The Black Lotus (Night Flower) (6 page)

They rode home in silence, Melissa glancing at her father surreptiously
as the carriage rumbled over the cobbled streets. Marcus attempted idle banter but his voice sounded thin and lost in the uncomfortable silence caused by their Fathers’ displeasure. After a long tense ride, the carriage clattered to a stop before the large town house they rented for the season. As the servants rushed to lower the steps, Melissa risked a glance at her father. She was not cheered by the stony look she saw on his face.

“In the parlour now,
” Melissa’s father snapped at her as they moved through the house doors and into the candlelit hallway. Swallowing nervously Melissa moved into the parlour. The fire had been lit in the grate and her father stood before the blaze, his face forbidding in the shadows cast by the orange flames.

“What do you have to say for yourself about that disgusting display of poor breeding?”
Edward DeVire wasted no time and his voice lashed across the room, pitiless and cold.

“He was rude to me F
ather…” Melissa stammered out but was stopped by Edward’s upraised hand.

“I have never felt so ashamed of you. You are a member of the quality and you behaved with all the
social grace of a common housemaid. How dare you act like a vicious wildcat on heat? Whatever his offences, you had no reason to strike him and even less reason to be in his company.”

Melissa tried once again to speak, yet his voice drowned her out with its fury.

“I am ashamed to have brought you out. You have humiliated your family and yourself. Clearly you are not ready for the season. After Marcus’ duel tomorrow we are returning to the country and you will figure out your priorities. Now get out of my sight.”

Repressing the tears of anger that threatened to spill down her cheeks, Melissa ran out of the room, past the parlour maid and up the wide stairs, her taffeta gown rustled like fallen leaves as she raced to her room. Slamming the door she behind her, she reached her dressing table and stared at her angry reflection. Tears of white hot fury had spilled down her cheeks, making runs in the perfect wh
ite lead mask. Beneath her pale and fuming face, the emeralds in the necklace winked at her in the light.

“How dare he?
” She seized hold of the chain and pulled the glimmering necklace from her neck, scoring a thin red mark across her skin as she did so. With a flick of her wrist she threw it across the room. It hit the wall with a heavy thunk and slid to the floor behind one of the armoires. She then flung herself across the bed and sobbed bitterly into the thick damask pillows.

“Melissa?”
Her brother had followed her into the room. She felt the bed sink as he settled his weight onto it. “Don’t worry about Father. He will forgive you.”

“I should not need forgiveness,
” Her voice, muffled by the pillow, was hard and full of anguish. “Why is it my fault for him trying to force me from the room? He bruised my wrists as he tried to drag me out of there. Why am I being punished for defending myself?” Marcus opened his mouth to speak, but Melissa hadn’t finished. “I wish I had been born a man, then I could duel the bastard myself.”

Marcus sighed once and rested his strong fingers on her shoulder. “I understand how you feel…”

“No you don’t.
” She pulled herself out of the pillow and stared at him, her face flushed and smeared with powder and tears. “You have freedom that I can only dream about.” She pulled a handkerchief from a pocket and blew her nose. “If you wish to go to the theatre you can go. If I wish to go to the theatre, I have to wait for a chaperone.” Marcus nodded and once again tried to interrupt, but Melissa’s voice overrode him. “If you wish to drive through St. James you can, I am not even allowed on the street accompanied or not.” Pulling the handkerchief from her face, she turned bright angry eyes on her brother. “But I can be blamed for a man’s behaviour. I can be assaulted and have it be my fault. You don’t walk in my shoes brother, so how can you understand?” She turned away from him and flung herself back onto the pillow. “Get out of here Marcus, I don’t want to talk to you right now.”

Marcus looked at her for several long moments
as his mouth worked soundlessly. What could he say? He hesitated for a moment and gently pressed her shoulder, feeling the sobs ripple through her skin.

“Get some sleep
Melly.” She did not answer yet he hadn’t expected one. Getting to his feet, he crossed the room and picked up the necklace. The clasp was broken and useless and he placed it in his pocket. “I’ll have this fixed for you.” He murmured as he headed for the door. “I know I can’t understand fully, but I am here for you.” And with that, he walked through the door and closed it quietly behind him.

Chapter 4

It was the early hours and a lone rider rode towards Maybury Hall. The old edifice had
become occupied only recently and the building was not fully habitable. Parts of the structure still lay in ruins and blackened stone told of some distant fire. Justin Lestrade rode his horse into the stables and roused the groom, a small close mouthed individual, who took the reins without comment. Leaving the horse in the capable hands of his servant, Justin strode into the courtyard and stared up at the house. A mainly medieval structure, the manor house loomed over the solitary figure. Its battlements stood stark and ruined against the moonlit night. Lights shone in few of the windows, indicating sparse occupation and the door did not open at his approach. Servants were few and far between within the walls of this house, in fact there was only one in residence. Striding through the newly restored hallway, Justin removed his riding cape and gloves and tossed them on the stairs. Poking his head into the parlour, he glanced at the empty armchair beside the fire with a troubled gaze. It was the fifth night in a row that he had come home to this scenario. Turning back into the hall, he strode back out into the night. In the stables, he found Coll rubbing down the bay mare he had rode in on.

“Is my brother about?” He asked as Coll looked up at him.

“He went out Master Lestrade.” Coll’s voice was deep and gentle, the kind of voice that people stopped to listen to, the kind of voice that people trusted.

“When?”

“Not half hour after you went. I saddled Thunder for him.”

Justin considered this. His brother showed little interest in courtly amusements, yet he did not know where he went. His brow furrowed in thought as he ran through possibilities in his mind. Alistair didn’t have a fancy as far as he knew and he had given gaming houses up recently.

“Alright Coll, send him to me when he returns. Tell him I’ll be in the parlour.”

“Very good sir.”

Justin left the stables and returned to the house. The acquisition of this ruin troubled the cream of London, yet to him it was home, even more so than the fine modern accommodation he had secured in the capital. Most people would not understand how much this near ruin meant to him. None were allowed to visit him here; this was his hideaway, the small piece of his past that would always be home, no matter how long he stayed away. He crossed the hall, the noise of his steps echoing to the gallery above. This part of the house was the newest; the wooden balustrade above was all that remained of the large minstrel’s gallery and the staircase now led to the only liveable apartments in the old place. Much of the house had been destroyed by fire a century or so before and restoration was slow work.

He sat in the chair and stared at the flames dancing in the fireplace and turned his mind back to the evening and the distractions he threw himself into. There was precious little entertainment to be had at court and it was a diversion he sorely needed. His situation demanded it, if he didn’t have his diversions, he would surely go mad.

He stretched out his foot to the flames and picked a stray thread from his sleeve as his thoughts roamed over the ball’s occupants.
His current flame was Mary Westbury, an overly clingy female who was quite ready to run off with him to Gretna. He was giving serious thought to ending the relationship, but who would he take in her stead? Elinor Marling was available and more than once he had seen her eyes seek out his form on the dance floor. Yet Elinor would bore him, he could see that without even attempting to woo her, the unfortunate girl held no more interest than a pail of pump water. Sarah Davenport was a good choice, she had cast her spell on most of the young man around her, yet she knew a good deal and was far too sensible, she also giggled incessantly. It was no fun seducing one who would annoy him beyond all reason. His fingers ran over the smooth surface of the bottle as he discarded female after female, he was beginning to wonder if his boredom was more pervasive than he initially thought.

Melissa

The girl’s name burst into his thoughts and his mouth opened in shock, he had almost forgotten her, strange as it seemed. Her first night in society had proven to be the most interesting night he’d had there in years. His mind’s eye ran over his images of her, a vision in stunning green, a goddess in taffeta. Her eyes had trapped him once and he recalled the intelligence and strength he had seen within them. She was a force to consider, she had caused a huge stir, her beauty had dazzled the room, yet he could feel that there was more to her than that. It was this feeling that had driven him to seek her out, yet he had not charmed her. He recalled his words with a shudder of regret, wondering what had driven him to answer so poorly. Melissa De Vire had something to her, beyond that of a usual social butterfly; he had seen something in her eyes something that intrigued him and yet he had pushed her away. He ignored the thought that he had found someone who could understand him and turned to her altercation with the odious Montjoy. The rake deserved more than the slap she had dealt him and he hoped that her older brother would deliver the chastisement needed. The girl had verve; he couldn’t imagine the other women reacting to Montjoy’s attentions with such spirit. He smiled at the image of Melissa’s fingers striking the man’s face and he regretted his flippant approach to her. He had damaged his chances, yet he was convinced that he could have her should he wish it. He hesitated at the thought. Did he really want to seduce her as all the others?

He swallowed another slug of the whisky and considered the problem. Melissa had something more to her; there was something in her eyes that held him. She had smiled at him and his thoughts had muddied, becoming confused by her smile. In the confusion, his words had snarled out of him, speaking his thoughts as though called by her clear gaze.
And she had answered him back, her own temper rising above the politeness required by her station. He smiled at her audacity and wondered if it had been that which had triggered his uncharacteristic apology. Ordinarily he would chalk up the loss and return to the room, yet he had felt compelled to apologise. He had used words that had been sincere and from the heart and then he had left, worried by the way her smile tugged at him. He had not returned to claim a dance, preferring Mary and her uncomplicated company. Yet he could not banish her from his thoughts. He needed to talk to her again. She would undoubtedly hold his failure to return against him, yet he was confident in his powers of persuasion. As he knocked back another slug, he ignored the small voice that was telling him to leave the girl; that thinking of her was dangerous and tempting him to break a vow. He also ignored the even smaller voice that suggested that Melissa could handle the secrets that he carried on his shoulders like weights.  With a sneer at his old romantic notions that could only come to naught, he lifted the bottle again to his lips.

He drained the last dregs of the bottle and threw it into a corner where it smashed into pieces. Justin did not notice
the sound of glass breaking; he was staring into the blazing fire, his thoughts drifting back along the years, back further than anyone would have thought. Everyone who met him alluded to his maturity, how much older he seemed to be than his looks. Men and women commented on his cynical and jaded approach to life, some seeing it as an affectation that he had taken to displaying yet the truth was far stranger and much more tragic. As he sometimes did at times like this, he touched a finger to the enamel flower at his neck and wondered once again how his life should have gone and why he spent nights following the fashion in the capital and thinking up new ways to amuse himself. He wanted to tell someone about the nightmare of his life, yet there was no one who would understand. Even if he did dream about confiding in a girl like Melissa, what could she do about it? He hadn’t found a solution even after all this time. How much use would she be?

The fire popped and drew him from his brooding thoughts, he glanced up at the clock on the mantle and pursed his lips, Alistair was exceptionally late and while he didn’t keep tabs on his brother, he did worry about him. It was a habit that he hadn’t been able to break even after all these years. Alistair would not thank him for his worry; in fact he would probably feel a perverse sense of satisfaction that Justin had spent an evening in concerned silence. He sighed and stood, his fine evening wear was crumpled and his valet was currently installed at the far more proper town house. He struggled out of the fine garments and pulled on different ones, more comfortable garb for relaxing in his parlour. His fingers pulled off the brooch and he placed it on the mantle where it brooded darkly. It was late and he couldn’t drag his mind away from the nightmares in his past. The lotus reminded him of his folly and when it did not, his brother filled the gaps. He sank back in the chair and pressed his hands over his eyes. This nightmare had to end, one way or another, despite his efforts to divert himself from the horror he lived in, he still felt it late in the night. Sat in the chair, with the warming affects of alcohol flowing through his veins, he drifted off into an uneasy doze, the only sleep he ever managed these days.

Something cold pressed against his neck and his eyes jerked open, standing above him, shadowed by the light of the fire was his brother. A thin bladed knife rested lightly in Alistair’s hands and the cool metal pressed against the thin skin of his throat.

“Evening Alistair.
” Justin’s voice was light and untroubled; he ignored the pressure of the knife at his neck as he looked upwards at his brother’s form. Alistair had darker hair and his eyes were a warm brown, yet of late they held all the appeal of the grave. Alistair had not adjusted well to their new existence and from time to time Justin worried about his once happy and kind brother. Still given what the others had done with their time, it could have been worse.

“Was your night entertaining?”
He stared at the heavy lace on the cuffs of Alistair’s shirt and wondered briefly why he was being civil.

“About as usual.
” Alistair Lestrade stared at his older brother with a sneer, he did not loose his hold on the knife and a thin bead of blood escaped from the skin at Justin’s throat. “Were you waiting up for me brother?”

“Not so you’d notice.
” Justin sent his brother an irritated smile. “Do you mind moving the knife? I don’t want blood on this jacket.” Alistair sighed and stepped back, his dark eyes observing his brother with cool detachment.

“So have you managed to find the answer to our predicament in the arms of some blue blooded wench?” There was a bitter note to his laughter and Justin winced inwardly
at the change in his brother’s manner. He glanced at the knife, at the enamel lotus set into the handle.

“I hope you’re not pl
anning to stab anyone with that,” He indicated the knife and stood up. Crossing to the fire, he poked the glowing embers into sullen life. “Murder would be awkward to deal with.”

“If stabbing you would get me results I would have done it years ago. Unfortunately we both know that it won’t work,” He pointed at the enamel brooch on the mantle. “I notice that yours is still filling the role of jewellery.”

“I like it close.” Justin reached over to the table and hefted another bottle, with a quick motion he threw it towards Alistair. His brother caught it one handed and took a long drink.

“So how about you?” He leant against the edge of the sideboard and regarded his sibling with a curious look. “Has your night-time roaming come up with anything substantial?”

“Of course it hasn’t,
” Alistair snapped back. “When you get us in trouble, you manage to really do it thoroughly.”

Justin ignored the words, he had listened to hundreds of variations on this speech and he could recite each word in his sleep. It didn’t help that Alistair was right, had he been sensible
, or at the very least cautious, they would not be in this predicament. Still, he hated to be reminded of his follies by his brother.

“So glad I oblige,
” He took another long drink and regarded his brother’s angry features. “Have you spoken to the others recently?”

“No,” Alistair took a swig from the bottle in his hand and stared at the floor distractedly. “I haven’t seen any of them for a number of years now,” Alistair glanced up at his brother and raised an eyebrow. “Have you?”