The Silent Love (24 page)

The Marquis rallied slowly, but surely, for the boy was brought to him each day. The child was so like David—and so much a part of the old man's dream—that his stubborn heart would not allow him to die before he had given the child his heritage. And taught him all he must know to be a peer of the realm and master of all he surveyed.

Coming to his young wife's aid, he began to teach her in earnest those things she would need to know to keep the estate running smoothly when he was gone. He knew he could trust Maguire to help her, yet he wanted to be sure she handled things the way he had always done.

Besides which, Maguire could not stay here forever. He also knew that Hannah was benefiting from this new responsibility and doing a fair job, to boot.

The task of training her well would help heal his sorrow, too.

Chapter Fifteen

~~

Two full years had passed since David's death, and though the Marquis had gotten over the worst part of his grief, he was still subject to grave illness. At five and seventy years he was ready for his final rest. He had held on stubbornly as long as he could, but it was a losing battle.

He lay gasping for breath, his sallow skin stretched across his bones, his claw like hands clutching at the coverlet. The doctor stood on one side of his bed and Mary Strongbow the other. The pair of them glared at one another over the dying man's head.

"You will not bleed him, you witless old fool," Mary hissed in a whisper and jerked her head toward the door, leading the way into the corridor where they continued their battle of wills.

"You have done enough here, imbecile." She shook her fist at him and planted her feet wide, fixing him with a belligerent stare. "You will allow me to tend him, and, if he dies, it will not be this day, for I can bring him round."

"Mary Strongbow, you have no cause to name me such. I am only as good as the knowledge I have of medicine and 'twas not so long ago you were glad enough of that knowledge." He alluded to her illness and how he had nursed her through her grief.

"Yes, and I am sorry that you have learned nothing from me. A bit of laudanum and kind words were needed for my illness, but the Marquis needs more. I have herbs to ease his breathing and broth to give him strength. What have you?"

"Nothing, I suppose." He looked at her, defeated before her haughty stare, and turned to leave, saying, "Do your worst then, Mary." His voice was weary as he added, "I will just go to my home, and, if you have need of me... "

Softening her stance, as Mary was wont to do once she had gotten her way, she spoke more gently to the doctor, "I shall call you back, good doctor, if you are needed."

Turning back into the room she closed the door on the doctor, then opened it once again, holding out his satchel, which he took without a word and quit the manor, his step slow.

Mary enlisted the aid of Dobson and Darwin to make a tent over the bed, build the fire high and boil water. She placed a boiling cauldron close to the bed and began to drop in the herbs, and as the steam arose from the mixture, the Marquis began to breathe more easily.

She called for a cot to be placed in the room and slept there for three nights running, never leaving the room except when nature called her, her loyalty to the father of her child and her pity for the old man who lay in the bed, giving her purpose. For she knew that David would have wanted her to behave thus, and in truth, she still had some love for the man who had torn her life asunder and yet had given her David.

The household, indeed, the entire village settled in to wait. For though he still lived and he had apparently rallied once more, his death was certain in most minds. But not in Mary's, as she battled to save him, whipping him with her scathing remarks one moment to draw life into him by rousing his anger, soothing his brow with a damp cloth the next.

On the third morning, as she sat dozing by the bed, he grunted and turned toward her, his eyes mere slits in his face. "Been enjoying yourself Mary? I vow you have me trussed like a babe... can't move." The covers she had pulled tightly over his thrashing body the night before bound him and he strained against them.

"Hush you. I would that you save your puny strength for getting well. Falling out of that bed would do you no good, would it now?" She reached to loosen the sheet and fixed him with a glowering look as he grabbed at her hands, his grip surprisingly strong.

"I would not fall... you foolish old woman. I am not so addle-brained as you think me."

"Nay, you brain has not the wit to become addled. You must have wit before you... "

"Stop then, with your harping and get me up from here. I would not wet myself... "

Relenting and grinning wide at his petulant tone, she pulled him, with strong arms, into a sitting position, and bent to fetch the pan beneath the bed. "I vow you are foolish if you think you can walk. I must help you in this... "

"You will not! Quit the room, Mary Strongbow, for this is a private matter."

"Ha! As though I have not seen before that which you seek to hide from me. 'Tis withered and useless, but still, I have seen it oft enough. Move your hands, now... and be done with your prattling."

They went on in this vein for some time, and it was a startled Dobson, outside the door, who heard the Marquis laughter followed by a scolding voice from Mary.

He dared to peek into the room and saw the woman standing over her charge, holding the pan while he relieved himself, the Marquis grinning as she jumped back to remove herself from the path of the stream.

Dobson closed the door quietly, and allowed a small grin to touch his mouth, then hurried to tell Darwin, who hurried to tell Elspeth, who in her turn, ran to find the mistress. The Marquis had rallied once more, and would live.

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*  * * * *

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"Hannah, bring the child to me. I would see how my heir does this day." The Marquis always referred to the child as his heir. Had never once called the boy his son. He could not bring himself to so abuse the truth, and with each passing day of his recovery, he grew in his resolve to tell Hannah the truth about her and David, but could not find the words.

He watched the girl as she went quickly across the lawn, calling to her son. The light breeze wafted over his face and he lifted his eyes to the heavens, thinking of David and hoping that God in his mercy had given the lad leave to enter the eternal garden of peace.

Mary Strongbow sat just to his left on the bench and looked at him, her eyes taking in the renewed strength she saw there, and reading his gaze as well. "He is with our Lord, and you know that well, Clayton."

"Yes, but oft I wonder if our earthly sins hold us bound to this place long after we have left the body... "

"Foolishness, to be sure. Quit this prattle now, here comes the boy."

Young Clay ran toward them, David's face shining in the child's countenance. "Papa! Aunt Mary! Look what I have found!"

His small hands formed a cup and within lay a small white butterfly, it's wings whipping frantically as it tried to escape his grasp.

Gently, Mary reached out, opening his little hands, allowing the butterfly to escape. "You must not capture the butterflies, Clay. The are free creatures of God and must be left to do their business."

"What business is that?" The Marquis forestalled the child with his question, looking at her with some amusement. He waited for her answer with anticipation, for Mary never bored him with the mundane and always had something witty, if not profound, to impart.

"The business of making this world a place of beauty. For like the bees who carry the pollen, the butterfly nurtures the flowers in much the same way."

"Ha! I have caught you out. You cannot mean that! Never heard such foolishness... "

"Be quiet you ancient wastrel, for you know naught of this. 'Tis you who are foolish."

"Papa... Aunt Mary!" The boy looked at his grandparents with some puzzlement for they seemed to be fighting, but they did not look angry at all. Deciding that they were too engrossed to pay attention to him, he started to leave, but took no more than a step before he was halted by Mary's voice.

"Clay, stay here now with your Papa. I must go and see about getting our lunch brought out here."

Mary came up from the bench with a sprightly move, for the woman was young yet compared to the Marquis and she patted the child upon his head as she walked away, telling him, "Keep your Papa company until I return," and added with a mischievous grin in the Marquis direction, "should he fall out of his chair, you must send for Dobson at once."

She heard the boy's peal of laughter and the Marquis' indignant grumble as she strode away, her heart full at the sound, for she had thought never to feel peaceful again, but she was.

Mary Strongbow came daily to the manor, for the Marquis was not recovered enough for her satisfaction and she liked being near him, though she denied it to herself, giving her excuse for her visits as his continued ill-health. She fooled no one, least of all the Marquis, and her company and her attention delighted him.

Hannah detected their growing affection with gladness, though often it opened her wounds afresh to see them together in their companionship, for she would never know such a thing. Often in the night she would catch herself listening for the sound of footfalls at her door, or awaken from a dream of him, only to find her bed—and her arms—empty. Her life continued lonely, devoid of his presence.

In the year gone by, Clay had grown tall, his face more like David's as he lost his babyishness and his manor more spoiled and less endearing as he learned his place in the scheme of things.

Sometimes the child was not even likeable, for he had developed a haughtiness that could only come from his grandsire. Hannah despaired of her efforts to keep him humble, for a humble Marquis was unheard of, and her efforts were thwarted at every turn by the old man, who taught his grandson, if not to be mean, to be arrogant.

Hannah went often to the small graveyard where a stone had been erected with David's name upon it. It stood at the end of the row, next to his brother's, lonely and apart, in her eyes. There was not even the comfort of his body in the grave, a body whose bones had long scattered on the floor of the ocean.

She would place a small bouquet of wild flowers in the little vase that had once sat upon her bedside table and she would drop to her knees in prayer.

Prayer that they would be forgiven and as she prayed thus, she came to forgive him and herself, remembering his gentleness with her, and realizing how he must have come to dislike what he had done. Her spirit gradually lifted and Hannah felt better than she had since coming to Darlington Manor.

She took to speaking with the man, as though he could hear her, and told him of her fears for their child, and her every day cares for her new responsibilities as the Marquis gave over more and more of them to her.

It was as though, by unburdening herself here in this quiet place, she could renew her strength, and she was close to her silent love, at least in essence. For she had ceased thinking of him as her lover... now he was simply her love.

Sometimes—like today—she could swear he was close by—his presence haunting her as she knelt at his grave. It was as though he touched her with a look, though she knew she was alone.

The feeling comforted her though, and the sensation was stronger each day that she came there.

Chapter Sixteen

~~

David Strongbow looked down upon the woman, her light wispy hair shining with golden high lights as she bowed her head over his grave. A strong feeling of repulsion went through him at the idea of his headstone, for David was not dead at all.

He sat in the bough of the tree, hidden from her view by the leafy branches, his eyes trained on her small figure, so lithe and graceful.