Dark Hero; A Gothic Romance (Reluctant Heroes) (24 page)

“I don’t know. I seem to be short two this morning. Some
pompous ass took it in his head to fire them without so much as a by your leave
directed at me.” Elizabeth replied.

“My lady!” Giles came rushing in from the hall, his face flushed
as if he had run a great distance. “Is everything under control, Madame?”

“No, it isn’t!” Donovan turned on the middle aged footman. “My
lady was perched on that ladder, hanging curtains because you where nowhere to
be found.”

“Stop it!” Elizabeth stepped around Donovan to stand beside
the footman. She wished she could make Giles the butler. It was a sticky
situation as rum sodden Tabby had been installed here for some years, and
raising Giles in rank would place him in charge of all the servants, Tabby
included. Elizabeth couldn’t make such a sweeping change without Donovan’s
approval, and finding the man, let alone finding him in a mood to grant the
concession, proved impossible.

“I was unloading the supply wagon.” Giles replied after
regaining his breath. “Cook came out to warn me that some very foul language
was being directed at the lady of the house. Now I suggest you return to the
stables, O’Rourke, unless you care to go a round or two with me. I’ve had a few
boxing triumphs in London in my younger days.” As he spoke, the stout
Englishman was rolling up his shirt sleeves as if he meant to make good on his
offer.

“Yes, O’Rourke.” Elizabeth chimed in. She was enjoying this.
If Donovan insisted upon acting like a servant, she’d treat him like one!
“Giles is here, and he’s a gentleman. I’m sure he’d be happy to hang the
curtains for me instead snarling threats at me, as you were doing.”

“He threatened you?” Giles’ face took on the snarl of a
bulldog as he jerked his thumb toward the door. “Out, O’Rourke now. The master
shall hear about this. Depend upon it.”

Donovan moved in like a mad dog, his face full of color.
“Oh, let’s go meet him, then, just you and me, old boy! Let’s go find the
master.”

“No!” Elizabeth stepped between the two men. “You’ve no
right to be badgering this man, Mr. O’Rourke. If I know my husband at all I
would expect him to be pleased Giles is quick to defend me when another man is
behaving boorishly toward me.” She waited, hoping her words would penetrate his
thick skull.

Her husband’s eyes remained hard as he pulled his gaze from
the footman to pinion hers. “You haunt my dreams and posses my thoughts every
waking moment. Beautiful little witch. What sorcery is at work to make me mad
with wanting you, ready to kill any man you favor?”

“Mr. O’Rourke!” Giles gasped. “My lady’s well being is not
your concern.”

“I would that it were so.” Donovan muttered as he stalked
out the door.

*******

Elizabeth retreated to the library. His words were like
shards of glass piercing her heart. He regretted marrying her, just as she
feared. How could he say such hurtful things to her; calling her a witch,
accusing her of casting a spell to make him lust after her—blaming her for his
ill behavior!

A discrete scratching sounded at the library door. The
footman entered. “A letter arrived for you, milady, from Basseterre.” Giles
held out the missive on a silver tray.

“I don’t know anyone in Basseterre.”

“Shall I destroy it, Madame? Since you do not know this
person?”

“Oh, no!” She sat forward from her recline on the chaise and
snatched it from the tray. “It’s from Peter! He gave me Puck.” She smiled at
the footman. “Would you see that Puck has something to eat and then put him
upstairs in my room?” She handed him the kitten.

“Yes, Madame. Cook has prepared a dish of chopped liver for
Master Puck.” There was a brief collapse of that stolid English reserve as
Giles placed a light hand on her shoulder. “Say the word, my lady, and I shall
brave the lion’s den to inform his lordship of this most unfortunate incident
with that ill mannered brute from the stables.”

Elizabeth was touched by his concern. “His lordship’s work
is important.” She said in a pain thickened voice. “Don’t disturb him. I’ll
tell him tonight, when he comes to bed.”

The servant made a tactful retreat. Elizabeth was bolstered
by the footman’s quiet, efficient presence. He treated her pet as if the cat
were a member of the family and referred to Old Fritz as Cook, as was
traditional in England. They were small things, but she was finding comfort in
the familiar customs. Her unconventional American spouse would likely grind his
teeth at the servant’s adherence to English tradition. Too bad. She had put up
with a great deal of change in becoming Mrs. Beaumont.

Well, Mr. Beaumont could do with some improvement, she
fumed, opening the letter.

Peter’s note warmed her considerably and afforded a rare
opportunity. She composed a short reply, inviting Peter to visit her soon. She
puzzled over the closing for a long time, choosing her words carefully so they
couldn’t come back to haunt her if she were questioned about it later. Finally,
she scribed out;

Please be so kind as to convey my best regards to your Uncle
Jack. Tell him I

am in urgent need of his assistance in a matter of Grave
Import—

one that requires the strictest of confidences.

There, that should suffice. If Jack ratted her out and she
were pressed by her husband, she’d claim she wished for the captain’s input regarding
a Christmas gift for Donovan. Hopefully, it would amuse his lordship rather
than anger him. She hoped to confide in Rawlings regarding Donovan’s odd
behavior, but she had to be careful.

After giving the missive to Giles, Elizabeth inspected the
breakfast room. It was the latest advance in her war against dirt and neglect.
Muted tones of butter yellow warmed the walls, giving it a fresh, inviting
look. She had the heavy curtains removed that shrouded the glass doors leading
into the gardens. Richard O’Donovan wasn’t fond of sunshine. Gareth confided
his father preferred dark hangings to shield his rum saturated eyes from the
harsh morning light.

Today, the clean, exposed panes glittered in the brilliant
light and the sheer lace curtains allowed the room to capture the golden
sunbeams, not block them out. Elizabeth was enjoying the task of bringing the
old plantation house back to life. Donovan might choose to ignore her, but he
had to notice the improvements to his home and realize she was responsible for
them.

She stood between the French doors that opened into the
gardens. The fresh sea breeze wafted around her. She wanted to sit in the
garden and enjoy the comforting warmth of the sun, but Uncle Gareth was out
riding and she didn’t know if Donovan were home or not. Ares and Hades, the
guard dogs, ambled down the path from the kitchen door, their tails wagging as
they approached her with wide grins. Ares nudged at Elizabeth’s hand, urging
her to stroke his tawny head while black Hades sniffed at her skirt to decide
if she belonged here.

She knelt and ruffled the black mastiff’s ear. “Did Cook
give you your treats? I saved toast crusts and a piece of bacon for each of you
this morning.” Hades tilted his head and gave a mournful groan, as if to say
that he’d been deprived of his treat. “Oh, you big silly, I don’t believe a
word of it!” She chastened, amused by his antics.

It was a beautiful day. It was really outside of enough,
this stricture that she was not to leave the house without an escort. Sturdy
fencing lined the property, ten foot iron spikes with razor sharp points and
the gates were always locked. Even if someone were able to get in, the dogs
would keep him cornered. When the supply cart arrived every few days, Tabby or
Mr. O’Reilly had to call the dogs off so the deliverymen could step down
without risking a limb.

Elizabeth glanced about her. She’d slipped outside before
alone, but only when she knew of a certainty that Donovan was out on the
plantation. She wasn’t sure of his whereabouts, but a few moments couldn’t
hurt. She hurried down the path before anyone from the house could see her
escape.

Butterflies and insects fluttered about as her passing
disturbed their resting places. The dogs kept pace on either side of Elizabeth.
The stone path became carved steps. As she ascended them, she admired the gazebo
concealed by a canopy of luxuriant foliage. So much stifled beauty, so much
potential and yet this place had been left to fend for itself as the brutal
jungle encroached upon the cultivated blooms. If the vines were cut away, if
the statues were freed from their twining bonds, and the weeds were pulled so
that the neglected floral beds were offered a bit of love and encouragement,
this could become a wondrous, enchanted place.

Beyond the gazebo the stone balcony continued. During her
walks with Uncle Gareth, she discovered an alcove with a stone bench hidden
from view of the main gardens and the house. A gnarled tree clung to the
outcroppings of the steep cliff. The profusion of flowered branches provided
protection from the sun. She liked this solitary place. One could enjoy the
view of the small harbor village at the foot of the hill or gaze at the serene
seas ahead. She approached the wall of stones that came to her waist and leaned
over the edge to gaze down.

It was a sheer drop to the jagged rocks below.

Turning from the stone balcony, Elizabeth moved to the
cornerstone where a small portion of the wall had crumbled away. A breach in
the fencing, she thought, feeling like the rebellious filly her husband was
wont to call her. A grassy incline was just beyond the crumbled stone, forming
a small, tilted ledge before descending sharply to the ocean swells. A large
tree was bent with emerald foliage, forming a canopy over the grassy
outcropping. It beckoned to her like a fairy bower, a secret retreat where she
could dream away a sultry afternoon.

Elizabeth slipped through the crumbled opening and sank down
on the grass. She removed her slippers and stockings. It was delicious to feel
grass tickling her bare feet and the warm caress of sunshine on her skin as she
sat beneath the bright azure sky. The salt tang of the sea mingled with the
pungent earth. The dogs wiggled through the wall to lie beside her.

She sat for a time enjoying the feel of the wind in her
hair, the soothing chatter of the birds and insects and the steady surf far
below. The woods and meadow had been her refuge in England. Sheila understood
her desire to be close to nature. It was so like Donovan to turn it into
something shameful, to see only the danger and none of the beauty.

Time passed too quickly. Elizabeth was loath to leave her
secluded sanctuary, but she knew she must return to the house before she was
missed. She picked up her discarded shoes and stockings, and meandered back
down the path to the house with reluctance. As soon as she came around the
foliage bound statue outside the sunny breakfast room, she was confronted by a
black spot of gloom whose presence chilled the tropical air. Two weeks had
passed since she’d been confronted by the dark side of her husband’s personality
and the absence did nothing to improve the creature in her mind. She kept an
arm’s length away, bolstered by the presence of Giles and two men she
recognized from the voyage.

The Count, her husband’s darker persona, stood outside the
opened doors of the breakfast room with that disturbing sheath covering
features she knew to be flawless. His lips were set into a grim line. “What are
you doing wandering out here alone?” he asked in a French accent.

Elizabeth lifted her chin and looked him in the eye. “I was
inspecting the gardens and I am appalled, sir. Can we not afford a gardener?”

“I asked you not to wander the grounds unescorted, ma cherie.”

She resisted the urge to laugh. He was playing the polite
gentleman for the benefit of the others. They both knew he didn’t ask any such
thing of her, he demanded it. The dogs circled her and Ares chose that moment
to nudge her hand. “I wasn’t alone.” She stroked the large tawny head with
affection, “As you can see I had a very capable escort.”

“Nevertheless, you will no longer be inconvenienced by my
schedule or Gareth’s whims when you wish to enjoy the grounds.” The count
informed her. “I have appointed these men as your guards. They will accompany
you throughout the day and assist you in any task you require. You recall Mr.
Duchamp, and this is Gus O’Leary.”

The men stepped forward and bowed. Neither smiled. Both were
armed, she noted, feeling invisible reins tugging at her, limiting her freedom.
“So, confining me like prisoner under house arrest wasn’t enough, now you
appoint spies to report my every movement to you?”

“Nonsense, Cherie.” Donovan replied smoothly. “Your routine
is hardly worth noting, much less justifying the salaries of two capable men to
observe and recount to me. You rise at nine, take breakfast in your room and
then spend the day in a whirl of domestic tedium that is inconsequential
compared to the complexities of managing a large plantation.”

Elizabeth gasped aloud at his belittlement of her place
here.

“Your safety weighs heavily upon me while the criminals roam
free.” He added.

“I hope these men will show more respect to my lady than Mr.
O’Rourke has, my lord.” Giles put in bravely. “She should not be subjected to
rudeness by anyone in your employ.”

“Oui, you’ve ground that point fine enough. These men will
not trouble my lady. And Mr. O’Rourke will be admonished.” The man himself said
in that phony French accent.

Elizabeth snorted at his comment.

“Giles sought me out in my laboratory a short time ago, ma
petite. He said O’Rourke’s callow behavior made you cry.” He stepped closer.
Elizabeth stiffened. A lean forefinger lifted her chin, and caressed her cheek
with a display of tenderness. “Is this true, Elizabeth?”

“Does it matter?” She returned. “I’m hardly worth your
notice, my lord. Isn’t that what you just said?”