As Death Draws Near (18 page)

I had to agree, though it also reminded me of something else. “At least Marsdale has been behaving himself. Though, I admit, it's a bit disconcerting. Bizarrely so. I don't think I heard him make an inappropriate quip all day.”

“That's because you didn't spend any time with him before we reached the abbey. I nearly ran him over with the phaeton after a particularly coarse remark he made about abbesses.”

I lifted my head to look at him. “Wait. Isn't that . . .” I couldn't finish the sentence.

From the set of his mouth I could tell he didn't wish to explain it either, but he would. “An abbess is also a term to describe a female keeper of a brothel.”

I pressed my lips together tightly, fighting a wave of anger. “Well,” I murmured on an exhale as I lowered my head back to Gage's shoulder. “I suppose the world can't be going to complete ruin if Marsdale is still capable of being so crude.”

His chest lifted beneath my ear on a huff of laughter. “Yes, there is that.”

A
s a newlywed, when your husband wakes you in the middle of the night, you naturally expect it to be for a pleasant reason. So to then be flung aside rather cruelly is somewhat a shock to the body.

I lifted my head from the twist of covers into which I'd been thrown, blinking my eyes blearily at the sight of Gage tugging on his trousers. He crossed to the window in three quick strides and parted the curtains to peer out, a stray beam of moonlight striking his bare chest.

“Sebastian, what is it?” I mumbled.

Noises outside the window began to penetrate through the fog in my brain. It sounded as if there was half a dragoon of mounted riders stamping about in the carriage yard, the beat of their horses' hooves accented by their shouts.

I stared wide-eyed at Gage as he bent over searching for something on the floor. He stood, tossing my nightdress to me as he pulled his shirt over his head.

“Dress, and find your pistol. Do not leave this room.” He paused at the threshold, staring back at me. “I mean it, Kiera.” His voice was sharp, the lines of his body taut. “I'll send Bree to you.”

Then he was gone with a slam of the door before I could utter another word. I swallowed the sour coating of fear which had filled my mouth, and forced myself to do what he told me.
With the nightdress over my head, I slid from beneath the warm covers to scamper across the room toward the dressing table. Once standing, I could see the light from the torches the men on horseback carried through the thin curtains, and my legs stiffened. Did they intend to burn the house down?

The crash of something below made me jump, and I turned back to my task. On the third try, I found which drawer Bree had stored my reticule in, but then had to struggle with the string closure on the bag to extract my percussion pistol. I inhaled deeply, telling myself the shot would do me no good should I need it if I could not get my hands to stop shaking.

I inched back toward the window, pulling the curtain cautiously aside to see. The opening of the door brought my head around with a start, but it was only Bree, huddled in a wrapper, her curls restrained under a mobcap. She shut the door and turned the key in the lock, before crossing the room toward me.

“M'lady, get away from there,” she hissed. When I ignored her, she tried something harsher. “Do ye want to get shot?”

I scowled. “I am not going to cower in bed with no idea what is happening. Besides, if they set the house ablaze, it's best we know immediately rather than stand around being singed.”

This silenced her. After a moment's hesitation, she moved forward to stand at the other side of the window. I peered across the space at her, the torchlight clearly illuminating her as it flickered in the reflection of the glass, and caught her eye in an instant of solidarity. Then the shout of voices below recaptured our attention.

I couldn't see Gage, but I could hear him, his voice rising above the tumult to speak to the men who seemed to be the leaders of this mob, their horses standing at the front, facing the door. I noticed the lower half of the cowards' faces were covered by some sort of kerchief, attempting to obscure their identity.

“All right, then. You've brought enough attention to yourselves. What is it you want?”

I was shocked by the bold defiance of his speech, and afraid of what they might do to him. It was clear he refused to be cowed by these men. Whether this was the right tactic to take, I didn't know, but my muscles tightened in trepidation.

“What we be wantin' is for ye to leave,” one of the men sneered in reply. “We've no need of ye nor do we want yer help.”

Several of the men voiced their agreement with shouts and grunts.

“We takes care of our own,” a second man shouted.

“We don't need the bletherin' English muckin' in our matters, sure we don't,” said a third.

At this, Bree's hand tightened on the curtain, making it waver. I glanced up to find her eyes narrowed on the third man.

“He does look familiar, doesn't he?” I whispered.

She flicked an uncertain glance at me. “Maybe.”

The horses' hooves began stamping in the dust again, drowning out some of what was said. But I did hear quite clearly when the first man threatened us. “Consider dis yer warnin'.” He raised his arm, as if in signal, and the mass of horsemen churning about the yard began to turn as one toward the exit. Even as they did so, two of the men broke off from the group to ride toward one of the smaller outbuildings across the drive, flinging their torches onto the roof. I gasped as the thatch caught fire.

As the last of the horsemen disappeared into the night, Gage led several of the male servants out into the yard toward the smoldering building, shouting directions. After watching their efforts to extinguish the fire for several minutes, I crossed the room to replace my pistol, picking up my wrapper as I stepped over it. Throwing it over my shoulders, I moved to unlock the door.

“But m'lady,” Bree protested, hurrying forward to stop me. “Mr. Gage said no' to leave this room.”

“Until the riders were gone, yes. But those men are going to need something when they return. Cold water to drink and more to wash in, at the very least. I'm not going to cower in this room when there's something that needs doing.”

I didn't wait for Bree to respond, instead throwing open the door and marching downstairs. However, I noticed she quickly followed in my wake, and joined me in the task of organizing the remaining staff. If Gage should become angry at me for disobeying him in this, he would soon learn how little I intended to allow him to boss me around, particularly when it was unwarranted.

As it was, he was so exhausted and filthy when he returned to the house, I don't think he even noticed I'd disregarded his order. He attacked the tea and sandwiches with the same fervor as I imagined the men belowstairs doing, and then dragged himself upstairs to scrub himself as vigorously as he could manage in a hip bath. The Priory had no modern plumbing, or even a cistern on the roof, so in days past we'd had to make do with the servants carrying up buckets of heated water to fill the bathtub. Given the night's activities, I'd decided Gage could wait until the morning to take a full bath.

“Were you able to save the building?” I asked from my perch on the end of the bed as I watched him bathe.

“Yes. Thanks to the rain earlier. The wood was still damp.”

“That's a relief.”

He sighed. “Yes, but it still suffered significant damage. Which we'll pay to fix, of course.”

“Why ‘of course'? I'm thinking your father or Lord Wellington should be given the bill,” I replied tartly.

He didn't even spare me a glance for that, his eyelids were so heavy. I slid from the bed to hand him a towel as he finished rinsing himself. I knew he was too tired to answer questions, but I had one more I could not go back to sleep without asking.

“Who were they?” I whispered as he rubbed the towel over his shoulders.

His hand stilled and he met my eyes, sensing the fright that still gripped me. “I don't know for certain, but I did notice two or three of them wore a green ribbon in their buttonholes.”

I tilted my head in question.

“That means they're Ribbonmen.”

My head spun in confusion. “But why?”

“They don't trust us.” He scrubbed the towel over his damp hair again before dropping it to the floor beside the hip bath. “That and they're hiding something they're afraid we'll uncover.”

I opened my mouth to ask what, but he forestalled me.

“I don't know what.” His mouth flattened into a thin line. “But I intend to find out.”

•   •   •

I
tried not to yawn as I sat waiting for the mother superior in the parlor the next morning, but it was rather a losing battle perched on those soft cushions as I was after such an eventful night. We'd risen from bed later than normal, but those few extra hours had not made up for those lost in the middle of the night. So I pushed to my feet to wander the room, absently examining the contents of the shelves and paintings on the walls. She found me studying an embroidered verse hung on the wall over a small bookshelf, clearly a recent addition to the room. It read,
Go forth and set the world on fire with the love of God.

“St. Ignatius Loyola,” Reverend Mother told me softly. “It is what he told St. Francis Xavier when he departed to spread the Gospel in India and Japan. And it is what I shall tell my sisters when I send them out to establish convents further afield.”

I turned to look at her more fully, her face still lifted to the ornate words. “Is that what you intend?”

“Oh, yes. There are so many who are in need of God's love. So many in the world who have thus far been beyond His message. So many girls who need our attention and guidance, and the education we can provide them. It is both our privilege and calling to take it to them.” She led me toward the settees. “Plans have already begun for a convent in Navan. And someday we hope to move beyond Ireland. To Canada, and India, and Australia, and Africa.”

I considered her words, thinking of how I should feel to be tasked with such an endeavor. “That must be a rather daunting undertaking.”

“For the sisters who shall leave us? Yes, in some ways.” She smiled gently. “But we cannot truly serve the Lord if we aren't willing to push past what is comfortable. We must let Him guide our paths, even when it frightens us.”

I returned her smile with a rather weak one, her words cutting a little too close to the bone. I didn't think anyone could argue I hadn't pushed past what was comfortable. Examining dead bodies and chasing murderers were hardly easy or safe. Though perhaps that was not the Lord's will, but my own folly. A torment of my own making.

I turned aside to stare into the fireplace, wishing I could singe away these doubts as easily as the fire had consumed the brick of peat whose ashes now filled the hearth. I had begun to wish I'd never heard of callings. There were enough things weighing on my mind without the added worry that I was somehow wallowing in macabre earthiness with these inquiries when I should be focusing my thoughts on higher things. Or at the least, concentrating solely on painting portraits.

“You are troubled,” Reverend Mother observed, interrupting my thoughts. Her voice rang with empathy. “How can I help?”

“It's just the investigation,” I lied, offering her an apologetic smile as I forced my mind back to the matter at hand. “Two are dead, and we don't seem to be any closer to catching whoever did this than we were before. If anything, I'm more confused. And then there's the added worry of whether he intends to strike again.” I rubbed a hand against my throbbing temple. “We also had some rather hostile callers in the middle of the night.”

“What do you mean?”

“Masked men with torches who would rather we left matters alone.”

She reached up to clutch her pectoral cross, shaking her head. “I'm sorry I brought you into this.”

“No, please. That is not why I told you. I merely wished to explain my melancholy demeanor, and to warn you.” I scowled. “Besides, those men are fools if they think their threats will work on us. We have encountered worse.”

Her eyes swam with curiosity, but she did not ask. “Thank you for telling me.”

I nodded. “There are a few things I need to know. You gave us a list of all the people who have been to the abbey, including visitors, but I noticed you've only listed those from the last month.”

“Yes. I wasn't certain how far in the past you wished to know.”

“I wondered if you might remember if Mother Mary Fidelis, or Miss Lennox for that matter, had any visitors even prior to that. Perhaps in the last three or four months?”

“Miss Lennox, no. She never had visitors.”

I felt a pang for the girl, all but shunned by her family.

“But Mother Mary Fidelis did.”

I sat taller.

“About . . . six weeks ago.” Her expression was drawn. “I remember because she came to see me after they'd gone.”

“Do you know who it was?”

“Her uncle and brother. They wanted to inform her that her father had died and . . .” She hesitated.

“And to ask her for money,” I guessed.

Her stunned expression was confirmation. “Yes. How did you know?”

“Several of their letters to her inferred it.”

“I see. Well, as you can imagine, she was distraught, and deeply concerned she'd done something wrong, that she'd sinned against them in some way.” Her eyes dropped to her lap. “I tell you all of this in confidence, and yet there are some things I will not share. However, I think that if I tell you that Mother Mary Fidelis had numerous interior trials, you will understand enough. Her wisdom and perception were hard won, and her serenity even harder. Harsh as it seems to say, her family was a stumbling block to her, and
their sudden reappearance here after many years was not done as a kindness, but an accusation.”