Come Midnight (18 page)

***

For Andrew's sake, they went through the motions of a normal day. Ever sensitive to those around him, however, the child caught wind of something between them, sensing an important change in their relationship. He seemed to thrive on it. He was energy itself, ebullient and laughing, drawing them into various games he devised.

First, there was a hide-and-seek that allowed him to "practice on my crutches." Then came an energetic charades, in which the child displayed a repertoire of hand gestures and body language that was nothing short of amazing in one so young. Finally, he introduced them to a game he and Jeremy had invented; it was called "Who Am I?" Here Andrew truly shone, with astonishingly clever imitations of members of the staff. Performances that left Caitlin and Adam doubled with laughter.

"Ach, lad!" Caitlin exclaimed between giggles. "Sure and ye've a future treadin' the boards at the Drury Lane, should ye iver wish it. 'Twas grand mimicry! Wasn't his renderin' o' Cook splendid, milord?" She had gotten Adam to agree to let her "milord" him whenever they were not in private.

"It was priceless—but if Cook ever sees you imitating him," Adam told the boy, trying to look stern while wiping tears of laughter from his eyes, "you'll be in the suds, for sure!"

"Oh, I won't, Papa," Andrew assured him. " 'Cause it might overset him, and I hope I am a gentleman." He turned toward Caitlin, explaining: "Papa says a true gentleman is never unkind toward others, do you see."

"Yer da has the right of it," she said. "After all, gentle is the greater part o' that word."

Andrew nodded thoughtfully, then frowned. "I think some gentlemen aren't true gentlemen at all."

"Oh?" Adam thought of the rakes in whose company he'd wasted so much time in London. And wondered if his son could perhaps have gotten wind of such. He'd taken particular care to protect Andrew from knowledge of that lot. And see where it got you, you damned fool! If you hadn't needed to "protect" him that night, you wouldn't be in the terrible coil you're in now. Then again, you'd never have met Caitlin. Blood and ashes, is life nothing but a big, ironic joke? "And who, exactly, comes to mind, son?"

"Well, Papa, I heard one of those physicians in London being unkind to Caitlin. Remember? One of them came to see me after she made my head better. When I explained about her being the Irish Angel, he just made a funny noise in his throat. But when he went out, into the hallway, he forgot to close the door. That's when I heard him tell Caitlin she ought to go back to her Irish bog and leave healing to her betters."

He turned toward Caitlin. "Caitlin, what's a bog? I mean, I don't think it could be a very pleasant thing, from the way he said it."

Caitlin smiled at him and shook her head. "A bog's a wet and squishy place, and there are lots o' them in Ireland, t' be sure. They're not bad in themselves, lad. They're full o' peat, which the Irish use for fuel when there's no wood t' be found. Still, I'd not be after dwellin' in one, d'ye see?"

Andrew nodded. "Then, the physician wasn't being a true gentleman, was he, Papa? 'Cause he meant that Caitlin should dwell in one of those bogs, I could tell!"

"You're right, son. Though a physician is entitled to be addressed as a gentleman in the Polite World, that alone isn't sufficient to make him one. As you've so wisely noted, a man may clothe himself in the trappings of a gentleman without being one.''
I hope you're listening Appleby!
"A valuable lesson, Andrew. And you make me proud, for it's one you've learned all by yourself." Adam affectionately rumpled his son's hair.

Andrew beamed at him, but this was quickly followed by a yawn.

"Ach," said Caitlin, stifling a yawn herself, "sure and ye're fair worn out with all the games we've played t'day, lad. An early bedtime wouldn't go amiss, I'm thinkin'."

Andrew didn't complain when they tricked him in early. He smiled when Caitlin still took the time to massage his overworked muscles, saying she believed his leg might grow stronger yet. Afterward, Adam several times caught Caitlin stifling more of her own yawns. Recalling she'd slept little the night before—and why— he sent her a smile that evoked every nuance of what had passed between them in his bed.

"Find your bed and get a full night's ... undisturbed sleep," he murmured, bending over her ear. He longed to kiss it, but there were servants about.

Blushing furiously, Caitlin bade him good night and scurried upstairs before one of them noticed.

***

Long after she'd gone, Adam lay in his own bed, staring at the canopy overhead. He'd been awake for hours, physically tired yet finding it impossible to sleep. Caitlin's refusal to leave him touched him beyond words. And terrified him no end. If there were any way to circumvent her, any way at all, he'd do it in a heartbeat: She was too precious to risk.

As he lay there listening to the mantel clock ticking away the hours, he kept trying to attack the problem from every angle. Caitlin's appearance in his life at this desperate juncture must portend something beyond what they already knew, he reasoned. Her nightmare vision had driven her here. He carefully began to turn over in his mind all the things she'd told him.
The dreams and visions always have a purpose . . . brought me here t' help ye defeat the fiend . . . every sinner has a chance t' be saved from perdition ... all we need do is pray for it with a sincere heart.

He even tried heeding that sage prescription for saving one's soul: He tried to pray. Without success. He found it impossible to pray to a deity he'd no wish to believe in. Or, at best, whose goodness and mercy he'd slopped believing in ... couldn't believe in.

Of course, he hadn't actually told Caitlin he was an apostate, and she hadn't asked. Perhaps she knew. She was wise beyond her years, as he'd long ago discovered. Such wisdom was more than likely to penetrate his long-established habit of silence. The wall he'd erected to shut others out. His reluctance to trust anyone with a knowledge of the things that made him tick.

What still astounded him was Caitlin's trust and faith in him. Indeed, her trust and faith, period. Her belief she'd be able to help him find a way out of the hellish hole he'd dug himself greatly humbled him. Wasn't it the very thing had moved him to try praying? But that was the problem, he suspected: He'd done it for Caitlin's sake, not his own. Small wonder her God couldn't be reached. Easier to summon Appleby than—

Adam shot up in bed. Easier to summon Appleby? Not lately, of course, but he suddenly recalled something the fiend had once told him. Appleby had mentioned it right at the start—the night he had been successfully summoned: If any mortal offers to barter his soul, he summons me.

Of course! Why hadn't he thought of it sooner? He might very well be able to summon the little bastard— by offering to barter again. All he had to do was offer to renegotiate the terms of the contract. To make it more attractive to Appleby ....

Adam's face went grim as he considered what this would entail. Caitlin might never forgive him, and that was hard. Still, there was no help for it. She and Andrew would be safe, and their safety was paramount. Their safety was everything.

At the moment Adam reached this conclusion, Caitlin was tiptoeing toward his door. She'd slept soundly for several hours, then abruptly awakened. Troubled by a dream she couldn't recall. Yet it left her with a sense Adam needed her. Moreover, she needed to talk to him. All day, he'd avoided any discussion of their problem. Their past desperate problem, or its solution. True, they'd had rare moments alone; but at those times, when she'd tried to broach the subject, he'd redirected the conversation. She'd begun to worry he was trying to protect her by shutting her out, and that would never do.

Reaching his door, she tried the latch, gratified to find it unlocked. She took care not to make a sound and slipped through the antechamber to the inner door. If she found Adam sleeping soundly, she'd not awaken him.....just yet. Warmth flooded her body as she remembered all that had happened there the night before. Now she imagined slipping into the big tester bed, with its lovely sky blue canopy overhead, and stretching out beside him. The warmth escalated, heat scorching her face, as she thought of several delicious ways she might awaken him. And what would follow before they talked!

Ach, 'tis shameless you are? colleen! Focus on what brought you here. Adam might need your help!
Immediately sobered, she eased the door ajar. The bedchamber was dark, but for the lone flame of a bedside candle and the feeble glow of some embers in the hearth. Still, she could see the bed was empty. For a moment she thought Adam wasn't there. Then his voice, resounding clearly from the flickering shadows near the hearth, told her he was.

What he said made her blood run cold.

"Appleby, you bastard!" he cried. "For my son's leg to be made whole again, I'll give the remaining forty years of my life!"

There was the unmistakable smell of brimstone. As Caitlin watched in horror, the satanic figure from her dream appeared. Huge, its enormous membranous wings fanning the air into a great hollow wind that roared overhead. The sound was deafening, and Caitlin covered her ears. Yet the roaring increased. It became an agony inside her head. A whirlwind she felt would suck the marrow from her bones and leave her drained and lifeless on the floor.

Then, just as suddenly as it had come, it was gone.

The hellish beast had abruptly vanished, and in its place stood a slight, foppishly attired gentleman. An overdressed dandy, like the ones she'd spied parading about London's West End. He carried a quizzing glass and held a walking stick tucked jauntily under his arm. His heavily maquillaged face and rouged cheeks compounded with the sly smile he wore to give him a sinister air. This was apparent even before Caitlin collected her shattered thoughts and made the connection: Appleby.

Appleby offered Adam a courtly bow. A gesture Caitlin immediately saw was not honest. It was deliberately mocking—and chilling.

"Have off, Appleby!" Adam growled. "I know you for a liar and a cheat, so you needn't play the gentleman here. Save those deceitful niceties for your next victim, you craven slime."

"Tsk, tsk." Appleby seemed unruffled. "Tell me, Ravenskeep," he purred, "how's your little bit of Irish muslin these days, hmm?"

Even in the dim light, Caitlin could see the color drain from Adam's face. "You keep away from her, you gutter scum!" he snarled.

Appleby snickered. "But my dear, sorely smitten marquis," he taunted, "where I come from, an innocent 'Irish Angel' would be quite the prize!"

Caitlin choked back a gasp as Adam lunged at him, going for his throat. Appleby stopped him cold. With the fiend's tiny hand gesture, a barely discernible flick of the wrist, Adam doubled up and screamed. Caitlin sought wildly in her mind for something to do—dear God, he looked to be in excruciating pain! Then, with another minute gesture, the fiend released him. Hands clenched into fists, Caitlin waited.

"Now you've had a taste of hellish torment, Ravenskeep," Appleby told him briskly, "perhaps you'll keep your hands to yourself. Oh, and a civil tongue in your mouth would be nice. No? Dear me, you area hard case. Most of my clients learn quickly from that little lesson. They comprehend who's master, do you see." He repeated the torture.

Adam screamed in agony and dropped to his knees.

"Do we understand each other?" his tormentor inquired archly.

Teeth clenched in a grimace, Adam jerked his head in a reluctant nod of acquiescence.

"Excellent," Appleby said, and released him. He calmly flicked a speck of lint from his sleeve as his victim struggled to his feet. Only then did it register with Caitlin that Adam was shirtless, dressed only in pantaloons and stockings. She stifled a cry as he straightened: There were burn marks on his back and shoulders.

"Now," said Appleby, sauntering to a chair by the fireplace, "I believe you were about to offer new terms ... ?"

Adam's eyes smoldered with hatred, his face a study in loathing. "You're aware of what they are, or you wouldn't be here. Where do I sign?"

"Dear boy!" Appleby crowed with delight. A sheet of paper at once materialized in his hand. "Now, that's how I like to do business!" he exclaimed with obvious pleasure as he handed it over. "No hemming and hawing, no beating about the bush. Go ahead, read it. The lad has his leg put right, and you become my permanent guest. Rather straightforward, I should think."

Adam read it, then glanced at his adversary. "I'll need a couple of days to put my affairs in order."

"Of course, of course," Appleby agreed with an expansive wave of his hand. He was feeling generous. After all, he'd gained what he'd planned all along.

''There's just one caveat," Adam said as the additional term of agreement appeared on the contract.

"Caveat!" The dandy's face lost its pleased expression. "Thought you were ready to sign, " he snapped accusingly.

"I am, but for one detail." Appleby's eyes narrowed.

"And that is ... ?"

"I'm making Caitlin O'Brien my marchioness before I go ..."

Ach, no!
Even as she protested this in her heart, scrambling in her mind for ways to stop him, Caitlin noted Appleby eyeing Adam speculatively with this news.
He's up to something, and no mistake. Think, colleen, think!

"And as I must do this in the forty-eight hours I've left," Adam was saying, "your assistance, Appleby, in securing a special license—"

"Done!" exclaimed the fiend, pleased the detail had been so trifling. "Now, if you'll just sign—"

"Not so fast," Adam told him. "What I also require with regard to Caitlin—to my future wife—is this: She is not to be touched by you and what you represent— in any way, whatsoever. Grant me that, and I'll sign now."

Caitlin could hold back no longer. "Adam—no!"she cried, rushing into the room. Adam took but a split second to recover from the shock of seeing her there.

"Caitlin.'"he screamed. "For the love of—get out of here, now. Run!"

When she didn't move, Appleby gave her a sinister smile. "Dear me, if it isn't the little Irish Angel! Do come in, my dear, and wel—"

"Don't listen to him, Caitlin!" Adam moved toward her, desperate to make her leave; he'd do it physically if he had to. "You know he can't be trust—"

Appleby silenced him by raising his hand, his meaning unmistakable: a threatened repeat of his "little lesson."

Adam would have braved the torture: if it meant he could accomplish his goal. Anything, to remove Caitlin from Appleby's presence! Only one thing stopped him. He was terrified the fiend would turn the torture on Caitlin.

"I see we're making progress, Ravenskeep," Appleby said with a breezy smugness. He turned back to Caitlin. "As I was saying, my dear, welcome. Now, do have a seat, and tell us what it is that has brought you here."

Caitlin kept her eyes locked on the fiend as she took a chair opposite his, before the fireplace. Minutes ago, it had held dying embers; but the moment Appleby sat down, a fire had sprung up, and now it crackled in the grate. She forced herself not to look aft Adam's bleak face. He stood, unmoving but close aft hand, having refused to sit with them when Appleby invited him to do so, cheerily—cheerily, after all that had gone before!

She did everything she could to hide her terror. Innocuous as he appeared in his foppish attire, Appleby was past dangerous. He was Evil Incarnate, and he must not suspect she was afraid.

Still, she must be wary and vigilant. Despite her fear, she'd make herself concentrate on that terrible manifestation she'd seen when he first appeared. On the beast, the hellish figure her nightmares had always meant her to face. Aye, she would do this, to remind herself: 'Twas the devil with whom she was about to compound, and she must keep her wits about her. "I'm here, Mr. Appleby," she said, thinking quickly, gathering and sifting through the details of a plan that had begun to form in her mind, " t' propose a bargain o' me own."

"Splendid!" the fiend exclaimed. Menace in his eyes, he held up a warning finger when Adam started to object. "Do go on, my dear. I'm all ears, as it were."

Caitlin took a calming breath. "Andrew needs his father every bit as much as he needs the chance t' be made whole again. I am therefore offerin' me own soul, in place o'—"

"Nooo!" Adam's bone-chilling scream pierced the air. "Never, d'you hear?" he cried, pulling Caitlin from the chair. "Never, will I allow you to sacrifice yourself for me!" He had her by the arm, clearly bent on dragging her out of the room.

"Forgive me,
macushla, a stor
, "Caitlin murmured brokenly, tears blurring her vision. She shut her eyes and spoke the words rapidly, invoking Crionna's protective charm for the second time. Adam's hold went slack, and she stumbled from his grasp.