Anne Barbour (9 page)

“Dear Lord,” breathed Kate. “And the doctors say there is nothing they can do to alleviate the pain? Or to lessen his limp?”

“I sometimes think the sawbones at the front did more damage than good. They cut out a lot of tissue, but they didn’t want to touch the ball itself. I brought him to my home at once, and my family took him to their hearts. Father made sure that he had the finest treatment available. David underwent four operations, at the end of which, the doctors said they had cleaned up the area as much as possible, and that was all they could do for him. One of them did suggest a program of therapeutic exercise, but David would have none of it. Future surgery, possibly to remove the ball, after the healing process had gone forward was also suggested, but David rejected that, too.”

“That’s what I don’t understand,” said Kate anxiously. “It isn’t like him to just give up. The David I know would walk on hot coals if there were the slightest possibility ...”

“I’m afraid the David you knew no longer exists,” Lucius interjected in a sharp voice.

“I know” was Kate’s miserable reply. “Oh, Mr. Pelham, what happened to him? Was—was it Philip’s death?”

Lucius seemed to withdraw into himself.

“I really don’t know, Miss Millbank,” he said slowly. “Certainly it was after Badajoz that he seemed to—change.” He sighed. “I’m afraid I can’t say any more.”

They had by now adjourned from the dining room to the music room, Lucius declining to sit in solitary state over the port decanter.

“And you, Mr. Pelham,” she began, “what made you decide to sell out?”

“Oh, with Boney
rompu,
there seemed little point in staying. I can’t tell you how tired I was becoming of bread and beans. By the by, do you think we could dispense with Mr. Pelham and Miss Millbank? I find I’m growing a little tired of them, as well. May I call you Kate? I have heard you spoken of by that name for so many years, it seems much more natural.”

“Indeed, sir,” she dimpled, “if I may call you Lucius.”

“I’m not sure I approve of all this unchaperoned fraternization of the troops,” said a voice from the doorway.

“David!” cried Kate, as she and Lucius leaped to their feet. “I’m so glad to see you at last. You must be exhausted!”

“Well, it’s certainly been an interesting afternoon,” he replied as he accepted Lucius’s assistance in settling into a wing chair by the fire. Lucius drew chairs for himself and Kate, and they sat watching David expectantly.

“What has Mr. Smollett been telling you all this time?” asked Kate. “Have you spoken to Aunt Regina yet? Oh, David how could this have happened? I mean, for Uncle Thomas to ...”

“And how about Lawrence the Dreadful?” put in Lucius. “I could hear him squealing all the way up to my room. You’ve made an enemy there, David.”

David nodded wearily. “Not that we were ever what one could call close,” he added.

He pulled from inside his coat pocket the letter Mr. Smollett had given him.

“This pretty much explains everything,” he said quietly. “But I still find it hard to believe. You see ...”

“Perhaps I should leave you two,” interrupted Lucius in a diffident tone.

“No, please.” David laid a restraining hand on his friend’s sleeve. “I very much need all the counsel and advice I can get right now. In fact, I was just going to ask if you would mind remaining here for an extended length of time.”

“Absolutely, old man. Father would give me the finest trimming of my life if I left while I can still be of use to you.”

“That’s all right, then. Now, about the letter. As you know, Father dictated it to Mr. Smollett a few days before he died. He tells of his meeting with Felice Wharburton, the daughter of a minor government functionary on Barbados. Her grandmother was pure Carib Indian, so Felice was very much a product of the Islands, and beautiful beyond imagining, according to Father, with dark, uptilted eyes and skin the color of wild honey. They began to see each other, much against the wishes of her father, who saw in the interest of Thomas, Lord Standing as he was then, only the dalliance of a wealthy, young peer.

“Felice was a devout Catholic, and she was overcome with guilt when she conceived Thomas’s child. She was afraid to tell her father. At about that time, she became very ill with an unidentified fever. As the child grew within her, she became progressively worse. Thomas desperately wished to marry Felice, and as she became more ill and more racked with guilt, he determined to do so.

“He arranged to have banns read on one of the tiny island dependencies of Grenada, and they married in the Catholic church there. However, he also obtained a special license through the offices of a good friend, who managed to keep the transaction a secret. This young man, and one other, volunteered to act as witnesses, and traveled with Thomas and Felice to another remote village, where there lived an eccentric, retired British cleric. This gentleman performed a second, Church of England ceremony, after which the couple went back to Felice’s home and delivered the glad news to her father.

“Mr. Wharburton was ecstatic to learn that his daughter had become, in the twinkling of an eye, the Viscountess Standing and the future Countess of Falworth, and it was all Thomas could do to prevent his new father-in-law from dashing off a letter full of felicitations to Westerly. Thomas persuaded him to keep the marriage a secret until after the child was born, feeling that the family would take the whole thing better when presented with a child—hopefully an heir. Actually, he confessed in the letter that he was merely trying to put off the inevitable. Poor Father, he was made literally sick at the thought of the consequences of his action. His eyes were not so blinded by love that he could not picture with horrific clarity the reception he would get at Westerly when he appeared home with a bride of the Indies on his arm.

“When Felice died giving birth to her son, she was buried in the village where her mother had been raised, and I was given into the temporary care of one of Felice’s maternal relatives. Here, fate took an unexpected, and, I might add, a bizarre hand.

“The night of Felice’s funeral was a black and rainy one. Despite advice to the contrary, Mr. Wharburton refused to wait until morning before leaving the village to return to his home—he had never got on well with his wife’s family. At any rate, he came unseeing upon a washed-out bridge and fell to his death.

“Thomas truly grieved the loss of his Felice, but it seemed as though fate had conspired to grant him a reprieve. Only a very few people in the world knew that he had wed Felice, and none of these persons were likely to spread the word beyond the tiny environment of a small island in the West Indies.

“Thomas told no one of his marriage, and shortly thereafter, he was called back to Westerly. He went to the home of his wife’s relatives to make arrangements to insure that his son would be cared for. Something happened to him during that visit. His grief for Felice rose to overwhelm him, as did guilt at the idea of abandoning his son. In a single instant, he made a decision that would change his life—and mine. He decided to bring the boy back to England with him, to be raised at Westerly.”

There was a long silence, as David folded the paper, already creased and rumpled, and returned it to his pocket.

“If you don’t mind my saying so,” said Lucius at last, “it seems to me the real bastard in this story is your father.”

“One could look at it that way, I suppose,” replied David, a faraway look in his eyes. “I prefer to think that Thomas was a weak man, but not a bad one. Even though he could not bring himself to acknowledge what he had done, it still took a great deal of courage to face down his family, with his supposedly illegitimate son in tow.” His mouth curved in a wry smile. “What a comment on our society that a man may be forgiven a bastard son sooner than a misalliance.”

“But,” put in Kate indignantly, “Uncle Thomas almost didn’t write that letter at all. Up until a few days of his death, he intended to let Lawrence accede to the title—and to Westerly. He let Aunt Regina bully him into practically banishing you from the place you loved with all your heart. He sent you off to war knowing you might be killed!”

“And what a burden it must have been to him,” murmured David. “I wonder if that wasn’t what led to his paralytic stroke.”

At this, Lucius rose and made his way to a small table on which rested a brandy decanter and several glasses. Returning with a tray, he smiled.

“I propose a toast. To the Earl of Falworth, and new master of Westerly.”

To Kate’s pleasure, David’s tired eyes lit as he returned the salute.

The three talked companionably for another hour or so, listening to David’s assessment of all he had learned from Mr. Smollett.

“Tomorrow, I’ll have to have a long talk with our bailiff, for by what Smollett can tell me, things are in very bad skin around here. Well,” he sighed, gesturing at the worn furnishings and shabby hangings surrounding them, “I didn’t need a statement of accounting to tell me that.”

“Yes,” said Kate, her eyes shining, “but, now that you are here, you will have things set to rights in no time.”

David looked steadily at her, and it seemed to Kate that a shadow fell across his face. He smiled, though, and put out a hand to her. Kate was instantly conscious of his touch, and its warmth crept through her body with a startling immediacy.

“Your faith in me is touching,” he said, “if somewhat misplaced, my dear. I fear ...”

He was interrupted by the sounds of altercation to be heard in the corridor outside the door.

“Le’ me ‘lone, Smirke!” All present recognized the voice, which was raised to a hysterical pitch. “I may not own this place, but ish’ still my home.”

The door flew open to admit a staggering Lawrence, accompanied by his valet, who was engaged in a futile attempt to restrain his extremely inebriated young master.

Lawrence lurched into the room and, focusing a hazy stare on David, advanced with upraised hand. David rose, but stood composed at his chair.

“You!” Lawrence choked. “Look what you’ve done. You’ve no right, damn you!”

Lucius also rose, and moved to stand at David’s side.

“You’re drunk, you young fool,” he said dispassionately.

His words served only to inflame Lawrence, and to Kate’s dismay, the young man strode to stand, weaving, directly in front of his half brother.

“Why’d you have t’come back?” His words came in a slurred rush. “Ever’thing would’ve been all right if you’d never showed your stupid face here!”

He raised his hand again, and this time David grasped his wrist. Kate gasped, and suppressed an urge to go to David’s assistance, an act, she very well knew would only serve to exacerbate matters.

Lawrence’s face contorted, and he fell back, stumbling into the valet, Smirke. He struggled to right himself, and for a moment looked as though he would lunge into an attack. Then, his eyes met David’s, and it was as though he had been penetrated by a silent shaft. He sagged, and his hand lifted to dash away a sudden spate of tears.

“ ‘S not fair,” he wailed. “It was to’ve been all m-mine. Now, I have nothing.” He rubbed his sleeve over his eyes. “Won’ be ‘n earl—won’ even be a v-viscount.”

David eyed him for a moment, and exchanged a glance with Kate. She relaxed slightly, as she read in his gaze a mixture of pity and exasperation.

He moved to fling an arm around his half brother.

“There, old man. It’s all right. You’re still a Merritt of Westerly. This is your home, Lawrence, and you still have your family.”

Lawrence merely hiccuped. For an instant, a horrified awareness of what he had said flickered in his red-rimmed eyes. He opened his mouth as though to say more, but uttered only a strangled growl, and allowed himself to be led away by Smirke.

David turned to grin ruefully at Lucius.

“Well, if I’ve made an enemy, I don’t think he’s much of a threat.”

“If he were the only one to have his nose put out of joint, I’d say you’re right. I shouldn’t think the cub will cause you much trouble. The she-wolf, however, may be another story.”

“Regina?” David sighed again. “You may be right, but I’m simply too tired to consider it all now. I suggest we call it a night, my friends. I have a feeling the morrow will bring its own problems.”

Good nights were said all around, and the three filed from the gold saloon to seek their bedchambers. Kate felt she would not close her eyes all night, but her head had no sooner nestled into her pillow than she fell into a dreamless sleep.

She was jerked into consciousness some hours later. What was it that had awakened her so suddenly? She sat for some moments in the darkness, silence ringing in her ears. Then she heard it again—a cry that seemed to fill the room like a physical presence. Once more, it came. It was a sound of such primal terror that Kate nearly fell to the floor in her haste to find and succor whoever had cried out in such torment.

Chapter Seven

It was not until she reached the corridor that she realized the sound was coming from David’s room. As she ran, she observed Lucius, hurrying from the opposite direction, hastily tying a sash about his dressing gown.

She was the first to reach David’s door, but Lucius’s hand came down on hers as she reached for the handle.

“No! Don’t go in, Kate,” he said in a low voice. “David has these nightmares fairly often, and he comes out of them none the worse for wear. Curle will be with him already.”

“But I must go to him! He’s in the most awful agony!”

“He’s dreaming only. Please believe me. He would not like you to see him at such a moment.”

At this, Kate paused. She met Lucius’s earnest gaze, and dropped her hand.

“How long has this been going on?” she asked in a stricken whisper.

“Since Badajoz.”

“But that’s where Philip was killed!”

Lucius shifted uncomfortably.

“Yes, well, as I said, it isn’t something he wants to talk about. Now, I’d better nip in and see if Curle needs any help, although it sounds as if David has quieted.”

Indeed, Kate had heard nothing from inside David’s room since just after she had left her own. Reluctantly, she stood aside while Lucius slipped through the door. She made her way back down the corridor, the terrible sound of David’s cries still ringing in her ears. Once she returned to her bed, she found it impossible to go back to sleep.