The Viscount Returns (6 page)

The hallways were vacant of servants and furnishings. Though the family portraits had been left hanging it seemed that anything worth a farthing had been stripped away. This great manor had suddenly transformed itself to a mausoleum or a graveyard. If not for the occasional groans that came from his wife’s chamber Robert would have begun to feel that he was dreaming.

His feet itched to make their way to her door, but he knew that there would be no welcome there. Perhaps a quick departure would be best. After three days of his wife sequestered in her private chambers, Robert had begun to wonder if she would ever show her face to him again, or would she prefer to brick herself away behind the closed door rather than hold a simple conversation with him?

“No!” Came a scream of desperation. “Please! Dear God, save me!” the voice cried out in terror.

Robert did not need to question whose voice it was or the pain in it. Running for the door, Robert was stopped abruptly by Ruth, who emerged shaken and disheveled. She held on tight to the bowl of water that sloshed between the two of them, spilling over to splash onto the floor.

“What do you think you are doing jumping out at a defenseless woman like that?” She lifted her free hand to her heart and tried to steady her breathing. “You would scare the devil.”

There was no time for conversation and after three days of nearly breaking down the door another moment could not be contained. Robert tried to guide Ruth out of the way, but she moved her shoulders in place and would not budge.

“What is it that you wish, my boy?” she inquired with a raised brow.

Trying to reach around her again, he grunted his reply.

“To see my wife! Now if you do not mind, I will need you to step aside.” A foggy haze of mystery had been over this household since he had arrived and no one was willing to confess to him.

Leaning back into the door, she looked up at him with pleading eyes. Ruth was a woman with her own mind and all the guarded sense of a mother hen. No one got to her chicks against her wish.

“I think it is best if you took the young master out for another nature lesson this day. You have been the stimulation that his young mind has needed.” She flattered.

“Another time perhaps.” He shouldered his way around her, but was stopped yet again. He gave a cry of frustration, stumbling back two steps in defeat. “For three days I have waited calmly to see my wife all the while you have told me that she is sleeping, napping, bathing and taking all her meals in her room due to the headache and never have you given me a reason behind what I have heard passed from this door.”

She looked over her nose at him. “And what is that?”

“Pain. I have been tormented by the insistent pain of my wife’s crying. Now you either let me by or debate this further and I will remove you from my path, Ruth!”

He had said it and neither of them could believe what had come from his lips. Never had he even raised his voice to the woman, but now he had threatened. Ruth did not argue, but her silence stung more than a slap across his face. He stood there and watched the woman who nearly raised him and who in his absence sacrificed her own well being to tend to his wife step aside. Her fingers hung loose from the doorknob and one by one each finger fell away until his path was clear.

The room was dark and uninviting. A stale smell hung in the air and was followed by the pungent aroma of the sick. Rumpled linen surrounded a lump that moved slightly with sleeping breaths. Robert watched his wife sleep, and she did not move or say a word, only whimpering hidden in the unmade bed.

“Fiona?” The bedding shifted, but the lump did not retreat from his voice. “Fiona, please. Tell me what I can do?” There was no change and Robert took a brave step forward. He addressed her from the foot of the bed, but found no response and proceeded to make his way around to the side closest to her.

It was clear that Ruth had not fibbed when she said his wife had been ill, but what kind of fever would leave anyone cowering under their bedding…unless…unless…

“Fiona, please. I know I have wronged you in so many ways and I know that you do not welcome me now, but you must let me make amends to you.” He kneeled down on the bed and reached out to try and unveil his wife. “Allow me to help tend to you.”

Whatever rift he had made between them Robert was discovering that he could not walk away from her this time. Whether it was out of guilt for the life he had lived or this new found idea of a family. Reaching out, his fingers slowly clenched the bed cloths and pulled them free of their host.

She did not fight him this time and sagged away from him. Her hair veiled her face tangled and her gown was messed, gathered to her waist and pulled down from one shoulder. Her white soft skin was gray and the linen was glued to her with sweat. This was not the girl he married, nor the independent woman who wore pants and worked alongside men.

“Fiona?” Scared to touch her fragile body, he tentatively leaned closer. “Can you hear me?” Her eyelids hung low and what he saw there was vacant. Her mouth was pouty and she took in deep breaths. “What has happened to you?”

Brushing away the sweaty threads of hair that hung in front of her face, he could tell that if she did hear anything he said not much would be taken in. That was when he saw the villain. Sitting innocently on the side table was an empty teacup chipped and battered from use and beside it a bottle of Laudanum.

“Jesus! What have you done?” Holding her face in his hands, he pulled her limp body up to his, trying to find some sign of coherent, but she was lost in an opium dream. “Fiona! Fiona! I know you don’t want to, but I need you to open your eyes and look at me.”

Her only response was a sleepy groan.

“Fiona?”

“She is fine.” Ruth’s voice came from the doorway.

The older woman leaned against the doorframe, cradling a jug of water in her arms. She stood with an all knowing confidence that set him on edge. His world had found a smooth course, and he knew from the look in her eyes that he was about to be teetered again.

“It would be best if you left her to rest and took yourself off to bed.” She crossed the room, pouring the fresh water into a nearby basin and began to ring out a fresh towel.

“Fine?” He took a step from the bed but turned again to look at the gray form that he had once taken to his marriage bed. “So you are not taken back by what I have found?”

Folding the damp towel, Ruth crossed to the bed and began to wipe Fiona’s brow.

“She knows the proper dose and never falters on it.” Her confidence stopped with her voice, from shame Ruth could not raise her eyes to meet his.

Turning from the old woman, Robert dragged his eyes over Fiona’s limp body.

“I’ve known others who claimed to know the proper does, but that was never the case.” His stomach twisted in disgust for what he saw. “I will not allow the mother of my son to live as an addict.”

In a smash the bottle shattered in the fireplace and the dying embers sparked to life. Robert pulled himself away from the sickening sight of his wife and reached for his adjoining chamber door.

“See that any other bottles suffer the same.”

“But there are none.” Ruth did not hesitate to jump forward.

Turning slowly back, Robert’s fingers stretched and gripped the doorknob, fighting for composure.

“And how can you be so sure?”

“There is nothing left to pay for another, and the lady will not…” She turned from him and drew herself to Fiona’s bedside.

“Will not what?” Robert pressed. “Selfishly confine herself to her room while my son is burdened with the reality of…of…of all this?” He waved his free hand in Fiona’s direction. His fingers whipped in the air like he was trying to wave away the image. “If so you are correct.” And he slammed the door behind him, shutting her and his guilt away.

An aching groan haunted Robert’s chamber that night. There was no escaping the demons of his home. Too much was left unanswered and unattended, but too much was also cast aside for good reason. To bear a future with an addict would be intolerable for Lord Edden of Carlton, but as the mother of his forgotten son annulment was not an option.

Robert tossed and turned as the hours passed into the next day. She had haunted and tormented his nights when he was away and now with only a door separating them she still hovered over him, strangling any peace from his body. There was only one honorable answer for him.

Tonight she would sleep in her opium dreams, but tomorrow she would face the beginning of her nightmares and when that happened he would be there.

The dawn came with no peaceful chirping of a lark, nor with the soft beams of light. For Robert the morning came with the crashing of what he could only imagine to be one of his mother’s vases. She had slept the night through in her drugged induced state, but awoke this morning to find that the last of her drug had been smashed and by now all traces dried up from the floor.

Now it begins.

Crossing to the door adjoining their rooms, he gave the door a solid kick, breaking the lock and bringing her attention to him. He did not cross to her or show any sign of concern, but merely stood there in the doorway with his arms at his side and his posture straight and strong. He had not thought to cover himself before making his presence known, but it was not uncommon for men to sleep in the buff and he was proud of the body he had and held no secrets to the woman he was imprisoned with for life.

“You will wash and join your son and I for breakfast,” he began, holding his shoulders back and his head only slightly angled down to speak to her. She was more than his wife, more than the mother of his son and more than an addict. She was living proof that he had failed his father, his grandfather, his brother and most of all her. Robert looked at Fiona, stricken with pain for what he wished he could do for her, and filled with revulsion for himself in how he had let her down.

Not ready to take orders and lost in a state of opium hunger, she took a shaky step forward. Her eyes were glazed and lacked the ability to focus and her temples were bright red from where she had been pinching her temples to fight off the pains of withdrawal. “Do you know what you have done? You bastard! You will get me another bottle at once.” Fists clenched in the air, and reaching to beat at his chest, she threw herself at him, ready to attach. Dark circles under her bloodshot eyes were only another indication of the withdrawals that had begun to take hold of her.

Holding her off at the wrists, Robert showed no strain or any emotion worthy of a label for personal feelings.

“You will wash and dress before joining your son and I for breakfast downstairs in the breakfast room. Casual attire for casual dining in the kitchen will not be acceptable.” He stepped clear of her foot aimed for his shin. “If you are not well enough for this, then you may remain in your room until I can expect a clean proper lady at my table.”

“I hurt! You bastard!” she screamed at him. Her hair was a wild mane that fell in her eyes. “I hurt and it is your fault!”

“And you will not expose my son to your pains and sorrow.” This was the first time he had referred to Sprout naturally as his son in her presence and even Fiona regarded the sentiment with a flinch.

She was mad with need and it was only then that he saw the bloody scratches on her arms. She had been at this for some time that morning. All of this had progressed sooner than he had expected. Lifting his wife onto his shoulder, he carried her back to her messed bed. No amount of kicking would bring him to let her down anywhere other than her bed. They fought and wrestled over the sheets, and Robert realized that fighting his crazed wife without a stitch on was not the best choice for his safety, but in the end it was the Lady of the house that found herself secured by both wrist and foot to the bed with her curtain tiebacks.

“Now…” Robert said, slightly short of breath. “You will remain there until I know that you are no longer a danger to yourself or our son. You may do to me as you wish, but you will not expose our boy to any more of your weakness.”

She answered him with her struggling protests against the restraints. “Do you hear me?" His voice was a slap to her senses that came in full force.

The hallway door came open and was followed by a scream. Ruth stood there wide-eyed, taking in Fiona’s bondage and Roberts’s nakedness. There was no questioning what conclusion the woman came to and Robert did not waste time to defend himself. He turned back to his room, crossing the doorway in a calm pace, tossing orders over his shoulder.

“Ruth, my son and I will dine in the breakfast room this morning before I take him to town where we will hire a new upstairs maid and a keeper for my wife. If a caged game keeper are necessary then so be it. My wife will remain here and I am afraid her breakfast will have to wait until I can find someone to feed her nourishment.”

“But, sir—”

“No one, and I repeat, no one may untie her until I say so. The laws of England have charged me with full reign and ownership of her body and I mean to see that her body remains warm and above ground.”

The lock of his door gave an aggressive period to his commands.

“My Lord.” Sprout came bouncing into the breakfast room with all the energy of any normal seven-year-old. Robert took one last peaceful look out the window at the stream that fed into his special pond before manufacturing a smile and facing his son. The boy’s eagerness to please his father with a loving honest smile warmed Robert’s heart. He knew not what it was like to be a father, but starting with one already half grown child seemed like the easiest start.

“Good morning, Sprout.” He approached the boy with his hands clasped behind his back and his voice was warmed with a friendly note, but his body was rigid with his discomfort. He had never been exposed to children, even when he was one with his only companions being his brother and Sara. They had never been given a chance to play as local children may have been encouraged to.

Sprout did not hesitate or allow his father’s body language to deter him. Crossing the room, he wrapped his arms over Robert’s, embracing his very rigid father. Stuttering in his response, Robert did not fight off the boy but tried to pull a hand free to pat the boy on the head. Unaware of the giant step that Robert had just taken, Sprout took his seat beside the head of the table, leaving that seat for his father. Robert was amazed at how quickly the boy—his boy—could adjust and relinquish his role as head of the household to him. His boy was just that, a boy still at the nursery age, but no doubt had inherited his father’s sense of pride and duty. Something that Robert had taken too long to take on himself and was still struggling with.

“I regret to tell you that your mother is still under the weather and will perhaps be confined to her room for the remainder of the week.” Only minutes ago he had no qualms about binding his wife to her bed and nearly commanded a husband's right to his wife’s body.

“I understand.” The boy swallowed back a mouthful of fresh bread. “Mother used to get sick a lot. Ruth says it’s from the complications.” He reached for his milk.

“Complications?”

“From my birth,” the boy whispered. “I know I am not supposed to know such things, but Ruth says it’s important that I know what happened.” Looking down, he watched his fingers play nervously in his lap.

“And I still think it was the right thing to do.” Ruth announced herself from the doorway. “Everyone should know and understand what life has to offer, the good as well as the bad.”

She came into the room and placed a small plate of fresh baked treats for Sprout’s pleasure.

“I agree to a point, but perhaps when referring to a child’s birth it would be best to hold off such information until the child is no longer a…child.” Robert knew that he was the last person to preach about moral conduct, but he was beginning to see a gray line ahead of him. "When my son is only a babe himself, I would appreciate it if you could refrain from telling him any more about the miracles of life.” He did not make light, to his disdain, of the word miracle. Never had Robert seen birth for anything more than a required step towards death.

Her hands clung to her hips and she gave out a breath in revolt.

“I’ll have you know that when I helped to pull you and your brother into this world I could hear God’s praises in your cries.” Ruth praised the heavens.

Robert’s back stiffened with the mention of his brother, that Ruth had lovingly named Red Headed Roy.

“You were there back then?” Sprout’s youth shined in his innocence behind his question. Robert’s head turned from Ruth's now red cheeks and his son’s curious face.

“Young Sprout, I was there to give God advice over where to plant the Apple tree.” Her big smile could always warm a winter’s morning.

Being reminded of the older woman’s loving heart, Robert began to wonder why he ever thought it was best to leave. Sure they needed money and he needed to find his fortune on his own, but perhaps he could have found what he needed here and if so what kind of man would he be today?

“Unfortunately for us he did not listen to her.” Leaning in, he gave his son a playful wink.

The atmosphere was light that morning. No longer did Robert feel weighed down by the nightmare facing him in the above chambers. So overtaken by the natural feeling he had in his son’s presence, Robert offered his son a much needed ride into the village. Sprout did not hesitate to dash up the stairs and change from his tattered work clothes.

“Who could have imagined that a simple ride could bring so much joy to that boy?” Robert turned from his son’s lingering song of joy.

Greeted with Ruth’s stern glare, Robert’s shoulders lowered in defense. Perhaps it was unwise to promise the boy on a trip to the village with his wife bound to her bed above? He had no intention of burdening the staff with his wife’s selfish addiction, but he also needed to find a proper upstairs maid for the Viscountess, not to mention some proper attire for his son. That thought only reminded him of the boy’s current selection and a fear of what this child will appear in now.

The slap of a wooden spoon on the center block took Robert from his thoughts. Ruth was near red in her anger.

“I know what you are thinking and you need not worry," the Viscount groaned. "I will handle Fiona. I just need—”

“You know nothing of what I am thinking.” Ruth left the spoon on the wooden block—a victim of her anger—and crossed to Robert. “Have you not noticed what conditions we live in? Have you not noticed that while you have been gone you have left your family…your heir! With nothing but your cast-offs!” Leaning over him, her face did not hide the rage within. “Did I not explain to you already? We have nothing to offer you! Nothing for you to spend frivolously! That mill that you wife has worked her own hands to callused paws brings us enough to feed our bellies and nothing else!”

Pulling back to stand, Robert tried to find his defense.

“Now, Ruth, I love you like a mother, but do not forget that—”

Her size spoke true to her weight. With full force the former housemaid pushed the Viscount back down in his seat.

“You are not allowed to speak to me like that, young man! I thought I raised you better than this? I thought I taught you to take care of your responsibilities? I thought I taught you not to put your own pleasures ahead of others? And just so you know, I am no longer employed from this estate. I have not been since you failed to supply the blunt.”

Dumbstruck, Robert sat there, watching the blazing woman. It took only a couple swings of her words to cut him down to size. Though what she said made little sense, he couldn’t help but be silenced by the force of Ruth's rage.

“You have had your days in the sun and now it is time you take your rightful place here. That includes not placing us in any more dept so that you might have a grand old time!” Turning from him, she aimed herself for the garden door.

“Now listen just one minute!” His fingers wrapped around her wrist, pulling her to a halt. “I have tried to explain that it was never my intention to leave you without funds. In fact, just the opposite, I set sail to seek my fortune and I succeeded. With every dollar I took in I sent five pounds home to my wife. Trust me if I had been living a selfish life I would have provided myself all this time with my own residence instead of living out of hotels, boarding houses, tents and even outside with nothing over me but the stars.  I cannot tell you what became of those funds, nor do I understand why Jefferson’s reports to me all these years spoke of a much different life than the nightmare I have come home to find!” Her silence gave him an open invite to continue. Releasing her wrist, Robert addressed her with a little more calm and the respect that he felt she deserved.

“Now, I am going to take my son for some much needed clothing and to fetch some decent provisions. I will not allow my heir to be raised ignorant of the lifestyle he should be accustomed to. I will also place an advertisement for the employment of a number of positions including an upstairs maid and a lady’s maid for my wife. Until then I ask only that you try to get some water and portage down to my wife. She should not attempt at anything else nor should she be released."

The silence spoke volumes and it took a few breaths till Ruth finally found her voice.

“Why did you return if life was so prosperous there? Why after all these years?”

“Out of respect I should save my explanations and stories for my wife first.”

Answered with a nod from the maternal gray haired, the conversation was brought to an end.

Narrated by Sprout, they were entertained with enthusiastic stories and the carriage ride passed by in laughter. This was the life that his father had once promised him to be the end of all good things and the eclipse that would wash all of life’s joys and pleasures from sight. It saddened him to know that his father never opened himself to the pleasure of fatherhood, but perhaps he did find a soul when it came to his grandson? Perhaps?

Eight years was a long time to sit by with only a son and a crumbling estate? How honorable was his wife? Were her demons measured out beyond her addiction or was there…?

“Tell me, Sprout. Have there ever been visitors that showed much…interest…in your mother?” He stumbled over the words and in the end he had wished he had refrained from the question.

“Interest?” The word was spoken as a request for a translation.

Clearing his throat, Robert looked for a new approach.

“Have you and your mother been lonely here?” He started anew.

The boy took his time concentrating on the question. He was all seriousness, thinking over every word. It warmed Robert how important his son took their time together. He could never recall a time he and his own father had shared a ride or a conversation before.

"Can you tell me about the savages?" Bright eyes twinkled with adventure and brought a warm chuckled to his heart.

"I don't know if I would call the natives savages? The ones I knew were loving, honorable people." Warm eyes and warm bodies suddenly filled his mind and Robert was taken back to the hunters’ tent where he had discovered so much about who he was and what he wanted. Never had he known what it truly meant to be brothers in arms. The bond he shared with men that so many would call savages had finally helped him see past his brother’s senseless death, his abusive relationship with Jefferson and his father’s cruel punishments. They were all stories that he knew he could never tell his son or reveal to his wife, for they would never understand that what he’d shared with the brave hunter was what had given him the strength to return home when the time finally came. The days of Strong Bow and their nights together would be memories left only for him to cherish until the day he died.

Wife? Claiming her in his life seemed so foreign to him. All these years he had been open about having one and made certain that he had provided for her...as far as he was aware of. So many times he had passed by the red brick town house that he had begun to dream would one day be his, but it would require him to send less home to Fiona. Now? Now? Now he dreamed of wrapping his hands around the neck of his former steward and choking the life out of him.

"How about scalping?" Sprout offered.

Shaken awake from his thoughts by Sprout’s suggestion, it took a shake of his head to realize that the boy was still asking about the Cherokee. However, scalping might be just what his steward deserved.

"No. My experiences were less dime novel and more just day to day life."

"What's a dime novel?" Fascination on the boy's face reminded Robert that he now had to face a language barrier with his homeland as well as an adjustment to his station.

"It is what boys in the new world call those adventure novels that you read. Instead of spending a couple pence they cost a dime."

The boy’s face fell. No doubt he had hoped to hear about his father’s adventures, but was only getting a couple of tattered details.

"Have you ever heard about the mighty Buffalo?" He started and Sprout’s face popped up, beaming with eagerness. The rest of the day Robert shared a number of adventures with his son from his days on the railway as an investor and then jumping on the line to help with the blasting when they fell behind. It was his time with the Cherokee tribe that really fascinated the boy. If only Strong Bow knew what joy his boy had with hearing of the days he had spent riding bareback in the hunting parties. Then came the unexpected image of Fiona riding bareback with her hair down blowing behind her and her body unclothed. Her rump bouncing up and down and her thighs holding tight to the horse while her breasts swung free in their beauty with every thundering gallop. She was a goddess to him and no doubt this image could live in fantasy only, but what a fantasy.