Bloodline (7 page)

“You’ve been looking uncommonly happy these last few days, my dear,” Father said. He glanced at me over his paper at me as I poured our evening tea.

“Uncommonly, Father? Am I usually gloomy?”

He laughed and folded his paper. “Of course not, my dear, but you’ve been quite preoccupied in recent weeks. I was becoming concerned that working at the sanatorium was proving too much for you.”

“Not at all,” I replied firmly, handing him a teacup. It rattled in his saucer as he took it with a feeble hand.

Father smiled. His eyes shone teasingly. “Of course. There is nothing you couldn’t manage, Mary. I pity the man who marries you, for you will be a formidable woman.”

“Father, I don’t know whether to be flattered or insulted. You make me sound like I conceal the heart of a harridan.”

“You have a brave heart, Mary Elizabeth, which will always guide you toward rightness. Never be ashamed of your strength.”

“Oh, Father! All this grand talk!” I chided him. Yet his fond words warmed my heart.

I took a sip of tea, wondering where to begin—or if I should begin at all. Lieutenant Shaw and I had grown closer than my heart had hoped for lately. It was my wish that our relationship would continue after his discharge.

If it did, it was proper that Father should know. But was I too sure of myself, bringing it up now?

No, I decided. John’s words and actions indicated that his feelings mirrored my own. I would let Father in on the news.

“There has been a patient at the sanatorium, a young lieutenant …” I began hesitantly.

Father regarded me with curiosity.

“He was delirious for some weeks,” I went on. “Wounded and fevered, and terribly affected by some of the things he saw in the trenches. But he seems to have recovered his senses at last.”

“And it is he who has brought a new flush to your cheeks?” Though Father was ailing, he had lost none of his shrewdness.

“Something drew me to him as soon as he arrived,” I explained. “And now he is himself, he shows such sweetness and charm …”

“Handsome, is he?” Father suppressed a smile, but I could see his eyes twinkling with amusement.

“I suppose some would say he is,” I replied. “It is Lily Shaw’s brother, John, from Carfax Hall.”

Father’s eyebrows shot up. “Ah! So that is why you and Lily Shaw have recently had so much to do with each other.” He took a sip from his cup, then settled back into his chair. “John Shaw … can’t say I’ve ever spoken to the lad. Bundled off to boarding school as soon he and his sister arrived at the hall by that stern-faced housekeeper of theirs. And then plunged straight into the war, poor chap …” He shook his head in sympathy.

I went over to the dresser drawer to fetch Father his pills.

“Well, I hope he appreciates what a blessing he’s found in you, my dear,” he said as I handed them to him.

I laughed and kissed the top of his dear head. As usual, my father and I hoped for the same things.

Journal of Lily Shaw

27TH
S
EPTEMBER 1916

Antanasia has wasted no time in obtaining a housemaid—a young girl from the other side of Purfleet by the name of Dora Hughes.

Dora seems a little rough and ready, and I confess, I’m surprised at Antanasia’s choice, she being so fastidious herself. Still, Dora adds a certain cheeriness to the place with her singing and loud laughter. And her flirting with the delivery boys seems to bring our grocery orders to the door in doublequick time! I cannot let her know that I have seen her make advances. As mistress of the house, I should be seen to disapprove. But in reality part of me envies her freedom of spirit!

4TH
O
CTOBER 1916

I shall invite Mary to dine here at the hall. I want her to get to know Quincey better. He is such a fine man.

If I am honest, my own feelings for Quincey have become far stronger than admiration. What a comfort and pleasure it is to have someone with whom I can share my evening walk around the estate. He stays up long after I have retired, seeming to prefer the night to daytime. At first, this struck me as odd. Then I remembered his condition.

I thought Antanasia would disapprove of his strange hours, but she sends Dora to bed and stays up herself to see to his needs, without a word of complaint. And she leaves us alone together to talk, when I’d have thought she’d be the strictest of chaperones.

Who would have thought it? He has clearly melted her heart too!

7TH
O
CTOBER 1916

Dear Mother and Father,

Something happened tonight. Something wonderful!

After dinner, Quincey and I took our coffee in the parlour as usual. We were sitting tête-à-tête on the small divan, an evening rain drumming against the windows outside. I pressed my fingertips against the cold glass, admiring the storm.

Perhaps it was the wine, which I may have had a drop more of than usual—but for some reason I could not stop thinking of you and the good times we had in the past.

Oh, my dear parents! As Quincey and I grow closer, I find
myself wishing more and more fervently that you could know him. I am certain that you would love him as much as I have grown to. And after tonight there is even more reason to wish that you could speak to the captain. But I am getting ahead of myself.

“Such beautiful weather,” Quincey said, following my gaze out the window. He gave me a wry smile. “Sometimes it seems as if the sun will never appear in England.”

I shrugged. “Most people think the rain unpleasant. But I enjoy it. I find beauty in its dark and tempest.”

“Really?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Of course,” I prattled on foolishly. “The sun is blinding—and gives objects a harsh glare. But in a storm, one can see without discomfort. The rain softens the edges of everything.”

“You are a most unusual girl,” Quincey remarked, taking a sip of his deep red port.

I sat upright, putting a hand to my breast. “Oh, Quincey! Do you think me odd?”

“No,” he reassured me. He took my hand and replaced it on my lap, allowing his palm to rest on mine for a moment.

The strong, rough feeling of it sent a warm wave through me. I struggled to keep my composure.

“You are not odd,” Quincey continued. “Your ability to find appeal in what others carelessly disdain is admirable. Please, continue.” His eyes urged me on. He was interested in knowing more of me. And this night, it was as if we were the
only two in the windswept world. It was not long before I found myself telling Quincey about John’s and my childhood, about your deaths—and the dark years that followed.

“Perhaps that is another reason I so love the storm,” I ventured. “Mother and Father left us on a rainy evening—and never returned. When it rains, I am reminded of the last time we were all together.”

“Poor sweet child,” Quincey murmured, taking my hand again. “It must be difficult for a girl so young, so fragile to be without those she loves most.”

I tried to ignore the warm current his touch sent through me.

“But I am not without them. Not really.”

“How so?” he asked.

I blushed again. “I speak to them,” I confided in him. “No one else knows of it. I write letters telling them everything that is happening with me and with John. I know it is foolish, speaking to the dead.”

“Oh, Lily. It is not foolish,” he said, touching my shoulder. “It is more real and true than the understanding of reasonable people.”

I bent my head back to look up at him. His fingers traced the line of my throat.

It felt so easy to share the sadness that lingers in my heart with him. I wondered how I ever lived without his strength and presence in my life.

Then he took my face between his smooth hands and lowered his lips to mine. I stiffened at first, surprised by his action. But then, the closeness of his massive frame overwhelmed me. His lips tasted headily of the wine we had sipped at dinner. I found the scent of his skin intoxicating—like that of the woods after rain. It awoke something within me, made all my senses spin.

I had dreamt many times of my first kiss, imagining it would be with a sweet boy. Never could I have imagined it would be with a captivating man like Captain Quincey Harker.

I wanted to linger in that kiss for eternity, to hang on to the fiery pleasure it awoke in my body, which drowned out all fear and sorrow from my heart.

But slowly, he drew away, letting his hands again trace lightly along my throat. He shuddered. Then taking hold of my trembling fingers, he whispered, “You surely are the sweetest soul….”

I looked into his eyes, confused by what I saw there—desire—but also a trace of melancholy. Was there pity mixed in with his regard for me? I could not bear that. I shook my head to clear it and, whispering a hasty good night, withdrew up to my room.

Sleep is impossible now. I can still feel the trail of Quincey’s fingertips on my heated flesh. I marvel at these new sensations. The night seems filled with magic.

The storm has cleared, and I could sit and watch the moon’s silvery light caress the distant hills all night.

Lovingly,
Lily         

L
ATER

I have just seen something from my window that has quite altered my mood—a great black hound prowling across the grounds, pacing restlessly back and forth. The sight of it quite chills me. Where has it come from? Why is it here?

I am now even more thankful for darling Quincey’s presence in the house.

I have drawn my curtains so that I cannot see it and shall ask Antanasia to mention it to the gamekeeper tomorrow. It is time I went to bed.

Journal of
Mary Seward

14TH
O
CTOBER 1916

This evening I went to dinner at Carfax Hall with Lily and Captain Harker. Lily had invited me a week earlier, and I was glad of the invitation.

It has been more than two weeks since Harker took up residence at the hall and I am worried that a man such as he shares a home with sweet Lily.

There have been several occasions, at the hospital, when I have witnessed interactions between the captain and Lily that give me pause. There have been lingering glances and even physical contact between them that seems too intimate.

I have told Lieutenant Shaw what I have observed and though he has tried to quell my concern, I cannot rest properly until I am certain that Harker is the honourable man he appears to be.

At the hour, I knocked at the front entrance of the hall. A young woman I hadn’t seen before opened the door. “What is it, then?” she asked.

“Good evening, I am Mary Seward. I’m here to join Miss Shaw for dinner,” I replied, taken aback by her rough manner.

Just then, Antanasia loomed up behind the girl. “Dora—get back to the kitchen,” she snapped. She pulled back the front door to let me in.

“Blasted girl!” she muttered when Dora had returned to her post. She took my cloak and hung it up.

A loud clang echoed down the hallway—the sound of a large cooking pot dropped from some height. Antanasia muttered something under her breath and hurried off toward the source of the noise.

I blinked. It seemed I would be left to my own devices. Though I had no idea where my hosts might be.

I gazed down the hallway and noticed a light shining from beneath a closed door. The muffled sound of gramophone music and laughter emanated from within.

With no Antanasia to announce me, I decided to make myself known. I let myself into the room.

I was greeted with a sight that rooted me to the spot. Lily was in the arms of Captain Harker. She was tracing his mouth with her fingertips, rapt fascination on her face. I watched as he grabbed her small white hand in his own and kissed her palm, then lowered his head to place his lips over hers.

My gasp broke them apart.

“Mary!” she cried, slipping from Harker’s embrace, her face flushed. “You’re here! Come in!”

Not surprisingly, she sounded flustered. But her eyes shone with an exhilaration and joy I could never imagine seeing in the normally pale, haunted Lily. She hurried over and grasped my hands, pulling me eagerly across the room. “I’m so pleased you came! Now you and Quincey can get to know each other. I’m sure you shall become great friends!”

I was lost for words. Instead of embarrassment, I saw nothing but pride in Lily’s eyes.

“Quincey?” I asked, finally regaining myself. “I had not realised that you and the captain were so informal with each other.” I stared at Lily, my expression full of meaning.

“We have grown so close in these past weeks that formality began to seem … foolish.” Captain Harker’s eyes were hard, but his tone was warmly civil. “A pleasure to meet you again, Miss Seward.”

I bristled at Captain Harker’s rude dismissal of my concern. But as Lily smiled at one, then the other of us, I determined that I should make the best of things, while keeping eyes and ears fully open.

Dinner was an uncomfortable affair—although there is no denying the captain is a man of great charm and wit. He steered the conversation like a master helmsman, while Lily
sailed merrily through the evening as happy as a child.

I tried my best to join in and not betray my dismay at the manner in which their relationship has obviously been allowed to develop. It was beyond unseemly, and more, I felt sure that Lily was in danger of falling under Harker’s sway.

I was affronted by the manner he affected, conducting himself as though he were the master of the house, when that title clearly belonged to John.

I noticed, too, the overly familiar way Dora, the new housemaid, lingered at Harker’s side when she cleared away his dishes. Lily seemed quite oblivious to this—to anything but Harker himself.

Perhaps Harker was busying himself with the maid? If so, Lily might be safe. But I could not be sure, and I could not leave it to chance.

The captain left Lily and me alone after dinner, excusing himself to do some Foreign Office paperwork in his room.

Lily and I returned to the parlour. Once there, she grasped me by both hands and led me to sit with her on one of the sofas. “I am so happy, Mary!” she exclaimed. “As you saw …” She blushed a little. “Quincey and I have become … very close….”

I smiled, but failed to mask my concern completely.

“Why do you look so worried?” Lily asked, noticing my expression. Then her eyes widened with sudden fear. “Is it John?” she gasped. “Has he relapsed? Tell me!”

“No, no,” I reassured her. “John was sleeping peacefully when I left the sanatorium this evening. I am just a little tired, that is all.”

She looked on at me searchingly, as though she did not believe my excuse.

I swallowed hard and decided to speak my mind. After all, Lily had always surprised me with her candour. And she had led such an uncommonly sheltered life, she might value some sisterly advice. “I am worried for you, Lily,” I began haltingly. “You are such an innocent. And Captain Harker is clearly not …”

A frown clouded her lovely face. “Surely Quincey has seen much. But I am not sure of what you mean.”

“Lily, it is unwise to be alone with a man …"—I was lost for words delicate enough to describe what I had witnessed—"in the way you were when I arrived here this evening.”

“Mary, Quincey has been nothing but wonderful to me from the moment he arrived.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Though I must admit, there is something between us. I do believe that he loves me!” Lily smiled broadly.

“Even if he does, you must realise what such … such passion can lead to! What trouble even the most levelheaded person can find herself in,” I insisted.

“Quincey would never take advantage of me!” Lily prickled in defense of her sweetheart.

“Has he spoken to you of marriage?” I asked, as calmly as I could.

“No,” Lily admitted. She turned and sat on the edge of a satin-covered couch, picking at the fringe of an embroidered pillow. “But I am sure that he loves me. I trust him, Mary. I wish that you could too.”

Just then, the door opened and Captain Harker entered. Had he heard us speaking?

His face betrayed nothing but polite charm. “May I join you ladies for a nightcap?” he asked. “My work took much less time than I had anticipated.”

I took this as my cue to depart. “I must be getting home to settle Father for the night,” I said, and made my goodbyes.

I fear so that Lily mistakes Captain Harker’s passion for love. I pray that she does not give in to her desires. Her sweet heart will be broken—or even worse circumstances may befall her.

Journal of
Lily Shaw

14TH
O
CTOBER 1916

Dear Mother and Father,

I saw the black hound prowling outside again as I drew my curtains. I am glad I offered Mary my carriage home, for
I would not like to think of her walking through the estate while such a beast roams free.

I fear my dear Mary and darling Quincey will not easily become friends after all. Though they were perfectly polite to each other at dinner, I sensed a guardedness between them that I have never before seen in either. If only they could be friends, for they have both grown so dear to me in the short space I have known them and they both care so much for John.

Mary did not linger long after dinner. She said she must return to see her father before he retired to his bed. I hope that this was true and that it was not our company that drove her away.

“And what did you and Miss Seward discuss while I was gone?” Quincey asked teasingly when we were alone again.

“She is concerned for my reputation!” I smiled back as I told him, trying to make light of her advice.

“Does she believe I would let you come to harm?” Quincey asked, turning to face the window.

“Of course not!” I laughed. I moved behind him and circled his frame with my arms. “How could anyone think that you would hurt me?”

He turned and held me in his embrace. He stroked my hair with a hand so gentle I did not realise he had removed my comb until I felt my hair tumble around my bare neck.

“Dark and soft as a summer’s night.” His voice was like
the rumble of distant thunder. His beautiful face looked magnificent in the firelight—his eyes lit by the reflecting embers in the hearth. His gaze seemed to enter my very soul and stake its claim—as if this had always been my destiny. I ached to be kissed and touched by him, as he had done before Mary interrupted us. I stroked his cheek. It felt smooth and cool under my fingertips.

He touched his lips to mine, then gently moved his mouth along my jaw and down to my throat.

I felt so breathless and excited I thought I might faint. Mary’s caution sounded in my mind, like a distant church bell drowned by the roar of a storm. But I could not resist the power of these wonderful new feelings and pressed my body closer. I could feel my heart beating strong and fast.

“Please,” I whispered.

Then he gently pushed me from him. “Lily, we cannot. Not yet,” he said. His voice had a ragged edge.

His sudden rejection stung me, but as my passion subsided I realised he was only echoing Mary’s sensible advice.

“Our time will come,” he said as he left me at my bedroom door.

The thought keeps me warm as I write in the chill of the night. I should reassure Mary that Quincey has shown himself to be a man of honour. But how can I be fearful of the passion Quincey has aroused in me? I yearn to embrace it—for it seems to promise joy powerful enough to banish fear forever.

15TH
O
CTOBER 1916

Something odd occurred this morning. Dora did not strike me as the fainting type, yet she swooned clean away while serving breakfast. And when she came to, she was so pale I feared she was truly ill. I insisted on calling the doctor, though Antanasia seemed to feel it unnecessary.

The doctor could not explain Dora’s bloodless pallor. He said she may be anemic, yet she seemed so robust—even yesterday. He recommends she rest for a day or so and eat red meat and eggs.

I hope she has not been kissing too many butcher’s boys and landed herself in trouble.

Journal of Mary Seward

15TH
O
CTOBER 1916

“So how is your new friend Lily?” Father asked at breakfast. “You seemed a little distracted after your dinner with her at the hall.”

“I’m afraid I did not warm much to her houseguest,” I confessed.

“She has a guest?”

“John’s CO—Captain Harker.”

The name seemed to awaken a light in Father’s eyes.

“Harker?”

“He came to see Lieutenant Shaw, and Lily took him in.”

“Harker …” Father repeated. “I once knew a man by the name of Harker—Jonathan Harker. A fine man …”

Father turned his gaze away as he drifted off into his memories. I knew it would be kinder to leave him there than to disturb him with my anxieties about Lily, so I sipped the rest of my tea in silence.

Journal of Lily Shaw

15TH
O
CTOBER 1916

Dora has disappeared. Her bed lies unslept in, her wardrobe cleaned out, its doors and drawers left opened as though she left quickly. I thought she was happy here. But perhaps I was right when I suspected her fainting might have betrayed more than poor diet. I fear the poor girl has got herself into trouble.

What a pity she did not have someone like Mary to guide and caution her as I do.

Journal of

Lieutenant John Shaw

15TH
O
CTOBER 1916

I slept without dreams last night. It was like being freed from hell.

Opening my eyes this morning, I felt a vigour that had not stirred within me for weeks. The sky outside gleamed a deep, rich blue in the morning light. A more beautiful day could not be had.

Mary Seward appeared at her usual hour to fuss with my bedsheets and help lay out my breakfast. As usual my heart filled with delight at the sight of her.

Miss Seward is a most uncommon girl. I am lucky to have her in my company, but my time at the sanatorium soon comes to a close. I will return to Carfax Hall, and my friendship with her will end. I want so much for it to continue—to turn into something more. I have tried many times to express my feelings, but at each attempt, I find myself tongue-tied.

How can I tell Mary my feelings and not offend her? Worse, what if my feelings are not returned? I am so ignorant in matters of the heart, but I must take courage and hope I can make her understand.

L
ATER

I have done it, and I will explain all here.

“You’re looking well!” Mary approached me with her usual cheerful smile at the end of her evening rounds.

“I feel better and better each day,” I told her, smiling back. “And it is due to you that my improvement has been so rapid.”

“Nonsense,” Mary argued playfully. “How can changing sheets and taking temperatures be thanked for your recovery?”

“You misunderstand,” I corrected her.

“Really? How so?” she asked.

I frowned, searching again for the proper words.

“Lieutenant Shaw, what is the matter?” she asked when she noticed my expression. “Are you in pain?”

I shook my head, then gestured toward the chair next to my bed. She lowered herself gently into the seat.

“Miss Seward,” I began, “you have seen me brought so low. Even today I am ashamed that you witnessed my horrible state.”

She began to protest, but I interrupted.

“I am anxious to improve,” I continued, “because I want so much to show you the man I can be. A man I hope you will consider worthy of your continued company. I wish to ask you—may we continue to see each other after I am discharged from your care?”