Nell (17 page)

Her hesitation proved disastrous. Before she could attempt anything at all, the nurse swung her free hand, catching the child a resounding smack across the side of
her head. Hetty yelped and the glass went flying, spilling its contents on to the stone floor of the corridor. The importance of the milk went out of Nell’s head. She seized the child and clutched her tight against her petticoats, as she loosed the vials of her wrath upon the nurse.

‘How could you? What, will you punish the girl for coming to find me? How dare you, Duggan! You are a cruel, spiteful creature, and I cannot think why his lordship has not rid himself of your services long since!’

Henrietta was protesting into Nell’s waist, and she was obliged to give her attention where it was most needed. She heard the nurse’s shrill retaliation only over the distressing cries and her own attempts to calm the little girl.

‘My services, is it, miss? I should think as his lordship will turn you out of doors afore me! He knows as there ain’t no one but me as knows how to deal with Miss Hetty. No, and you ain’t likely to take my place, I’d say, what with all the screaming and messing I have to put up with. You don’t know the half of it, miss, that you don’t.’

The insolent tone penetrated Nell’s absorption, and she rose up again, spitting fury. ‘Be quiet! How dare you speak to me in this fashion? You forget yourself, Duggan!’

Her tone had little effect upon the woman, who drew back her head and thrust her nose in the air. ‘I know my place, miss, which is more than I can say for some. Now, are you going to let me take Miss Hetty back to bed, or are you not?’

About to inform the creature in no uncertain terms that she had no intention of handing the child over, Nell found herself forestalled by the irate voice of her employer.

‘What the devil is amiss?’

Nell’s glance snapped round. She had not heard footsteps, but she found Lord Jarrow standing immediately behind her, the annoyance in his features visible even in the half-light. Hetty’s whines dropped to a murmur at the sound of her father’s voice. A quick look back showed Nell that the nurse had drawn a step or two away, her mien instantly submissive. Goaded, she turned on him.

‘You may well ask, my lord! But let me first assure myself of one thing. Is it by your wish that the nurse you employ to look after your daughter raises a hand to her unchecked?’

Shock leaped in his eyes, and he frowned. ‘I don’t understand you.’

Nell opened her mouth to inform him exactly what had taken place, but Duggan was before her. The obsequious tone sickened Nell.

‘It’s true, my lord. I did give her a tap, only—’

‘A tap!’

‘—she made me that cross I couldn’t help myself. I’m sorry for it, as I hope you know, my lord, but it weren’t my fault. You know as how she’d try the patience of a saint, often and often.’

To Nell’s annoyance, Lord Jarrow merely nodded at this. ‘I will speak to you later, Duggan. Take Henrietta back to bed, if you please.’

But Hetty wound her arms about Nell’s waist and clung, hiding her face in the fullness of her petticoats. Nell’s heart contracted, and she controlled with an effort the hot protests that rose to her tongue, trying for a softer note. But her voice came out more husky than she could have wished.

‘Pray allow me to take her myself in a moment or two, my lord. She is still distressed.’

Lord Jarrow was evidently undecided, and Nell shot another look at the nurse. She presented a front that was a model of subservience. Who would believe that but a moment since she had been squawking like a fishwife?

‘You may go, Duggan. I will bring Hetty presently.’

Relief riffled through Nell, calming her. She watched Duggan drop a curtsy and then reach down for the abandoned glass. Nell threw out a hand.

‘Leave that, if you please!’

The nurse’s eyes flew up to meet hers. A dagger look! And she ignored the request. Nell found Lord Jarrow’s frowning gaze upon her. Heavens, how to account for her need of the glass without giving herself away to the wretch? She could think of no legitimate excuse, and the woman shifted her attention to his lordship.

‘I was meaning to fetch a cloth, my lord, for the milk was spilled. Seems I’d best take the glass downstairs and fetch some more.’

Which brought Henrietta into the fray. ‘Don’t want no more! Don’t like it!’

‘Leave it for tonight, Duggan.’ And Lord Jarrow signed to the nurse to withdraw.

Nell watched the woman in silence until she had made the turn into the tower. Then she turned to his lordship and found his gaze trained upon her face in mute question. Should she tell him now? Only she no longer had evidence—if evidence there had been in that glass. Nor could she bring the matter up before the child.

Before any word could be spoken, they suffered an interruption. Mr Beresford appeared around the corner, looking a trifle dishevelled with his hair awry and a robe
thrown all anyhow over his nightshirt. He was yawning as he came up.

‘What’s to do?’

Nell felt a shift in the atmosphere. As of instinct, she looked to his lordship and found him stiffening, his jaw line tight. Her heart sank, for she knew that look. The clipped tone bore out his descent into moodiness.

‘Scrambled out of your clothes in something of a hurry, did you, Toly?’

The other man’s wide gaze opened further. ‘Eh? M’dear fellow, can’t expect me to look anything but a scarecrow when I’m dragged so rudely from my slumbers. Lord, what a racket! Ah, there’s Hetty. Now I understand.’

‘You’re telling me you’ve been asleep already? At this hour?’

The dry tone drew Nell’s attention, and her mind flew. It could not be much beyond nine, although she had been indulging in reading for some time after dinner. Mr Beresford had been absent, his lordship abstracted. He had excused himself early, she recalled, leaving her to a solitary dessert. Only now did it occur to Nell that Lord Jarrow was dressed for riding. He wore top boots and a frock coat with a spencer atop. And the faint aroma of horses emanated from his person. Where had he been?

‘Felt a trifle poorly all day,’ Mr Beresford was saying.

‘Didn’t Keston tell you I’d gone to my bed? Getting too old for the work, poor fellow. I told him to make my excuses.’

‘Did you now?’

The disbelief was patent. Nell looked from one to the other, aware of tension in Toly Beresford, despite his air of nonchalance. The man evaded the issue, reaching out to tousle Henrietta’s hair.

‘And what is it this time, miss? Taking out your temper on poor Duggy again, I’ll be bound.’

‘Duggy is bad,’ stated Henrietta distinctly.

‘That will do!’ said Nell.

‘That’s enough!’ asserted his lordship at exactly the same moment.

Toly Beresford burst into laughter. ‘There’s for you then, young Hetty. Best keep your mouth shut, if you want my advice.’

Nell closed her lips upon a sharp retort, and was glad that Lord Jarrow spoke up—for them both, she could have said.

‘Hadn’t you better take yourself back to bed, Toly, if you are under the weather?’

‘I’d not have chosen to come out of it,’ protested the other, ‘if I’d known it was only Hetty kicking up a dust.’

He yawned again. Ostentatiously, Nell felt. And then he took himself off. Nell’s gaze came back to find his lordship once again looking at her. Was there meaning in his glance? She had questions aplenty, if only Henrietta had not been present. She did not know if it showed in her face. Unconsciously she ran her eyes down the clothing that unmistakably showed that he had been out. At this hour? So she might have said, just as he had to his brother-in-law.

His glance caught at hers, and she could not look away. Then—was it deliberate?—his eyes dropped a trifle, and inexplicably held for a moment, before flickering up to her face again. Nell was at a loss to interpret the odd gleam that came into them.

Lord Jarrow said no word, but dropped to his haunches.

‘Hetty, come. Time you were in bed.’

To Nell’s utter astonishment, the little girl left her in
stantly, and went straight into her father’s waiting arms. Lord Jarrow lifted her up and Henrietta snuggled into his embrace.

‘Say goodnight to Miss Faraday.’

Hetty yawned, and flapped one hand. ‘G’night, Miss Fallyday.’

Nell managed a smile, and lightly clasped the little fingers. ‘Goodnight, Hetty. Sleep well.’

Then she stood aside to let his lordship pass, and watched him depart. Only then was it borne in upon her that her gown was open at the top, and the swell of her breasts had been the focus of Lord Jarrow’s steady gaze. Heat rose up, and her fingers fumbled at the flap of her gown, pulling it up. Useless, when he was already gone!

She moved quickly back to her bedchamber, lifting a hand to her burning cheek. An odd odour reached her nostrils. Distracted, Nell sniffed at her fingers, and became aware that they were sticky. From Henrietta? The milk had spilled over the child’s hand, had it not? All thought of what had just passed slid out of Nell’s mind. She touched her tongue to the stickiness and found a bitter taste.

Her chest hollowed out, and a patter started in her pulses. As if she must be sure, she licked once more. No doubt about it. The flavour was acrid, confirming her suspicions. Duggan was feeding Henrietta with laudanum.

The screams burst loud upon the night and Nell woke with a jerk. She shot bolt upright, listening in a jangle of nerves, her heart beating madly and her thoughts disordered. As the remnants of sleep ebbed away, the disorientation eased and she realised what it was. Henrietta!

Her mind ran on as she slipped from her bed and
sought automatically for her dressing-robe on the hook behind the door. Her fingers were all thumbs, for the continuing shrieks shot her through with quivering unrest. It had been so long since the child had given way to one of these hideous tantrums in the night. Yet her apprehension grew as she recalled the episode of Friday evening. Could Duggan have given the little girl laudanum again? It had only been three days. A week since Hetty had first mentioned the milk. Had the nurse dared to lace the drink, when she must know now that Nell was suspicious?

She was dragging on the robe even as her fingers reached for the handle of the door. It turned, but the door would not open.

Nell rattled the handle, a horrid sensation of sick fear wrenching at her stomach. Hetty’s shrieks were in her ears, and dread began to mount as she fought with the recalcitrant door. It would not budge. Heavens, was she locked in? Frantic fingers scrabbled for the key, but there was no sign of it. But she kept it always on the inside!

The implication froze her, and she stilled, gripping the handle uselessly, her eyes—which were growing used to the dark—glued to the empty keyhole. Some stealthy hand had removed the key while she slept and turned it from the outside.

Nell leaned her forehead against the door and closed her eyes, anguished by the continuing cries that echoed about the castle. What had they done to the child? What evil act was in progress while she stood here helpless?

She was tempted to cry out. Only that would merely add to the cacophony without accomplishing anything useful. Who would hear her, besides? They must all be about the business of soothing Hetty. This thought calmed her a little. Even were it possible that Lord Jar
row had not heard it—which was highly unlikely now that she thought about it rationally—there was Mrs Whyte on her other side. The housekeeper might leave it to Duggan, but his lordship most certainly would not. If, that was, he was in the house! For all she knew, he could have ridden out again—bent upon heaven knew what hateful mission.

Backing to the bed, Nell sat down upon it, staring at the door, while the harsh cries of the little girl echoed their despair in her heart. Why had she not spoken again to Lord Jarrow? She had left it, thinking—erroneously!—that the nurse must be deterred for a while at least. A foolish assumption. For Duggan did not act on her own determination, of that Nell was certain.

Was that why she had held back from speaking to Lord Jarrow? She must accuse his brother-in-law, if she spoke at all.

A dull ache presented itself in her chest. Self-deceiver that she was! No, Helen Faraday, that was not the reason. Face the truth. She could no longer be certain that it was not her employer who roamed the byways of the forest of a night.

Meanwhile, Henrietta’s shrieks began to lessen. Nell was left wondering what could have occurred. She had seen Henrietta earlier and her sleep had appeared calm. Indeed, she had made it her business to check on the child these past two nights, afraid each time of what she might find. The last thing she had expected was a resurgence of these hideous shrieks. She could only sit and listen in growing despair until at last the child quietened.

Nell tried to tell herself that all must now be well, but the unprecedented locking of her door gave her the lie. That this was by Beresford’s hand she could not doubt. He might not be Lord Nobody, but he was certainly re
sponsible for what was happening inside the castle. There was no possible reason for Lord Jarrow to be playing tricks upon his own daughter.

It was not to be supposed accidental that the locking of her door should coincide with Hetty’s tantrum. It argued instead that the shrieking that had often troubled the child had been somehow induced. Were they even tantrums? Nell could not forget the terror that had underlain the little girl’s sobs when she had told her of ‘Mama’s treasure’. Wrath drove out fear. Whatever was being done, it was intended to frighten the child half to death!

But for what purpose? The seeming insanity of it could by no means be all. Yes, she had doubts of Mr Beresford’s mental condition, but Nell was convinced he had both cunning and intelligence. There was motive to these tricks. But
what
? Save only that it had to do with the ‘treasure’, Nell had no notion what it could be.

The silence was almost as disconcerting as the screams. Rousing herself, Nell got up again and went to the door. It opened at the first try. She stood mute for a moment, incredulous. She had been duped yet again! Now she knew for certain that the culprit was Toly Beresford. Had he not performed the precise same action only a short time since, when she had slipped mistakenly into the wrong tower? That must have been impromptu. This could only have been planned. The thought spurred her into action.