Strathmere's Bride (14 page)

S
ipping hot chocolate in the small informal parlor after taking the children for a romp in the snow, Chloe sat with her thawing charges. Rebeccah was in a happy mood from their outdoor play and Sarah smiled brightly, her cheeks still wind-stung and her lips just as red.

Chloe was telling them a story, one she had grown up with. The children sat in rapt attention as she explained how the wicked witch kept the poor beauty locked in a tower, using her hair as a rope to climb up to visit her but never allowing her to see another human being. She had just gotten to the point of the prince stumbling upon the girl, when a small knock sounded at the door.

Dr. Esterhaus peeked his head in. “Ah, I was told you were in here.” He smiled and stepped inside.

This was the physician who had been attending the children since the accident. Chloe was used to his frequent visits just after the tragedy, but it had been months since he had been summoned.

“A pleasure to see you, Doctor,” she said pleasantly.
“Is this a social call? We are all in good health, as you see.”

“Indeed, everyone is looking fine.” He came to sit on a settee, not disguising his interest in the children, who stared back at him with bald trepidation on their faces.

“Rebeccah, Sarah, this is Dr. Esterhaus. You remember him, do you not?”

Rebeccah remembered her manners. “How do you do, sir?”

Dr. Esterhaus was pleased. “I am well, thank you.” He looked up at Chloe and beamed. “Such a clever child.”

Chloe almost laughed, but kept her counsel. “Oh yes, our Rebeccah is clever.”

“And you, little lady,” the doctor said, leaning over to peer into Sarah’s face. Sarah frowned back and withdrew a bit. “Still not speaking?”

“Non, monsieur,”
Chloe said, anxious that he was alarming the child.

“Not a sound at all?” He moved in closer.

Chloe came to her feet and knelt before the child, taking her little hand in both of hers. “She is unchanged from your last examination, sir.”

He rolled his eyes to Rebeccah. “And…er…the other problem. It has not resolved itself…the one…you know…
at night.
”

He was about as subtle as a bull. Chloe rushed to assure him
all
circumstances were unchanged, lest he blurt out some disturbing information that would make matters worse.

“I would like to examine the girls more closely, Miss Pesserat.”

“Certainement,”
she said reluctantly. It was not
her place to forbid him, though she would have liked to. The children were nervous, and her protective instincts were at full alert.

While she was waiting in the hall with Sarah and the doctor was in with Rebeccah, Chloe pondered the reason for his visit after all this time. There had been no complaint that she was aware of regarding the children, nothing to prompt the visit out of the blue.

When it was Sarah’s turn, Rebeccah came to sit next to her on the burgundy upholstered chairs. “Everything all right,
chérie?
”

“Yes, Miss Chloe,” Rebeccah answered. Her brow furrowed. “Why did he ask me all those questions?”

“What questions,
ma petite?
”

“About my sleeping and the dreams I have. I don’t remember any dreams. He asked about Mama and Papa. If I missed them. That was silly, wasn’t it?”

Chloe felt her stomach churn. “
Oui, ma chérie,
it was
très
silly. Pay him no mind.”

“It was strange to have someone ask about them,” Rebeccah stated with a thoughtful look. “I like talking about Mama and Papa. Sometimes if I don’t think about them for a long time, I feel bad. It’s nice remembering them.”

“Of course, you must always remember them in your heart. That way, they will always be with you.”

Rebeccah suddenly smiled. “Do you think Mama and Papa can see us from heaven?”

“I am sure of it,” Chloe replied with an answering smile.

Rebeccah’s eyes drifted upward. “I think they are with the angels. That is what Mama told us happened to Grandfather when he died. She said he went to
live with the angels and I think that is where they are, too.”

“Most assuredly. That is how they can watch over you best, to see you are safe and no harm will ever come to you, and to love you, even from heaven, so that you will never be alone.”

Rebeccah’s smile widened. Suddenly, she flung herself at Chloe, wrapping her thin arms about her waist. “Oh, Miss Chloe, that sounds wonderful! I shall ever be safe, I know I will, with Mama and Papa watching over me, and you here, too. You must never go away.”

The plea struck a bitter chord. “I shall endeavor never to,
chérie.
”

The door opened and the doctor came out. Sarah hurried toward Chloe and crawled up into her lap without interfering with Rebeccah’s embrace.

“Thank you, Miss Pesserat. That will be all,” the doctor said. Chloe stood, disengaging Rebeccah, but Sarah wouldn’t be separated. She ended up carrying her upstairs.

The visit was disturbing for all of them. Sarah stayed curled up on Chloe’s lap for the rest of the day and evening, and Rebeccah needed Chloe’s attention constantly to look at a drawing or watch her newly learned skills at skipping. Chloe tried to be attentive, but her mind raced.

There was, she had decided, only one reason for Dr. Esterhaus to visit—to answer the question as to whether or not she could be dismissed without detrimental effect on the children.

When the girls were asleep, she entered her room and sat down at the small table. From a drawer, she drew out a clean sheet of paper and a quill.

Mon cher père,
she began, writing in French
. I believe I may be coming home soon, perhaps for good.

What amazed her was that these words, ones that, at times, she had longed to be able to say, filled her with such desolation and loss that she felt the sting of tears in her eyes. She blinked them away and set about to complete the letter.

Jareth passed the doctor a freshly poured whiskey and took the chair opposite him. “How do you find my nieces, sir?” he queried.

“Satisfactory. Certainly no worse. Unfortunately, not much improved, as you know.”

“Yes, I had suspected as much.”

“Do not be discouraged, your grace. Children are amazingly resilient. I have a good deal of experience with them, and I can tell you their progress is often erratic. One might see no visible sign of improvement for months, and then suddenly the child snaps into normalcy.” He chuckled. “I remember one fellow who began walking after a prolonged injury, and when his parents made a huge fuss over him, he behaved as if he were utterly bewildered as to why the adults were amazed. It seemed perfectly natural to him, you see.”

“Do you foresee that happening to Sarah? That she will regain her ability to speak in this sudden manner you’ve described?”

“It may, it may. I can make no promises, you understand.”

“Obviously, Doctor. I am not looking for guarantees. Just a general idea of what is in the realm of possibility.”

“Then, yes, a recovery of that sort is indeed possible.”

“I see. And what of Rebeccah’s night terrors? Do you have any insights as to how those can be gotten rid of?”

“The child knows nothing of these in her waking state. This is good. However, when she is in the throes of one of these bouts, it is best to keep her asleep. The conventional wisdom on these things has it that it would be quite detrimental to wake her. The terror of finding themselves face-to-face with their nocturnal fears will be utterly traumatizing and may cause irreparable harm.”

“Then what are we to do?”

“Keep up what you are doing. Eventually she will outgrow them.” He didn’t seem at all confident in his assurance.

There was a short silence, then the doctor broached the subject Jareth had been waiting for. “Er, your mother has asked my opinion on the possibility of dismissing Miss Pesserat.”

“Yes. And that opinion is?”

“I realize the woman is a trial to both you and your mother, but the children’s attachment makes her a vital part of their lives. I believe it would be quite dire should she be forced away from your nieces, your grace.” He smiled apologetically. “I am so sorry if this news disturbs you.”

The news did disturb him. Sometimes he believed Chloe was the reason why he was so confused. Yet, in contrast, his most lucid moments were in her company. The trouble was, the things that seemed so clear were not the sort of things he should be thinking. Not as the duke, anyway.

“It is the truth, Doctor, which is what I have asked for. I can hardly hold you accountable if it is less than what I would like.”

“Just so. Very sensible, your grace.” He paused. “Your mother tells me you have been under a great deal of strain lately. I am pleased to see that if that is so, it has not affected your judgment.”

“No strain. Only very busy.”

“But you have been a bit short-tempered, would you agree?”

Jareth paused, feeling a subtle shift in the doctor’s interest. He replied carefully. “I believe I have voiced my displeasure on several occasions. I would, however, disagree wholeheartedly that I have been at fault.”

The doctor seemed thoughtful. “Are you in agreement with your mother’s belief that Miss Pesserat should be dismissed as soon as possible?”

Jareth didn’t reply. He didn’t know what he thought about that particular subject anymore.

The doctor continued. “Tell me, do you suffer from migraines? Are you given to periods of despondency or melancholıa? Do you hear any strange noises?”

Jareth’s voice was tight. “Noises?”

“Perhaps
voices?
”

Gripping the chair arms, Jareth demanded, “What the devil are you talking about, man? Are you accusing me of being insane?”

“No, your grace. Now, see, you are irate at me, suspicious of my motives. This paranoia is bad for the—”

“Paranoia?”

“Can you control your temper, your grace, or are
you given often to displays of emotionalism such as this?”

Jareth’s contempt for the doctor made his tone brittle. “Did my mother send you to see to me? If so, you may assure her I am of sound mind, and if she has reservations to this fact, she may take the matter up with me personally. I believe this conversation has gone as far as I wish it to go.” Jareth stood and stalked out the door. He stopped in the cloakroom and wrapped himself in a great wool mantle. As soon as he stepped outside, the cold air hit him like a blow to the face. He headed straight for the lake.

It was frozen, bringing on memories of himself and Charles and some children from the village dashıng and sliding across the smooth surface, chasing one another in a game far too rough for good sport. But they were boys, and it was their way. No one had minded the uncivilized behavior back then.

Standing on the bank, he remembered another day when they were much older. It was late in the spring. The lake was overflowing its banks from the rains, and he and Charles had taken the small boat out that they sometimes stole from the little dock. They had been playing rough. It started with Charles slapping him and calling him a name. It wasn’t out of meanness that he did it, just the irresponsible horseplay that older brothers often perpetrated against their younger, weaker siblings. Jareth had responded predictably and they had wrestled. The boat capsized and they found themselves in the water. This hadn’t alarmed Jareth at first, for they were both of them experienced swimmers. Then he had seen Charles go under. Once. Twice.

The feeling that had gripped him then tightened in his chest even now. Just the memory of those terrorfilled moments closed his throat, making it hard to breathe. He had dragged Charles to the shore. They had stood in each other’s arms, heedless of the impropriety of it, and wept at what had almost just occurred, and Charles began spouting nonsense. Jarvis, who was old even then, had come upon them like that, and he had heard the things Charles had said.

Jareth closed his eyes against those horrid words. Charles hadn’t meant them. Surely he hadn’t.

The wind whipped around him, bringing him back to the present, to the cold and the ice and the snow all about him, under his feet.

He hadn’t understood it then, or even later. As Charles had matured into the responsibilities of his birthright and Jareth had taken his own path away from the family, the memory had mellowed and he told himself it had meant nothing—a moment’s aberration. It had ceased to disturb him.

But he understood now. The despair, the trapped, terrified, empty feeling.

What was worse was that he himself was becoming part of it. Had he not, in full accord with his mother, asked Dr. Esterhaus to come and evaluate the children for the possibility of ridding themselves of Miss Pesserat?

His mother’s intentions he understood. She was a snob, appalled at the brazen disregard that Chloe showed for her position. It all came back to that. The
blasted, cursed
title.

Here on these shores, one duke had wept in despair because of that title and all that went with it. Now,
another communed with him, knowing at last what had been in his brother’s heart all those years ago.

Jareth realized he hadn’t been doing this all along for the sake of his mother. Good God, for all he cared at this point, she could go to the devil.

He had been doing it for Charles. For all his beloved brother had sacrificed, for all he had never been allowed to do, and, yes, for all the guilt he himself had felt in his growing years at not being
the one.
Perhaps he thought this was his penance, to follow in Charles’s footsteps and bear his pain and die inside and take it just as Charles had had to do.

This realization brought no peace, for his own culpability in the matter remained, but it did bring clarity. The confusion lifted and he knew what it was
he
—Jareth Hunt, a man who no longer existed to the world but was indeed alive and thriving inside him—believed. Not as the duke. As himself.

Jareth Hunt.

He took in a long breath and looked out over the lake. So many memories, good and bad, poured around him. He smiled, and the peace he had sought finally came because he realized there was something he must do.