Some Enchanted Waltz (46 page)

“Regarding O’Reilly, my lady, do you recall if he said anything?”

“It seems he said something about Irish Peers being in league with the English . . . . forgive me . . . it was so unexpected. He just charged in, yelling something of that nature, and shot Adrian.” Tara did her best to look fragile and broken.

“As I suspected, then. He was out for blood sport.” The constable commented. “Now, for another matter. One of Quentin Hardwicke.”

Tara stiffened.

Dan downed his brandy in one hard gulp and poured himself a second glass. “Who is that, my girl?” Leave it to Dan to pick up the pieces. “Isn’t he some relative of Adrian’s, second cousin, or some such thing?”

Tara shrugged, giving Dan a bewildered, blank look.

“Is he the one that was rumored to be involved in all this rebellion rubbish?” Unlike Tara, Dan was a superb actor in the face of danger. “The one who died a few years back. From what I’ve heard, my lord despises that one.”

“You’ve never met the bloke?” The officer asked with amazement.

“No, of course not?” Dan answered for them. “We only arrived from America a couple of months ago.”

“Did your husband have any contacts with him since your arrival in Dublin?”

He wasn’t going to give up easily. Tara tried looking confused. She shook her head, regarding the constable with doe eyes. “He’s not seen him for years, and yes, I do believe, Papa, that he told us the man died some years ago. At least, that’s what he’s been told. Why? Has he done something wrong?”

The constable’s face hardened. “Aye, Mistress. He’s one of the leaders of this nasty revolution mess. Much as he’d like everyone to believe he’s dead, he’s alive, and we’ve issued a warrant for his arrest, along with Lord Fitzgerald and the others.”

A loud noise outside stopped their conversation as someone ran up the stairs and entered the front hall. The drawing room door opened for Lady Fiona Dillon, with Dr. Magnus in tow.

“Is he alive?” The frantic woman rushed forward. Tara rose to embrace her.

“He’s very weak. And yet, he’s alive. Papa saved him.”

Lady Dillon withdrew from Tara’s embrace to spin about. She looked about the room to find this aberration Tara had called Papa.

Dan stood in the side table with the brandy decanter in one hand, a drink in the other. At her incredulity, he raised his glass to her in acknowledgment. “Lady Fiona, I presume?”

“You are Tara’s father?  We were told you didn’t survive the wreck.”

“A long story,
Mother
.” Tara placed an arm about the woman, praying silently that Fiona wouldn’t lose her composure in front of the constable and give them away.  “Constable O’Rourke was just asking us some questions about the incident. He wanted to know about Quentin Hardwicke. I told him what we knew, basically nothing, other than the fact that Adrian despised him for years and believes he is dead. Its true that he died some time ago, isn’t it?”

At Tara’s cautious words, Lady Fiona pulled her impervious gaze from Dan’s imposing frame to Constable O’Rourke’s. The older woman gave Tara a quick, canny look. “Oh, that business again.  Constable O’Rourke, if you don’t mind, I should like to see my son. I’ve travelled across Ireland at a breakneck pace on the news that he was mortally wounded.”  She turned to Tara. “How is he, darling. Dr. Magnus was kind enough to accompany me.”

“My father is quite skilled in surgical matters. He’s tended Adrian since that day.” Tara tossed the question to Dan.

 “His lordship has suffered a trauma to his lower left quadrant, just missing his vitals. He lost a fair amount of blood. Yet, he has been improving by the day. A slight fever persists. Not unusual with such an injury. My main concern now is that he regains his strength after losing so much blood, and that he is able to walk. Aside from that, I’m relatively certain he will live.”

The relief on Lady Fiona’s features was immediate. She closed her eyes and sank down on the sofa behind her with a whispered prayer. 

“My ladies, I’ll just be taking my leave of you. Give my best to Lord Dillon. Regarding Hardwicke and Lord Fitzgerald; should either of them contact you, please let us know.” Constable O’Rourke returned his hat to his head as he spoke. “Both of them will stand trial for treason, as soon as they are captured.”

Fiona’s eyes were icicles as she regarded the constable. “Hardwicke is my nephew, and he’s brought nothing but shame and suspicion on my sister’s family. If he sets foot in this house, you may be assured, my good man, I will shoot him myself.”

“Is he dead, then, Madame, or alive?”  O’Rourke persisted.

“Hah.” Fiona let out a scornful huff. “He’s been dead for years as far as this family is concerned.”

“Thank you, ladies, gentlemen, good day.”

As the front door closed, the four inhabitants of the parlor released their breath in one collective sigh of relief.  Dan poured a round of drinks for them. His eyes met Tara’s briefly when Lady Fiona took the brandy meant for Dr. Magnus, leaving the two glasses of sherry on the tray Dan held out for her. Dan’s eyes grew wide as Fiona emptied the brandy in one long drink, and then placed the empty glass smartly on the tray before taking up the sherry that was meant for her.

“Tara,” The hardened woman patted the seat beside her. “Sit down, girl, before you faint. Oh, Dear. She looks terribly pale.”

Tara took a seat beside her mother-in-law, declining the glass of sherry offered to her by the older woman.

Dan’s eyes turned apologetic as he realized he had poured Tara a drink as well. “Sorry, my girl, I forgot about the little one.”

Two pairs of eyes regarded Tara with shock, causing the heat to rise up her neck.

“Is she breeding?” Fiona whispered the last word discreetly.

Dan nodded, grinning as if he were indeed the proud grandpa.

“Good. Perhaps now my son will grow up and behave himself.” The black clad woman enveloped Tara in a suffocating embrace.  The fumes of brandy emanating from Fiona’s form was enough to gag Tara as she fought the rising bile in her throat. Not only had Adrian’s mother traveled at a mad pace, she hadn’t bathed during the journey, except in a jug of brandy and stale ale.

“There now, all in good time, Fiona, my dear.” It was Dr. Magnus who came to her rescue, pulling Tara from the wretched smelling woman’s clutches as he eased her down on the sofa arm. “Fiona, she looks about to faint, give her a bit of room.”

“White as a ghost, poor lamb.” The woman clucked. “There now. I’m here. We’ll take care of Adrian together. Does he know?” Fiona looked from Tara to Dan.

“I don’t think we should mention it just yet, Lady Fiona.” Dan offered. “If you wish, I’ll take you up for a few moments. He is very weak and needs quiet rest.”

“I understand.” Lady Fiona nodded severely. Her shield of iron crumbled as the reality of her son’s frail condition pressed heavily upon her. “Just let me see my boy.”  

Chapter Thirty Four

Adrian’s condition improved little as the days passed. He was pale as death, weak as a babe and suffered agonizing pain. He lay looking at the ceiling in a dazed stupor, while Tara or his mother held his hand.

Tara wondered if he would remember her telling him about the baby. He never mentioned it, nor did she, hoping to keep his mind at ease in all matters. Lady Fiona respected her wishes and kept her silence as well.

Outside their townhouse, in the city of Dublin, the war raged on.

Daily, new informants turned up, offering leads on the growing man-hunt for Lord Edward and the nefarious Captain Midnight. Sightings of Lord Edward were a daily occurrence. Dubliners had made it a favorite past-time. Considering the amount of money being offered for his capture, it could almost be considered a sport.

“There is someone here to see you, Madame.” Mrs. Chatham informed Tara as she sat beside Adrian’s bedside.

Now who
? She’d had quite enough of dealing with the authorities.  And members of the peerage who had called to offer their sympathies and hopes for Lord Dillon’s improvement. In reality they were just curious regarding the scandal and wanted to be seen at the wounded man’s home, as Adrian’s attack had made him a news item and a martyr for the loyalist cause; a situation he would loathe.

With grim determination, Tara smoothed her skirts and stood. “Have Lady Fiona sit with my lord, then, until I return.”

As she descended the stairs, she found the parlor empty. She returned to the foyer. Mrs. Chatham was just descending the stairs after leaving Adrian in Lady Fiona’s care.

“He’s in the pantry, mum.” The older woman led the way down the narrow corridor to the back kitchens. Tara was dumbfounded, unable to fathom who would be waiting for her in a closet at the back of the house, like a servant.

The sight of Lord Edward, broken, pale with dark ringed eyes broke her heart.

The poor man looked like a hunted animal, yet he offered her a hopeful smile as she entered the small food closet lit by the light of a lone candle. If his bizarre costume was meant to disguise him, it served only to draw attention to him. Edward wore false whiskers of bright, garish red and a hideous bright green suit that stood out like a sore thumb in the heaviest crowd.

“Edward.” Tara rushed forward to embrace him.

“My dear lady, I had to come. I heard the news days ago. How is he?”

“Very weak. He lost a lot of blood.”  Tara pulled away from him, noticing for the first time the man standing in the shadows behind him.

“My lady.” The gentleman doffed his hat. “Please accept my deepest sympathies at such an unfortunate time, and my hopes for Lord Dillon’s recovery. Madame, we’ve a favor to ask of you.” The stranger looked apologetically at Edward and then back at Tara with imploring eyes. “We need someplace to hide his lordship, just for a few days. They’re nearly on to us. They’d never suspect he was here, not with all the talk of your husband being nearly assassinated by rebels.”

Tara shook her head. “No. There are officers watching the house. Constable O'Rourke has been here three times in the past week to question us.”

“Gawd, has it been a whole week?”  Edward sighed, his eyes bloodshot and glazed with exhaustion.

“Closer to two. I wish I could help you, Edward.” Tara murmured. It must be horrible for him, hiding in attics, basements, moving from house to house to avoid being pinned down.

“I didn’t come to beg your assistance.” Edward brushed her refusal aside easily, making her decision that much more difficult. “I came to see him, I had to. It’s rumored he’s at death’s door. I couldn’t abandon my old friend to face the Ferryman alone, now could I?”

Tara was both touched and revolted at Edward’s allusion regarding Charon, the ferryman of Greek myth who transported the dead across the river Styx.

“So you just sashay in here and endanger us all into the bargain?” Lady Fiona stood behind Tara. “We’ve given too much for Ireland’s freedom. James is gone, and Quentin, my sister’s boy. And now my son is half in this world and half in the next, and him with a babe on the way. No, by all means, don’t impose yourself and your treasonous schemes upon this household for a moment longer. Off with you--”

“Fiona.”  Tara turned to face the woman before Adrian’s mother did something they all would regret. “Enough. We can hide him for one night. Adrian wouldn’t turn him away, and if the situation were reversed, I’m sure Edward would harbor him.”

“No, my son would welcome them all to hide in his basement and have us burnt alive in this house in his blindness to the cause.” Fiona leveled a lethal finger at Edward. “Don’t think they won’t find out. They’ve already burned down houses on the lower end of town for harboring fugitives or hiding arms. Oh, God, I cannot bear it! I’ve given too much . . . too much!”

The woman was hysterical; and drunk. Tara managed to escort her from the pantry, closing the door to conceal Edward and his associate before marching the woman back up the stairs to her room.

“Dan!” She called, unmindful of the fact that she was not following proper etiquette by calling him Papa. He peeked out from the room across from Adrian’s his eyes heavy with sleep. “I need you.” She informed him. “We’ve another crisis to deal with.”

Mrs. Chatham was in Adrian’s room. Tara wasted no time on explanations. She shoved her mother-in-law inside and said tersely, “Keep her here and keep her quiet.”

Dan met her as she pulled the door closed and turned the key in the lock, and then placed the key in her pocket.
Thank heaven for old fashioned doors that could lock people in as well as out.
  As Dan gave her a curious look, Tara explained the situation below and Lady Fiona’s volatile mood and her drunken ramblings.  

At the mention of Lord Edward being below stairs seeking shelter, Dan groaned and slapped his head. “God--No.”

“What do we do? I can’t turn him out onto the streets again.”

“We can’t keep him here! He’s a sentimental fool, he’ll get us all hanged.”

“Madame.” Tara and Dan jumped as the downstairs maid materialized from thin air. “A gentleman caller is downstairs. Mr. Harlan Burke from Cork.  Says he’s a friend of the family come to offer his best wishes on Lord Dillon’s recovery.”