The Countess (14 page)

My husband said, “Andy, would you please join me in the library for a moment?”

I kissed Miss Crislock good night and walked to my husband.

Now was the time he would make his confession, bless him. I couldn't wait to hear his excuse about keeping mum about a second wife and a female offspring only six years removed from her Season in London. I was coming to realize that there wasn't all that much difference between younger people and older people. Lawrence had kept something from me, and now he had to clear the slate and offer an abject apology. How many times had I done the same thing from the age of three onward?

There was only one branch of candles lit in the vast library. It was dark and shadowy and strangely cozy with a healthy fire burning in the fireplace. I watched him take a turn about the room, walking in and out of the shadows. He seemed inordinately worried, or perhaps, he was reticent. Did he think I would rip up at him? I started to relieve his mind when he came back to me, took both my hands in
his, and said, “I suppose you must see me as a miserable man.”

That was a different approach and really quite disarming. “I don't believe so,” I said.

“I kept something very important from you.”

“Yes, but I imagine that you will now tell me why, and it will make sense to me, and I will allow you to pay me off and relieve your own guilt by offering me Small Bess.”

He stared down at me, no hint of a smile in evidence. Oh, dear, I wasn't treating this with the appropriate gravitas.

“I am perfectly serious now, Lawrence. Forgive me for making light of things.”

He waved away my apology and paced again. “Sit down,” he said over his shoulder.

I went to the large, dark brown leather wing chair close to the fireplace, and sat.

He leaned against the edge of his desk, his arms crossed over his chest. “I was married, Andy. Thirteen years ago, I married Caroline.”

Caroline, I thought, a lovely name. “Tell me about her,” I said.

He closed his eyes a moment over a pain that was still greatly felt even after all these many years had passed. He cleared his throat. “It was such a long time ago. Caroline Farraday was the daughter of Wilson Farraday, Viscount Clarence. She was so lovely, so spirited and gay. She saw the world and all in it there to be at her command, and most people were quite willing to do anything at all for her.” Another look of pain crossed his face, and he raised his hand as if to brush it away. I held my tongue. This was
highly personal, these memories that had deeply scored his heart.

“Even though I was a good deal older than she, she wanted me and informed her father that she would wed no one else. And so we were wed in London. I took her to Cornwall on our wedding trip, a place she believed vastly romantic.

“It was only after I brought her back to Devbridge Manor that I began to understand her true nature. That is to say, Caroline was inclined to be vivacious one day, nearly giddy, she laughed so very much, and the very next day, she would be silent and sad, withdrawn, as if she'd lost her best friend. I never knew which woman would appear across from me at the breakfast table.

“When she became pregnant not long after we married, I rather hoped that the child would steady her. And it was true that during the months of her pregnancy she seemed more stable, her outlook more normal, if you will.

“In those days, neither Thomas nor John were here much, both of them at Eton. I'll never forget though that when they did visit, she became worse. She neither spoke nor ate. She resented them, I realized quickly enough. Obviously it was because she wanted her child, a boy child, to follow in my footsteps; and indeed, if she had birthed a boy, he would be my heir. I told her this, but it made no difference. She didn't want to have anything to do with either of the boys. I asked Thomas and John to stay away, to visit friends on their vacations. They both felt very sorry for me, I believe, and I felt immensely guilty.

“But nothing I did seemed to matter. Toward the end of her pregnancy, Caroline became more
unpredictable by the day. I never knew what to expect, none of us did, including her physician. She would simply disappear, only to be found up in the old north tower, huddled in a corner, her eyes wide, staring, no explanation of why she had even gone up there. She insisted on riding her mare even though she was large with child. She never fell, thank God. I found her trying to chase down rats in the hay barn one afternoon. One night Brantley found her dancing in a heavy downpour. Once a servant found her wading in the stream, discussing with an invisible person how fine it would be to drown.

“I had no choice but to order a woman to be with her all the time. I was terrified that if she didn't try to harm herself, she would harm her unborn babe.”

“The bars in The Blue Room,” I said. “They were for Caroline.”

“You noticed the holes, then? Yes, of course you did. I didn't believe them that obvious.” He paused yet again, and drew a very deep breath. “One time I came into her room to find her outside on the narrow ledge, singing to a buck that was staring back at her from the edge of the home wood. I was never so frightened in my life. It seemed as if normal, predictable life no longer existed here. Everyone in the house tiptoed around, so afraid that something would set her off.

“Then Judith was born. When the doctor put her into Caroline's arms, I remember clearly that Caroline began laughing. She laughed and laughed and said, ‘After all this, I still could not produce a boy child.' I assured her that it didn't matter. There would be other children if she wished. I will never forget how she smiled at me, smiled with such hope.
I remember how she caressed my face, how she told me she was so very happy.

“To my infinite relief, after Judith's birth, Caroline became once again the same girl I had met nearly two years before. I remember thanking God for the blessed cure. The whole house seemed to breathe a huge sigh of relief. There was even some laughter to be heard once again at Devbridge Manor. To be honest, until I heard laughter, I simply had not realized how very grim everyone had become. Caroline appeared to adore Judith. She spent a lot of time with her, singing to her, rocking her, playing with her.”

I continued to be so quiet I could have blended with the shadows.

Lawrence plowed his hands through his hair. “Damnation, there is no other way to say it—it was all a ruse. Caroline was fooling all of us, and very cleverly.” He fell silent again. His hands were clenched at his sides. I could feel the great strain in him. “More time passed. But then it all ended abruptly. In her madness, she threw herself from the north tower. As it happened, I had Judith with me. She was all of two months old then. If she had been with Caroline, I am certain that Caroline would have taken her child over the tower balcony with her.”

He drew a deep hard breath. He smashed his fist against his open palm. “There is just no way around it. I am responsible for her death.”

I
t was difficult, but I held my tongue. I did not blurt out things like “what an idiotic thing to say” or “don't be ridiculous.” Finally, I said in a lovely calm voice, “Please tell me why you believe that.”

“Only the day before she had begged me to remove the bars from her bedchamber windows. I had them removed immediately, and I felt guilt that I had not thought to do it sooner. She had recovered; she was once again the lovely girl I had married. I remember how she was smiling when she handed me Judith, down in the drawing room, and left me, just for a moment. She told me she was chilly and wished to fetch her favorite shawl. Of course a servant followed her discreetly, and obviously she knew it. She went in The Blue Room, closed the door, and climbed out the window. She made her way along that narrow ledge between The Blue Room and the chamber next to it. From there she went to the north tower. If only I had been less ready to believe her normal again, if only I had waited, just a few more days, to have the bars removed from the windows, she would
not have been able to hurl herself off the tower balcony.”

It had all happened twelve years ago, and still he was carrying this mindless guilt he didn't deserve. I said, “If you had waited, well, then, it seems logical that she would simply have waited, then done the same thing once she was able.”

“Perhaps, perhaps.”

“It is a very tragic thing, Lawrence. I am very sorry.”

“I couldn't bring myself to tell you, Andy, and I'm sorry I was such a coward. But I could not be certain that you wouldn't want me because I had a child who might carry her mother's madness. Or perhaps you would believe that the madness might have come from me.”

And I said, “Do Caroline's parents visit Judith?”

He looked very surprised at that question, and I suppose that it was unexpected. “No, they have never seen her. They never wanted to see me again, if you would know the truth. John and Thomas know all about what they did.”

“And that was?”

“They claimed that their daughter Caroline was perfectly normal, that nothing at all had ever been wrong with her, that it was I who ruined her, destroyed her somehow. They did not understand what possible reason I had for doing it, but there was no doubt in their minds that I had murdered their daughter. I was responsible for their beloved daughter's death. They said they never wished to see any child that was mine.”

“They continue to deny their own granddaughter?”

He nodded.

“That is extraordinary, but hardly your fault. Incidentally, Lawrence, I think you've done a magnificent job raising Judith. She is a sweet child, very enthusiastic, bright as the sun itself, and utterly normal. You selected a fine woman to instruct her. I am very sorry for Caroline, but please believe me when I say that it was a very long time ago. None of it will touch Judith, nor should it.”

And because it was all so grim, and there was so much long-ago misery still sifting through this room, I said, “I am twenty-one years old and have come to grips with the fact that I am now a stepmama. Judith and I will become great friends, I promise you. Forgive yourself, Lawrence, for I forgive you for not telling me.”

“I may come eventually to forgive myself, but never can I forget it. I have already said it, Andy. Judith carries her mother's seed. Is there madness in her that will emerge when she gains years?”

I said, “The king is mad. Was his father, George II, mad as well?”

“Some Tories would quickly say that he was,” Lawrence said. “But no, certainly he was not mad.”

It was an attempt at a jest, and so I smiled. “You know as well as I do that madness is not something that is automatically visited by the father or the mother on the child. There is no madness in Caroline's parents, is there?”

He shook his head. “No,” he said slowly, “there is not, only hatred toward me.” I swear he wanted to believe that his young daughter would be just fine. “But I will tell you that before Miss Gillbank came, I feared for Judith.”

“How old was she when Miss Gillbank arrived?”

“Perhaps three years old.”

To me that was madness to even say that, much less think it, but again, I was the voice of calm and reason. “Judith was a toddler. I imagine that when a parent sees all the havoc a young child can create, they are ready to believe that the child is the spawn of Satan. That is how my grandfather viewed me upon occasion, and I didn't turn to madness. Yes, I remember now. He called me an ill-begotten imp of Satan.”

He laughed at that, really laughed, just as I had hoped he would. Was I so pleased with myself and my handling of this situation that only I looked inordinately relieved? No, I swear he looked younger, his shoulders more square, as if a weight had been lifted off.

When he left me at my door awhile later, he lightly touched his fingers to my chin. “You are everything that I could possibly have expected. Perhaps even a bit more. I will think about what you have said tonight. Goodnight, my dear Andy.”

When I finally got back to The Blue Room from walking George, who wasn't all that picky about his selection this time, and finally managed to dismiss Belinda, who wanted to remain and gossip, I eased myself into bed. I snuggled under my warm covers. George, too, decided to sleep beneath the covers and burrowed down to press his warm little body behind my knees. I had to admit that today was very probably the busiest, the most unexpected, the most frightening, and with that blow on the head, one of the most painful days I'd ever spent in my life.

I had felt something cold and malignant in the
Black Chamber, known that something had drawn Amelia into that other empty room, and had fallen down stairs—oh, dear, even I was too tired to recite the rest of it in my mind. But everything had ended well, all except what had happened to Amelia, and everyone's refusal to deal with it.

I would go to that small empty room tomorrow and stand there awhile and see if anything happened to me. My flesh crawled at the thought, but then I decided that it was better to face the unknown than cower and deny it all like the rest of them were doing.

I fell asleep with George's nose on the back of my knee, a touch of wet through my light muslin nightgown.

I don't know why I awoke, for there was no sound, no shifting of light, no hint of a whisper. But one moment I was asleep, dreaming of riding over the Yorkshire moors, and in the very next instant I was wide awake, my eyes staring, adjusting to the moonlit room.

And then I saw it. I started shaking my head, not wanting to believe it, but the thing didn't fade away, didn't move. It just stood there, stiff and silent like a frozen statue from Hell itself, dead and still not more than two feet from the foot of my bed.

I remember hearing George's snore even as I felt everything freeze and curdle inside me. Slowly, ever so slowly, I eased my arms out from under the covers.

More slowly yet, I began pushing myself upright. George stirred but slept on.

That dead still figure began to move slowly around the end of the bed, toward me. In that moment when
it crossed in front of the moonlit window, I saw it clearly. It was an old woman, terribly misformed, older than death itself. Tangled white hair hung about her hideous distorted face. I wanted to scream my head off, but to my consternation, when I opened my mouth, only a pathetic moan came out. I felt literally locked in place, nailed down, so scared I simply couldn't move.

In a cracked voice I heard myself say, “Who are you? What do you want with me?”

That old woman, who surely could not be real, said in a thin, papery voice, “You are an abomination. You are the evil that revisits this house. You are vile, and what you came from is even more vile. You will pay for all of it.”

I was gasping I was so afraid. I felt George moving about now, and for the first time since I had jerked awake to see that thing at the end of the bed, I knew fear for something other than just myself.

I jerked back the covers, grabbed George, and rolled toward the far side of the bed, away from that ghastly apparition.

But I didn't move fast enough or that old grotesque creature moved more quickly than someone alive would have moved, but she was coming quickly now, leaning toward me across the bed, and in her twisted fingers she held a knife, not silver, but gold, the blade curved at the end, like one of those blades from the Arabian Nights. She held it high above her head, ready to bring it down.

I rolled off the far side of the bed, George barking wildly, trying to pull free of me to attack that creature. I yelled, “Who are you? What do you want from me?”

Stupid questions, I knew, but they just poured out of my mouth. Suddenly that creature was coming around the side of the bed, to cut me off, to trap me.

I didn't even think about taking my chances here with her. Even as she moved toward me, that strange golden knife was held high again, and I could see it coming down toward my chest. I grabbed up a pillow in my free hand and hurled it at her. It hit that knife and made her pause a moment, and in that same moment, with George barking his head off, I ran as fast as I could to the bedchamber door.

The knob wouldn't turn. Oh, Jesus, I thought, jerking on it, twisting it, my fingers trembling and white with the strain. I didn't remember locking the door, but I could have. I just didn't remember. I jerked on the knob, then turned the key that was in the lock. George was barking madly, and I turned to see the old woman running now toward me, her gait jerky, awkward, but she was coming fast. The key turned, and the knob finally twisted beneath my fingers. I jerked the door open and nearly fell into the corridor.

So I had locked the door. How had the creature gotten into my room?

I didn't look back, just ran as fast as I could, George pinned to my side. I wasn't about to let him go after that creature.

I managed to keep my balance. I ran as fast as I had ever run in my life, down that long corridor, not thinking, just finally coming to a panicked stop in front of a bedchamber door. I knew who was behind that door, knew that I had run specifically to this bedchamber. I pounded my fists against the aged oak.

I heard a man's muffled voice from inside. I kept pounding, pounding, and George kept barking his head off. I was grateful that he was making all that noise. It had to give that creature second thoughts about coming after me.

Even as I pounded on that door, I looked back. I didn't see anything, but it didn't make my heart slow at all.

Finally, it seemed at least a century had passed, the door flew open and there was John, a pair of breeches pulled quickly on, and wearing nothing else.

It wouldn't have mattered if he was in his bathtub. I threw myself at him. George realized who it was and went berserk.

John managed to keep his balance at the shock of my weight hurled against him. “Andy, for God's sake, what's going on? What's wrong? George, be quiet!” There was only one way to quiet George, and that was to pick him up. So John did, just jerked him away from my nearly locked-down right arm. He had George in one arm and the other around me.

I was breathing so hard and so fast I couldn't speak. I just stood there, leaning against a man I feared all the way to my bones, and I didn't want to move, just feel him there, warm and hard and strong, holding George and holding me and knowing we were both safe.

“It's all right,” he said, his voice soft and deep now, warm against my hair. “Everything will be fine. George, that's right, just lick my arm and my shoulder, lick as far as that little tongue of yours will reach. Andy, do you have your breath yet? Can you tell me what happened?”

“Almost,” I said, my breath hot against his shoulder. “Not yet, but almost.”

“Just keep breathing, calm deep breaths . . . that's it.” He just held me and George, standing calm and steady. I had never in my life been so grateful as I was in that moment that this man was here and he was so close I could feel his heart beating against me.

“Now, when you're able, tell me what happened. Did something happen to George?”

I felt his big hand splayed over my back. He covered a lot of me. I felt the heat of his hand through my linen nightgown. I felt the heat of him through the front of my nightgown as well. It felt wonderful. I felt alive. I felt safe.