Ravenstone (Book 1, The Ravenstone Chronicles) Page 4

  She had done what was necessary to protect Jane and Margaret. But that wasn’t the only reason. True, she had killed him to save herself, but mostly she had done it because she hated him. She had wanted him dead since she was fourteen years old, and she wasn’t sorry.

  He had needed killing. Did thinking like that make her the monster? Had she killed one monster, only to become one herself?

  She had to put it behind her, she knew, had to forget it, or he would haunt the rest of her life, too. Only some events were not meant to be forgotten, murder surely being one of them.

  The watch would find the body soon, and the constable would be called. She strained to listen to the noises of the house. Doors opened and closed, and she heard Betty passing her door, humming to herself as she usually did. A horse in the stable neighed, and the bells from a passing coal wagon reached her from the street. The usual sounds filtered into the room, and soon she drifted off under the rhythm of the day, too exhausted to remain awake.

  ***

  Georgiana opened her eyes slowly, aware that someone was crying in her room. Why would someone be crying? she wondered. Then recollection filled her, and she sat up quickly listening. “Nurse Gibson?”

  “Oh, miss, I am so sorry. I meant only to make sure you were not in need of anything.”

  “But what is the matter?”

  “Oh, tis a matter of a terrible thing for sure, but I am not to say anything as it is not my place. Your mother requested your appearance, but I informed her of your health, and she said that it could wait until you are restored. She has locked herself in her room and will not come out.”

  “But why?”

  Nurse Gibson moved closer to the bed, intending to draw the curtains.

  “No, please, Nurse, the light affects me so.”

  “Oh, miss, how am I to impart the gravity of the moment in these conditions?”

  “You need say no more. I see from your own despair that it is most grave.”

  “Grave indeed, for a wretched deed has been done to your good father. The constable himself arrived just this afternoon to impart the misfortune that has befallen him.”

  “What has happened, Nurse Gibson?”

  “Oh, miss, your father has been murdered. It is wretched beyond meaning.”

  “Murdered,” she said. She knew what Nurse Gibson would say and still she was shocked to hear the words from her.

  “You are upset. I will call the physician.”

  “Yes, of course I am upset, but, Nurse, there is nothing he can do for me. Please leave me now.”

  “Oh, the Madame will surely think me impertinent for having informed you.”

  “I am sorry for that but I must be alone now. Please leave.”

  “Oh dear,” she said and started crying again.

  “Out, Nurse Gibson,” she said, louder this time, her voice cracking and almost hysterical herself. She heard the door open and close and her footsteps moved away.

  It had begun.

  The panic now was worse than before. She got out of bed and locked the door, then paced up and down her room, trying to calm herself. She passed the mirror and paused to look at herself. She was covered in blood again and the bruising left her eyes black. The swelling to her face was enormous. She would not be able to explain it.

  She washed herself then found a clean nightdress and put it on. Then with a pair of scissors, she cut her old nightdress into pieces and fed it to the fire, saving some of it to use as bandages. She tied one around her neck so no more blood would turn her nightdress red. Her sheets, too, were red and she used water to clean them as best she could. Again, she threw the water out her window. Then she unlocked the door and climbed back into bed. She prayed her mother would stay in her room for a good long while.

  For two days, Nurse came with her food and left again each time, crying over the tragedy that had befallen the house. Jane and Margaret begged to see her, but Georgiana refused them. Her mother stayed in her room and the constable visited again. In the interim, her brother was sent for.

  Charles had been gone to sea for five years to fight the war but Napoleon was not the only reason that had kept him away all those years. There had been no kind word between her brother and father. Her father had refused his only heir’s request to buy him a commission in the military. Charles had left to fight, despite his wishes.

  He had joined the Royal Navy, where he couldn’t buy a commission but instead had to prove himself before being promoted to an officer’s rank. Profound sadness had engulfed Georgiana the night she had said goodbye to her brother. Now, finally he was to return.

  In the days that followed her father’s death, the house remained shut to the outside world. Ironically, mourning allowed her to recover, hidden away, sleeping in her room, catching up for all the years she had spent sleepless and afraid of her father.

  ***

  Georgiana sat on the settee downstairs close to the fire where the footman had placed her. The drawing room was chilly and she was content to sit there, her eyes on the flames. It had been a fortnight since her father’s death and she was dressed in mourning. The black Parramatta bodice was covered in crepe and she had insisted on wearing a black veil over her face. The mirrors in the house were covered by crepe as well. Even the servants’ uniforms had been altered with the fabric. What a fortune was to be made in selling crepe, she thought.

  The door opened and she stiffened as her mother entered the room. She glided across the room like a ghost in black and stopped in front of her.

  “What is the meaning of this?”

  “What, Mother?”

  “The veil. You are not required to wear one.”

  “No, but I wish it.”

  She had not gone to her father’s funeral, and her mother had not requested that she be present. Her bruises had faded to shadows, but were still far too visible.

  “You play the part well, daughter, but I am not fooled by this show of the dramatic. You hated your father and I cannot see that his death should affect you so.”

  “Perhaps I mourn so as to meet your constant need of propriety.”

  “I fail to see that my wishes would suddenly concern you when you have had a complete disregard for them your entire life.”

  Georgiana shrugged, having no energy to aggravate her mother further, and asked, “Why was I called downstairs?”

  “I have received word that Charles has arrived in London. I expect him any moment.” She was flushed, her cheeks red in anticipation.

  Georgina watched her mother pace the room, trying to find a sign of grief for her recently murdered husband. She seemed more excited at the prospect of seeing her son than saddened at being so newly a widow. Maybe she wasn’t the only one who had wanted the bastard dead.

  A carriage drew up outside and she heard the great front door open and close again. The butler announced, “Lord Charles, my lady, and Captain Nicholas Markham.”

  Two young men entered and bowed. They were dressed in dark blue coat uniforms with white blouse, white breeches, white stockings and buckled shoes. Georgiana hardly recognized either of them. Had it been that long?

  As they rose, the darker one stepped forward and took her mother’s outstretched hands. The Charles she remembered had changed remarkably, but then he had been but a boy when he left. Before them now stood a man with the bearing of one who had seen and accomplished much.

  “Mama, I came as soon as I heard. I am so distressed that I was not here to do my duty at your side for I hear he has already been laid to rest.”

  “Yes, it is not to be helped. You are here now, and that is all the consolation I need.”

  Behind her brother, Georgiana watched Nicholas. He stood tall and proud, his light hair cut close but still managing to curl in places. His expression gave nothing away as to a changed character, and his eyes remained on Lady Wyndham as he waited. His uniform fit him well, Georgiana thought, and noticed the gold epaulette on his shoulder, denoting the rank of captain. Her brother st
ood aside and introduced Nicholas who bowed to her mother.

  “My condolences on your terrible loss, Lady Wyndham,” he said and Georgiana thought his voice much changed. It was no longer the voice of the boy she remembered but the deep tone of a man with a certain confidence.

  “Thank you, Captain Markham. I am quite distraught, I assure you, at the circumstances I find myself in.”

  To prove it, she fainted, but was immediately caught in strong arms that carried her to the settee across from where Georgiana sat so perfectly still. As the good Captain and her brother attempted to revive her mother, Georgiana tried not to laugh but a small sound escaped her. Their attention was suddenly focused on her.

  “Dear God, Georgiana? Is that you?”

  “Hello, brother, forgive my rudeness, but I fear a curtsy is beyond my talents now.”

  He came forward, took her hand, and knelt in front of her, leaving Nicholas to care for her mother who suddenly revived as her son’s attention shifted.

  Charles reached to remove the veil from her face, but she took his hand instead. With both his hands trapped in hers, she felt safer. He frowned at her, trying to pierce the darkness around her face.

  “Georgiana, what is this?” he asked, confused. “Why must you hide yourself like this? I wish to see your face. It has been too long that we have been parted, and I must reconcile my memories of you with your own kind face.”

  “I fear Georgiana has cultivated a flair for the dramatic. She has not been quite herself since the accident.”

  “What accident?” he asked, turning to his mother.

  “It was merely a riding accident, nothing to concern yourself with. She is in good health, although she has lost the use of her legs.”

  His alarm turned to an expression of pain and he returned his attention to Georgiana.

  “I am so sorry to hear of this misfortune and am made even more so because I had not been sent word that you needed me.”

  Georgiana was suddenly thankful of the veil as she felt tears well up at his words. All this time she had believed her brother uncaring. Her mother had assured her that he had been informed but was too busy fighting a war to even write.

  “Your father and I discussed the matter but felt that there was no danger to her life and that we need not concern you with the matter.”

  “Not concern me?” he said his voice angry. “Of course, it concerns me.”

  His anger made her mother flinch, and she glared at Georgiana. One did not argue in front of guests. It was the height of rudeness, and her mother held good manners above all else. She composed herself quickly, and smiled at Charles and Captain Markham.

  “You must both be weary from your long travels, I am sure. I have had rooms made up for you both.”

  A look passed between her brother and Nicholas, and the silent communication spoke of their years together. She envied them their easy confidence with each other. Charles was more Nicholas’s brother than he would ever be hers.

  “That is kind of you, Lady Wyndham, but I fear I must decline,” Nicholas said. “Having just arrived in London after an extended absence, I have many affairs to put right. I have arranged to stay at my club.”

  It was a lie, Georgiana knew. Her brother had asked him to leave, to give the family this moment. Her mother objected, as was polite, and received his promise that he would visit.

  Nicholas looked uncomfortable on the small settee, and the settee seemed even smaller with him sitting on it. He seemed relieved to finally be able to leave. He walked over to Georgiana and taking her free hand, for her brother still held the other, he bowed.

  “I must offer my most sincere condolences on your loss,” he said. Then, bowing to her mother, he retired from the room. The minute the door closed, her brother lifted the veil from her face, taking her by surprise. She looked away from him, but not before he had seen the damage.

  “Dear God, Georgiana, who has done this to you? You must tell me at once.”

  She kept silent, stunned by how quickly he had moved. He put a light hand under her chin and turned her face to him.

  “Georgiana?”

  She glanced at her mother, knowing the expression she would see there, her lips a thin line of disapproval. “You have cut your hair. That is most unseemly, Georgiana. Why would you do such a foolish thing?”

  “In solidarity for the plight of the poor,” she said lightly.

  “Why do you babble about the hair,” her brother roared, losing his temper and standing up. He towered over his mother. “Look at her face! She has been treated badly and you quibble over her hair?”

  Her mother blinked and Georgiana knew she was contemplating another fainting spell.

  “She has often in the past hurt herself so as to provoke attention. With her father dead, she is desperate to have others pity her. It has long been a dilemma for both me and your poor departed father. She has only herself to blame for if she would not throw herself into such mad passions, she might come to live the proper life of a young lady of fine comportment.”

  “Good heavens, madam, do you really mean to tell me she has done this to herself?”

  “I tell you as it is. We have long suffered under her misguided actions, her lies and deceit intended to bring shame to this family.”

  “What deceit?”

  “Oh, I cannot say,” she sobbed, and seeing she was finding no sympathy in her son, she once again swooned onto the settee.

  “Pray spare us these hysterics,” he said, but she refused to revive herself and so he turned his attention to Georgiana.

  “Why do you say so little in your own defense? Am I made to understand from this that it is indeed as she has said?”

  Georgiana looked down at her hands in her lap and nodded for she had no choice.

  “So it is true,” he said. “You did this?”

  He gently touched the bruise on her cheek.

  “I fell from my bed and hit my head on the side table,” she said, hating the lie.

  “You see,” her mother said, suddenly revived. “I despair, Georgiana, that in my grief at the loss of my good husband and the joy of my son so recently returned, you must again throw yourself about to attract all eyes to you.”

  “I beg your forgiveness, dear Mother. I shall take more care with my person in the future.”

  “I should think so. And now it is time you retired,” she said and rang the bell on the side table.

  She turned to look at her brother who still watched her with a frown on his face. “Don’t worry, Charles, I am quite in good health.”

  “Are you?” he asked, squeezing her hand.

  She smiled and the footman arrived to carry her back upstairs.

  She kissed her brother on the cheek. “I am glad you have come home. I missed you.”

  Then the footman picked her up and carried her out the room.

  ***

  Charles looked up from the newspaper he was reading when the butler entered the breakfast room to announce a visitor. “Constable Marsh?” he said, frowning.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Could you ask him to come back another day? Tell him I am only just returned to London yesterday.”

  “I believe it is his third visit, sir, and he has informed me that he refuses to leave until he has spoken directly to you.”

  “What a nuisance. Very well,” he sighed. “Show him into the drawing room.”

  Charles looked at the closed door for a moment and folded the paper. Taking one more sip of his tea, he stood and made his way to the drawing room.

  Constable Marsh was a thin man dressed in black as if he mourned for each of his victims. He was closely studying a portrait on the wall of one of the long dead ancestors on the Wyndham side.

  “Constable, I understand I am obliged to speak to you,” Charles said as he entered the drawing room.

  The man did not immediately turn in his direction as he had expected but took a moment more to finish his close study of the portrait before turning slow
ly toward him.

  “Ah yes, Lord Wyndham,” he said as if Charles were the visitor and he the man of the house.

  Charles frowned. “What is this about?”

  “It is about your father’s death.”

  “Yes, I already understood that,” he said, annoyed. “But what is it that needs to interrupt my breakfast?”

  “I have some questions.”

  Charles had expected an apology. He was of higher standing in society than the man before him and it was for the Constable to wait upon his convenience. Yet the man before him did not seem to extend the respect due Charles and it angered him.

  “What questions?” he asked.

  “They are questions for your sister actually.”

  “My sister?”

  “Yes, Georgiana.”

  “I know what my sister’s name is, Constable. What I don’t know is what you could possibly want to ask her.”

  “She was one of the last people to speak to your father on the night of his murder.”

  Charles contemplated having the man removed from the house but he was also curious as to the man’s purpose.

  “I still don’t understand,” he said. “What has my sister to do with my father’s death?”

  “That is what I want to discover,” he said and smiled as if Charles had arrived at the answer to a complicated question.

  “I have no idea what you’re on about.”

  “She was the last person to speak to your father,” the Constable repeated slowly.

  Charles stared. “You surely are not suggesting my sister was somehow involved?”

  “No,” he said lightly. “Are you?”

  Charles inhaled slowly to get his anger under control. He realized the man before him was not only clever but dangerous, and not someone who would be easily put off.

  “You do realize my sister is paralyzed.”

  “Oh, yes, I have been told.”

  “And I was told my father was stabbed in some flash house on the other side of London.”

  “That is correct.”

  “So let me see if I am to understand you correctly. You believe my weak and paralyzed sister was somehow able to stab my father in the chest in this flash house far away from here?”