The Music Box (22 page)

A muffled sound from the hallway brought his head up, and he tensed, straining to hear the noise again. A sense of foreboding knotted the pit of his stomach— although why, he hadn’t a clue. One of Gaby’s house pets was probably out there—maybe one of the kittens who slept in Lily’s and Jane’s rooms. They often wandered about the manor getting into mischief.

A thud, closer to his quarters this time, followed by a choked whimper and the sound of padding feet. Human feet.

Bryce crossed over and yanked open his door, stepping into the hall in time to see Gaby round the corner, her nightgown billowing about her slight form, her music box clutched to her chest.

She was asleep.

He reached her in a half dozen strides, tugging her into an alcove and out of sight. “Gaby.” He shook her, anxiously searching her face, awaiting some kind of response.

Her exquisite eyes were vague, obscured by sleep, her hair tumbling in waves about her shoulders. “Fire …” she gasped, her entire body trembling with fear. “Flames … high … too high … I can’t—”

“Gaby.” Bryce’s voice was hushed but insistent, his fingers digging into her arms. “Sweetheart, you’ve got to wake up.” Another hard shake.

“What …?” Awareness jolted through Gaby’s limbs, crept into her eyes, and she gazed up at him, pressing the music box against her as if it could ward off oncoming pain. “Bryce?” she asked blankly.

“You were sleepwalking,” he told her, struggling to keep his voice calm. Then, seeing her anguish, feeling tension grip her, he relented, drawing her to him and enfolding her in his arms. “You’re all right,” he murmured, stroking her hair. “You’re inside the manor, down the hall from my quarters. I stopped you on your way to the stairs.”

“It’s not over, then,” she whispered, clearly fighting back tears. “Last night was only the onset.”

“You don’t know that,” Bryce heard himself saying—he who never diluted the truth. “It could be the aftermath, like echoing rumbles of thunder. If so, it will fade.”

“When, Bryce? When will it fade?”

With a harsh sigh, Bryce rested his chin atop her head. “I don’t know.”

“Gaby?” Hermione’s voice reached their ears, hushed but audible—and filled with worry. “Dear, are you out here?”

“It’s Aunt Hermione.” Gaby tensed, her fingers digging into Bryce’s shirt. “She must have heard the commotion and checked my room, only to find it empty.” A choked sound. “Force of habit from the past.”

Bryce nodded, knowing what had to be done, wondering if Gaby was going to fight him.

She answered his question before he asked it.

Drawing back, she gazed up at him, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “We have to tell her. We have no choice.” Her lips trembled. “Oh, Bryce, what if she’s too weak to take this? What if I make her illness worse?”

“Stop it.” Bryce framed Gaby’s face between his palms. “Hermione is stronger than all of us combined. She’ll cope splendidly. And she’ll help you, be there for you since I …” His voice trailed off.

“Since you can’t?”

Guilt surged inside him. “Gaby.” His thumbs caressed her cheeks. “I want to be here, to offer you the strength you need. But I … It’s just that … dammit,” he muttered as Hermione called out again, this time more urgently. “We can’t talk about this now.”

“No, we can’t. I don’t want Aunt Hermione to think I’ve disappeared into the dead of night.” Gaby gave him a long, searching look. “I just wish I understood why you continually withdraw from me, erect a wall between us. Perhaps you can explain it to me when you return to Nevon Manor.”

With that she stepped away from him, squaring her shoulders and walking into view. “I’m here, Aunt Hermione,” she called softly, beckoning to her aunt. “Please don’t worry. I’m well, truly.” She glanced behind her as Bryce emerged from the alcove. “Thanks to Bryce,” she added, indicating his presence.

Even across the ten yards of hallway that separated them, Bryce could perceive Hermione’s absolute sweeping relief. She halted in her tracks, obviously having been contemplating the worst, and sagged weakly against the wall. Her face was drawn, her stance unsteady, and her fingers fluttered over the belt of her dressing robe, tightening it reflexively.

An instant later her inner strength prevailed, and she steadied herself on her feet, making her way toward them even as Gaby rushed to her side.

“Aunt Hermione,” she demanded anxiously, clutching her aunt’s hands. “Are you all right?”

“I’m more than all right, now that I know you are.” Hermione enfolded Gaby against her, her lips trembling with emotion. “Thank God,” she murmured, her gaze sweeping the heavens. Drawing back, she smoothed a gentle palm across Gaby’s cheek. “What happened?”

“It’s the sleepwalking again.” Gaby minced no words. “This is the second time it’s recurred. The first time was last night, after returning from Whitshire. I …” She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s I who am sorry,” Hermione replied. Her troubled gaze flickered up and down the deserted hallway, then settled on Bryce. “Let’s the three of us go to my sitting room and talk.”

Bryce nodded his understanding. There was no point in awakening any of the others and alerting them to the situation.

He cupped the women’s elbows and led them to Hermione’s quarters.

Once there, Hermione insisted Gaby lie down on the settee, where she covered her with a blanket. Minutes later Bryce saw why, as Gaby’s teeth began to chatter uncontrollably.

“This used to happen sometimes,” Hermione explained quietly to Bryce, her own face ashen. “After a particularly upsetting bout of sleepwalking. Dr. Briers described it as an emotional reaction, not a chill.” She pointed at a small cabinet beside the settee. “You’ll find a bottle of sherry in there. I’d appreciate your pouring Gaby a glass.”

“I’ll pour you both a glass—
after
you sit down,” Bryce replied.

This time Hermione didn’t argue, merely nodding and accepting his arm as he escorted her over to one of the sitting room’s plush chairs.

Once she was seated, Bryce crossed to the cabinet and filled two glasses, handing one to Gaby, the other to Hermione. He stood silently for a moment, watching Gaby sip at her drink, relaxing a bit as her shivering began to subside. “Hermione,” he resumed, turning to his aunt, “based upon the explanation you just gave me, I assume your personal physician knows of these incidents.”

“Yes.” Hermione raised her glass to her lips, her anxious stare still fixed on Gaby. “I had no choice but to seek his help. When Gaby first moved here, the sleepwalking episodes were frequent and severe, recurring nearly every night. I had no idea how best to handle the situation. But I was determined to ease poor Gaby’s suffering and help her heal as quickly as possible. Dr. Briers was a godsend. He suggested ways I could make Gaby feel more secure, including guarding her door, letting her know she was protected. Chaunce and I took turns doing that each and every night. Thanks to Dr. Briers’s guidance, the sleepwalking eventually ceased. It hasn’t returned since—until now.”

A tremor crept into Hermione’s voice. “I blame myself for suggesting Gaby return to Whitshire. It never occurred to me that the scars were still fresh enough to trigger this entire ordeal once again.” She swallowed. “And this time without my knowledge and, therefore, without my protection. Oh, Gaby, you could have hurt yourself so badly.”

“No, I couldn’t have,” Gaby refuted softly, rubbing the blanket between her fingertips. “Bryce saw to that—on both occasions. Last night he found me outside, struggling my way through the woods. My feet were cut and bleeding. He took me to my room, tended to my cuts, and posted himself inside my door for the duration of the night, just in case I had a second episode. And tonight he stopped me before I even reached the staircase. I was very fortunate, and I have Bryce to thank.”

“We both have Bryce to thank,” Hermione echoed fervently, giving him a tender smile. “I’m more grateful than you can imagine.” Her smile faded. “Now the question is, why didn’t either of you tell me immediately after the first episode? And don’t bother saying there wasn’t time. Bryce, you spent over an hour in my chambers this morning discussing other matters. Surely you could have found a minute to disclose last night’s events?”

“That was my fault, not Bryce’s,” Gaby intervened at once. “I begged him not to tell you, not until—unless—the situation recurred. I was praying it was a onetime incident. Then you never would have had to know.” Gaby frowned into her glass. “But after what just happened, I had no choice. You had to be told. It’s clear that this situation is not going to correct itself, at least not right away.”

“You don’t know that,” Bryce reiterated. “As I said, this could very well be the aftermath of last night’s visit. Don’t assume it will turn into months of sleepwalking episodes.”

“I hope you’re right, Bryce,” Gaby answered softly, lashes lowered. “Because I refuse to allow Aunt Hermione to play the part of sentry. Thirteen years is a long time. Circumstances change. Physical strength alters, as well.”

“If you’re implying I’m incapable of taking care of you, you’re completely wrong,” Hermione countered, raising her head in that regal way Bryce recalled and admired. “I’m surprised at you, Gaby. You, better than anyone, know how much my family means to me. When it comes to protecting you, I find renewed strength and unfailing determination. Besides,” she added in a gentler tone, “we have Chaunce. He’s every bit as spry as he used to be. The instant I alert him to the situation, he’ll be a devoted ally. We’ll divide the watch so that each of us gets enough sleep.” A peppery spark lit her eyes. “Need I remind you that you don’t exactly sleep a long night. Four hours, if we’re lucky. It takes until well after midnight for you to settle your various pets down for slumber. And most of them are up before dawn, especially Screech, who welcomes each day with that incessant hammering against the oak outside your window.”

“That’s true.” A bit of the tension eased from Gaby’s face.

“I, on the other hand,” Hermione continued, “have been retiring early these days. So Chaunce will take the midnight watch, then awaken me when he tires. If either of us feels fatigued, we can nap during the day. It’s as simple as that.” She leaned forward, her expression reassuring. “And it won’t be forever. You’ll see, darling. In no time, this relapse will be behind you and life will resume as always.”

Gaby pressed her lips together and nodded. “I pray you’re right.”

“I usually am.” Hermione tilted back her head, assessing Bryce thoughtfully. “You’ll be leaving at daybreak?”

“Unless you need me—yes.” Bryce paused, meeting his aunt’s gaze and awaiting her response. One word, one gesture, that warned him she was physically or emotionally in need of his presence, and he would abandon his departure plans. He knew it. More importantly, Hermione knew it.

An unreadable spark flickered in her eyes, then vanished. “We’ll fare splendidly here, just as we always have. Don’t worry about us, Bryce. Do what you must.”

Hermione’s words nagged at him long after he returned to his chambers, long after he’d relinquished all thoughts of slumber and simply gone downstairs to await the fast-approaching dawn.

Alone in the sitting room, Bryce jabbed his hands in his pockets, staring out the window where the first rays of sunlight were drizzling through its panes. “Do what you must,” she’d said, giving him that inscrutable look of hers. It was almost as if she perceived his turmoil. Well, perhaps she did. After all, she’d been its onset, if not its cause.

“Pardon me, sir, would you like your coffee served in here?” Chaunce inquired from the sitting room doorway.

Bryce turned to see the butler waiting expectantly, a steaming silver tray in his hands. “Thank you, Chaunce. That would be greatly appreciated.”

“I assumed you’d want to be on your way early,” Chaunce continued, crossing over and placing the tray on the table. “So I prepared a light breakfast for you. This way you needn’t delay your journey a moment longer than necessary. Incidentally, shall I say your good-byes for you?”

Halfway to the table, Bryce halted, scowling darkly at the butler. “No, Chaunce. I intend to say my own good-byes. And by the way, dispensing guilt doesn’t become you. I’d suggest another tactic.”

“Tactic, sir?” Chaunce smoothed his mustache. “That wasn’t a tactic, it was a suggestion. Although I must say I’m pleased that you intend to see the family before taking your leave.”

“I’ll be back, Chaunce.”

“Of course you will, sir.” The butler clasped his hands behind his back. “Incidentally, don’t worry about Miss Gaby. Her ladyship and I will ensure her safety.”

“You know about Gabrielle’s relapse? Hermione talked to you?”

“She generally does, sir.”

Bryce’s lips twitched. “Yes, I suppose she does.” Amusement faded. “Chaunce, take care of them.
Both
of them.”

“You have no worries on that score, sir.” A pause. “On that note, I’ll leave you to your breakfast. I’ll arrange for your carriage to be brought around and your bags loaded. By that time the family should be up and about. You can bid them farewell and be on your way.”

“Thank you, Chaunce.”

Three-quarters of an hour later Bryce stood beside his carriage, stunned by the swell of people hovering about him. Every resident of Nevon Manor—from serving girls to chambermaids, from footmen to kitchen staff—had come to see him off.

It was the most humbling display of affection he’d ever witnessed, much less been the recipient of.

“Here, Mr. Lyndley.” Cook came forward first, her plump face beaming as she handed him a picnic basket filled with cinnamon cakes and a fat jar of raspberry jelly. “Take this. I hope there’s enough to last you until you come back to us.”

“Thank you,” Bryce murmured, staring down at the basket for a long minute before placing it carefully on the carriage floor. “That was very thoughtful.”

“I have something for you, too, Mr. Lyndley,” Peter declared, leaning past his mother and handing Bryce a small parcel. “It’s a leather-bound writing pad, small enough to fit in your pocket. This way you can jot down whatever legal points are on your mind without waiting to get back to your office.” A grin. “I filled the first page with questions about the Elementary Education Act. I figured you could answer them whenever you have time and bring the answers with you when you come back.”