An Unnatural Daughter: A Dark Regency Mystery (13 page)

Damien sat with his back against one wall, and his legs bent and his feet touching the wall opposite. He smiled at me, which was a relief.

‘You don’t mind if I-’ I broke off, unsure of how to continue.

‘Not at all. I don’t get many visitors.’ He smiled, and rose, stepping forward to help me up the ladder. ‘Does anybody know you’re here?’

‘No.’ I shook my head. ‘They still don’t know I found you.’

‘That I let you find me?’ He smiled again and I was aware of how close, how alone we were.

I stepped away, or as far away as I could, given the confines.

‘I want to say I’m sorry,’ I said quietly. ‘For pushing you away, and running.’

I heard his intake of breath.

‘You don’t have to apologise, you know,’ he said, still keeping his distance. ‘I shouldn’t have done it. It was – well, I don’t want to say it was wrong. Unless you’d like me to, that is.’

I forced a smile and avoided his eye.

‘I like your hair, by the way,’ he continued. ‘I – I hope it wasn’t because of what I did, but it does suit you.’

I felt embarrassed by his scrutiny, and quickly made to change the subject.

‘Since I saw you, some other things have happened, and I-’ I faltered, still unsure of how to say what I wanted to, or whether I even should.

‘Tristan?’

‘You saw us?’ I whirled round and looked at him, finally. He gave a wry smile and examined his nails.

‘I saw him touching you. And I saw you running away from him, too.’

My heart lurched and I almost reached out to him. Almost.

‘But what can I say to that?’ he continued. ‘I have no claim on you, but neither does he, it would appear. I can’t chastise you for that. Although,’ he tilted his head to one side and seemed to study me. ‘I think you chastise yourself enough. You look terrible.’

In spite of it all, I laughed.

‘That’s better.’ He smiled. ‘Was it Tristan you came to tell me about?’

I shook my head.

‘I want to tell you. I should have told you earlier, I think.’

‘That you aren’t Alice?’

I nodded.

‘You don’t have to,’ he said.

‘I know. But I need to, really. So.’ I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. ‘My name is Fleur Mason. Or, it was. Now, and as of about two weeks ago, my name is Fleur Raynor.’

Damien said nothing, and I forced myself to open my eyes. He was staring at the wall, expressionless.

‘I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what you want me to say.’

‘Gabriel Raynor is my uncle.’

‘Jesus Christ.’

‘And my husband.’

Damien swore and put his head in his hands, rubbing his face before, with a visible effort, he forced himself to look at me.

‘What the hell happened to you?’

The room began to swim as my eyes began to water, and I wanted to empty my stomach, but I made myself tell him, to confirm the words I had not spoken before now.

‘I tried to kill him. He was- that is, he started to…’

‘No, no, you don’t have to tell me that bit. For God’s sake, don’t tell me that bit.’

‘I hit him.’ I couldn’t stop myself crying, as the room receded and I saw again what had happened to me that night. ‘With a candlestick. And he collapsed. I thought he was dead. There was blood, and he was so heavy. I thought I was a murderer, so I ran away.’

I rambled on and on, the blood and the pain of the road on my bare feet, and the rain and how it was so cold and how I thought I’d die and go to hell. I wasn’t in that tiny room any more, I was in the memory, and I couldn’t get out. Through it all I felt Damien put his arms around me and hold me close, stroking my back and kissing my hair as I rocked on the balls of my feet, then dissolved into a mess of tears and sobs.

Slowly, I came back. As my rocking eased to a stop and the tears slowed to a steady drip, Damien released me and stepped away.

‘Fleur?’ he said, eventually. ‘Your real name is Fleur?’

I nodded.

‘And he’s your uncle too?’

I nodded again.

‘Oh God. Then your father – is he his brother or something?’

‘In law. I just found out - my mother was Gabriel’s sister.’

‘Jesus Christ.’ Damien thumped the wall. ‘Is that legal? To marry your damned niece?’

I stared at my fingers, twisted together, purple in places, white in others. I was too ashamed to meet his eye.

‘So I’m told.’

‘That’s just warped... twisted. And you hit him?’

‘Yes.’

‘Jesus, Fleur. God, I’m proud of you but Jesus Christ. I should have been there.’ He thumped the wall again, sending a shower of thick dust and grit to the floor. ‘I’ve been stuck in here like a rat in a cage. We knew he was about, we knew he was going to get married, but I didn’t know it had actually happened, that it could possibly be you.’

He began to pace, but in the narrow confines it was only two small, stilted steps either way.

‘God, Alice. Fleur, I mean.’ Damien shook his head as though to clear it and leaned back against the wall. ‘Well I might as well tell you now. That’s why I’m here. Tristan heard Raynor was marrying again. After what happened to Cassie, I didn’t think- it was the gall of it, really. To do it again, in front of us, barely a year after she died. So I sold my commission, told the navy I was going to try my luck in America, then came here. I’ve been living in secret for almost a month, in this damned hole, because I was going to kill him. You almost beat me to it. Hell.’

He thumped the wall again, then leaned against the wall and sank to the floor.

‘The point of it was to save you. To save this nameless, faceless girl we didn’t know, because we knew what had happened to Cass. Hell, I should have shot the bastard over a year ago when she died.’

I steadied myself against the wall, and when that didn’t seem to be enough, sat on the rug with my knees pulled up to my chin. I tried not to rock back and forth. There simply wasn’t room.

‘You were going to kill him?’

Damien grunted and started cracking his knuckles.

‘Did – does Edwina know? And Tristan?’

‘Yes.’

‘Oh my.’

My fears had, it appeared, been unfounded, that I had been abusing the hospitality of my hosts by allowing them to unwittingly harbour the murderer of Gabriel Raynor. I almost laughed at the absurdity.

‘I thought I’d killed him. It was the most awful feeling. I didn’t know anything about him – that he’d had a wife, that he was my family, anything. I only knew that when he was – that I just acted. I didn’t even realise I was doing it, and then he was lifeless. Blood on his face, and a bloody weapon in my hand. And you – you were going to do that willingly?’

‘He killed my sister.’

I couldn’t judge. I didn’t want to judge the actions he had planned to take and perhaps still would. I just wanted to understand how someone I had come to care for, who had seemed so carefree and normal, could countenance the idea of taking the life of another.

‘Tristan said that he didn’t know how she died – if it was childbirth. Women die in childbirth and…’

‘Tristan.’

Damien curled his lip and almost snarled. In a flash, he was like a wild animal curled in that corner.

‘Tristan wasn’t there. Tristan sold Cass to Raynor for a fruitless shot at imagined glory. He was supposed to look after her while I was at sea. He promised me she’d be fine but he let her go.’

Damien’s voice was gravelly and thick, and I wasn’t sure if he was crying. I fought the conflicting urges to run from him or hold him. Instead I stayed, torn, on the floor.

‘I was at war, I had to go, and he swore to me he’d look after Cass and Mother while I was gone. Then he gave her away, because he wanted a scarlet coat.’ Damien’s voice dripped with disgust. ‘He had this idea that war was all winning battles and getting medals. He didn’t know about the blood and the stench, and the waiting. That’s the worst bit. Waiting to kill or be killed. But,’ he laughed, and I felt cold. ‘I suppose you could say I’m used to it now. It’s what I’ve been doing here, isn’t it?’

I didn’t know what to say.

‘The thing about Tristan,’ he continued, ‘is that he’s so damned nice. He can paint, and girls always like that, so I wouldn’t blame you for being seduced by it, and he’s pretty, if you like that in a fellow, and again, girls seem to tend to. And he’s friendly, and amenable, and all my life, he’s been the nicest man I’ve known. But I’ll be damned if I can forgive him for this. Because then, then when he’d sold her, he saw her one more time. Bear in mind, Fleur, that Mother hadn’t been able to see Cass since Gabriel took her. No letters, no visits, nothing for months. And the bastard didn’t run over to the carriage and save her. He didn’t rip open the door and demand to know why she left him. And I hate him. And I feel so, so guilty, that I wasn’t there to do it either.’

At that, I went to him, and cradled his head in my arms as best I could in that tiny, dusty corner. We sat in silence, I don’t know how long for, but eventually I had to ask the question which had been on my lips ever since he told me why he was there.

‘Are you still going to kill Gabriel?’

Damien raised his head and looked at me, directly into my eyes, mere inches from me.

‘For as long as I’m alive, I will make sure that bastard dies. I should have killed him when I came home before, but the war, and the grief… I was in shock, I think. Everything was just happening around me. I couldn’t think.’

‘But can you be sure he killed your sister? I mean, they say nobody knows how she died. What if it was a child?’

Damien pushed me away from him and I lost my balance, sprawling on the rugs as he rose and stood over me.

‘He’s your uncle and your husband. You told me you didn’t understand where your loyalties should lie. But what sort of man wants to marry his sister’s child? And think, just think of what you were like when Tristan found you. I don’t know what Raynor did to you, but it’s a good guess that you didn’t get all those bruises from running away. I know, I have no proof but I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that he murdered my sister. And I think you know that too. Even though you don’t know everything about it, and even though you don’t know everything about him.

‘Now, I’m not going to try and persuade you, and if you want to you can go from here, straight back to him, and tell him that I want to kill him. You can warn him and he can send someone to kill me. But I don’t think you’ll do that, because I think you know, even if you don’t understand why, that Gabriel Raynor needs to die.’ 

And run I did. Not back to Gabriel, never, never in a million years back to Gabriel. That was my quandary. I hated him for what he had done to me, but I didn’t understand him. I felt sure that as a human there must be some explanation for his actions. I clung to the idea that he had truly loved Damien’s sister and mourned her loss. It made his subsequent actions, with regards to me, easier to understand. But it didn’t help explain Damien’s bloodlust.

I went to my room and looked out to see Tristan, Edwina and Jane, all still sitting outside in the grass. They had known. These wonderful people, the angels I had surrounded myself with, had all been plotting my husband’s murder. Perhaps they had not plotted, but to allow and support another was as bad as plotting, surely. Murder, taking the life of another, that was the worst of sins, yet these were the best people I had ever met. I must be wrong about somebody. But looking at Edwina, her serene face and golden hair, I couldn’t believe it could be her. Similarly Tristan, smiling in the sunshine, his long legs stretched out over the grass, seemed incapable of even the most remotely evil thoughts.

From my window I could see most of the garden, and over the trees on the left, could catch a glimpse of the road beyond. It was always quiet, and only rarely, on market days, did I see people or horses passing by. But today, my eye was caught by a dark figure that lingered by the roadside. It was a man, tall, with shoulder-length dark hair and dressed all in black. Even though I knew him only dressed in livery, I recognised Peregrine immediately. I instinctively stepped back from the window, as although part of me hoped he would help me, I knew he must be here at Gabriel’s bidding.

The noose was closing around my neck. I needed to talk to Father again.

CHAPTER 18

The Blood & The Bridle

I didn’t sleep much on my second night. I wasn’t used to how silent it was. No creaking as the house settled, no tapping of branches against windows. Just, nothing. There were people all around me, and I heard no sound of them. I strained my ears. Despite his disgust of my state, I feared my husband would know my courses were almost at an end, and come to my rooms to inspect me or something else grotesque. My thoughts kept returning to the room I had stumbled upon that day, and I wondered if I would be able to sleep if I went there. But I dared not. I scarcely dared to move a muscle.

I drifted into an uneasy sleep as the grey light of dawn began to seep around the curtains. Moments later, it seemed, the two maids entered my room. Sullen and Apologetic, as I thought of them in my head, busied themselves making up a fire and removing my clothes from the wardrobe with a clatter of hangers. Apologetic pulled back my sheets and together, she and Sullen stripped my nightgown from my body. I tried to cover myself with my hands, but Sullen was there before me, scrubbing me roughly with a cold, damp flannel that made my skin smart and leap to a dull redness. I felt bruised and tender as the maids dressed me in my layers and layers of new clothes, pulling my stays even tighter than before. After pulling at my hair and sticking pins in my head until it resembled something I supposed was fashionable, they sent me down to breakfast.

I peered around the door. Nobody was there. By which I mean there were two stiff, liveried servants standing as though guarding the sideboard on which a variety of pots and dishes were laid out. But my husband and his mother were absent. I stole a glance at the men, but they pointedly avoided my gaze. Hunger curled through my stomach for the first time since the wedding, and I decided to take advantage of my relative solidarity to eat as much as I could without anyone there who would pass judgement.

There were stacks of toast, a creamy, yellow brick of butter, pots and pots of jams and a big jug of milk. I also helped myself liberally to bacon, thick, juicy rashers, and spooned heaps of scrambled egg on my plate. I couldn’t get used to the sheer volume of food that was always available, compared to the small number of people who ever appeared to eat it. Perhaps that’s why I took so much. I perched on one of the chairs at the overlong mahogany table and began to make inroads on my food. It was so delicious, and in my hunger it seemed like the best food I’d ever eaten. I wondered as I ate, savouring the rush of warm, melted butter on my tongue, when I had last eaten a proper meal. I couldn’t really remember.

‘Oh dear.’

Gabriel appeared, just as I was opening my mouth especially wide to stuff the rest of my slice of toast in. My throat immediately closed and I felt sick. I chewed as quickly as I could and forced myself to swallow while he watched, his arms folded as he leaned against the wall watching me.

‘You’re getting used to it then, Fleur? The grandeur, the money? That didn’t take long.’

Gabriel examined his nails and struggled to keep the amusement from his voice.

‘You’ll want to be careful though. Imagine, eating all that for every meal. That’s what you’d like, isn’t it? But then there’d be none left for the servants’ breakfast, would there?’

I couldn’t look at him, nor down at my plate, where I was revolted by the quantity I had thought to consume. I disgusted myself, just as I disgusted my husband.

‘No no, that won’t do at all, will it? You’d eat me out of house and home and then where would I be? Poor and desolate, with nothing but a fat, fat wife to keep me company. And who would want the company of a fat, fat wife? My dear, we simply must see to it that it doesn’t come to pass. A poor, desolate Gabriel Raynor, saddled with a fat beast of a wife. Neither of us want that, do we? Do we?’

He shouted, sharply, and I jumped, shaking my head at his command.

‘Speak, Fleur.’

‘No, we don’t,’ I whispered. I was scared of him, but it was only words, I tried to tell myself, it was just words. None of it would hurt me. I must be strong, and try to be a good wife.

‘Very good,’ I heard the smile in his voice. ‘I so long for your obedience in all things. And that is why I really think you ought not to eat so much. And because I truly care for you and your wellbeing. I only want to keep you in the situation to which you have become so quickly accustomed. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘I like the sir,’ he mused. ‘Very nice. You may keep that, I think. Like a pet name for your beloved? Very nice indeed. Now, for our plan to keep you trim, as a young girl ought to be. I think you’ll agree that you’ve eaten quite enough this morning.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘In fact, judging by the gaps on my table, you’ve probably eaten enough for the rest of the day. At the very least. Would you not agree, Fleur?’

I felt so sick that I couldn’t have eaten another bite if he’d forced it down my throat.

‘Yes.’

‘Sir?’ He laughed at me. ‘How quickly we forget our love, Fleur. Do try again.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘So I think it’s probably best if you don’t eat any more today. That seems about right, don’t you think?’

I stared down at my plate, still heaped with all those good things, and tried to remember what I’d actually eaten. Toast, I thought, just toast. Two slices, perhaps. No more.

‘But I-’

‘Fleur.’ Gabriel’s tone dripped with disapproval. ‘Didn’t we agree that I only want what’s best for you? It seems to me that you can’t be trusted to fall in line with me. Oh dear, and I had hoped for both our sakes that it would be easier.’

He gave a heavy sigh and flicked a speck of lint from his spotless coat sleeve.

‘You,’ he gestured lazily to the footman closest to me. ‘Take Fleur to her room. She’s to remain there for the rest of the day. Nobody is to take her any food. She may return here for a light dinner this evening.’

Gabriel sighed again as the footman approached my chair and I stood, shaky and unstable on my feet.

‘That’s the problem with marrying children, I suppose. But what’s to do? I must make the best of it. I shall see you tonight, Fleur, all being well.’

With that my husband stepped past me and towards the sideboard to inspect what was on offer for his breakfast.

‘Ooh, eggs.’

In a flash I longed to slap him. Instead, I resolved to do my very best, and followed the footman out of the room.

Sullen sat with me for hours, for the rest of the morning. I had a glass of water, which did very little to curb the noises my stomach had started to make. At every creak and groan she would click her tongue at my impertinence. She was doing some mending, stockings, by the looks of it, but I had nothing to do. I scanned my room for a book, a pen and paper, anything to occupy myself with, but there was nothing. It was devoid of anything that wasn’t merely ornamental.

Instead, I was forced, as I’m sure Gabriel intended, to dwell on my misdemeanours. I could understand, I supposed, why he would want an attractive, slender wife. And God only knew he wasn’t pleased by my beauty. I was under no allusions that I was anything other than passable, given my father’s lifelong disappointment that I did not take after my mother.

With that in mind, I persuaded myself that he was right to treat me thus. He wasn’t to know that I had barely eaten for the past few days. He only knew what he had seen that morning. I was at fault, I should have told him why I had so much food.

Looking back, I can understand why I felt like I did, even though I am ashamed. I knew nothing of the world, really, nothing of other people, and absolutely nothing of the relationships between husbands and wives. As it was, all I knew was that I had sworn to honour and obey, but that I was finding it very difficult. With nothing to distract me, I sat on my bed, straight backed, and tried not to remember the smell of the bacon, the taste of butter oozing into my mouth, the crunch of the toast. My stomach moaned, and I clutched it with my hand, trying to make it smaller so it didn’t feel so cavernously empty.

At the bell for lunch, Sullen left me. She cast a look of distaste back in my direction before she locked the door behind her, and I was glad to see her go. Without the shackles of her presence, I felt able to leave the bed and pull the chair she had been sitting on so it stood before the window. My head began to spin from the effort. It was my own foolishness, I chastised myself. I ought to have eaten more than a mouthful at any meal over the past few days. Now, the hunger which had been so absent in Gabriel’s presence clawed at me, moaned and cried for my attention. There was nothing else to do but to think of food. I stared at the garden instead, trying not to think of crisp, green salads and thick, vegetable soup.

The garden was magnificent. The weather, glorious, and the borders so neat and beautiful. Once again I was assailed by the pang of longing for my life as it had been, and I cried, and my stomach seemed to echo and ache, and I cried more, wishing the hours away until dinner, when I could behave, when I would be a proper and a good wife, and Gabriel would let me eat.

Crying exhausted me, and I was fortunate in that I dozed my way through much of the afternoon. I woke in jerks and starts, never knowing where I was, never immediately remembering why my stomach ached so unpleasantly. At last the sky began to darken. I imagined the smells; duck, in a rich gravy, that I’d tasted for the first time the previous evening. Or fish, dripping with butter.

I heard the dinner gong, and hurried to my ewer to wash my face. I smoothed my hair and tried to make myself look a little more presentable. It wouldn’t do to look so untidy when Gabriel came for me. The big clock in the hall struck the hours and the evening passed. One hour, two hours, then three since the gong had sounded. He had forgotten me. He must have. He would not leave me to starve, surely. I racked my brains for something I had done since being shut up in my room that would have displeased him. It was Sullen, it had to have been Sullen who had told him of the greedy noises my stomach had made that morning. I rubbed my belly, feeling the hollowness below my ribs. It groaned again, heavy with pain.

I retreated to the bed, curling myself in a ball to try and make the aching gap in my stomach seem smaller. Then I slept, waking at any creak or imagined noise, my eyes darting over to the door to see if Gabriel had come for me. He had not.

The sky lightened gradually and I began to hear the noises of the house awakening. I waited now for Sullen and Apologetic, and water. I wanted water, more than food I craved water, and my throat felt dry and cracked. Swallowing hurt more than my stomach now.

I reached for my water glass, to see if by some miracle it had refilled itself in the night, but it was empty. There was nothing in my room at all. My head began to swim, then I heard a creaking sound, as the key was turned in the lock. The door opened ajar, and an unknown hand slipped a balled-up napkin across the floor. Then Peregrine poked his head around. He raised a shaking, gloved finger to his lips and shook his head. His eyes were wide and he looked scared. Then he disappeared and the door was locked again. I stared at the napkin in amazement, then leapt up, running to unwrap it.

Bread, still warm, and spread with butter. Not much, just two slices, but as much as I’d eaten in days. I fell on it, massacring it, crumbs flying everywhere. I was like an animal, casting furtive glances at the door as I chewed. All too soon it was gone, and I licked the napkin for the taste of it, scooping up the crumbs that lay in my lap and scattered across the floor. The butter had soothed my throat a little, although the bread still stuck to the roof of my mouth and in a thick crust over my teeth.

It was heaven. I still yearned for more, but it was wonderful, beautiful, and so, so kind of Peregrine to bring me it. I assumed Gabriel was unaware his rules were being flouted, and made haste to hide all evidence. The crumbs were disposed of easily enough, but where could I hide the napkin? Everything in the room was monitored by Sullen and Apologetic, as was every inch of my person.

But even as I looked for a hiding place, I heard an unaccustomed clamour, and the door was roughly unlocked. For want of a better place, I hurriedly sat on the napkin, but I needn’t have bothered. Gabriel wrenched the door open and dragged Peregrine through, throwing him to the floor. He kicked him where he lay, but Peregrine didn’t make a sound.

‘Fleur,’ Gabriel looked at me with a smile, ‘my darling wife. It pains me to tell you of an unfortunate rumour that has reached my ears, through my staff, of all people. Do ring the bell, would you, dearest?’

And I had no choice but to get up, and he saw the napkin, but I think it would have made no difference any way.

‘I am told, and now am faced with the proof that, in spite of my orders to the contrary, my trusted valet has taken food to my wife, and that my wife has eaten it. Imagine my horror! Imagine my feelings at being so duped, and undermined.’

With those words, Gabriel kicked Peregrine for emphasis.

‘And that you,’ he looked to me with eyes bright with disappointment, ‘my wife, should allow him to so dupe you! It pains me, much as it pained me to shut you in here in the first place. But when will you understand that everything I do is for your own good.’

Peregrine groaned and curled into a tight ball, clutching his stomach.