Drake's Lair (23 page)

“Very well,” he said, clearing his voice, “but don’t say I didn’t warn you. Eva was so obsessed with keeping her lifestyle, and her figure, which she had been told by dowagers, who had knowledge of such things, would be gone forever once she started breeding, that she turned to herbs as a means of… preventing conception. You needn’t look so shocked, my dear, women have been using herbs for that since time out of mind. She wasn’t opposed to cohabitation, however, only conception. Drake was—and is—a laudable stud, if you will excuse the rather crude wordage, unfortunately no others come to mind that quite put it as well. And so, she paid a visit to your cousin, Calliope Dane, for instruction in the fine art of herbalism.”

“Cousin Calliope would
never
have instructed her in the use of herbs for such a purpose!” Melly interrupted, indignant. She was scandalized at the thought, not to mention the conversation, but there was nothing for it but to let the man continue.

“Of course she wouldn’t, my dear,” he soothed. “No one is accusing your sainted cousin. Don’t misunderstand me. Eva went to her to learn the art of cultivating herbs for cosmetic purposes, but she was clever. She told your cousin that she was trying to conceive an heir for Drake, and, since it’s common knowledge that some herbs are toxic, begged her to tell what herbs she had best
avoid
in that case.”

Melly’s scalp began to tingle. So this was why the earl was so opposed to her gathering herbs on Drake’s Lair. This was what he had against them. She was almost afraid to hear the rest.

“Your cousin quite innocently armed her with the ammunition that ultimately killed her, my dear,” he rambled on. “She was only too glad to tell her which herbs she should avoid ingesting if she were trying to conceive… and also, if you will forgive me, which herbs, when used cosmetically… as women often do when performing their… toilet, might kill the sperm, and then, of course, which herbs she must avoid after conception. This knowledge was all Eva needed.”

Melly gasped, and gasped again.

“I warned you, my dear,” he reminded her. “Shall I stop?”

“N-no, go on, please, Mr. Ellery,” she murmured, “but, how on earth could you possibly know all this?”

“Drake literally took me in after his father passed,” he explained. “I became his steward to justify my existence at Drake’s Lair, and at his London townhouse in Mayfair. We have always been as close as brothers, and I’ve always been underfoot, as it were, trying to earn my keep. What I didn’t observe for myself, he, of course, confided.”

“Are they his only estates, then?” she wondered.

“Heavens, no. He has scads of them—in Scotland, Yorkshire, several others in the West Country up north, and a ‘cottage’ on the Downs. You should see it—a three story Tudor. It’s just that Drake’s Lair and the townhouse are the only two properties that aren’t let.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Ellery, I didn’t mean to digress. Please, continue.”

“For awhile—two and a half years, in fact—Eva’s herbal remedies worked well enough, but as with any medication, herbal or otherwise, if one uses something long enough, one runs the risk of establishing an immunity to it. Whether that was the case, or she just grew careless, we shall never know, but she conceived.

“Drake was ecstatic. I swear his feet scarcely touched the ground. He was so in love. I had seen him with women—all sorts of women—for years, but I never saw him like that. He did everything to insure her comfort—even abstained, if you take my meaning, and that was difficult for Drake. His… appetites are quite demanding, but he did it nonetheless, because he so desperately wanted the heir she was carrying, and she wasn’t well. The pregnancy wore on her. None of us knew why, until the end.”

He stopped then, shifting on the chaise seat. He wet his lips with his tongue, and tugged at his mustache in a way that she recalled him doing on other occasions when he was agitated.

“Go on,” she prodded.

“I’m not sure that I ought,” he hedged. “I shall surely lose your favor if I do for discussing such indecorous things so openly with you—a lady of quality.”

“I wish to have it all, Mr. Ellery, since you have begun. I have been treated badly without an explanation, and I mean to know why. Please continue.”

“Very well,” he said skeptically, “if you insist, just remember that I advised against it, and please don’t fault me. This is something a gentleman simply does not discuss with a lady.”

“Agreed.”

“As I said, the pregnancy wore on her as time passed. We thought it was merely fatigue. But that wasn’t the case. She was… doing things to herself. The minute her waist started to thicken, she panicked and began secretly mixing dangerous herbal draughts and concoctions. When that didn’t work, she abused herself… internally. I shan’t elaborate, my dear. I am too much of a gentleman, and the details are quite unfit for your ears. Suffice it to say that the methods she used employed herbs of the poisonous variety, deadly during pregnancy, the very ones your cousin had warned her about. She was trying to abort the child in such a way that it would appear to be a natural miscarriage, like all the others.”

“S-she had others?”

“Several. But she managed to abort them early on. It all appeared quite normal. The last was not so easily gotten rid of. She increased the potency of her draughts… and such, as time went on, and finally, a combination of the two abuses brought the child early and killed her in the process. She went toxic, and the child was stillborn. Afterward, she hemorrhaged and died, but not before wounding Drake with the truth of what she had done, and why she had done it, should he have any notions about more children. You see she didn’t know that she was breathing her last. Dying people rarely do you know—especially selfish, shallow ones such as Eva. She was a total narcissist, my dear. I have always wondered if she would have spared him had she known. We shall never learn that truth.

“Dr. Hale was no fool. He knew, of course, but he put it down as natural death due to miscarriage, to spare Drake a scandal. The child was fully formed—a beautiful son. She was at the onset of her seventh month.”

“H-how dreadful for him,” Melly despaired.

“It set him on his present course toward madness, that,” he replied. “Fearing suicide, I talked him into buying himself a commission, and he went off to war hell-bent upon, as he put it, a ‘noble death’ in battle. He has never really been in his right mind since, and I should know. I’m closer to him than anyone. This is why I’ve left Drake’s Lair. I remind him of his loss. You were wise to leave as well, because you did also, with your herb gathering. He’s totally mad, my dear. You were in dreadful danger. In his right mind, he would never have accused me, or abused you.”

She didn’t argue the point. There wasn’t any use. It would have been enough to drive anyone mad, and she said no more about it. She did not question that he’d told her the truth. What possible reason would he have to lie about such things?

Feigning exhaustion, she excused herself and closed her eyes, but she would not sleep. Outside, the sun had set. She was glad of it. It hid the tears that she could no longer keep from sliding down her hot cheeks as the chaise sped along in the darkness.

Seventeen

It was a very strange dream. He was floating—drifting without substance. Once before, he’d had such a dream. When was that… in Spain? Salamanca. Yes. There had been pain like this in Salamanca… then later, on the push to…? Where had he been going when the pain was so great… like it was now… where he floated… like he did now… where his eyes wouldn’t open, no matter how he tried to force them…just like now? It was no use. He couldn’t remember.

Mrs. Laity was there in the dream. She was kneeling on the floor of all things. Why was she crying? How did she ever get down there, a woman of her size? Who but himself would be able to raise her up again? He couldn’t… not now… there was too much pain. He had swung her around once… lifted her feet right off the floor. That was a feat. Why did he do that? He must have had a reason. She must weigh nearly twenty stone. He couldn’t remember. It hurt, trying to remember… trying to think.

Griggs? Was that Griggs? It sounded like Griggs. He couldn’t be sure. There was someone else in the dream, too… a man… he couldn’t make out his face, but he knew that voice… that gruff, gravelly voice… if he could only place it. What was that voice shouting so close in his face that its owner’s hot, strong smelling onion breath flared his nostrils?

He was floating again, trying to open his eyes. His thoughts were halting and fragmented. Someone groaned. The sound rattled around in his head like cymbals clanging. Stop that God-awful racket… the pain…
Zeus
, the
pain
!

“
V-Vitoria
…” he moaned aloud. “That’s… where it was… on the march to… Vitoria.”

Drake Hannaford had forced his way back among the living.

*

It was the following afternoon before Drake was fully conscious. The valet’s face was the first one he recognized. Griggs had occupied the wing chair beside his mahogany four-poster since the fire. More than once he’d glimpsed him there in the dream. But it wasn’t a dream. He knew that now.

They weren’t alone. Dr. Hale was there too, stooping over him, holding him down when he started to groan and flail about trying to raise his throbbing head off the pillow. It was no use. The pain was unbearable.

“Easy, my lord,” the doctor cautioned, “you’ve had a little accident, but you’re going to mend. Can you tell us what happened?”

“No accident,” Drake murmured. It was all slowly trickling back now… the shadow on the lawn… he was going out… where was he going? Why couldn’t he remember? The French doors… they shouldn’t have been open. Jim had come in that way earlier.
Jim
. “
Demelza
…!” he cried, trying to rise again, but his reeling head and that awful pain prevented him, not to mention Hale’s firm hand. “No! You don’t understand,” he moaned. “She isn’t safe…”

“All right, you have to lie still, Shelldrake,” the doctor barked. “You’ve had a serious blow to the head. Do you remember the fire?”

“Fire? What fire?”

“You fell and struck your head on an andiron in the study. You must have knocked the candles over when you went down. They evidently set the room afire. You’d been drinking pretty heavily, my lord. Griggs pulled you out just in time.”

“Is he all right?
Griggs
…?” he pleaded, searching the shadow-steeped room for the valet’s familiar face.

“I’m here my lord,” the valet replied, coming nearer.

“O-oh, my God,” Drake groaned, focusing on the valet’s bandaged hands.

“It’s nothing, my lord,” said Griggs. “I was dozing in my quarters when you came up, and you woke me going out. I came down to catch you before you left, to see if you were going to be out for the night, or if you would want me further when you returned, and the study was ablaze. You were in the midst of it, unconscious. I rang for the others, dragged you free, and sent Fry for Dr. Hale, while they put the fire out.”

“Is there much damage?”

“The fire was contained in the study, my lord,” the valet replied. “I shan’t deceive you, the whole room’s been gutted. You’re fortunate to be alive.”

“The… desk? The ledgers?” Drake panicked.

“Gone, my lord.”

“T-the valuables chest?”

“Badly scorched, but intact, my lord, and a miracle at that, since we had to unbolt it from the floor to save it. We’ve moved it in to the library.”

“Thank God! The rest are in it.”

“My lord?”

“The rest of the ledgers. Have Bradshaw and Mills arrived?”

“Not yet, my lord.”

“Do you remember what happened, Shelldrake—” the doctor put in, “—anything at all?”

“I saw… something from my window… a shadow moving across the lawn. I must have gone down to investigate. I remember being outside… the French doors in the study were ajar. They shouldn’t have been. I’d locked them myself earlier after Jim. I… I went to investigate… I think I had my pistol. It was dark in the study… I entered in, and someone struck me from behind. That’s all I remember.”

“How much had you drunk, my lord?” the doctor queried. “It was the brandy that fed the fire. The empty decanter was on the floor, and your shirt was soaked with it.”

“I hadn’t drunk a drop of brandy, only a glass of wine at dinner.”

“Mrs. Laity?” Hale called, beckoning her nearer. He stepped away to consult her. Their images were blurred. Why were they speaking as though he weren’t there? “Had he been drinking?” the doctor queried. “You were the last to see him before the fire.”

“I dunno’ that he had been drinking, Dr. Hale,” she whined, “but he had been acting peculiar since he put Mr. Ellery out earlier yesterday afternoon. He called us all into the servants’ hall last night after dinner—give us a talking-to about loyalty—‘twas all very strange. Later, I went in to have a word with him. I was worried about Miss Melly, ‘twas personal. We was talking, and all at once, he lifted me clean off my feet and spun me around—kissed me on my cheeks, he did, scared me half to death, raving and carrying on, making no sense. And then he run off like a madman straight outa bedlam, he did.”

“Demelza!” Drake cried. “I remember now. I was going to try and find Demelza… Lady Ahern, because of Jim. She shouldn’t be with him. I put him out because he’s extorted half my estate in my absence. Bradshaw and Mills will back me up. They saw the ledgers. That’s why I went on the tour of my holdings.” His eyes oscillated among them. “Good God, you’ve got to believe me,” he pleaded. “Why are you all looking at me like that? I’m not mad! Mrs. Laity…Griggs? You know I’m not.”

“All right,” the doctor barked. “Lie still, my lord, you’ll tear those stitches I’ve just sewn in your head. We’ll get to the bottom of all this, but not today. I’m going to put you back under awhile. What you need now is rest.” He motioned to the housekeeper. “Bring the bottle,” he charged.

“What’s that?” Drake demanded, eyeing the spoon brimming with a thick, reddish liquid descending toward him.

“Laudanum,” said the doctor. “Open.”