The Silent Love (22 page)

She came to understand, over a period of time, that her first reactions had been violent and over-blown, due to the shock of learning of the deceit perpetrated against her, coupled with her difficult pregnancy, and the emotional upheaval that accompanied that condition.

Her difficult confinement—well behind her with its nausea, bloating and pain—was but a distant memory. Lady Darlington was coming into her own.

Mary Strongbow's wisdom was working it's magic on Hannah, and she had begun to bloom once more, if only a little.

There was a part of Hannah that still longed for her silent lover... still ached for him in the darkness, but she was determined to put him behind her, for even were she free, she could never wed him. He had not only deceived her, but had stolen her heart—at least the part that didn't belong to her son. To forgive him would be to condone adultery—no matter the reason, no matter her reluctance—she had complied.

Therefore she had sinned
.

The stain of that sin no longer threatened her sanity, but it weighed heavily on Hannah's spirit at times. She was wont to fall into a melancholy state now and again... especially after a restless night of dreams.

Dreams in which her silent lover held her and gave of himself that which she so strongly craved in the deepest places of her heart.

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*  * * * *

.

"Milady, the post has come." Darwin approached his mistress in the quiet bower of the garden where she often sat by herself, reading or sewing or just staring off into the distance. "There is a missive for you, but the Marquis asked that you join him in the study, so he might give it to you."

"Very well Darwin," she sighed with some impatience, as she disliked being near her husband, and he sought her company more than she would wish. "Tell his lordship I will join him shortly."

Wondering who would be sending her a letter—she had no friends or acquaintances, nor relatives who might do so—she gathered her book and went slowly, her step reluctant, to join her husband.

"There you are, m'dear. I was just thinking of sending a search party, for I vow it has taken you an age to get here." The Marquis' voice was strained with his attempt to sound hearty and teasing, for his mood was not teasing at all. He added to the retainer, "Please close the door and leave us undisturbed, Darwin."

When she had crossed the room and seated herself in one of the comfortable chairs in front of his desk, the old Marquis did not speak immediately, but sat looking down at the paper in his hand, his shoulders slumped. She noticed, as well, the new lines of pain in his face. Saw his throat working with the effort to speak.

Hannah waited quietly, with a growing alarm at the sight of him, for he looked frailer than ever, and his voice had lost much of its strength. Though Hannah was wont to avoid him, thinking he had betrayed her by not fully disclosing who would be the father of her child, she was still fond of him. She recalled his many kindnesses' and her heart softened just a bit at the sight of this parody of a once-strong man.

"There is a letter come today... " he lifted the missive. "From Mr. Maguire. He has had word of David." He peered closely at her and saw her stiffen and grow pale, but she waited, still and silent.

"There was a terrible storm off the coast of the Carolinas—that's in the Colonies, you know." His voice was shaky and full of unshed tears, and the look in his eyes was hollow... like death visiting.

"Yes, but tell me what you mean to say, kind husband, for I would not have this dragged out. Has something happened to Da... your son?"

She stuttered over his name, but otherwise her voice was noncommittal, yet her heart beat rapidly, the familiar ache beginning there. Swallowing a lump of fear she murmured, "Pray tell me."

The Marquis spoke low and his whispering voice caused her to strain forward to hear him. "All hands lost... all passengers lost." He lifted his brimming eyes to her, and the pain that radiated from him was reflected in her own gaze. "David has drowned."

Darkness descended upon Hannah, and she fought to keep it from closing in, to no avail. Slowly, she slipped from her chair, falling in a dead faint upon the carpet, head thumping the front of the desk with a dull thud. She knew nothing, of course, for she was already insensible.

"Dobson! Darwin! Get in here quickly." The Marquis rose awkwardly from his seat and came round the desk, his progress so slowed by his nearly useless legs the aide and the butler were there before him.

Lifting the girl gently, Dobson moved her to a small couch and Darwin stepped forward, only to be pushed back by the competent aid, who gently slapped at her cheeks and rubbed her hands.

Hannah came to herself, awakening to the feel of a stinging upon her face. She swatted at the offending object and Dobson, satisfied that she was coming round, stood up and assumed his normal stance at attention.

"No time for smelling salts," he mumbled, to explain his actions. "Nor burnt feathers either."

The silence in the room was broken only by the soft sobbing of the old Marquis as he had once more slumped into his chair and held his hands over his eyes, head thrown back in an agony of despair.

Neither of the servants were aware of what had happened, and, as Hannah sat up and looked at their astonished faces, then at the helpless master, deep in his grief, she knew it would be her place to tell them.

Drawing strength from somewhere deep within, Hannah came to her feet and went to stand by her husband, a hand upon his shoulder and looked at the butler and aide. "The young master... ' she began, then gulped down a sob before saying abruptly, "David Strongbow has been lost at sea. Tell the others and have them prepare the house for mourning."

Her words hung in the air and both servants, looking as stunned as she, bowed their way from the room and went to do her bidding. Hannah moved to stand in front of the elderly man who was her husband, and drawing his hands from his face, she pulled him against her where he rested his head, and comforted him with a gentle hand soothing his hair.

"His mother will have to be told. Should I send someone for her?" The ache in her throat almost prevented her speaking.

"Go to her yourself, m'dear. I would that she hear it from you." He leaned away from her, withdrawing into himself. "I would be alone now for awhile."

"You should not be alone... I shall send Dobson to you." Her voice was firm and he had not strength to argue, his ancient body slumping deeper into the chair.

Crossing the room, she called to the aide, who naturally, stood outside the door. "Go to him now Dobson... and no matter what he says, leave him not alone." She added with something akin to imperiousness, "On pain of my displeasure."

Though her heart had shattered in her breast and her eyes were weeping, silent tears coursing down her face, she stepped into the foyer and began to give brisk orders to the servants who had gathered there. "Have the crepe above the door, cover all the windows, except the nursery floor and I would have a carriage brought round immediately, please."

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*  * * * *

.

Mary Strongbow had spent a restless night and her dreams had been of roiling waves of water, of darkness descending and a black raven flying over her bed, back and forth, back and forth, screeching loudly.

She drew herself up from the tangle of covers and went to wash her face in the basin on the nightstand. She had just finished toweling herself and had begun to comb her hair when she heard the carriage.

The sound disturbed her as though from that long ago time, and her heart pounded loudly, the blood rushing to her ears, as the wheels drew to a halt before the door.

Dread gripped her. Hands shaking, she lay the brush down. When Hannah came to visit with the child, they often walked or drove the pony cart, so she knew the carriage—as before—was a harbinger of ill tidings.

Slowly, she arose and went to the door, drawing her robe about her, not bothering to dress, for what news could she hear that would require her to dress? The dream—one she had dreamt six nights running—stayed with her now, and she knew that something terrible had happened, knew it in her very bones.

She would soon be back in her bed, she was certain, for the dread was overwhelming her now, like a whirlpool of darkness, drawing her, clutching at her.

Hannah came up the steps; her face pinched, her eyes puffy from tears, and knocked upon the door. When Mary Strongbow, disheveled and still in her nightclothes, opened the portal, Hannah looked at her and the older woman looked back, and, seeing the truth in Hannah's eyes, Mary began to sob so loudly that everyone on the street could hear.

Gillian Strongbow came at a lope from his shop, and aided by Hannah, pushed and pulled his daughter to her bed. The woman looked up with unseeing eyes at them. She turned on her side, away from the pair and her weeping subsided, replaced by moans and an occasional outcry. Else, she was still.

They left her and went out into the sunlight, Gillian slumping on the step, Hannah standing on the path near to him.

"She will be alright. 'Tis certain Mary is of a strong bent and will survive this, for there is the child... " Gillian Strongbow sat on the step of the small porch, his elbows resting on his knees; his hands clasped loosely, shoulders bowed beneath the weight of his anguish.

He looked up at the girl who loved his grandson, and tried to comfort her with a gesture, patting her hand that lay against his shoulder. "She will mend child, look to yourself and seek comfort in the babe."

"Will she mend, Master Strongbow? I vow she was maddened by this news. I had only to look at her and she fell senseless."

Hannah, recalling that moment in her mind's eye, saw Mary pulling at her hair, eyes glazed with insanity, voice shrieking
no
, drawing the word to into an endless phrase. "I will have Elspeth come to stay with her until she has recovered. And you will need someone to look after you as well."

"Nay, I can deal with my daughter and I'll need no assistance, for I am not a helpless babe." His voice was not strong and wavered once or twice, as though he would break down, but he stilled his tears with an effort. "No need to send the magpie here... she gets on m' nerves, she does."

"Then I shall have Mrs. Bowen come. You will not argue, for to vex me in this matter would only add to my own grief, sir." She spoke softly, but the hint of steel that laced her words precluded argument. Hannah was finding a reserve of strength she had not known she possessed.

"Gates fetch the Widow Bowen here. Tell her what has happened. Tell her Lady Darlington wishes her to present herself immediately."

 There was that word again—immediately. A word Hannah was not accustomed to using; a take charge manner was alien to her.

The coachman went off to fetch the widow, his quickened pace giving evidence of Hannah's strong command for he had never heard Milady speak so harshly nor look so determined.

The was a hardening about Hannah's mouth, and in her spirit as well. The onslaught of emotional drain and pain over the last two years had jelled in her at this moment and Hannah was becoming inured to the blows that life kept dealing her. She gave orders with a no nonsense attitude and no one thought to gainsay her, and were indeed astonished at the change in the once timid and gentle lady.

When the widow arrived, Hannah instructed her to keep by Mary's side and keep her appraised of the woman's condition.

"Should there be a change, let me know. Send one of the village lads to me. Be sure to emphasize that only I should be approached, for I would not have his lordship disturbed. This news has felled him... "

She looked at the wizened face of Carrie Bowen, and saw the woman understood her.

The news had flown through the small village, and a crowd had begun to gather in the lane, as Mary Strongbow's friends and neighbors came to offer condolences.