Nerissa’s voice brought him back to the moment, and he tore his eyes from Lady Alyse, and continued with the story.
“I stood there, just inside the door, and he gloated at me, about me now being the helpless one, about the fact that he intended to hurt Lady Alyse in front of me, because I care for her, so that would hurt me, and then intending to do physical damage to me, as the final part of his revenge. I had no doubt, at that point, that he intended to kill us both, slowly and painfully.” Nerissa gasped in horror. “He told me to stand where I was, and not move, or he would hurt her more. So I waited, and when he moved about the room, choosing what terrible instrument of torture he would next use, I chose my moment. When he was some distance from her, I flung her journal, which I had picked up at the door, as hard as I could, at his head.”
“And it hit him, very solidly, on the side of the temple. Never have I been so glad to see a book of mine mistreated.”
“I took the opportunity that gave me to grab up two of the pokers, and leap at him. He, in turn, shook off the effects of the blow, and rounded on me, with a long rusty knife in hand. We fought, and truly, I do not remember much of it. He was strong, in that way that madmen are, where they care nothing for themselves, only for achieving their aim. I knew that, if I let the fight continue for too long, he would wear me down. So I conceived a plan to get the advantage.”
“And very successfully. I sat there, unable to move, my hand hurting from the damage already inflicted, and the sharp spikes pricking at my skin, praying as I watched. Lord Tillingford’s actions were heroic, and I was amazed at his skill, holding off the man with only improvised weapons, but I could see that the madman’s size and strength were a problem. Then, without warning, Lord Tillingford flung one of the pokers, which he was using as swords, right at the madman’s head. The man was close to the wall of the room, and his flinch away crashed his head into the wall, causing him to drop the knife he held, as the poker hit him.”
“When I threw the poker, I was beside the table full of knives, so I snatched up a stiletto dagger, and threw myself upon him, holding it to his throat, before he had recovered from the blow. He stilled when the rusty blade cut his skin, and I took the chance to apply my fist to his head with enough force to snap his head back into the wall again, and fell him. Between my cravat, and the rope he had used on Lady Alyse, there was enough to bind him securely, and I left him lying with nothing too close to him, which he might later abrade the rope upon.”
“Cleverly done! But how did you release Lady Alyse’s hand from the device?”
Nerissa’s eyes glowed with curiosity. Now came the part where his explanations would begin, where the truth of his monstrous nature would be laid out before them. He took a rather large swallow of the tea which had been sitting on the table beside him, and went on.
“Somehow, he knew exactly how to open the device, without hurting me.”
The pressure of everyone’s eyes was a heavy thing, as they waited for him to explain.
“I mentioned France before. I have never spoken of it, but… my role, in our team during the war, was that of interrogator. It was my job to convince the French spies and soldiers that we captured to tell us what they knew of the French army’s plans, so that we might gain the advantage, and prevent our forces from being caught in any traps. And so that we might find other infiltrators amongst us, and remove them.”
“And by doing so, he can be said to have saved many thousands of British lives.”
“Thank you, Hunter, I pray that is true, for I never saw the impact of what I did, directly. But to the point in question – I knew how to open that device, because I had seen one like it before – I had seen many things like the items in that room in the cellars before. The ‘interrogation kit’ which I inherited from the previous interrogator for the regiment, contained many such items. I did my best not to use such things, to obtain information more by creating fear, than directly by pain.”
Hunter watched him, the light of understanding dawning in his eyes. Gerry wondered what reaction might follow the understanding. Part of him simply wished to disappear, another part awaited Hunter’s next words with hope, no matter how foolish such hope might be.
“But sometimes, you did use such things, when there was no other way. And to be able to do that, you had to learn the purpose and operation of all of them, even if, in the end, you were never to use them.” Gerry nodded. “And ever since, you blame yourself for using them, for not finding another way to cause those enemies of our country to break their silence, and give us the information we needed.”
“Yes, exactly. What kind of man am I, that I could visit such brutality upon another man? In the end, is that not worse than what that man had done, by being an enemy? I do not know. But this man – his name is Cunningham, although I do not know what name he may be going by now – this man was one who took some application of such tools – not much, but still… he was British, but had been seduced to the French cause, had turned traitor, and it took strong persuasion to convince him to turn back to us, including the offer of a pardon if he did. But… a man who had turned twice – we could not leave him free while the war still raged, so he was sent back here, and held in Newgate until the war ended, at which point he was pardoned and released, as had been promised.”
“Then why is he so bent on revenge? I do not understand.”
“Because, my Lady, those well above myself, and Hunter, chose not to mention that little condition of ‘not until the war is over’ when a pardon was offered. So he considered that a betrayal.”
“I see. That makes some sense of his ravings, but still – there was more, something about his family, about everything having been taken away from him.”
“I do not know – to understand that, we will have to ask the man himself, and see if sense can be gained from him. And I do not want to be the one asking him those questions. Let the magistrate do so, and welcome to it. I may never be able to undo what I have done, no matter how necessary it seemed at the time, may never be able to forget their faces, or forget what it taught me about myself. I may be a monster at the core, but I can, at least, refuse to allow myself to ever do such things again.”
~~~~~
Alyse stared at Lord Tillingford, absorbing the words he had just uttered. He believed himself a monster? Because he had done the job assigned to him, during the war? A job which had saved many more lives than it had damaged? It seemed remarkable to her that he could see it that way. Was this why he had so often been distant, been cold to her? If that was the case, then suddenly, it all made sense. But… was there any truth to his belief?
Had the madman been right, when he had suggested that, during the war, Lord Tillingford had ‘enjoyed his work’? That thought terrified her. She could not believe that of the man she knew, the man who had just spoken so strongly of regret and uncertainty. But… what if some element of it was true? She would need to think about this deeply. For now, she could, at least, speak of what she saw, when she looked at him.
“I… I struggle to see you as anything like a monster, Lord Tillingford. A hero, after your actions today, most definitely. But a monster? No. I respect your courage, in doing what had to be done, during the war – many men did things they would never have done by choice, but which needed to be done.”
“I must agree with Lady Alyse – whilst the very idea of what you were required to do horrifies me, it does so as much for your sake, as for the unfortunates who were subject to interrogation. I cannot see that your actions make you anything other than a loyal soldier.”
Nerissa’s words were firm, and her expression kind.
“I also agree – you have my eternal gratitude for being able to do what you did, and I do not see that it reflects in any way into your life, now – beyond this unfortunate madman’s crusade for revenge. I believe that we should go and see the man, as soon as the magistrate arrives, and hear his story. I would like to better understand what happened to him, after he was
shipped back to England, which created this insanity.”
Hunter looked to Lord Tillingford, who swallowed, visibly gathering his thoughts.
“I do not look forward to it, but I believe that we must.”
“I, however, wish never to see him again, if that is possible. The scars on my hand will remind me always. So I believe that I will stay here, while you deal with that. Although I would like to know, afterwards, what you discover.”
In the end, Nerissa stayed with Alyse, and the others went with the magistrate, who had just arrived, to deal with the man.
As Alyse sat, sipping tea, she went over, in her mind, the things that Lord Tillingford had said. He had said, quite clearly, she realised, ‘because I care for her’ when speaking of the madman’s intent to hurt her, to hurt him. Turning that over in her mind, a glow of warmth filled her. He had not said ‘because he believed I cared for her’, which would have implied that the madman was mistaken. No, he had simply said ‘because I care for her’. Was it true? Did he care for her, truly? She clung to the hope that the words gave her, even whilst the niggling doubt that his other words had caused remained.
Before the others returned, she had dropped into exhausted sleep, right there on the couch.
~~~~~
When the men returned, Nerissa gestured for them to be quiet, pointing to where Lady Alyse lay, asleep. Without discussion, barely without thought, Gerry simply stepped forward, and lifted her gently into his arms. She curled against him, and sighed, all without waking. Nerissa smiled, and stood, leading the way upstairs to Lady Alyse’s room, and opening the door so that he might deposit her on her bed.
Only once he had released her from his arms did any thought of the impropriety of it enter Gerry’s mind, and he quickly looked to Hunter, embarrassed. Hunter simply smiled, and waved for him to leave the room. They retired to the library, and much needed brandy, without a word said. For Gerry, the world had become impossible to comprehend. He had spoken of it all, admitted the worst, and none of them had rejected him outright.
He did not, he discovered, know how to deal with that fact.
Over the next few days, the world settled back into a sense of balance. Cunningham was shipped off to prison again, and would likely never be released, and Gerry moved through his days in a daze.
Soon, everything that needed to be done, for the farms and the gardens (at least until spring) had been done, and Hunter spoke of returning to Meltonbrook Chase. Lady Alyse had recovered from her ordeal, somewhat, but seemed reticent to speak to him, and subdued, simply sitting and reading, rather than drawing, although her sketch journal was never far from her hand. He did not know how to speak to her, beyond the basic courtesies – he could not bear to mention the cellars, or to touch on the dramatic events. For the first time, he found conversation impossible – when she had always been a person he could converse with.
Her eyes would meet his, and they were full of confusion, or pain, and sometimes something more – but no words seemed possible between them. He drew back, unwilling to intrude on her, and resorted to the isolation and coldness that he knew so well. Hunter watched both of them, he knew, and seemed annoyed for some reason – but, as usual, said nothing. When they departed, it was almost a relief, he was ashamed to admit.
~~~~~
Back at Meltonbrook Chase, Alyse found her thoughts trapped in a cycle of uncertainty, with Lord Tillingford never far from her mind. She drew obsessively, and ignored everything else, to her mother’s despair.
Chapter Fourteen
At Tillingford Castle, the days passed slowly, the world seeming dreary and grey to Gerry. With the last of the work done to prepare the gardens and the farms for winter, there was nothing for him to distract himself with. After weeks with others in the house, he discovered that he was lonely, more conscious of the emptiness around him than ever before. And his thoughts never strayed far from Lady Alyse, and the dramatic events in the cellars.
He could not go past the fact that his actions during the war, his ability to take on the monstrous role that he had, were what had brought into being the situation which had put Lady Alyse at such risk. Whilst she had not said so, he was sure that she must blame him – and rightly so – and that her reticence after those terrible events was due to that. Any sensible woman would feel the same, and step back from contact with a man such as he. He should stop thinking about her. Should step back from any association, and simply allow their separate lives to move forward. But his mind refused to obey that intent.
For he had discovered, in that cellar, that his feelings for her went far beyond the care of a friend. He had no right to hope for love, and was a fool to allow himself to feel it, yet he did. And he had not been able to remove that feeling, no matter how he tried.
Christmas approached, and the prospect was empty of cheer. He could not face going to his parents and siblings – for, though they would welcome him, they would want to poke into his life, to attempt to make him be as they wished, rather than as he wished for himself. And, worst of all, they would attempt to matchmake, inviting an endless stream of the daughters and sisters of their friends, all good young women, who would be delighted to marry a title. The thought made him queasy. It was not that he disliked the women – it was, he was forced to acknowledge, that none of them compared to Lady Alyse, who had become, somehow, the standard by which he judged all women.
So his Christmas would, perforce, be spent alone at Tillingford Castle. The dreams still haunted his rest, more confused than ever. Now, at times, he relived the scene in the cellar – sometimes as it had happened, sometimes, most horribly, where he had hurt, rather than helped her, where the monster had risen in him, and nothing else had mattered. From those dreams, he woke in a tangle of bedclothes, soaked in sour sweat, and with a pounding headache.
After a particularly bad night, he rose from his bed, rang for Briggs, and allowed the valet to shave him and dress him without complaint – no matter how he felt, it was best to present to the world as a gentleman. The remnants of the dream stayed with him, souring the day.
He broke his fast, eating slowly, thinking about the dreams, and all that had happened. It still seemed incomprehensible to him, that when he had spoken of his actions in France, no-one present had turned away, no-one had rejected him. How could they see it differently? And yet he thought that their reactions and words were honest – they were people he trusted above all others. Did that mean that he, himself, saw things differently from others?
He realised, as he started blankly at the coffeepot before him, that the dreams were what kept it so real for him. His memories could not fade, for they were reinforced in horrific detail most nights. But… the dreams often showed him things that had not happened, things that were extreme versions of what might have happened, if he had chosen to act differently. Could it be that his view of everything had become distorted, as a result?
How could he find the truth of it? The torture chamber in the cellars came instantly to his mind, and he flinched away from the thought. He considered his reaction. It was just a room, full of old, if unpleasant things, as Lady Alyse had said. So – why could he not bear the thought of going there?
The only possible conclusion, was that he was being a coward.
He sat with that thought, his coffee cooling and his food already cold on the plate, forgotten. He had never been a coward – sensibly cautious, yes, but a true coward, no. So why now? It was time to change things – he could not let dreams and fears rule his life forever. If Lady Alyse could walk into such a room, and not flee, he should be able to do the same.
Admittedly, she had done so before the madman had taken her there, but still… he turned to where the footman stood quietly to one side.
“Mills.”
“Yes, my Lord?”
“Bring me two lanterns.”
“Yes, my Lord.”
He would do this, before he could reconsider, now, whilst the thoughts were fresh in his mind.
&nbs
p; ~~~~~
Every step he took down into the cellars was a reminder of what had happened, and yet… the cellars were empty, quiet, even his footfalls absorbed by the dust, the only sign of recent movement the patches of floor where the dust had been disturbed. There was an odd peace to it.
With some apprehension, he pushed open the ancient iron bound door, the creak of its hinges loud in the silence. The lantern light barely reached the far corners of the room. Quickly, he fully unshuttered both lanterns, allowing as much light as possible into the room, then placed the lanterns at opposite ends of the space. He stood in the middle, and allowed himself to look, truly look, at everything that surrounded him.
The things around him were many centuries old, from an era far harsher than this. Never, in everything that he had done to interrogate the enemies of Britain, had he used such cruel and destructive tools.
Some had been available to him, true, but he had always stayed with the least cruel options he had. The age of these things was a reminder that men have always been cruel to their fellow men, when faced with a need to defend what is dear to them. What he had done was, by comparison to what some nameless man had done, in this very room, centuries before, far less cruel – and far less cruel than what the madman had intended to do to Lady Alyse.
Knowing that did not make him regret, any less, what he had needed to do in the war, but it did allow him to see it with a new perspective. He could have been, so easily, far worse a monster than he was. Could he, ever, he wondered, forgive himself? After all, whilst his actions had, in part, created the madman, they had also given him the knowledge to save Lady Alyse from terrible harm when she was trapped.
The dusty remnants of past brutality lay around him, silent witness to the madness that men could perpetrate, but also, witness to how futile such things were – all fell into dust in the end. The only thing that went on was life – through children, and what they were taught – perhaps, one day, men would no longer teach each other how to do terrible things. He was not sure why, but his burden of guilt felt lightened by the understanding he had reached.
Loving the Bitter Baron: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 11) Page 12
