XLV
F
ive minutes later he was snoring. Lying against his side, her head pillowed on his shoulder, her hand resting against his black-furred chest, Anna was dreamily contemplating the unexpected turn her life had taken. Who would have imagined that she would one day fall crazily in love with the terrifying housebreaker she had surprised all those months ago at Gordon Hall?
Then came the first of a series of furniture-rattling snores. No mere hard breathing were these. They were loud, full-throated, and almost funny. At least, they would have been funny if they hadn’t come from the adoring throat of the man who had just promised to love her forever.
Sitting up, Anna looked down at her insensible beloved and shook her head. Of course he would have to choose this of all nights to drink himself into a near stupor. They should have been cuddled up together, exchanging tender endearments, then making love until dawn. But clearly those things would have to wait for another night. Tonight, she was privileged to witness her lover in his natural state: sprawled flat on his back, whiskers darkening his cheeks and chin, naked as a babe—and rattling off snores loud enough to wake the dead.
So much for romance. Anna sighed, mentally castigated her lover as a castaway idiot, and clambered off the bed. She could not leave him this way for the rest of the night, and however far into the morning he meant to sleep. She tugged the bed coverings from the side of the bed he was not sprawled across, then set herself to rolling him onto the clean sheet thus revealed. It was not an easy task. He was a big man, and heavy. Pausing once or twice to admire the sheer magnificence of him, Anna pushed and pulled and prodded without noticeable result. Finally she had to stand on the far side of the bed and give a hard yank to the arm opposite to where she stood. Still, when he moved, she didn’t flatter herself that any effort of hers was more than marginally responsible. He simply decided to roll over, incidentally landed in the spot she wished him to occupy, and, reaching up to loop both arms around it, buried his face in the pillow. For a moment more Anna watched him, admiring the strong back and the firm round curves of his bottom. Then, almost regretfully, she pulled the bed coverings over him and left him to sleep in peace.
Really, she reflected as she slipped into her nightgown and wrapper and left his room, it was just as well that he had sunk fathoms deep into unconsciousness. If he had not, she would almost certainly have spent the night in his bed. And it would never do for her to be found there in the morning. Such scandalous behavior had no place in the life of a respectable widow with a young child.
She was smiling faintly as she moved along the corridor to her own room. It was near dawn, and the darkness outside was just beginning to lighten to a thick charcoal gray. Soon stray sunbeams would pierce the gloom, and the sun would peep over the horizon before at last rising to brighten and warm the day. Rather like her own emergence from grief, Anna realized with some surprise. When the night of her loss had fallen upon her, she had never expected to wake up, smiling, to face a brand-new day.
But she had, and suddenly her life sparkled with previously unimagined possibilities. Happiness washed over her in a huge warm wave as she reached her bedchamber, turned the knob, and entered her room.
The first thing she noticed was Moti’s tiny eyes glowing at her from the floor near the bed. If she hadn’t recognized the creature almost at once, she would have been frightened to death. Under the circumstances, she was mostly puzzled. How had Moti gotten into her room? She was sure—almost sure— that he had followed her down the hallway when she had gone to confront Julian what seemed like centuries ago.
All at once a memory of the cobra that had found its way into the east wing on the day of Julian’s arrival popped into her head. Conscious of a sudden rush of rear, Anna stepped with extreme caution toward the bedside table, where she quickly lit a candle.
As she lifted the candle high and turned to peer into the corners, the spreading golden glow revealed Moti’s furry brown body but nothing else. Marginally reassured, she turned toward the bed—and got her second shock in as many minutes. Someone, or something, was curled up beneath the covers in the middle of her bed!
Biting back a scream, Anna set the candle down and leaned over to twitch the covers back to reveal the intruder.
Chelsea! Curled into a little ball, her golden hair tangled all around her face, her knees drawn up to her chest and hugged so that not even her toes were visible beneath the hem of the dainty white nightdress, Chelsea was fast asleep.
In the days immediately after Paul’s death, Chelsea had come to her mother’s room in the middle of the night and climbed into bed with some regularity. Anna, grief-stricken herself but hurting even more for Chelsea, had welcomed her daughter, and the two had slept snuggled as close as spoons, comforting each other. But Chelsea had seemed past the need for such reassurances for months now, and Anna frowned as she tried to imagine what could have brought Chelsea to her bed on this of all nights.
It occurred to Anna then to thank a watchful Providence that Julian had chosen to carry her off to his room rather than her own.
“Chicken.” Anna sat down on the edge of the bed and lightly shook her daughter’s thin shoulder. “Wake up.”
On the second shake Chelsea stirred, then suddenly sat up. As she shook the hair from her face, the child’s eyes were wide with fright. Then, spying her mother, Chelsea gave a little gasp and scooted close to throw herself into Anna’s arms.
“Mama, where were you?”
“Did you have a bad dream?” Anna, prudently ignoring the question, stroked the silky blond head that burrowed into her bosom.
Violently Chelsea shook her head, her arms tightening around Anna’s waist.
“It wasn’t a dream, Mama, it wasn’t! At first I thought it was, but I wasn’t screaming and my eyes were open, and you don’t dream like that, do you?”
“I wouldn’t think so. Unless you were dreaming that your eyes were open, of course.”
“Well, I wasn’t! There was a coolie in my room. He had spears through his cheeks, Mama, little tiny ones, and he looked so strange! He just looked at me for a few minutes, and then he shook something at me and dropped it on the end of my bed, and I was so scared I shut my eyes, and when I opened them again he was gone! I wanted to scream but I couldn’t, and Kirti wouldn’t wake up so I came to find you, but you weren’t here!”
“I’m so sorry, chicken.” Anna held her trembling daughter for a few seconds, then pushed her a little away and smoothed the hair from her face with both hands. “It must have been scary. But it was only a dream, you know.”
“It wasn’t! I know it wasn’t! Truly, Mama!”
Chelsea was so upset that Anna could do nothing but wrap her daughter in her arms and rock her back and forth, crooning wordless comfort. It was some little while before she ventured to say, “Would you like to sleep with me for the rest of the night?”
“Oh, yes, Mama, please!”
Anna dropped a quick kiss on the child’s forehead, settled her down, tucked her up, blew out the candle, and climbed in beside her. Chelsea cuddled against her like a frightened animal. Holding her daughter close, Anna listened until she heard the soft, even breathing that told her that Chelsea had fallen asleep.
Then, moving carefully so as not to awaken the child, Anna slid out of bed and pulled on her wrapper once more. More than likely what Chelsea had seen was no more than a spectre out of a dream. Still, that Kirti couldn’t be awakened seemed odd.
If nothing else, she could check and make certain that the old ayah was all right.
It was dawn now, and creeping tendrils of light were curling along the corridor as she walked toward the nursery. Moti, liberated from the bedchamber where he had apparently fled in Chelsea’s wake, padded at her heels. Anna was glad of the animal’s presence. In the uncertain quiet of dawn, it was comforting to know that there was some other creature besides herself awake in the house.
The nursery door stood wide. Anna glanced in, saw Chelsea’s bed with the covers thrown back where the child had apparently abandoned it, and let her gaze slide over the rest of the room, which was apparently undisturbed. The door that led to the schoolroom was open, too. Since Kirti’s bedchamber opened off that, Anna assumed that Chelsea had run through there to awaken Kirti. Before moving on to check on the ayah, Anna walked over to Chelsea’s bed. Of course the child had merely suffered another nightmare.…
But something was lying on the foot of her bed, half buried by the disheveled bedclothes. Anna’s eyes widened as she stared at it for a long moment before daring to touch it with a single probing finger. It was a large, trumpet-shaped flower, brilliantly colored, waxy to the touch. Harmless, surely.
But how had it gotten on Chelsea’s bed?
Perhaps the child hadn’t been dreaming after all.
The thought was frightening. A coolie, with tiny spears through his cheeks, shaking this blossom over Chelsea’s bed? The very idea was bizarre—but there lay the flower.
Biting her lower lip, Anna gingerly picked up the blossom, holding it between her thumb and forefinger as she went to awaken Kirti. It was only a flower, and she knew that her reaction to it was largely the product of an overactive imagination, but still it seemed evil. Almost threatening.…
Kirti was fast asleep in her small chamber off the schoolroom, snoring almost as loudly as Julian had been. Brusquely Anna shook her awake. She refused to admit even to herself how relieved she was when Kirti opened her eyes almost at once.
Had she really feared that the ayah was drugged?
“Memsahib?” Kirti sounded groggy, which was only to be expected, as she blinked up at Anna before sitting bolt upright, her eyes huge with consternation. With her hair flowing around her face and her sari replaced by a simple linen sleeping shift, Kirti looked a very different person from Chelsea’s devoted ayah. “Is something wrong with the little missy?”
“She’s had another bad dream, and she’s come to sleep with me. I wanted to tell you. Kirti, do you have any idea how this might have gotten on Chelsea’s bed?”
Anna lifted her hand so that the flower dangled before Kirti’s face. If the ayah had been wide-eyed before, it was nothing to what she was when she looked at the brightly veined bloom. The color seemed to drain from her face, and then she began to rock back and forth, muttering something that sounded like an incantation or a prayer in what must have been her native Tamil dialect.
“What is it, Kirti? You must tell me at once!” Fright sharpened Anna’s voice. Kirti, still swaying, looked gray and ill.
“It is the blossom of the thorn apple, memsahib. On missy’s bed, did you say? Oh—ay, oh—ay, great trouble comes to us who …”
Kirti was slipping back into her singsong keening. Anna had to restrain the urge to shake her.
“What does it mean, Kirti?” she demanded in an urgent tone.
“The thorn apple—it has much power. Kali—the worshippers of the goddess Kali use it in their rituals.”
“Why would anyone want to put it on Chelsea’s bed?”
“To warn her—to warn us to watch her—to warn all of us. Oh—ay, great trouble comes to us who—”
Anna turned abruptly on her heel and left the room. Whether he was sleeping off a drunk or not made no difference: she had to show this to Julian.
XLVI
H
e was still sprawled on his stomach, his black head buried in the pillow, snoring lustily. He didn’t look as if he’d moved so much as a hair since she’d left him.
“Julian, wake up!”
Leaving the bedroom door half open behind her in her haste, Anna carefully placed the flower on the bedside table for safekeeping. Then she plopped on the edge of the bed and vigorously shook the muscled bare arm closest to her. The only response she got was another enormous snore. Anna shook him again.
“Julian! I said wake up! It’s important!”
“Mmmm?”
“Julian, I have to talk to you!”
“Come ’ere, sweetheart.” The words were groggy, the action that accompanied them surprisingly deft. To her annoyance, Anna found herself captured by one long arm and dragged onto the bed beside him.
“Julian, stop it! I …”
But before she could say anything more he was rolling atop her and stopping her mouth with his kiss. Annoyed, Anna beat at his back with her fists even while her body thrilled to the heated plundering of her mouth.
After a moment, her protest apparently sinking in, Julian broke off the kiss and lifted his head to peer into her face.
“Are you always such a little ray of sunshine in the mornings, or is this an exception?”
Anna scowled up at him. “Are you sober yet? You’re no good to me if you’re still three parts drunk.”
“Sober as a judge, my love. Shall I prove it?” The wicked glint and suggestive movement of his body caused her to push impatiently at his shoulders.
“This is important, Julian!”
“I’m all ears, of course.” He accompanied this statement by lazily cupping and squeezing a breast. Anna felt the intimacy of the casual gesture all through her body. He was treating her as if she was his to do with as he pleased—and she, shameless hussy that she was, loved it.
“Get off me!” she ordered, fighting her own inclination to surrender to the hard warmth of his body—which was, from the physical evidence pressing against her thigh, far more awake than he was. His thumb flicked over her nipple through the twin layers of her nightdress and wrapper, momentarily distracting her.
“Are you sure you don’t want to …”He trailed off to press a suggestive kiss to the nipple he tormented.
Anna shivered, then gritted her teeth, doubled up her fist, and punched him smartly on one hard shoulder. “I said get off me! Julian, something’s happened!”
The blow probably hurt her more than it did him, Anna reflected ruefully, shaking her hand, but it did serve its intended purpose: with a regretful grimace he rolled off her and hitched himself up on a pillow that he propped against the headboard. At the last minute, for modesty’s sake, he dragged the coverlet across his lap.