The Devil of Clan Sinclair (19 page)

“Is it Elliot?” she asked. “Is he sick?”

Hannah dropped her hands, but rather than meeting Virginia’s eyes, she turned her head.

“Hannah,” she said again, using her elbows to raise herself on the bed. “Is he sick?”

“Oh, no, your ladyship. it’s so much worse than that.”

What could possibly be worse than smallpox?

Hannah’s mouth turned down, her face slack, her eyes dull and red-rimmed. Slowly, she shook her head from side to side.

Virginia’s heart thundered in desperation.

“He’s gone and it’s all my fault.”

She didn’t understand. All she could do was watch Hannah, who stared down at her clenched hands.

“Elliot’s gone?” The words didn’t even make sense. “Is he dead?”

“No, your ladyship. He isn’t ill. He doesn’t have smallpox.”

“Thank God,” she said, settling back against the pillow.

Hannah shocked her by bursting into tears.

“It’s my fault, your ladyship. It’s all my fault. Oh, your ladyship, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know he didn’t know.”

“I don’t understand,” she said, wanting to scream at the girl to explain. “What has happened?”

“Mr. Sinclair, your ladyship. He took Elliot.”

Chapter 21

On the way to Drumvagen, Scotland

July, 1870

O
n the journey back to Drumvagen, Macrath was grateful he’d amassed a fortune. He hired a private train car so his son wouldn’t be exposed to strangers, and arranged for meals and beverages to be stocked.

He estimated Elliot weighed less than one of the handles on his ice machine, which made the situation all the more amazing. Besides costing his father a fortune, he had three adults at his beck and call.

By the time they got to the border between Scotland and England, Macrath had gained a hearty respect for the young girl who tended to his son. She didn’t get flustered when the baby started to scream. She merely placed Elliot on her shoulder, patted his well-diapered bottom, and commanded him to “Hush, right now, just hush.”

She rocked back and forth on the seat so much, Macrath was almost seasick, but it was a movement evidently pleasing his son because every time she did it, Elliot fell asleep.

The wet nurse, not to be outdone in her care of his son, appeared triumphant when she unbuttoned her dress and put Elliot—what kind of name was that?—to her breast. His son immediately stopped fussing and started to gurgle appreciatively.

Wise beyond his months.

The eleventh Earl of Barrett, my ass.

He was not going to surrender his son to anyone, not even to the nobility of England. If Virginia thought the world would be fooled, all they had to do was look at the two of them together.

She had lied to him. Or, if she were only guilty of the sin of omission, it was a pretty damn big omission.

How could she not have told him about their child?

He settled back against the seat, surveying his companions.

Agatha, the wet nurse, had a round face with cheeks as red as her rosebud mouth. She smelled of warmth and his son, a fact that might be linked to her plenteous bosom, about which she seemed unduly proud. Her breasts preceded her out of a room and into one, a fact for which he was grateful, since Agatha was the source of his son’s nourishment.

If Agatha had any worries, they didn’t appear to concern her. She thought everything was amusing, her smile showing several missing teeth.

“Is he all right?” he asked a few hours later. Elliot had spent half the night in sleep, only to awaken with a cry that clawed its way up Macrath’s spine to settle at the base of his neck.

“Oh, yes sir,” the wet nurse had said, hauling out her breasts again. “He’s just a growing boy and he’s hungry.”

“Is it normal for him to cry like that?” Whenever Elliot screwed up his face, it was a warning. In a moment the ungodly, bansheelike shriek would fill the car.

“Oh, yes sir,” the wet nurse said again, this time giving him a pitying look. Did she save the look for all males, or just him?

Even Mary, a serious little birdlike child, smiled, the same expression she’d no doubt give a half-wit.

The private car allowed him to be intimate with his son’s needs. The first time Mary changed his diaper, he stared out the window and focused on the passing scenery, the shape of the clouds, the gorse blowing stiff-necked in the breeze, anything but the odor now filling the space.

How could anything as small produce something that foul?

The next time Mary changed his diaper, he’d only been wet, and Macrath had taken the opportunity to inspect his son surreptitiously. Yes, Elliot was definitely his offspring.

Once back at Drumvagen, Brianag confounded him. She took one look at his son and said, “Ach, he’s an ugly one, he is.”

When he instantly disagreed, she frowned at him. “Hauld yir tung, or ye’ll forespyke the bairn.”

As he was to learn, his child had to be guarded by a series of rituals he found not only odd but superstitious to the extreme. To keep Brianag calm, however, he agreed to as many as he could.

He was never to say anything complimentary about Elliot, for fear he would be cursed, or forespoken.

A brooch in the shape of a heart was pinned to the back of Elliot’s petticoat. No one could place him back in his cradle—an old one borrowed from Brianag’s sister-in-law—without speaking the words, “God be with you.”

After she instructed Mary that every time Elliot was dressed he was to be turned over, heels over head, then shaken with his head downward, Macrath reached his limit. He waited until Brianag left the room before turning to Mary.

“I’ll dismiss you on the spot if you treat my son that way.”

The nursemaid only nodded, and he caught a glint of humor in her eyes. Maybe she thought him being cautious around his housekeeper was amusing. What wasn’t funny was feeling like he had to protect Elliot constantly. When he said as much to little Mary, she shook her head at him, a gesture mirrored by Agatha.

“It’s what a mother does, sir,” she said, her soft little bird voice flailing him with the truth. “If you’ve taken him from his mother, you’ll have to be both now, won’t you?”

He could only stare at her in silence, wondering how a girl of twelve had more sense than he possessed.

London

July, 1870

V
irginia perched on the edge of the bed, feeling the room spin around her.

She focused on the far window, willing the dizziness to pass. When the world was finally stable again, she stood, gained her balance, and made her way to the door of her bedroom.

“Please, your ladyship,” Hannah said. “You can’t do this. Please, don’t hurt yourself. You’re not strong enough.”

She didn’t answer, concentrating on reaching the staircase to the nursery.

Hannah sighed but thankfully put an arm around her waist. If she hadn’t supported her, Virginia wasn’t at all sure she could make it up the stairs.

The last few steps, she nearly had to pull herself up the stairs with both hands. At the top, drenched in sweat, she was so weak she wanted to collapse.

“You need to rest, your ladyship.”

Virginia only nodded.

At the doorway, she stopped, staring into the nursery.

The room was empty, the silence stark.

Elliot was truly gone.

Mary wasn’t there. Nor was the wet nurse she’d never met. Nothing was in any of the bureau drawers or the armoire. Elliot’s empty cradle rested in the corner of the room. She went to stand over it, stroking her fingers over the carving at the top, feeling every indentation and curve.

His pillow was still here, the lavender inside it perfuming the air. Why hadn’t they taken his pillow?

“How long?” she asked. “How long have they been gone?”

“This afternoon, your ladyship.”

Why hadn’t Hannah alerted her earlier?

“Tell Hosking to ready the carriage,” she said, sinking into the chair by the door. Somehow, she would have to get to Scotland.

“I don’t think this is wise, your ladyship,” Hannah said. “You haven’t yet healed.”

Virginia took a deep breath. “I can’t simply remain here.”

“Then rest a day, or two at the most, your ladyship.”

She shook her head, got dizzy, and waited a moment. When she stood, Hannah held her arm, and she smiled in thanks, closed her eyes and prayed for the strength to do what she had to do. Leaving the nursery, she steadied herself at the top of the steps. Had the staircase always been this steep?

“He has Elliot, and I can’t remain in England while my son’s in Scotland.”

“You know where he’s gone,” Hannah said. “Two days, that’s all I ask. You look like you could collapse if someone looked cross at you.”

For the first time in days, Virginia felt a tinge of amusement. “I’ll have to ensure someone doesn’t look cross at me.”

She would also have to prepare to face Macrath.

“The worst of the scabs have not yet fallen off.”

“You mean people will be frightened of me?” Virginia asked.

“They’ll think you’re still contagious.”

She glanced at the maid. “The doctor says I’m not. I wouldn’t put Elliot in jeopardy.” She held up a trembling hand. “I won’t be swayed, Hannah. I must go after him, don’t you see? He’s my son.”

“We can’t leave at night, your ladyship. We can leave at first light.”

Glancing at the window, she realized Hannah was right. Darkness had fallen. Ever since she’d become ill, time passed so quickly. Whole days were gone before she realized.

“Tomorrow, then,” she said. “First thing in the morning.”

How could Macrath have taken Elliot? How could he have done something so unconscionable and cruel? She could almost hear his voice now.
How could you have hidden my own son from me?

How was she to answer that question? If she were wise, she’d start marshaling her arguments now for the confrontation with Macrath.

Even if she’d been wrong, she was not going to remain meekly here and let Macrath steal her child.

“I’m coming with you,” Hannah said.

She hesitated, looking at her maid, a woman who’d become so much more than a servant over the past months.

“I should tell you no,” Virginia said. “Enid could use your help here.”

According to what Hannah had told her, the whole of the household was in shambles. Meals were late, the bells never rang, two footmen had quit. Several of the maids were still recovering from smallpox. Paul was acting as the head of the house, and that, more than anything else, was symptomatic of how disruptive their lives had become.

Hannah shook her head. “I’m not staying here while you travel to Scotland alone.”

Slowly, Virginia started to descend the steps. She managed a smile for Hannah’s benefit. “And I don’t think I could make it to Scotland without you.”

T
he next morning Virginia still felt weak but was determined to make the journey to Scotland. Because she was still in the process of healing, she decided it would be safer not to travel by train. Even heavily veiled, someone might see her scabs and wrongly deduce she was still contagious. She didn’t want to cause panic. They would travel by carriage, the same way they had before, in the same manner. She would be as surreptitious as she’d been as a new widow.

After drinking her morning tea, she went through the laborious process of dressing. Twice, she almost collapsed, and twice waved away Hannah’s concern.

“I’ll be in a carriage,” she said. “I won’t be doing anything but sitting.”

After descending the stairs, she leaned against the wall, willing her stomach to calm and her heartbeat to slow.

Before she left, she was going to visit with Ellice, an encounter she didn’t anticipate. Hannah left her at the door with another concerned glance. She pasted a determined smile on her face and entered the parlor.

Ellice sat in her favorite chair, staring down into a cup of tea like the answers to all the problems of the world were to be found there.

Every time Virginia came into the room, she remembered the dawn when she’d kept vigil with Lawrence’s casket and arranged a deceit.

The room still smelled of death. Flower arrangements placed there for Eudora hadn’t been removed and sat on the mantel and side tables, dropping their petals over the floor.

Dearest Eudora. How empty the house was without her presence.

The sun heated the room, showing the streaks left on the windows by careless maids. Enid wouldn’t have tolerated such slovenliness in normal times.

Virginia eased into the chair beside Ellice in a spot usually occupied by her mother-in-law. For a moment they sat in silence, the ticking of the mantel clock the only sound.

“You’re really leaving?” Ellice asked.

“I wouldn’t go, but it’s Elliot,” she said, reaching out and placing her hand atop her sister-in-law’s.

Ellice nodded. “I understand.”

She met Ellice’s eyes. So much was left unsaid, most of it centering around Enid. She’d yet to come out of her room.

“I’m sure it will be fine,” Ellice said. “I’ll see to Mother. And everyone is recuperating. We’ve no other cases.”

She put her cup on the table in front of her and studied Virginia.

“Why did Mr. Sinclair take Elliot? I don’t understand.”

She almost told Ellice the truth, then decided she’d already burdened the girl enough.

“I don’t know, but I’m going to bring him home.”

Ellice didn’t respond, but her lips were pursed and a frown marred her lovely features.

“I don’t anticipate the journey to be a long one,” Virginia said. She handed Ellice a sheet of correspondence on which she’d written Macrath’s address. In case anything else happened, Ellice needed to know where she’d gone.

Please God, don’t let anything else happen.

S
he was going to leave him. She was going back to the bastard who’d impregnated her, the Scot who’d taken her child.

Her pallor worried him. So, too, her slow steps to the stable door. A journey to Scotland would tax her strength.

He couldn’t allow it. He had to keep her here.

Paul followed her, waiting until her maid went around to the other side of the carriage. Virginia placed a hand against the vehicle to steady herself.

That’s when he knew he had to do anything to stop her, even to telling her the truth if needed.