Daughter of Darkness Page 17

Annie’s gaze widened at the sight of Sapphire’s face. She bore an astounding resemblance to the young mistress of Lytton, whom she’d once seen from a distance. Then she saw the beauty of Sapphire’s eyes and, lost herself in the purple haze of their depths. Her body became as light as air and she seemed to float on a sea of pale blue, her body cradled in its gentle waves. There was neither pain nor discomfort, and she could hear nothing but the sound of her voice. It was soft, like a moonbeam touching the furled flower of a lily. Little by little the flower began to open, its satiny interior pure and lovely. Deep in the heart of the flower was a tiny curled up creature.

  Annie’s love reached out and surrounded it. The creature opened its eyes and gazed at her. Tears trembled in her eyes, but she couldn’t understand why because she was surrounded by beauty and felt so happy. Her tears fell into the lily and the creature was washed gently into her waiting arms.

  Opening her eyes, she gazed at the child Sapphire had placed in her arms, then up at the woman who’d safely delivered him. She was wearing her veil. Annie couldn’t recollect what her face had looked like. She had no record of time passing. Possessed of a sense of tranquility she hadn’t experienced for a long time, she smiled through her tears. ‘I cannot thank you enough.’ Her eyes slid back to her child, who nestled comfortably against her breast. ‘I’d be honored if you’d choose a name for him. It must be a secret name, for my husband will not countenance any but his own for our son.’

  ‘Call him, Carlisle.’

  ‘That was my father’s name,’ Annie said in astonishment.

  ‘Then it’s a fitting name for your son. Let him wear it with pride.’ Sapphire stood when she heard the sound of a carriage coming to a halt. Bad new travelled fast it seemed, for the Wesley preacher was with the servants, his face grave.

  ‘My dear, Mrs. Tupworthy.’ The words slipped unctuously from his mouth as if they’d been anointed with oil. ‘There has been an accident.’ He looked down at the child, spread his tiny legs apart with his thumbs and examined his gender. ‘It’s fortunate you’ve birthed a son. The Tupworthy name will survive.’ He gazed at her for a moment, saw his words had been understood and added, as if it were a bygone conclusion. ‘You’ll name your son after his father, of course?’

  Annie felt like smiling, but under the circumstances didn’t dare. Glancing at Sapphire, she said almost defiantly. ‘My son shall be called Carlisle, after his grandfather.’

  The reverend’s glance became speculative. ‘It’s a handsome name for a handsome child. I’ll give him my blessing before I deliver my sermon to the villagers. The reverend fell to his knees and his voice took on a dramatic cadence. ‘All in this dwelling shall bow before the Lord and thank him for the child’s safe deliverance.’

  All in the dwelling did, except for Sapphire and her maid. Everyone saw them leave except Annie, whose sense of freedom at hearing the squire was dead was so overwhelming it caused her to burst into tears.

  The reverend was not surprised when Sapphire left. Her reputation had preceded her from London. Her presence in the district had become gossip. It was she who caused the butter to become rancid, she who stopped hens from laying and incited fermentation in the udders of cows. John Wesley’s teachings had alerted the reverend that the devil took different guises. He’d convinced himself, and most of the villagers, that Sapphire was a witch.

  Up on the chimney stack, the raven cocked its head to one side and gazed with bead-bright eyes at the departing horses. It settled down to wait. From its vantage point, it could see the ivy-covered stone cross on the village green and the stream that fed the village pond.

  Two children sat upon the stone that supported the ducking stool. People came from their homes. Dressed in their Sunday best, they congregated upon the green with an air of expectancy.

  Presently the door of the cottage opened and the Reverend Pollock came out and mounted his horse. The green was but a short way, but he rode through the crowd, aware of the awe his appearance brought. He was a big man, handsome, with a deep resonant voice that commanded attention.

  Reverend Pollock was thinking of Annie Tupworthy. It was unfortunate her infant had been delivered by the sorceress. The boy would need the help of the Lord, and strong discipline to keep the devil at bay. A strap across the buttocks at regular intervals would soon whip the devil from his soul, and infuse him with a healthy respect for the Lord’s anger. He’d long been seeking a wife of piety and means. Annie Tupworthy was comfortably off. She and her children would need a strong man to guide them.

  When he reached his appointed place beneath the cross, he smiled expansively at the crowd, then waited until the murmuring voices died to an expectant hush. He threw out his arms in a dramatic gesture—knowing he resembled a crucifix—and sent a fierce gaze searching amongst the crowd. ‘The devil has sent his agent among you,’ he began, his glance settling on a raw-boned girl with a vacant smile. ‘The agent arrived in a carriage of fire, her nostrils smoking with the brimstone of hell. She’s sheltered amongst a nest of vipers—and that nest is called Lytton House.’

  As a shocked murmur raced through the crowd, Nellie gazed at the raven on the roof of a cottage. She gave a slack-mouthed smile.

  The raven cocked its head to one side in a listening attitude, its eyes fixed on the figure addressing the crowd.

  Willow was keeping the earl company in the drawing room when Gerard returned to the house. She’d just finished reading the last chapter of Robinson Crusoe when Ambrose murmured. ‘Edwina tells me you play the harp. Would you play something for me?’

  Sending a servant to fetch her harp, she smiled at him. ‘Do not expect too much, dearest father. I was taught by a peasant woman who lived near Coringal, and can play only a few Irish tunes.’

  Ambrose took her hand in his. ‘Tell me about Coringal. Was life hard for you there?’

  ‘Indeed no.’ Astonishment came into her eyes. ‘Coringal is a beautiful house, smaller than Lytton and a trifle dilapidated, but just as welcoming. It’s situated in wild country, with towering hills behind, and mists so dense that strangers mistake it for rain.’ A soft smile touched her lips. ‘Each morning was a miracle, as it is here. Sometimes, the grass was so green and the air so soft, it made me want to cry. James Langland, who was my tutor, said it was because I had an affinity with the ethereal things of life.’

  Taking her harp from the servant she ran her fingers gently over the strings. ‘Often the sound of the harp touches my heart in exactly the same way. It reminds me of Coringal, and can make me cry. I’ll endeavor not to do so today.’

  The note she coaxed from the instrument reminded her of a song about a soldier. ‘A soldier is dying,’ she murmured, ‘and he’s remembering the love he left behind.’ It was a sad song, the soldier beseeching God to let him live long enough to say good-bye to his true love. Eventually, she appeared to him in a dream, and the soldier died with a smile on his lips.

  Her eyes were damp when she finished, her smile tremulous. ‘James always teased me about that song. He said the girl probably married someone else, and forgot all about the soldier.’ She gave a light, lilting laugh. ‘James said I was a romantic, and destined to fall in love with a man who showed me tenderness.’ Her voice trailed off when Gerard came into the room and smiled at her.

  Although Gerard had heard her words, and noted the yearning in her voice, he didn’t intend to tease her with them. ‘I heard a little of your song as I came along the corridor.’

  She looked lovely in a gown of pale lilac over a darker flounced petticoat. Her lace cap was tied under her pointed chin, and was decorated with ribbons and flowers. He longed to pull it from her head and watch her glorious hair tumble about her shoulders in perfumed disarray as her face dimpled into a smile.

  The ginger kitten he’d given her the week before, its neck adorned with a lilac ribbon, played at her feet. If his father hadn’t been with her, he would have drawn her gently towards him and kissed her sweet mouth into a murmuring honeyed resp
onse. ‘It was a charming song,’ he murmured, trying to hide the desire in his eyes. ‘If you’d humor me by singing it again, I’ll give you some news concerning James Langland.’

  ‘You’d make me sing for the news?’

  He enjoyed the flirtatious little pout she gave when her fingers plucked a shimmering note from the harp, and decided to step up his campaign to win her heart. The trouble was, he rarely seemed to find her alone, as if everyone else in the house conspired to monopolise her time. Her beautiful eyes gazed at him now through seductively long lashes. ‘The song is too sad to sing again. I shall choose another.’ The grin she gave him was her totally captivating. ‘This a song about a man who loved his sweetheart’s voice so much that he confined her within in a cage and made her sing all day. She turned into a lark, escaped, and flew away from her prison of love.’ Mischief colored her eyes. ‘I’ll expect you to join in the chorus.’

  The song had a happy sound, and a fast rhythm that set their feet tapping. The chorus, a tongue-twister, was picked up by Gerard. It then became a contest as it was repeated at a faster pace by Willow. Eventually, breathless and laughing they both admitted defeat.

  ‘It’s a wonder the lady had enough breath left to fly,’ Ambrose remarked. Gerard had surprised him by joining Willow in song. His eldest son was usually bored by simple drawing room pleasures. Could it be that Willow’s personality was beginning to exert an influence over him? He hoped so. It wouldn’t hurt Gerard to relax a little in private.

  ‘I have news,’ Gerard said, when his breathing returned to normal.

  ‘Of James Langland?’ Setting the harp on a table, Willow drew the kitten into her lap and edged forward in her seat, gazing at Gerard with eager expectancy. ‘You’ve discovered his whereabouts? Is he well?’

  ‘I have news of the day’s events for my father first.’ He’d also received news of a different sort, a perturbing document Charles Addison had found on the body of a murdered man. The letter was written by the deceased husband of Daphne de Vere, containing an accusation. Even if its truth was verified, the news must remain his secret. With the greatest difficulty, he put it from his mind and concentrated on the matter at hand. He couldn’t resist the urge to tease Willow a little. ‘James Langland’s affairs occupy only a small part of it. As he’s of such little importance, I shall leave him until last.’

  ‘Of course, Gerard. I just thought… ?’ Giving a small sigh, she settled disconsolately back in her chair and plucked at a lace-edged handkerchief. ‘Your own news must take precedence.’

  He’d not expected such a reaction. The disappointment in her eyes, and the dejected slump to her shoulders nudged immediately at his conscience. ‘Do not take my words to heart, Willow. I sought only to tease… ?’

  ‘No, no.’ The handkerchief was applied daintily to the corner of each eye. ‘It was presumptuous of me to expect my curiosity to be appeased, even though you exacted payment beforehand.’

  Exacted payment! She was referring to the song, of course. He clapped the heel of his hand against his forehead. She’d regarded it as an obligation he would honor. How insecure she was. ‘With my father’s permission, I will tell you of James Langland first. I had intended— ‘

  ‘Pray, do not.’ Her voice quavered slightly, as if she were about to cry. ‘The affairs of men must surely be of more importance than that of a mere woman.’ The handkerchief covered her mouth and a small choking noise came from her.

  Afraid she was about to burst into tears Gerard produced a letter from his pocket and waved it hurriedly in the air. ‘I insist on giving you news of your tutor first.’

  His father gave a great guffaw of laughter, alerting him to the fact his wife’s tears were actually giggles. The immediate jolt to his pride brought a sensation of affront before he admitted to himself his attitude was stuffy in the extreme. The fact that he felt a fool, was nothing to the fool he’d look if he stood on his dignity. His grin was ironic as he allowed himself to relax. ‘You owe me a ribbon, I believe. If I’m to be made a fool of, I would have the world know it.’

  ‘That doesn’t seem fair.’ She handed over her handkerchief instead. ‘You do not wear furbelows. Were you to make a fool of me, I’d have no means of letting the world know.’

  ‘As the game seems totally one-sided, it matters not.’ He slid the token inside his waistcoat, close to his heart. Engaging her eyes in a more personal manner, he saw the merriment replaced by a shy awareness. She was not resisting her seduction, but had recognized its inevitability and decided to enjoy it. A thrill of anticipation raced through him when he saw the opportunity to spend some time alone with Willow. ‘I go to London soon on business,’ he murmured. ‘I’d be happy if you’d accompany me?’

  ‘I do not overly like London.’ Flattered by the disappointment flaring in his eyes, she smiled a trifle smugly. ‘However, if you desire my company… ?’

  It wasn’t her company he desired, and the minx knew it. His mouth widened into a rueful grin when she gave a breathless giggle. She was going to make him work for his conquest of her, and was letting him know it. For that, he’d keep her in suspense about James Langland a little longer.

  ‘The roads will be impassable if it rains heavily,’ Ambrose warned. ‘It’s not a journey to be undertaken lightly at this time of year.’

  ‘We’ll take horses,’ Gerard said, unfolding the lawyer’s letter. ‘Willow can ride as well as any man, and better than most.’

  It was the greatest compliment he could have paid her. Watching her glow with happiness at the praise, Ambrose caught his son’s glance and smiled. Gerard had more skill with women than he’d imagined, and the patience of a hunter. Leaning back in his chair, Ambrose closed his eyes and listened to what he had to say. He learned of the Squire’s untimely death, of the birth of Annie Tupworthy’s son and Sapphire’s involvement in it.

  The news of James Langland’s incarceration in debtors prison on charges brought by the marquis, prompted an outraged gasp from Willow. Her indignant manner towards her tutor’s ill treatment was jumbled up with her gratitude to Gerard for getting him released. She had the childlike innocence her mother had once had, and he hoped she’d never be forced to lose it. Ambrose grew drowsy as he often did of late. He drifted into a contented state of half-wakefulness, then opened his eyes and smiled when he heard his younger son come into the room. Jeffrey is growing into manhood fast, he thought. I must consult with Gerard about his future. It seems like only yesterday the lad was born and already his voice deepens with maturity.

  ‘Captain Dowling is in the study, Gerard. He wishes to see you most urgently.’ Jeffrey’s face lit up when he saw Willow. ‘Brian O’Shea is going to allow me put the new stallion through his paces in the morning. Will you come and watch?’

  ‘Nothing on earth will prevent me, Jeffrey. I’ll bring Edward to watch. He idolizes you, and will be most upset if he misses seeing his riding master in action.’

  ‘Then I’d best make sure I stay on the beast’s back.’ Jeffrey’s grin indicated he wasn’t at all displeased with the notion of being idolized.

  ‘Am I to be included as a spectator of this event?’ Ambrose had a sudden urge to see his younger son break the new stallion to the saddle. He’d taught both of his sons to ride and took pride in their ability. He smiled at the astonished eyes that gazed at him. ‘I’m heartily sick of being confined to the house, Willow.’

  ‘Of course you are, dearest father.’ Willow blinked away her tears at the imagined reprimand. ‘I’ve been selfish. First I bully you because you do not improve as quickly as I’d like, then when you do improve I fuss like an overprotective hen with a chick to look after. Why did you not advise me of my shortcomings sooner?’

  Gerard chuckled at the notion she put forward.

  ‘Because you have no shortcomings in his eyes, only perfection.’

  She smiled as Gerard bent over her hand, then curled her fingers around the warm imprint his kiss left there. Had she possessed the courage, she’
d have placed a kiss of her own in the indentation between his eye and the dark line of hair. She experienced a flutter of breathless anticipation at the thought. ‘Will you attend also, Gerard? If Jeffrey’s going to show off his riding skills he must have a worthy audience.’

  ‘I’d not miss it for the world.’ He grinned as he slapped his brother on the shoulder. ‘You must excuse me. The matter Captain Dowling wishes to discuss must be urgent if he disturbs me at this hour. It’s almost dusk.’

  ‘The matter is thus,’ Anthony said as soon as Gerard stepped into the study. ‘This afternoon, Reverend Pollock named your household in his sermon. He said you were harboring a sorceress in your midst, a woman called Sapphire.’

  Gerard gave him a startled glance. ‘The man must be mad to try and incite fear amongst the peasantry. He must be stopped.’

  ‘He has been stopped,’ Anthony said grimly. ‘He’s just been reported dead.’ The officer spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. ‘A witness said a raven flew at his horse and it threw him. His neck was broken.’

  ‘A coincidence,’ Gerard said with more confidence than he felt.

  Anthony shrugged. ‘It’s rumored your guest has the evil eye, and the raven is her familiar. Your family could be in great danger.’

  ‘From the villagers, you mean?’ It was not uncommon for the poorer classes to join forces. All it took was a general feeling of discontent, and someone, or something to incite them. The peasantry in this part of the country were superstitious. Gerard surmised they’d stay safely at home whilst they imagined evil stalked the countryside looking for victims. ‘I do not think we’re in immediate danger. They’ll lack leadership if Pollock is dead.’

  Well aware of Sapphire’s reputation, Gerard had not observed her as anything out of the ordinary. She was unobtrusive in her ways, well liked by those who had contact with her. Willow had formed a friendship with her. Even his grandmother—a lady of good sense—seemed approving of her presence. Because of Sapphire’s acquaintance with his father, she’d been given the protection of the house. Gerard was duty bound to honor that. Crossing to the window he stared out at the fading light. ‘If you wish to speak to our guest and put your fears at rest I’ll ask if she’ll be good enough to attend you in the study.’