Three Little Secrets (21 page)

Damn.
That
was the sort of gossip that could ruin a young girl’s prospects, not to mention break her heart. No wonder they were all trying to hide it. Then poor little Geoff went and blurted out the truth—or a bit of it—in front of the chit.

Now, there was the part that made no sense.

Just then, Phipps came in. “Good evening, sir. Will you wish to undress?”

“No.” Merrick sat his glass down awkwardly. “I’m in one of my black moods, old fellow. I believe I shall get rip-roaring drunk and sleep in my clothes.”

“Very good, sir,” said Phipps, going to the desk. “I’ll pencil it in on your calendar. By the way, a package came for you this evening. Mr. Harbury delivered it himself.”

“Harbury, eh? That was quick.”

Phipps was unwrapping a small leather case. He opened it, and presented it to his employer with a flourish. “Your new spectacles, sir,” he announced. “May they be a comfort to you in your old age.”

“You are growing increasingly impertinent, Phipps,” said Merrick, unfolding the strange bits of wire and glass. Gingerly, he placed them on his nose, and hooked the wires behind his ears. But nothing changed.

“Blister it, man, you look the very same!” he said. “Did I pay good money for these?”

“Indeed, sir.”

“Well, what the devil are they supposed to do?”

“Not much, I collect,” said Phipps. “The lenses are quite thin. Indeed, Harbury said he saw no need to fit you at all, but that you insisted you could not see.”

Merrick glowered up at him. “Give me a book, damn it.”

Phipps produced a manual on modern road construction from the corner of Merrick’s desk. Merrick turned up the wick, and flipped the book open. The print inside looked just as small and cramped as ever. “Damn!” he said, snapping it violently shut. “What made me think I needed spectacles, anyway?”

“One wonders, sir,” the servant said over his shoulder. “Harbury claims you’ve the vision of a man half your age.”

Phipps had gone into the bedroom and was turning down Merrick’s bed, and, despite Merrick’s threat to sleep in his clothes, the impudent fellow was laying out his nightshirt. Merrick refolded the fragile-looking wires and restored the spectacles to their leather case. Rather than call Phipps back, he rose and went to his desk so that he might tuck them away into a side drawer.

It was then that he saw Geoff’s opera glasses. He had meant to return them, but Geoff had stopped coming to the work site, and Merrick had let them slip his mind. He took them out, and studied them for a moment. There was a bit of withered sheep’s sorrel stuck beneath the adjustment screw. He pulled it out and weighed the glasses in his hand. How odd it all seemed to him now.

That day by the old well, Geoff had claimed to have seen the crane slip using his mother’s opera glasses. Then he claimed to have
forgotten
he’d seen it. That made no more sense now than then. But in all the rush and danger, Merrick had let it go. Later, however, when Merrick found the glasses in the grass, and looked through them at the accident scene…

Good God. How very strange.

And yet there were other things, too, things that, when his mind was clear of lust for Geoffrey’s mother, he realized made no sense. There was, now that he thought on it, the night of Chutley’s suicide. The way the boy had begged him to ride with them, then grasped Merrick’s hand when he tried to get out of the carriage. And then there was the aftermath.

“Thank you for carrying me, sir. I am so sorry the other man died.”

Those had been Geoff’s last words before going up to bed. Again, something about it had piqued his curiosity, but then he and Maddie had blown up at one another, and amidst all the cannon fodder, he had failed to consider it further. Merrick snatched his glass, and polished off the rest of the whisky in one toss. Damn, why had this not occurred to him before? There was a world of meaning in that one, simple sentence.
I am so sorry the other man died.

He dragged his hands through his hair. Yes, there had been a gunshot. The horses had shied against the stone fence. But Geoff had been out cold by the time Chutley’s body was found. Merrick had carried the boy home in the rain, Madeleine dogging his every step. He remembered every bitter word, too, which they had spoken to one another.
But never once had they mentioned that anyone had been killed.

He was utterly certain, now that he thought on it. Indeed, he had been quite careful to dance around the topic. A child of Geoff’s age did not need to be exposed to all the world’s ugly truths at once. But Geoff, he was beginning to fear, knew more of the world’s truths than one might wish.

A cold, horrible fear was beginning to steal over him. A truth more chilling than he had ever dared contemplate. No. No, it just
was not
possible. Quin had poisoned his mind with that gypsy curse balderdash.

But Madeleine claimed tonight that she had always known Geoff was “different.” Now where had he heard that before?

“Do you know, Merrick, how humiliating it is for a twelve-year-old boy to cry?”

Christ Jesus. He had felt sorry for Madeleine tonight. Now, however, his sympathy—and his patience—were coming to a swift and rocky end. Dear God, that poor, poor boy! Twice he had asked her the child’s age. And twice Madeleine had turned the subject. He had not really cared; he had been making polite conversation. Now, however, he was beginning to care a vast deal indeed.

“The Scottish Gift,” Granny MacGregor called it. Well, it was no gift. It was a goddamned curse, and it was ruining the boy’s life. Damn Madeleine Howard to hell and back! The knowledge left him reeling. Why had he never suspected? All the signs were there. Christ, he had just made love to her again. And afterward, it had taken every ounce of his self-control not to go down onto one knee and pledge his undying—

Dear God! With hands that shook, Merrick slammed the drawer shut, and dropped the opera glasses into his pocket. He had his shoes half on before he realized he was leaving.

Phipps stood in his bedchamber doorway. “You are going out, sir?”

“You’re bloody well right, I am,” Merrick retorted. “I am going across the village to throttle the last breath of life out of Lady Bessett—and you can pencil
that
into my goddamned calendar.”

“Very good, sir.”

Merrick yanked the door open, and paused. “No, better yet, Phipps—use ink.
Black
ink.”

No lie lives long.

M
adeleine had almost reached the bottom of the first box of files when the faint knock at her door sent her almost leaping from her chair. Good heavens, it was past midnight! Like the country girl she was, however, she went to the door and opened it unquestioningly, despite the fact that her hair was down and she was in her nightclothes. She realized her mistake at once.

Merrick MacLachlan stood her threshold, looking like he’d just ventured up from the bowels of hell. His hair was a mess, and his blue eyes had gone dark with rage. His shirt was open at the throat, the tails half-out, and his waistcoat hung unbuttoned. For an instant, she thought him intoxicated, but his ungloved hand was rock-steady when he smacked it flat against the door. He pushed it wide on silent hinges and came in without invitation.

Madeleine could only stare. “Good Lord, do you know the time?”

He held her gaze with his mad, black eyes. “Aye, it’s the witching hour,” he said. “That little space between life and death, that sliver of corporeal uncertainty, when the dead walk and the graves give up their secrets.”

Madeleine looked at him askance. “You are drunk, Merrick,” she said. “Please go home.”

He stalked toward her like a predator. He smelled of whisky, but his gaze was sharp. Agitated, she backed up a step, but he caught her hair, and twisted it around his fist, drawing her nigh. He set his cheek against hers, and whispered into her ear. “Tell me, Maddie lass—have
you
been keeping any secrets?”

She was frightened. “I—I don’t know what you mean.”

He dragged her harder against him.
“Try again,”
he growled, his voice terrifyingly quiet. “Let’s have them out, my wee wifey. Confession is good for the soul, aye?”

Just then, a shadow appeared, hovering on the staircase. “Is anything amiss, my lady?” said a servant’s voice.

Merrick turned his face but an inch. “Go back upstairs, and mind your goddamned business,” he snapped.

“It—it is all right, Eliza,” said Madeleine, her voice surprisingly steady. “Go back to bed. I’ll come up shortly.”

The shadow hesitated, then disappeared. Madeleine set her hand over Merrick’s. “Kindly release my hair,” she said coldly. “Then sit down and say your piece, for heaven’s sake.”

“Oh, there’ll not be enough years left to us, Maddie, for me to say all that I have to say to you.” He gritted the words against her ear. “And none of it, my dear, is going to be pretty.” But to her surprise, he let her go.

She stepped away, but the sight of his sneering face was more harrowing than his voice. “Is th-this about what happened tonight?”

His sneer deepened. Oh, she had a very ill feeling about this. She swallowed hard and took yet another step backward.

“When were you going to tell me, Maddie?” For the first time, she could hear the tinge of pain in his words. “No, let me answer.
Never. Ever
. Aye, you meant to let me go to my grave in ignorance, did you not? You wanted me to die never knowing that boy was mine.”

Dear God.
This was her worst nightmare come true, but there was nothing to do but brazen it out. “You are insane,” she said. “What makes you think you can come into my home in the middle of the night and say such vile things to me?”

His mouth curled bitterly as he drew a thin leather pocket case from his coat. “This,” he said, extracting a fold of paper, its edges yellow, its corners soft with wear.

He flicked open the top half, just enough that she could see her own name so boldly written on it. She closed her eyes and shook her head. “That is nothing but a piece of paper, Merrick.”

“Oh, if you think that, my dear, you are about to get a lesson in English jurisprudence.”

He was deadly serious. Fleetingly, she considered snatching it and touching it to one of the candles. She must have twitched.

He jerked the paper away and laughed darkly. “Oh, no, Maddie.” He restored the paper to the case, and tucked it away. “I have not held on to that little document for thirteen long years only to have you snatch it from my grasp now.”

“It is just a piece of paper,” she said again. “For God’s sake, Merrick, we were practically handfasted over an anvil! It means nothing.”

“Are you willing to bet on that, my dear?” he snarled. “Let’s go down to the Court of Common Pleas tomorrow and see what our learned justices think. And whilst we’re there, perhaps we can ascertain the penalty for bigamy. It is transportation still, is it not? I hear New South Wales is lovely this time of year.”

“You bastard,”
she whispered. “Go ahead, then. But if there is a God in heaven, Merrick, you will lose.”

“I don’t think you understand.” His voice was lethally soft. “I
have
nothing to lose. I have already lost everything, Madeleine. You took it from me, mercilessly and unilaterally.”

She drew her lips into a firm, straight line, and steeled herself. “We had an annulment, Merrick,” she said.

“Aye, back to that again, are we?” He waved his hand about the room, which was still untidy with papers. “Have you found it yet, by the way? That elaborate paperwork which your father ginned up? East End forgers are two-a-penny, in case you did not know.”

“Just hush, Merrick,” she snapped. “Just hush up and get out.”

Instead, Merrick had the audacity to go to the small sideboard and fix himself a drink. “Do you know, Maddie, what I wonder?” His hand was steady as he poured. “I wonder what Jessup told Lord Bessett. Did the poor devil know you were still married? And did he know he’d be saddled with another man’s get?”

Madeleine dragged both hands through her hair. “You will not be satisfied until you have driven me insane,” she whispered. “Yes, Bessett was shown the same papers as I was. And yes, Merrick, he knew I was with child.”

Merrick snorted. “And he married you anyway?”

“Yes,” she said quietly. “He married me anyway. Because he cared for me, which is more than I can say for you. Where were you, Merrick, when I was sick every morning for three months running? Where were you when the child came, and I lay two days in labor? Or when Geoff fell learning to walk and bit a hole in his lip? Or when his pony threw him, and he needed six stitches?”

“You heartless bitch.”

Madeleine ignored him. “No, Bessett was not my dream husband,” she hissed. “But by God, he was
there
, and he did the best he could, which is all I ever expected of you.”

“You left me, Maddie.”

“I was
taken
away, Merrick!” she cried. “There is a difference. What was I to do? My father said you took the money. You never said otherwise. Indeed, you never said so much as fare-thee-well! And yet, I lingered
ten weeks
in Sheffield, praying you would change your mind and come for me. But you never did, Merrick. You never did. And by then, I needed a husband. I was damned lucky Bessett would have me.”

His eyes narrowed. “Well, that’s a new turn on an old tale,” he said. “And I could not come for you, Madeleine. I was hurt. I wrote you as soon as I was able.”

“Oh, my heart bleeds!” she said sarcastically. “I got no letters from you. But good God, what difference does it make now, Merrick? We have been thirteen years apart. Indeed, we scarcely knew one another to begin with.”

“I knew my heart,” he said hollowly. “And I thought I knew yours.”

“Well, you did not,” she snapped. “Now kindly get out of my house, Merrick. I have a life to lead. I have a child who is not well and who needs me desperately.”

He tossed off half his brandy, and set the glass down. “What a coincidence!” he said. “I do, too.”

She looked at him, the horror slowly dawning. “No,” she whispered. “No, Merrick. You do
not
. You cannot do this to me. I—I shall leave here, do you hear me? I shall go far away where no one can find me.”

“A capital notion,” he said coolly. “And one which I meant to bring up. You had best get packing, my dear. Geoff and I are leaving tomorrow at ten.”

“L-Leaving?” she sputtered. “Good God, you really are mad! You are not taking that boy one step from this house.”

“Oh, tut, tut, Madeleine!” he said mockingly. “Did I not earlier explain to you that this is my house?”

“Go to hell, you arrogant ass!”

Merrick shrugged. “If you do not believe me, my dear, consult a good solicitor,” he said. “And pray don’t forget to mention that annoying little detail about our being husband and wife. If he is worth his salt, he will break you some very bad news indeed. To wit, your debts are mine. Your home is mine. Your child is mine. In short, Madeleine,
you
are mine, much though it may grieve me. And if you are a very, very good girl, my dear, perhaps I shan’t remember to ask the courts to prosecute you for bigamy.”

She flew at him then, the first cracking blow landing soundly across his cheek. She struck at him blindly, over and over, until Merrick caught her hands and drew her fully against him. “You are still a hellcat, aren’t you, Maddie, underneath all that prim perfectionism?” he said, tucking his chin to stare down at her. “Perhaps I won’t bother with that bigamy business. Perhaps I shall just hang on to you and insist on my conjugal rights, as the law fully allows me to do.”

Still gasping for breath, Madeleine tried to knee him, but he pulled her cleverly away. The arrogant devil merely lifted one eyebrow. “Perhaps you failed to notice, my dear, but your body keeps rubbing mine most provocatively every time you lunge,” he murmured. “Now, I shan’t be so pressing as to insist you make up a bed for me tonight. Instead, I shall do you the courtesy of leaving—for now. I will be back at ten for the boy. You may go or stay, as you wish.”

At last, the tears came in an explosive rush. “Oh, you really are as cruel as they say!” she cried. “Good God, Merrick! Think of Geoff! Think what this will do to him!”

He did not let her go, but instead pulled her near, until they were utterly face-to-face again. “I am thinking of Geoff,” he said, enunciating each word. “The boy is a goddamned emotional soss, and he has his mother to thank for it.”

“How dare you say it is my fault!” she retorted. “And just where do you think you are taking him?”

“To Scotland,” he said succinctly. “Where he can be properly looked after by his family—his
blood
family, Maddie. Do you think you are the first person with a child who possesses the sight?”

She looked at him incredulously. “The…the
what
?”

“The sight,” he bit out. “The
gift
. The ability to spae what’s to come. Call it what you will.”

She tried to back away. “Oh, you—you really are quite mad,” she whispered. “You cannot possibly believe what you are saying. For God’s sake, Merrick, this is the nineteenth century, not the Dark Ages.”

“Maddie, the boy is fey, and any fool can see it,” he said calmly. “Now, you will be ready at ten o’clock, and the three of us can go away in relative peace, or you can behave badly, and I shall have the justice of the peace on you by eleven. Which will it be?”

She jerked away. “I hope you burn in hell!”

Merrick shrugged and refilled his glass. “Ten it is, then,” he said, starting to the door with his brandy in hand. “I shall see you in the morning.”

Madeleine could only stand there and blink. “You are a pig,” she answered. “And you—you are taking my glass! It was a wedding gift!”

He lifted it in a final, parting toast. “Well, cheers, then, Maddie!” he said blithely. “It’s about time I got to use it, don’t you think?”

He had been drunk, she decided. Madeleine sat on the edge of her bed as dawn finally lit the sky, turning it a strange mélange of blue and pink. He had been drunk, and this morning when he awoke with a sore head and a churning stomach, he would think better of this nonsense. Indeed, he would doubtless be embarrassed. Perhaps he mightn’t even remember it. He could not possibly wish to be saddled with a child.

Go to Scotland indeed! Why, Merrick MacLachlan did not intend to do any such thing. She and Eliza had sat up until—well, more or less until now—discussing the possibility. It had been Eliza who hit on the truth of the matter. A perfectionist like Merrick would no more leave his businesses unattended than fly to the moon. He loved too well the wealth and power they brought him.

And so she had packed nothing. Told Geoff nothing. Done nothing, not even dress. Instead, Madeleine remained rigidly stiff on the edge of her bed, listening to the sounds of the house beginning to stir. She heard the back door squeal as the ashes were taken out and the fresh coal brought in. Draperies were drawn and sashes thrown up. Dustbins clattered and a costermonger passed by, his cart rumbling on the cobbles. Soon she heard the unmistakable sound of Mr. Frost beginning to stir in the room above her. He would wake Geoff, and together they would go down to breakfast.

It was a normal day.
A normal day.
And Merrick MacLachlan would
not
come and ruin her life all over again.

And then she realized she was crying again, and that it was faintly possible the man would do just what he had said he would do. Then there was the embarrassment of what she had done with him last night. Oh, God help her! Why had she not swallowed her pride and consulted a solicitor to begin with? Or would that have given her bad news all the sooner? In her lap, her fingers had turned faintly blue from being clutched too tightly.

Just then, Eliza came in and frowned. “You must get dressed, my lady,” she said gently. “If he
does
come—which I daresay he won’t—then you will not wish him to see you this way.”

Madeleine nodded and began the process of bathing and dressing. After a while, she heard Geoff and Mr. Frost go thundering back up the steps to the makeshift schoolroom in the garret. Breakfast was beyond her, so she sent Clara for coffee, and went back into the parlor to begin her thus-far-fruitless search all over again.

In the morning sunlight, she looked about the room. It looked most unpromising. But she sat back down anyway, and made at least a pretense of looking as she listened to the clock tick off the minutes.