The Dark Lady (2 page)

Charles kept face forward. “Lord Thomas is undergoing renovations, my lord. He began with the family rooms but intends to alter the ground floor this spring.”

Decorations should have been the lady of the house’s domain. Another mystery. One that added greatly to his unease.

The place looked little like the house he had left. Gone were the cool colors, beautiful wallpapers of silk and gold or silver, framed with stuccoed accents. Once, this house had been the height of beauty, with airy hallways and bright colors. Now dark, rich tones wrapped the house in melancholy. The elegant honeyed oak had been ripped out and replaced by mahogany to match the red velvet wallpaper. In the brief days since his return, he’d noticed the change in society’s fashion, the departure from light and the acceptance of oppressive furnishings.

But he’d never thought to see Carridan Hall so changed.

At last, the two men paused before the old lord’s office.

Charles knocked. Quickly, he opened the door, edged into the room, then shut the door behind him. The panel was thick enough that the voices were muffled. But Ian didn’t miss the sharp silence that followed the announcement of his name.

The door opened and Charles announced, “Lord Blake, my lord.”

Ian strode into the space. As he entered, Charles made a swift retreat, shutting the door with a thud.

Tension crackled in the room. So thick Ian was sure he could reach out and grab it.

Hamilton’s little brother, Thomas, sat behind a solid desk of walnut. His brownish blond hair thinned out over his pale scalp and a light brushing of hair curled at his upper lip. His sunken green eyes watered as he stood. ’Twas hard to believe the man was not even five and twenty.

Slowly, Thomas reached out his hand in offering, the crest of the Carin family on the gold ring displayed prominently on his finger.

Thomas was lord at last.

How Thomas must have longed for it these years in the shadows of the house, separate from everyone and everything, watching for any chance to betray Hamilton, Ian, and Eva’s adventures to his father. Desperate for any sort of attention from the old lord.

But that was hardly charitable of Ian. Perhaps in the years since he had left, Thomas had improved. Perhaps he was no longer the jealous—and often cruel—boy he had been.

Ian doubted it as he allowed the young lord’s hand to linger in the air.

Though every instinct told him to push away the nicety, a man never made an enemy out of a source of information. And right now Thomas held all the information Ian needed.

Ian forced himself to take Thomas’s hand. It was cold and limp. Thomas had not cared for sports or outdoor activities. But nor had he cared for studies. Even now, Ian was uncertain what it was that Thomas had ever enjoyed.

“Ian, I am so glad you have come back.”

’Twas a voice he hadn’t heard in three years, and the reedy, affected sound struck Ian as distinctly strange for such a man not yet of middle years. Had it always been so thoroughly unpleasant? Or had it slowly become thus?

“Thank you.” Ian pulled his hand back, resisting the urge to wipe it on his coat. “I regret that I was unable to bring your brother.”

Thomas lowered his head, half nodding, seemingly unable to quite hide the satisfaction that he had at last superseded his brother in something. “A true tragedy.”

“Indeed.” If you could reduce a man’s passing, his guts ruptured by a blade, to such a simple word. “Tragedy” really just didn’t seem to express the horror of it.

Thomas eased himself into his leather wingback chair.

Ian remained standing, taking in the crowded room, willing himself to accept this strange reality unfolding before him. But still, he could not.

This room had once been another man’s. A great man’s. Hamilton and Thomas’s father had undoubtedly ruled with an iron fist. Perhaps he had not known how to love as a father should, but he had managed his estate and fulfilled his duties with admirable skill.

Ian could only hope that, now, he would do the same for his own tenants and lands.

And once, this room had been remarkable in its serenity, the green silk walls slightly reflective of the skittish English sun, encouraging study. It had been uncluttered, allowing Hamilton, Ian, and Eva to play out mock battles with toy soldiers on the simply woven rugs from the East as the old man read over the estate reports.

Now every space was littered with round and square tables, lace and fringe covering them. Bric-a-brac filled their surfaces. It was a veritable explosion of trinkets.
The chamber was choking Ian, and he suddenly knew what a tree surrounded by encroaching ivy must feel. He swung his gaze back to his cousin. “This family has known a great deal of tragedy, it would seem.”

Thomas’s fingers rested on the edge of his elaborately carved desk. “It has been a very bad few years for the Carins.”

A bad few years?

Ian arched a brow and glanced to the glaring windows. Snow fell slowly in heavy flakes. And even though a fire blazed in the hearth not ten feet away, the cold wouldn’t leave his bones. He wished he hadn’t given up his coat. But even he knew the cold he felt had little to do with the ice feathering over the glass panes. “Where is Lady Carin? I wish to speak with her.”

Thomas cleared his throat and shifted in his chair, the creak of leather piercing the silence.

Ian returned his gaze to Thomas. The man’s face creased into a series of lines. Still, Thomas said nothing. Ian waited, unrelenting, as he gazed upon his cousin.

Thomas swallowed, fidgeting slightly, then waved a hand at the empty cushioned chairs just behind Ian. “Forgive me. Do sit.” Thomas stood and slowly made his way to a table standing near the fire. “Very rude of me. The shock of seeing you, you know.”

“I prefer to stand.”

“Certainly. A drink then?” Crystal decanters reflected the bare, dull light. Thomas’s shadow fell over the tray of libations and he quickly pulled the crystal stopper free of the brandy bottle and poured out two drinks.

Thomas cradled the two snifters, then crossed over to Ian. His dark blue suit drank in the darkness of the late afternoon, making it appear black. “Here.”

Ian took the glass, fighting the desire to reach out and tug it away. “Thank you.” He tossed the contents of the
drink back in one quick swallow, the taste of expensive brandy barely registering on his tongue. “Now, please tell me the whereabouts of Lady Carin. I wish to see her.”

Thomas turned his back to him, facing the fire. “Seeing Lady Carin isn’t a possibility.”

“Bullocks.” The coarse word gritted past his teeth before he could stop himself.

Thomas’s shoulders tensed, his pale hair twitching against his perfectly starched collar. “No. It’s not.”

The bastard didn’t even have the guts to face him.

Ian gripped the glass in his hand, the intricate crystal design pressing deep into his skin. “Where the hell is she, Thomas?”

Thomas whipped back to him, that damned ring winking in the winter’s gloom. “She’s not here. She’s—”

Ian tensed as fear grabbed his guts. She’d never returned his letters, something entirely unlike the Eva he’d always known. Christ, he hated his sudden uncertainty. Even more, he hated the words he was about to utter. He had lost Eva to duty once; to lose her again would be beyond what he could bear. “Has she died?”

Thomas shook his head. “No, though it would have been better if she had.”

Ian slammed his glass down on Thomas’s desk. The crystal cracked, a nearly invisible line snaking the length of the snifter. “That is a damn despicable thing to say.”

Jumping, Thomas edged away. “You say that now, but if you had seen—”

Ian locked eyes with his cousin. “I haven’t traveled halfway around the world to play this out with you.”

Thomas took a sip of his brandy; then his mouth worked as if the words in his throat tasted of poison. “Eva is in a madhouse.” He took another quick sip of brandy, his shoulders hunching. “Or rather, an asylum.”

The air in his lungs flew out of his chest with more
force than any rifle butt blow could induce. For a moment, Ian could have sworn that Thomas hadn’t spoken at all. The blackguard’s mouth still worked, twisting, then pressing into a tight line as if that refuse he’d just spewed truly displeased him. “Explain,” Ian bit out, barely able to contain the sudden rage pumping through him.

Thomas took a long drink, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he gulped. He wiped his mouth with the back of his pale hand. “It happened after the boy. She simply went mad.”

Ian took a step forward. “What happened to Adam?”

“It was horrible. Absolutely horrible.” Thomas fiddled with his glass, then walked abruptly back to the silver liquor tray and poured himself another drink. As he dispensed another two fingers’ worth, he muffled, “Was her damn fault, you see.”

Her fault?

Ian dug his fingertips into his palms, tempted to go over and shake Thomas like the little rat he was. He’d imagined a thousand different outcomes to his homecoming. It had even struck him that Eva might throw him out of the house. “Thomas, I’m a military man. I need facts, not ramblings.”

“The facts?” He nodded. “It was November. Eva insisted on taking her curricle to the village for heaven only knows what reason. The stable hands tried to convince her the roads were bad from the rain. Only she wouldn’t listen. I think she was distraught over Hamilton’s death. Even then she wasn’t behaving quite right.”

How was a grieving widow supposed to behave? “Go on,” Ian said, breathing deeply to keep his voice even.

“Somehow she lost control. The wheel came off, I think, and the curricle crashed.”

Ian closed his eyes for a moment. It was almost easy
to envision. The bodies flying in the air. The shriek of the crash and breaking metal and wood. “And Adam?”

“He was in a basket beside her on the front seat. The boy was flung from the vehicle. They found him not even ten feet from Eva. Her leg was broken and she was screaming for him.” Thomas coughed slightly. “All she did was scream.”

Opening his eyes, Ian swallowed back vomit. “Christ. But she was distraught. Her husband dead—her son, too.” Ian paused, barely able to believe the list of horrors unfolding before him. He’d thought nothing could shock him after his years in India. “Why is she in a madhouse?”

“Oh, Ian,” Thomas said softly. “You should have seen her. She walked the halls of the house nights on end. She screamed in starts. Sudden, violent fits. She insisted that someone else had killed Adam.”

Lord, he couldn’t even imagine. The little boy dead, thrown from a vehicle before the mother’s eyes. “Why would she do that?”

Thomas shrugged. “Guilt, no doubt. She couldn’t bear that if she had just listened, her boy would still be alive. After a few upsetting occurrences, I refused to be responsible for her. I could no longer guarantee her safety.”

“What in the hell does that mean?” Ian snapped.

“The gardeners found Eva walking into the lake. You know as well as I that Eva does not swim.”

“She tried to destroy herself—”

“Shh. To say such a thing . . .” Thomas took several steps forward and his shoulders tensed. “Most of the servants don’t know. The gardeners were paid and dismissed.” Thomas grimaced. “You may think I did wrong. But I had no wish to come across Eva hanging from a chandelier or sprawled at the bottom of the stair. Where she is now she can be protected.”

Ian lowered his gaze to the thick rug, woven no doubt in the land where he had just spent so many years. In the end, he’d betrayed both of his best friends, then. Hamilton and Eva. He closed his eyes for a moment, pain shooting through his skull. Ian crossed the room in a few short strides, towering over Thomas. “I want to see her.”

“Impossible.”

Ian grabbed Thomas’s lapel, his body so tense he thought it just might shatter. “You’re going to tell me where she is.” He shook Thomas hard enough that the man’s head snapped back. “And you’re going to tell me now.”

T
he room tilted in never-ending ups and downs. So much brown. Brown above. Brown below. Brown on her skin. Brown ceilings, walls, and floors. Brown clothes. She knew that once even her hair had been brown. No. Not brown. Black. Her hair had been black.

It might be still.

She hadn’t seen it in over a year.

Eva swallowed, her mouth certainly drier than the vast deserts Hamilton had described in his letters so long ago. She’d gotten used to the awful taste. The bitter taste. But the taste meant that forgetfulness would soon offer itself up to her, wiping her mind clean of a little body, lifeless in the mud.

The bed itched and gnawed at her. It always did. Little enemies running about. Even when she slipped away from the present, she couldn’t quite rid herself of the disgusting tickle of a thousand little legs running up and down her skin.

She knew this room so well. Even without a jot of light, for there were no windows or bars. Why would one need bars with endless walls?

In the silence, Eva could hear Mary breathing. It wasn’t the peaceful breath of dreaming. Mary breathed in starts. Gasps. Many of the girls did, herself included.

Mary rolled over toward her, her cot creaking. “Eva?”

“Mmm?”

“Tell me about the sea.”

“You’ve been to the sea,” Eva murmured, waiting for her medicine to roll her into the deepness of a different sea. A sea free of memory.

“Please. I want to hear it.”

Eva blew out a breath. “If you wish it, Mary.” She opened her eyes to the darkness, trying to sharpen her dull mind. “When you go down to the sea, the first thing you will notice is the scent. The air is heavy with salt and the wind whips against your skin, clean and crisp.”

“Not like here,” Mary interrupted.

“No. Not like here.” They had this conversation at least twice a week and it was almost always the same every time. It was comforting. Once, she’d loved the sea above any place on earth. “Then you hear it. Before you even see it, you hear the waves crashing and roaring to the shore, making you feel as if you are a part of its wildness.”

Mary let out a contented sigh. “We’ll go to Brighton, won’t we? We’ll walk along the promenade?”