Silent On The Moor Part 22

"Lie down," I ordered. It was a mark of his disorientation that he did so without question. He sat heavily, then stretched out, averting his eyes from the fire. I moved to blow out the candles and extinguish the fire as best I could, dousing it carefully with water from the washstand.

Hastily I bundled the babies back into their coffin, heedless of either my revulsion or the dignity they deserved. I dropped one set of amulets into the coffin, and slipped the second set into my pocket before turning back to Brisbane. The room was chilly, but too smoky to risk shutting the window. Instead I took up his dressing gown and laid it over his shoulders. It was a heavy silk affair, weighty as a king's robe and I hoped it would keep out the worst of the chill.

"Thank you," he said, ending the words on a groan. He fisted his hands and put them to his eyes, grinding against the pain. The few times I had seen him suffer the headaches before, they had come on more gradually, over the course of hours or even days of increasing pain and sensitivity to light. This had struck him with the force of an axe blow, and I wondered how long he had been fighting it off, or if perhaps his recent illness had hastened its onset.

I knelt in front of him and put my hands to his, bringing them down. "Brisbane, I want you to do something."

He groaned again by way of reply.

"I want you to give in. Stop fighting the vision. That is why the pain has come. Just let go and see what will become of it."

"No," he growled. He moved to pull his hands away, but I held them fast.

"You must. Brisbane, listen to me. I know the visions are terrible. I know they show you things you do not want to see. But the headaches are more of a curse. You dose yourself with G.o.d knows what sorts of vileness to keep them at bay, and it only hurts you more. Just give in to the vision and see what you are meant to see."

He tugged again at his hands, but still I held them fast, and I fancied he did not resist as strongly. I rose up on my knees and put my lips near his ear.

"I will not leave you," I whispered. "I promise. I will stay with you until it is done, and I will not let you come to harm."

He opened his eyes then and I saw a torment there I had never seen on any human face. "You do not know what you are asking," he said thickly.

"I know that if you do not do this, you will keep killing yourself with hashish and absinthe and whatever is in that red syrup of Rosalie's. Can that sort of a life be enough for you?"

"It has to be," he told me. "The visions-" He broke off then, and with a renewed strength he tore free of my grasp and put the heels of his hands to his eyes.

I sat back and waited. After a long moment, he rose with a tremendous effort of will, and thrust himself up from the bed. He stumbled toward the washstand and took up a bottle of poppy syrup. I did not try to stop him. He unstoppered it and drank off a deep draught from the bottle. He did not look at me as he returned to the bed, falling heavily into sleep almost as soon as he dropped onto it.

I sat on the cold stone floor for a long time, watching him sleep, peaceful now, and free of his pain. The room grew colder, and I rose, stiff and aching. I took the coverlet from his bed and draped it over him, and brushed a stray lock of hair back from his brow. Poets say that men look like children when they sleep, but Brisbane did not. His breathing was so slow, his pallor so complete that he looked like the effigy on a prince's tomb, carved from marble, perfect and unchanging.

There was little for me to do before I left his room. I wedged the coffin under the writing table and draped it with the sheet, hoping that small attempt at subterfuge would keep it from sight.

And then I took the little bottle of red syrup and poured the remains out the window, poked up the fire, and closed the door behind me.

THE TWENTY-THIRD CHAPTER.

We are yet but young in deed.

-William Shakespeare.

Macbeth.

The next morning I left the house early after checking in on the growing menagerie in the maids' room and telling Portia to look in on Brisbane. I did not particularly want to be the first person he saw when he realised his supply of poppy syrup had been tampered with. I simply told Portia he had been unwell the previous evening and had taken a sleeping draught, neatly glossing over the fact that he had drugged himself into oblivion.

I ate a quick breakfast alone, stopping only long enough in the hall to collect my cloak and make certain the little gold amulet was still in my pocket. I had just gained the orchard path when I heard a voice behind me, calling me to stop. I turned, fixing a smile to my face.

"Good morning, Miss Ailith, you are about bright and early." She fell into step next to me, although I did not relish taking her with me to search the graveyard, it occurred to me this was a rather good opportunity to question her discreetly about a few matters.

"I am glad I found you," she told me. She looked better rested than I would have thought possible, her eyes clear and her expression serene. The loss of her mother had not affected her as deeply as I would have expected, but I wondered if perhaps Ailith had known her mother was unbalanced in the mind. They had lived so closely together, she must have seen some sign of derangement in her, or malice or wickedness or whatever one might call it. Perhaps she was relieved that her mother's domination of her was at an end.

"I have been thinking," she went on, "that it seems quite silly for you and Lady Bettis...o...b.. to share a bedchamber. Now that Mama is gone-" She paused to clear her throat, then continued on stronger. "Now that Mama is gone, the largest bedchamber is unoccupied. I thought perhaps you or Lady Bettis...o...b.. might prefer to take up residence in that room."

I thought of the b.l.o.o.d.y crucifix and the weeping saints and suppressed a delicate shudder. "I am quite comfortable in the room I have at present. Portia might like to move, and I should like for her to move, I cannot deny it. She snores, although if you tell her I said it, I will call you a liar."

Ailith's lovely mouth curved into a smile. It was one of the few times I had seen her truly happy, and the difference in her was remarkable. If she had been striking before, she was supremely beautiful now.

She closed her eyes and turned her face to the rising sun, drawing in great lungsful of air. "It is going to be a beautiful day, Lady Julia. Can you not feel it? There is a lightness now, a freedom that was not there before."

It was as I suspected then. Little wonder she had been vague and meek. Trapped under the thumb of a woman capable of such viciousness, her character had surely been held down, stunted as a flower in a shaded garden, choked by weeds and yet yearning for the sun. There was hope for Ailith Allenby now that she was free of her mother, and I made up my mind then to help her in any way that I could.

"Yes, I think it will be a beautiful day," I replied firmly.

She opened her eyes and regarded me for a moment, tipping her head to the side. "You are in love with Brisbane, aren't you? Oh, careful! You might have twisted your ankle. Did I startle you so much?"

"No," I lied, smoothing my skirts and rolling my ankle around in a circle to make certain I had not wrenched it. "I am quite all right. I suppose I am. Does that concern you?" The words were direct, but I endeavoured to make my tone civil.

She smiled. "Not at all. I was indiscreet when I talked of Hilda's intentions, as well as my own past with him. I hope I did not hurt you. You have been so very kind to me." I said nothing and she went on, her voice dreamy. "Mama was furious at the idea that Hilda meant to marry Brisbane. He is a half-blood Gypsy, far beneath our status," she told me, her expression serious. "She would never have permitted such a match, but I never imagined she would take such steps to prevent it."

I thought of my own conversation with Lady Allenby and her a.s.surance that her daughter would not marry Brisbane, her prodding of my own hopes in that direction. I felt a sharp stab of guilt that my discussion with her might have prompted the attack on Brisbane.

Ailith shook her head. "I think I have always known there was something quite apart about her, something different. I pushed Hilda, you know, in spite of Mama. I knew she hated the idea, but I did not care. I looked after her for so many years, and she never thought to provide for us, not properly. There were no marriages arranged, no trips abroad, no friendships. It did not matter to me. I love the moor, and I should never want to leave it. But Hilda, oh, how she hates it here. She ought to have a life of some sort, some money to travel, a chance to get right away and really live." She broke off, burying her face in her hands. "So I pushed her toward Brisbane. I thought Mama would come to accept it. And instead she nearly killed him because of it."

She lifted her face, tears sparkling like tiny gems on the dark gold of her lashes. "Can you forgive me, Lady Julia? I never thought she was capable of such monstrousness. I only meant to bring her to our way of thinking, and I was stupid, thoughtless. Please, say that you forgive me." She took my hand in hers and squeezed it hard.

"Of course, my dear," I said faintly, slightly taken aback by the pa.s.sion of her outburst. "None of us know precisely what the consequences of our actions might be. Your concern for your sister is quite commendable, and under the circ.u.mstances, I might well have done the same myself. We will speak no more about it."

"Oh, you are good!" she cried. "I feel free as a newborn child." She smiled broadly, then clapped a hand over her mouth to hide her immodest pleasure. She was almost giddy, but I felt a little chill at her words, and thought of the newborn children lying in their wrappings behind the chimney breast of her brother's room. Had she known, had she any reason to suppose what he was capable of? She had suspected her mother's villainy; had she intuited her brother's?

Once at the graveyard, Ailith stopped to pick daffodils, gathering a great armful as I pretended to idly peruse the gravestones, all the while searching for some monument that might lend a clue to the ident.i.ty of the dead children. Mindful of the fact that they might have been merely recorded on a parent's stone, I read them all as carefully as I could, casting the occasional glance back at Ailith and keeping my demeanour casual.

At length, I had come to the end of the little graveyard and had to concede there was nothing to be found. The children were not mentioned, either on their own markers or those of some family member. They had not been stolen from the Allenby graveyard then, I surmised. That left the village churchyard as a possibility, and I made a note to search it as soon as possible.

I turned to find Ailith just bending over to lay her bundle of daffodils at the foot of Redwall's gravestone. She paused a moment, her head bowed, then gave a great sigh of release it seemed to me. She caught my eye then and smiled.

We arrived back at the Hall to find the place at sixes and sevens, with Brisbane tearing at his hair and shouting at Portia in the kitchen while she brandished a spoon at him and shouted back. Ailith scurried to her room, and I envied her heartily.

"I do not care if she has gone to the devil," Brisbane shouted, "but I want her back immediately!"

"Do not raise your voice to me, you oaf!" Portia yelled back at him. "Do you think I have any control over what my sister does?"

It had been some years since I had heard Portia lose her temper, and I was never particularly enthusiastic about seeing Brisbane in a pet. I tiptoed past the open door, but not quickly enough. They turned as one and saw me, and before I could make my escape, Brisbane lunged.

He caught me by the arm and began to herd me toward the study.

"I am so glad you found her," Portia called after him. "Perhaps she can teach you some better manners."

"Not b.l.o.o.d.y likely," Brisbane ground out through gritted teeth. He pushed me through the door and slammed it behind us.

I smiled up at him brightly. "Good morning, Brisbane. You do seem livelier than when I saw you last."

"Livelier? I ought to turn you over my knee right now and give you the beating of your life. Do you have any idea what it feels like inside my head just now?"

I thought for a moment. "Well, I don't imagine it can be hurting too terribly or you wouldn't be shouting."

"Quite right," he said, clipping his consonants sharply. "It is dull as cotton wool in there because you saw fit to throw out my only means of controlling the pain."

His fingers were still tight about my arm and I pried them free, rubbing at my flesh. "I think you've bruised me. I do not understand. How is the pain gone if I threw out the poppy syrup?"

"Because when I woke in the middle of the night to swallow another dose, I had no choice but to do as you wanted me to in the first place."

I caught my breath. "The vision."

"The vision," he said. In spite of his anger, I thought he looked quite well. The shadows beneath his eyes had gone, and his pupils were clear and undilated. Even his colour looked better to me.

"Was it very awful?" I asked him finally, dreading the answer.

"Awful?" his voice was thick with sarcasm. "Not at all. The merest ramble in the park. I can't think why I didn't throw out my remedies sooner and simply enjoy them."

I bit at my lip and he jerked back his cuffs, baring his arms to the biceps.

"Do you see those marks? They are from the hypodermic syringes when I used to inject cocaine. Would you like to see the scars on my back where a Chinese doctor used to apply hot gla.s.s cups to draw out the devils? Or the tiny slashes on the backs of my knees where an Austrian specialist once bled me by nicking my veins with a scalpel?"

His fury was palpable now, and building. I took a step backward, but there was no retreat. The wall was behind me, and Brisbane in front of me, implacable and enraged. He planted his hands flat on either side of my head and loomed close to me, his face inches from mine. It was not the first time we had stood thus, but it was the first time I had ever seen him regard me with such naked contempt and I shrank from it.

"Do not pull away," he ordered. "You ought to face the consequences of what you have done, for once in your life. You thought you knew better, didn't you? You thought you would fix me by forcing me to confront what I really am."

I turned my face aside, but he grabbed my chin in his hand, holding it hard, forcing me to meet his eyes. His voice dropped to a harsh whisper.

"And what if I am a monster? Did you ever wonder that, Julia Grey? Did you ever ask yourself what I might really be capable of?"

I stared at him, lips trembling a little as I searched his face for some sign of the man I had known. I knew his features as well as my own, from the scar high on his cheekbone to the hard curve of his jaw, and yet there was nothing familiar in this face.

I lifted my hand and touched a fingertip to his cheek. He jerked backward as if I had scorched him, dropping his hand from my face. He shook his head slowly, as if emerging from a dream.

"Do not push me too far, Julia. You have meddled with me in ways I ought never to have permitted. But I will finish what I began here, and you will not interfere with me again."

He turned on his heel and left me then. I slid to the floor, my legs powerless to hold me. I sat there for a long time, turning over the words he had said, his coldness, his resolve, the chilling glitter of his eyes. But what I remembered most vividly was that even as his right hand had gripped my chin so cruelly, forcing me to face him as he raged at me, his left hand had stolen into mine, clasping it with all the desperation of a drowning man.

THE TWENTY-FOURTH CHAPTER.

Rage must be withstood.

Lions make leopards tame.

-William Shakespeare.

Richard II.

That afternoon I collected Portia after dinner and told her we were going into the village proper.

"Ought we to ask Valerius?" she inquired. "He has been spending every waking moment with Hilda, and her peevishness is beginning to wear off on him. He's becoming sulky. He has struck himself twice upon the thumb with a hammer in building that henhouse, and has raised four blisters. It has not improved his temper."

"Not this time. I want to get right away, and I do not think I could endure him if he's in a mood. May we go alone?"

"Gladly," Portia said, pinning her hat firmly onto her head. "Anything to get out of this place. You know, when Brisbane is angry, it creates quite an atmosphere."

"Yes, I had noticed," I returned, shoving her out of the door. She complained about Brisbane for the better part of the walk into the village, rather a relief to me as all that was required of me was the occasional nod or murmur of agreement.

As we reached the village, footsore and thirsty, she stopped and turned to me. "I just realised what it felt like when he was shouting at me," she said, trying unsuccessfully to hide a smile. "He felt like one of the family."

"Very funny," I told her, turning toward the little stone church in the village. There was a statue in front of St. Agnes with her lamb.

"I mean it," she replied, hurrying to catch up to me. "He sounded exactly like Bened.i.c.k in one of his rages," she said, referring to my favourite of all our brothers. "Do you suppose he might be related? Distantly, of course. Perhaps through the connection to the Duke of Aberdour. Weren't Mama's people related somehow to the Comyns? And the Comyns are connected to the Aberdour line, I'm certain of it."

"All the aristocrats on this island have intermarried so much I am quite sure we are related to everyone above the rank of baronet," I said absently.

"It isn't healthy," Portia commented. "Father always says inbreeding will be the downfall of the monarchy, and the aristocracy as well. Bad blood always tells, whether it's horses or dogs or men," she added, echoing one of Father's favourite sentiments.

"Or sheep," I finished, thinking of G.o.dwin's travails with the flock at Grimsgrave.

We pushed through the little gate and I began to scrutinise the markers. It was a far more daunting task than inspecting the tiny chapel graveyard. The graves here went back at least three hundred years, although I reminded myself only markers carved within the last year or two were of interest to me. I looked for anything that might have a bearing on the ident.i.ty of the little mummies: stillbirths, twins, women dead in childbed.

Portia peered over my shoulder. "What are we looking for?" she asked suddenly. "I thought we were simply making our escape from Brisbane's bad temper."

"Not exactly," I told her, moving slowly from one stone to the next, squinting at the grimy, obscured carving. "I am looking for babies, twins actually, stillborn or died shortly after birth. A year, or perhaps two or even three years past. See if you can find any."

Portia shrugged and did as she was told. We walked the rows slowly for the better part of an hour, rubbing moss away from old gravestones and occasionally stopping to read an interesting epitaph.

"Nothing," she said finally, straightening as we reached the end of the last row. "Not even a child under the age of four in this lot. Why do we care, incidentally?"