

  “I will never betray you. Now, George, come here to me. She doesn’t need your protection.”

  And George bounded off the end of the bed and jumped up so John could pick him up.

  I was scared, though, I couldn’t help it, but John knew what I was feeling, and between very light kisses, he said into my mouth, “In no more than three minutes from now, you will want to sing you will feel so very nice and then you will laugh, and perhaps even yell. I am going to give you pleasure, Andy, and you are going to enjoy yourself immensely. Do you trust me?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I trust you.” I believe I sang an army ditty within two minutes, not
three. And when, at last, he came into me, I tensed a moment at the pain, then wept at the wondrous pleasure.

  I did yell. As I recall, so did he.

  One Month Later

  Venice, Italy

  Palazzo Dolfin Manin

  John held me close, rocking me, as was his habit. I loved to be held by him. I also loved Venice, the dark rich feel of it, the romantic smiling gondoliers who came by each day to sing up to me and wave.

  It was April, the weather so sublime even the locals could talk of little else, other than their endless rounds of parties, balls, masquerades, their gambling, their newest lovers, of course.

  It was thankfully too early for the ripe summer smells that could send a man to his knees, John told me. I looked up at that incredible blue cloud-strewn sky, and wondered if it ever rained here, if it was ever damp and cold and miserable. Did they ever have a wind that was so strong it would nearly rip your hair from your head?

  Not now, in April, they didn’t. It was Venice, and I felt its magic to the depths of my soul. The sounds of the gently lapping water of the Grand Canal against the ancient pilings below us soothed me to my very bones. George liked the sounds, too. He snored more loudly when he napped on the balcony and could hear the water.

  It was perhaps a half hour before sunset, the most vivid time of day, when the sun shone gold on the water, and grew so large as it neared the horizon that it seemed to swallow the earth. I stared as the water glistened off that brilliant dying sun, spreading dazzling sharp points of white everywhere. A magic hand had strewn diamonds over the water. I heard a gondolier singing to the dying sun, and I wanted to weep with the wonder of it.

  I stretched in my husband’s arms, and he dropped a kiss on my forehead. George sat on a cushion beside us, sleeping, his ugly little head resting on his paws.

  “We have been here for two weeks now,” John said, and kissed my left ear.

  “Yes, and the weather is so perfect, so absolutely, impossibly perfect, that I find myself pining for a nice stiff wind off the moors at home.”

  “When I was a young man, just arrived here, I decided that I wanted to come to Venice with my bride. And because I am a man who can manage just about anything, here we are, my bride and I, all cozied up in Venice. What is this? Are you bored with me already?”

  His hand lightly cupped my breast. I leaned into him, wanting to feel his hand, his fingers, the warmth it sent all the way to my belly.

  “Perhaps in fifty or so years,” I said, and leaned forward to kiss his neck.

  “I received a letter from your father today. All goes well with him. He feels fine now, and his diamond-cutting business continues to prosper despite his absence. He will visit us in June. Miss Crislock is being kept in a house near Leeds run by this woman Dr. Boulder knows. He said that she and her staff care for the insane. They are not maltreated. She is fine, Andy.”

  I nodded, not liking to even think about the woman I had regarded as my second mother. I lightly rubbed my palm over his chest, feeling the slow steady beat of his heart. The feel of him, so different from me. It was still a wonder to me. “I never thought a man could be so precious,” I said, and kissed his heart through his jacket.

  He laughed, I felt the rumble of it. “Does this mean that you are thinking spiritual thoughts about me?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Ah, then you want to have your way with me?”

  “I rather like that thick carpet in front of the fireplace.”

  I thought he would swallow his tongue. I had changed so much, and it still occasionally floored him. Of course he was himself responsible for all the changes, and it pleased him enormously.

  “Actually,” he said, “I do, too. We’re alone, and George isn’t snoring for the moment.”

  “It’s a miracle.”

  He laughed and hugged me close. “I will hear your laughter every day of my life. It is a wonderful thing. Now, there is another party for us this evening. The Contessa di Marco. Are you yet tired of all the fetes and soirées and balls?”

  I shook my head against his shoulder. “I wish to wear that beautiful turquoise silk gown you selected for me. There is something else, too, John. I don’t want to leave Venice until we finally see a bit of rain, perhaps a bit of wind, perhaps feel a chill to our bones.”

  “Then we might be here until next November.”

  George wuffed, and John added, “He nearly fell into the canal the other day, trying to search out the perfect bush. There wasn’t much of a selection for him.”

  John leaned down and kissed me, not a light, friendly kiss this time, but one that was deep and made me hungry, so very hungry for him. I felt his hand slip inside my gown, touch me, make me want to howl with the glorious pleasure of it. I whispered into his mouth, “I think I would like to throw you down on the carpet, my lord, right now.”

  “I pray you will never lessen your demands, Andy. Never.” He laughed as he rose, carried me in his arms back into our bedchamber, George on our heels, wuffing with every step, his tail high, wagging.

  Epilogue

  One Year Later

  Devbridge Manor

  Yorkshire, England

  My husband and my dog became proud fathers within a week of each other. On the day after Easter, Miss Bennington, a Scottish terrier so cute that it was hard to stop squeezing her whenever she came near enough for you to grab her, delivered five small balls of fur in the immense basket that sat near the fireplace in our large suite. George stood watch the entire time, occasionally yelping right along with Miss Bennington as she struggled to birth yet another pup. When it was all over, I swear that Miss Bennington looked fit to kill poor George for his part in the matter.

  “I fear there is a lesson in this,” I said to John, and I wasn’t wrong about that, more’s the pity. Not even six days later, I was felled by the most ghastly pain I could have ever imagined. John, like George, stayed with me. I remember telling him if he left me, I would have George relieve himself on all of his new cravats that I had made him for his birthday. I cursed him, but it was paltry because I kept having to repeat myself—but I was loud.

  I had nearly shouted myself hoarse when Jarrod Franklin Lyndhurst finally decided to make his entrance into the world. I heard him howl when Dr. Boulder smacked his small buttocks. I heard John’s voice, so pleased he sounded ready to explode with the wonder of it all. He kissed me and thanked me for his son. “I’m the one who did all the work,” I whispered. “Thus, he is my son.” His kisses and his laughter washed over me, and I smiled even as I fell into a deep sleep.

  All in all, holding my tiny son the next day, I decided it hadn’t been all that bad. I was perpetuating a lie, Mrs. Redbreast told me sadly, shaking her head. Yes, she said, all the little mites that were our sons and daughters would make us forget, and then we would do it again. Now, there was something to consider.

  My father was here at Devbridge Manor on one of his long visits. It moved me unbearably to see him holding his grandson. When he called Judith in to see her nephew, she smiled at the baby, but immediately came to me.

  “You are all right, Andy?”

  “I am perfect,” I said.

  “I heard you, it was awful.”

  “Yes, but it’s over now, and we have Jarrod. What do you think, Judith? Does he look like me or like John?”

  “He looks just like his grandfather,” my father called out. “Come here, sweetheart, and behold your papa when he was just a babe.”

  And Judith laughed, at ease now with her father. We had told her no lies, hadn’t shaded the truth for Judith. No, she wanted to know everything, and so we told her. She was very quiet for a very long time. Finally, she walked up to her father, looked up at him thoughtfully and said, “You cannot be all bad, sir. You are also Andy’s father, and she turned into a very fine sister to me.”

  And they progressed from that very strange beginning.

  As for Thomas and Amelia, they had spent Easter with us as well, but had l
eft the day before Jarrod decided it was time to present himself to his proud parents. The previous spring they had moved to Sussex, to Danvers Grange, the home of Amelia’s parents, Lord and Lady Waverleigh. Thomas had taken over the management of the estate so that Lord Waverleigh could travel to Jamaica. Lady Waverleigh said he had become enthralled with voodoo and wanted to study it up close. She just shook her head, smiled at her very handsome, very distracted husband, and said she didn’t mind. She was ready to have her bones heated, and she heard that the sun was so bright in the West Indies that she would surely get her wish.

  Shortly thereafter, I once more went to Caroline’s music room. I walked to the center of the room and just stood there. I walked to the window and looked out at my husband speaking to his valet Boynton. I heard the door close. I didn’t turn. Then I heard something behind me, but it didn’t frighten me, not in the least. I slowly turned, but naturally there was nothing there, at least nothing I could see. I felt a deep, consuming weariness. And suddenly there was great warmth, as if someone had lit a fire and it had caught very quickly. I was tired and warm, and I eased myself down on the floor. I felt the warmth flow through me. I felt an immense sense of peace, and then I fell asleep.

  When John, his face white, leaned over me, I just smiled up at him and said, “Caroline is fine now. Everything is all right.”

  There was no menace now in the Black Chamber. Lawrence had been the evil, and he was dead. I had the small room painted white the following day, laid a lush white carpet on the floor, and white curtains at the single window. Judith liked to come to that room. She furnished it with a lovely Louis XV desk and small settee. She set her mother’s harp in the corner. A pianoforte soon joined it. She announced, that the White Chamber was now her music room. Caroline, I thought, you would be so proud of her.