Thorns in Eden and the Everlasting Mountains (31 page)

She
picked up her gloves. “It is a fine house, indeed. But I see by the clock on
the mantle I have taken too much of your time. I must talk to you, Cecil,
seriously.”

“I’m
listening, my dear.”

She
looked straight into his eyes. “It concerns Dorene. I am here on her behalf,
for she is afraid to speak to you.”

He
gave a short laugh. “Why on earth would she be afraid of me? I’ve done nothing
to merit that. So be quick to tell me all, dear lady, else I’ll lose the
willingness to listen.”

“She
is not well, Cecil, and needs you.”

“Me?
Not well you say? Why the last time I saw her she was in perfect health, the
picture of it.”

“That
was before she returned to Endfield.”

 “Does
she need a physician? I shall send mine to Endfield at my own expense.”

Rebecah
sensed he suspected more.

“Cecil,
listen to me.” She touched his hand. “It concerns you. You must promise to do
right by her before I say anything more. You will not deny the truth, nor shirk
your duty.”

He
frowned, looked worried. “I’m a man of my word, Rebecah. Give me my medicine. I
can take it.”

“Dorene
is carrying your child,” she said.

He
blinked his eyes. “She is what?”

“She
is with child—your child. You understand?”

He
raised his hand to his forehead and looked as though he would faint. “What a
mess I’ve made—all for one night of pleasure.”

“Tell
me you will not reject her or abandon this child. You know what her father will
do, and the rest of society.”

He
babbled on about his position, his fortune, and his reputation. Rebecah had the
urge to shake him and make him see what he must do. Why did he have to whimper?

“Is
this not what you’ve wanted all along—have a son, an heir? Now it has
happened.”

He
looked at her, his eyes red along the rims. “You’re right, Rebecah. I must do my
duty. I’ll go to her, take her to my country house until the child is born.”

“You
might consider marrying her.”

“Marriage?
Ah, Rebecah, I’m not yet over you, I think.” He looked with longing into her
face.

“You
will never have me, Cecil. We will always be friends though. Here is your
chance for a wife and family. It would be the right thing to do.”

The
door swung open and one of Lanley’s guests peeked inside. “Come, Lanley. Time
slips away.” The gentleman hesitated when his eyes rested upon the woman who
had drawn his host away. He bowed with a smile. “Forgive me. I see I’ve
interrupted.” He turned to go.

Lanley
pulled his friend inside. “Dr. Tulane, may I present Miss Rebecah Brent?”

“Ah,
I recognize the name.”

A
weak smile tugged at Lanley’s mouth. “Alec attended me while I was ailing over you,
Rebecah.”

“I
see,” she said.

“After
a week of bleeding and dozes of tonics, I was back on my feet.”

“No
offense,” Dr. Turlane said, “but I was incredulous as to why a man would throw
himself into a sickbed over a woman, at least until now. You’re as fair as he
described.”

Turlane
was a short man, no more than an inch taller than Rebecah. His boyish face was
flushed, and he had a strong jaw and wide shoulders. His hazel eyes sparkled,
yet the lines beside them hinted as to his age.

“I
met the gentleman you came with outside in the hall. Deberton, I know slightly.
If you should ever need a physician, Miss Brent, don’t hesitate to send for
me.”

For
a moment, Rebecah paused. Then she said, “Dr. Turlane, would you be willing to
visit a prisoner?”

“If
it is of some importance to you, certainly. Who is it you wish me to see?”

“Sir
Rodney Nash. He is there unjustly, sir. His wife, Lady Margaret, is so
distressed. I worry for her too. We plan to visit him tomorrow.”

“I
shall be happy to attend with you,” Turlane said.

Lanley
pulled the cork from the blue bottle of smelling salts and waved it in front of
his nose. “I heard of Sir Rodney’s misfortune, Rebecah. I’ll see what can be
done. And Turlane, I’ll pay all expenses for Sir Rodney’s care.”

Rebecah
smiled at Lanley. “That is kind of you, Cecil.”

He
took hold of her hands and held her fingers firmly. “And I will do the right
thing by Dorene too. I do have feelings for her. Turlane here has no idea what
we are talking about.” Lanley turned to the good doctor. “I’m to have an heir,
Turlane. You will attend my forthcoming wife?”

“I
promised I would always be the physician to the Lanleys,” he said, bowing his
head.

Rebecah
put on her hat and gloves to leave. “I may not ever see you again, Cecil. I
will write and see how Dorene and the baby are. You will let me know about Sir
Rodney too, won’t you?”

Lanley
looked shocked. His mouth fell open. This was too much news for one day. “Of
course, Rebecah.”

“Goodbye,
Cecil.” She held his hands tighter. He raised hers to his lips with forlorn
eyes and kissed them.

Then,
lifting her skirts, she headed for the door. “Good day, Dr. Turlane. Until
tomorrow.”

She found Mr. Deberton
leaning against the coach waiting for her. Glancing back at the manor, she saw
Lanley standing at the window. He raised his hand, and she threw him a smile. And
when the coach rolled away, she told Deberton of Lanley’s promise, how she
hoped he would keep it.

On
a gray and stormy morn, Rebecah sat beside Lady Margaret in Dr. Turlane’s
carriage. It swayed over the road, and in the distance, Rebecah saw the gloomy
walls of the prison. She looked at Dr. Turlane. The bumpy ride had not kept him
from falling asleep. Lady Margaret held her prayer book open on her lap.

Turning
her eyes back to the scene outside, Rebecah thought about the year that had
transpired. She thought of the man she loved. Had he not been the center of
those days, the object of first love and heartbreak? She pictured his face, and
wondered what he was doing at this exact moment. How long would it take him to
receive the letter Lady Margaret sent? Word was correspondence was becoming
impossible.

When
she stepped from the carriage and looked at the prison walls a shiver ran up her
spine. She drew Lady Margaret’s arm through hers and followed Dr. Turlane
through the gate. Ahead of them, the jailer thrust a key from a ring of many into
the door’s keyhole. His fingers in the dim light were black with soot and his
hands calloused.

He
pushed the door in. Stepping through it, a terrible stench hit them. The jailer
stopped and let out a string of coughs.

“Are
you ill, man?” Dr. Turlane held the ladies back. “Have you seen a doctor about
that cough?”

“No,
sir,” the man replied with a slur. “It’s the air in here. Bad air, ya see. Bad,
bad air.” He shrugged and moved on.  “This way. Watch ya step.”

With
sorrowful eyes, Rebecah looked at the faces of the prisoners behind bars. They
sat in the gloom, heads low— broken, bent people, some repentant of their
deeds, some not. Dirty hands reached between the bars. Some asked for money and
bread. It had been a long time since they had seen a clean face or heard the
rustle of silk.

Rebecah
leaned closer to Dr. Turlane and whispered, “So many are sick. Can nothing be
done to ease their suffering?”

“You
needn’t look at them.” Turlane pulled her ladyship away with Rebecah.

“I
wonder what King George would think if he visited this place?”

“He’d
never come here.” Turlane placed his handkerchief over his nose.

“Watch
your step, ladies,” cried the gaoler. “For there goes a rat!”

Lady
Margaret cried out and buried her face against Dr. Turlane’s shoulder. The
gaoler cursed the hairy rodent and kicked it with the toe of his shoddy shoe.
It squeaked and scurried off through a crack in the wall.

Lady
Margaret murmured. “How long can a man last in here? Oh, my poor Rodney.”

“I’ll
be glad when some of these scamps meet their maker. Five are to hang next
Tuesday.” The gaoler put his hand around his throat, bulged his eyes and
pretended to choke. Lady Margaret gasped.

Rebecah
held on to Lady Margaret. “Executions are hardly something to make fun of,” she
scolded. 

The
gaoler leaned forward, showing a row of blackened teeth. “Makes ya uneasy,
don’t it?”

Turlane
stepped up to him. “Be silent and lead us to Sir Rodney.”

Swinging
around, the gaoler moved on, paused outside a door and peered through the bars
of the small square window in it. “You got company, Sir Rodney—your wife and
two others to see you.”

Rebecah
took note of how kind the gaoler spoke to Sir Rodney as he shoved the key into
the lock. Perhaps his standing afforded him a little more respect than the
other inmates.

“They
have treated him kindly, I think,” she whispered to her ladyship.

The
rattle of chains came from within, and when the gaoler shoved the door open,
Rodney Nash hurried forward. He looked pale, his face scruffy with a day’s old
beard and his clothes dirty.

“My
love! My lady!”

Tears
brimmed in his eyes. Lady Margaret fell into his arms. Their hands held fast
together. He kissed her.

“Margaret,
I’m so happy to see you. Ah, but for you to have come to such a place.”

“Are
you well, my love?” Lady Margaret caressed his cheek.  “Are they feeding you enough?”

The
gaoler stepped beside her. “I’ve seen to it Sir Rodney gets the best of
everything, milady. For a few coins my wife can bring him something hardy of
her own cookery every day.”

Lady
Margaret looked over at him with a smile that spoke of desperation. “I’ll pay
whatever you ask.”

The
gaoler bowed and stepped out.

“I
never thought to see you again, Rodney,” Lady Margaret said. 

“Nor
I you.”

“You
can thank Rebecah. She persuaded David there was a way. Upon her urging he
pressured the judges.”

Sir
Rodney’s eyes turned upon her and he held out his hand. “I would call you
daughter, Rebecah.”

She
went to him. He kissed her cheek as a father would. He looked over at Dr.
Turlane. “I see you’ve brought a gentleman with you.”

“The
name is Turlane, sir. Dr. Alec Turlane.” And he bowed low.

“He
has come to see if you are in good health,” Rebecah told him.

“I’m
in fair health, I believe.”

Turlane
nodded. “Yes, Sir Rodney. You appear to be so. May I?” and he held out his hand
to take hold of Sir Rodney’s wrist. He timed his pulse, looked into his eyes
and mouth, felt his throat, and put his ear to his chest.

“Shall
I live another day?”

Turlane
smiled lightly. “Indeed you shall, sir.”

“Then
could you both excuse us? My wife and I are given so short a time.”

“Certainly.
Come, Miss Brent.” Turlane held out his arm, and together they stepped from the
cell into the corridor.

Out
of the hearing of the others, Rebecah turned to Turlane. He leaned against the
wall, and dug at the floor with the heel of his shoe. 

“He
is not well, is he?”

“His
pulse is weak. I shall do everything possible to keep him alive.”

She
lowered her head. Her eyes filled and she blinked the tears away. Turlane
picked up her hand and squeezed it.

“It’s
complicated, is it not?”

Rebecah
nodded. “It is, sir. It all seems so unjust.”

*  *  *

The
gaoler was kind enough to give the couple one quarter of an hour together. Sir
Rodney then asked for Rebecah. Five minutes would due. Standing outside the
grim cell, beneath smoky torches, Rebecah waited while the couple said their
goodbyes.

“Before
I go,” Lady Margaret said, “I must give you these. Now, promise you’ll wear
them, and you will care for your health. I’ve included two books.”

Sir
Rodney took the bundle from her hands and opened it. In it were woolen
stockings, a clean shirt, and knit cap. “I love you, Margaret. Pray for me.”

Rebecah’s
heart ached seeing the way Lady Margaret touched his cheek.

“Times
up, milady,” the gaoler said, wiping his nose across his sleeve.

Reluctant
arms slipped apart. Lady Margaret paused at the cell door. Then, with her hands
folded at her breast, she turned and left.

Inside
his cell, Rebecah looked at Sir Rodney with searching eyes. He held out his
hand and she took it. He asked her to sit on the bench beside him.  

“She
loves you, you know.”

“I’ve
broken her heart,” Sir Rodney said. “It seems we men in the Nash line have an unintentional
way of doing that.”

Rebecah
shook her head. “Lady Margaret does not feel that way.”

“Thank
you for saying so, Rebecah.” He squeezed her hand. “And I cannot tell you how
pleased I am you are with her. I’ve something to ask you. Our time is short, so
I must speak quickly.”

Rebecah
gripped his hands harder. “I’m listening.”

“First,
tell me what your feelings are for my son.”

“I
love him. I believe he told me the truth.”

“If
there were a way, would you go to him?”

“Only
if I knew he would have me.”

“I
know he would.”

“Tell
me what I must do.”

“At
Standforth I have left instructions. A sum of gold is laid aside—a portion for
your journey to Jack. The rest you must give to him. He will know what it is
for.”

Rebecah
got to her feet. “For the rebels?”

Sir
Rodney nodded.

Her
mind reeled with what he was asking. A moment she paced the room.

He
got to his feet. “Do not decide now. Think on it, and send me word through
Margaret. You’ll be in my prayers.”

Rebecah
kissed his cheek. “I will give you my answer now by thanking you.”