Corey McFadden (41 page)

In the meanwhile, Giles took Joanna to see Mr. Garrick and Peg Woffington in
The Merry Wives of Windsor
at Drury Lane and insisted on buying her more gowns than she thought she could use in a lifetime, and of such quality that Cook lost her sneer and redoubled her awesome culinary efforts.

But they were both ready to leave at week’s end. It was a strain keeping to themselves in the face of the riotous scandal that rocked London in the wake of the raid at what became known as “The Beeson Establishment.” It was astonishing how many euphemisms the newspapers could come up with, yet still make it perfectly clear what had been going on. The Irish girls had been freed, apparently unharmed, as well as several other young girls who had been there already. Of Joanna and the children the papers made no mention, and Sir Giles was referred to only as “the Northern knight who had, nobly and at great risk to himself, saved the Irish girls from a fate worse than death.” Hawton had been arrested in the raid and languished in prison. Lord Beeson had managed to post bail, but he was in seclusion and public sentiment was running high against him.

Sir Giles and Joanna made a leisurely trip north with the children, in sharp contrast to the trip south, stopping at the better inns and enjoying decent meals and soft beds.

All too soon, it seemed, the dark outlines of Queen’s Hall appeared on the horizon. Joanna was annoyed with herself. She had felt a sense of unease building in her since they had started out this morning and now it had settled like a black weight against her chest.

This was her home, for heaven’s sake! She should be happy to see it, glad of the smell of the sea and the purpling beauty of the fells to the east. And she was, of course.

Except that Eleanor was still here, this bitter, twisted woman who hated so wildly in her madness.

“She will not be down to greet us, my dear,” said Giles softly.

Joanna looked at him, startled and guilty that her thoughts had been so transparent. By tacit agreement, they had not discussed Eleanor, not after Joanna had told him of his stepsister’s part in the abduction. Now she could see that his eyes were shadowed. The children napped on the seat across from them.

“I sent word to the house last week that Eleanor should be detained in her room. I have not been able to bring myself to report her to the authorities. I may yet do so. But she is mad, I know that. And I am afraid that her next home must be an asylum. She cannot be permitted to go on the way she is. She is too hungry and unscrupulous.”

“It’s all right,” said Joanna softly. She had taken his hand and held it now tightly to her chest, as if she could draw courage from his fingers. “I agree with you. An asylum is a dreadful place, but we have no way of knowing what sort of evil she would get up to if we left her free to do so. There seem to be no depths to her. Papa always said there was good in everyone, but I think Eleanor would have been his one defeat.”

“Well, I will see her and make all the arrangements. I want you to promise me that you and the children will stay as far away from her as you can get. Don’t even take them to the side of the house that her windows face, until I can have her removed. I wouldn’t put it past her to hurl something heavy down on you, if she had the chance.”

Joanna gave a shudder at his words. They had driven up to the great front entrance of Queen’s Hall. Why did it look so unwelcoming?

The carriage slowed to a stop and the door was opened. Charles stood outside. “Welcome home, sir. Lady Chapman,” he said, but his smile was weak, and disappeared without a trace at the end of his words.

Joanna alighted with Giles and the children right behind her. Charles’s eyes were everywhere but on her own. Without another word he closed the carriage door behind them and turned his attention to the baggage. Emma and Tom ran happily up the front steps. Well, let’s hope there are no dark memories for them, Joanna thought, following behind them. Somehow, even the sound of their laughter did nothing to alleviate the feeling of gloom that hung over this place. Something was not right.

The front door swung open. Joanna peered up the steps but could see no one behind the door. The hallway was dark, and she made a mental note to remind Mrs. Davies that the new rules of the house allowed for a great deal of light. She glanced at Giles and saw that his jaw was tight, his mouth a grim line. He had closed his fingers about her arm, his hold almost too tight, a protective grip that did nothing to soothe her nerves.

As they stepped into the house, they could see Annie ushering the children rather hurriedly upstairs. Emma’s lively chatter, telling Annie all about the wonderful sights of London, struck a discordant note in the grim silence.

Joanna looked about and saw Mrs. Davies standing by the door. The woman’s face was positively gray.

“So happy to see you home safely, Lady Chapman,” Mrs. Davies murmured. “And you too, Sir Giles. Thank heaven you’re home.” The woman’s voice faltered.

“What the devil is going on around here?” Giles’s voice thundered in the cavernous dark.

Seemingly from nowhere, Jims materialized. “Sir Giles, we must speak to you right away,” he said. “It’s about Lady Eleanor.”

Joanna could not help the sharp intake of breath that gave her away. Giles’s hand tightened around her arm.

“Where is my stepsister?” he asked in cold, measured tones.

“Perhaps if we could step into the library, Sir Giles,” said Mrs. Davies, sounding tentative. “I’ve some brandy waiting to warm you.”

“Yes, Giles, let’s go into the library,” Joanna intervened quickly, seeing that he looked about ready to explode. Whatever had happened, she did not want the children to overhear any unpleasantness regarding their Aunt Eleanor. There were too many ugly memories....

Without another word, Giles led her into the library. Joanna seated herself while Mrs. Davies bustled unnecessarily with the brandy. Giles stood by Joanna, hands clasped behind his back as if he were trying to keep from strangling someone. Jims looked as if he’d never been in a library in his entire life, and perhaps that was so.

“Well?” was all Giles said.

“We did as you requested, Sir Giles,” Jims said, clearing his throat. “We locked Lady Eleanor’s door. We showed her your letter, and we only opened the door to bring in food. The last time we brought her her supper—that would be three nights ago—well, she was hidin’ behind the door. She smashed young Bessie on the head with one of them statues of hers. Bessie ain’t been quite right since....”

Joanna gasped in frustration. The poor girl could be badly hurt if she’d been hit with one of those heavy figures.

“Go on,” said Giles. Joanna could see that his hands were fists behind his back.

“Well, Lady Eleanor, she ran out then, but it was just good luck that I was comin’ up the hallway then to have a look at the lock on her door. Mrs. Davies had been concerned that it was not terribly strong and that....”

“Yes, yes, man, get on with it,” pressed Giles. Joanna could appreciate his impatience. She herself was on pins and needles. If the woman had bolted, they wouldn’t know a moment’s peace until she was found again.

“Well, I didn’t hurt her, I swear I didn’t, sir, you must believe me,” Jims went on. He looked as if he were about to cry.

“Of course not, man. I know you’d never hurt her deliberately. You were doing as I had bade you to do, after all.”

Giles’s speech did nothing to ease Jims’s anguish. If anything, the man looked worse than before.

“Well, we put Lady Eleanor back in the room, Sir Giles. She was callin’ out for brandy, but Mrs. Davies said there had been a full bottle in there in the mornin’ and it must just be a ploy. She got real wild-like, but we was afraid to open the door. She’s got plenty of that statuary there in the room with her, and young Bessie was in a real bad way, with her head split open and all. We let her scream...” he trailed off.

Mrs. Davies looked up from the handkerchief she held to her face and Joanna could see that she was crying softly. “Sir Giles,” the woman said, her voice breaking, “please believe me when I say we did not mean for this to happen. We had no idea she would attempt such a thing. No idea...” she broke off, too choked up to speak.

“Please tell me what happened then, Jims,” said Giles, his voice as gentle as he could make it.

“Well, after a while it grew quiet. We couldn’t hear her anymore. We figured she’d got tired and gone to bed. We thought she’d be more—herself in the mornin’,” He stopped. He looked at Mrs. Davies. She nodded to him. Drawing in a deep breath, he said, “We were closin’ things up for the night. It was late. Me and Mrs. Davies were havin’ our little drop before bed. That’s when we heard the scream, bloodcurdlin’, it was. Sent me cold all over. It came from outside, from high up-like. I got one of your guns and went outside. That’s when I found her, on the stones below her window.”

There was a long pause. Joanna could hear her heart thundering in her chest.

“Was she dead?” Giles asked finally, his voice oddly flat.

“Indeed, sir. No one could have survived such a fall. I went upstairs later and found that she had opened up her window. I believe she climbed out on the narrow ledge. Perhaps she was plannin’ to get in by another window further down, but she was wearin’ those flimsy little slippers and the ledge would be all dusty and hard to walk on.”

“She had been terribly upset, Sir Giles,” put in Mrs. Davies. “She had torn her room apart.”

“And was there any brandy in the room when you went in, Mrs. Davies?” was Giles’s unexpected question.

“No, sir,” the woman replied. “Now that you mention it, the decanter was over on its side and it was empty.”

“Ah, I see,” was all that Giles responded.

“We have our resignations ready for you, Sir Giles, Jims and me. We’ll leave tomorrow. We know we should have left immediately, but the house was at sixes and sevens, and we did wish to be able to explain to you that no one else is to blame, just us.” She nodded to Jims, who took her hand.

“That’s right, sir. We gave the orders that the door was not to be opened again until morning. No one else is at fault.”

“Nor are you, Jims,” said Giles slowly. Joanna had slipped her hand up to grip his behind his back. His hands were like ice, but he held hers tightly. “I do not accept your resignation, either of you. If anyone is at fault, it is I for having set this responsibility on you.” He paused, as if searching for words. “You must understand that my stepsister was ill, very ill. You have an inkling, I believe, that she was engaged in some unpleasant events involving Lady Chapman and the children. You do not, however, know anything near the awful truth.” He stopped again and took a deep breath. “And while I would not be so crass as to say that you have done me, or the world, a favor, I will tell you that Lady Eleanor’s madness would have led to her immediate confinement in an asylum for the insane. I do believe she would be the first to thank you for offering her a way out.”

There was no sound in the room but the ticking of the ornate, cupid-laden clock on the mantel. Joanna stood up, still holding Giles’s hand.

“Perhaps Mrs. Davies and I could see about the children and our supper, Giles. You and Jims may have a few more things you want to talk about.” With a quick squeeze to her fingers and a smile to Mrs. Davies, she whisked herself out of the room, leaving a grateful Giles looking after her. She knew he had to discuss the more gruesome details, such as what they had done with the body, and he had not wished to bring any of that up with her present.

“I believe we should have that brandy now, Jims,” Joanna heard Giles say as she followed Mrs. Davies out.

“Yes, sir, if you please, sir,” was Jims’s grateful reply. She shut the door quietly.

* * * *

It was late before they climbed into the big, comfortable bed in Giles’s room. They had sat long over supper, Giles telling Joanna things about Eleanor, things she had done to him, things he had never told another living soul, and about Violet. It seemed that having broken the seal, the words kept coming. Joanna let him talk, knowing that like the lancing of a bad boil, the putrid ooze could be washed away. It was shocking to her, knowing now what she did, that he had ever considered remarrying, a great leap of faith for him. That he had survived in such a morally bankrupt setting so long spoke of his character and goodness.

It would be long before the demons were excised, long before the defiling presence was washed clean from this house. But as he closed his arms about her in the big, wide bed, Joanna smiled, turning to him in the dark. They were well on the way to healing, all of them, and they would fill this house with such joy that there would be no trace of the darkness.

Epilogue

The gurgle from the baby was followed by a great belch. Little Anna Katherine, named for two grandmothers, was adored and adorable, but there would be manners to learn someday. Tom crowed with delight and held the baby up in the sunlight. Joanna smiled at them both while she gathered up the picnic things and packed them away into the large basket Mrs. Davies had so amply filled.

A year had made such a difference in Tom, so attentive was he now and speaking new words every day with such care for his pronunciation. Joanna felt a personal triumph as she recalled the darkened schoolroom where she had first met the children, and the challenge they had brought to her new life.

“Let’s go back now, Tom,” she said, dropping a kiss on the top of his dear little head. “Uncle Giles will be back from Dufton in a little while and I want us all to be cleaned up and looking presentable. Emma!” she called down to the beach below where Emma sat on her haunches, peering intently at some bit of flotsam thrown out by the sea. Emma stood and ran, laughing as the wind tried to take her bonnet from her.

The procession moved rather slowly up the hill to the house. Joanna surveyed the outside with great contentment. She had planted just a few things, some flowering shrubbery and some roses, but already the place was transformed. The dark gray of the stone caught the sunlight, and the deep rose of the early blooming flowers gave a contented, cared-for look to the once forbidding edifice.