Blood Marriage (28 page)

Fielding managed to remove the countess's plump hip from his chest just as the door above them was pulled open. Jimmy, one of the carriage lanterns clutched in his trembling hand, peered down at them. The fear on his face lightened to relief as he examined the writhing mass of ladies and gentlemen below. Fielding looked a question at the stable boy.

"Sorry, sir." The boy's voice was ragged with trauma. "I didn't see her there in the road until it was near too late. Missed her, but hit a hole instead. Wheel's off. We'll be walking."

"Missed who?" Fielding had managed to stand, rising above the struggling bodies around him. Jimmy moved aside as Fielding hauled himself up out of the carriage and then turned to reach a hand down to the others. Harriet caught his hand and began ruthlessly kicking her way free of the chaos.

"Katie, Lady Devlin's maid," Jimmy said.

Fielding released Harriet, sending her tumbling back into the carriage, shrieking. He looked to where Jimmy was pointing. Several yards down the road a young girl stood. Her arms wrapped tightly around herself, she was rocking slowly from heel to toe, muttering and whimpering.

Chapter Thirty-Three

The hair on the back of Elizabeth's neck stood up. Below, Randal crossed the entrance hall and mounted the stairs, his gap-toothed smile mocking. Every instinct within her screamed for her to run, run as she had last night through the halls of Maidenstone. But something inside her refused to move from the landing, refused to leave her mother. 

"My mother needs help. The door is locked," she said, her voice a reedy whisper.

Randall's smile turned wicked. He said nothing, continuing to climb the stairs, his limp adding an ominous rhythm to the deliberate insolence of his pace. Elizabeth took an involuntary step back. Then anger joined fear and she stepped forward again. Why, after what had happened at Maidenstone, did Nicholas continue to tolerate this man's presence? It made no sense. But right now, it didn't matter. Her mother needed help and she would beg it, even from the devil, if need be.

"Hurry," she said, but when Randall laughed, her shoulders began to shake.

Downstairs the front door banged open. Cool night air, tangy with the scents of spring, rushed into the house. Randall stopped midway up the stairs and glanced over his shoulder. Then he resumed his climb at a much faster pace, his predatory expression transformed to one of concern.

Elizabeth leaned out over the stair rail and called to the people entering the house.

"Up here! Quickly, please!"

The oval of moonlight lit the upturned faces of Amanda, Leo, and Father Vlad. Whether it was something they saw on her face or heard it in her voice, she wasn't sure, but they moved as one, rushing to the stairs. Elizabeth didn't wait. Sidestepping Randall, who'd reached the landing, Elizabeth ran back to her mother's room and banged on the door with her fist.

"Mother! Are you all right?"

"What is it, Elizabeth? What's wrong?" Amanda reached Elizabeth's side and began pounding her small fist against the door as well.

"I heard Mother scream, but someone has locked the door. I can't get in."

"Break down the door," Vlad ordered. "Quickly!" 

"There are keys downstairs in the housekeeper's office, I'm sure." Randall's tone made Elizabeth want to strike him.

"There's no time," Vlad said, the urgency in his voice feeding Elizabeth's own panic. 

"Do as he says, Leo," Amanda said and tugged Elizabeth away from the door. Leo backed up a few paces to get a moving start and then slammed his shoulder hard against the solid oak. It didn't budge. Three more attempts produced no better results.

"What's going on?" The image of Nicholas striding down the hall swam in the tears clouding Elizabeth's eyes. Dr. Bergen was just reaching the top of the stairway landing behind him. Elizabeth's knees buckled with relief. She leaned against the wall to keep herself from falling. 

"It's Mother. Something's wrong. We can't get in."

"I'll go downstairs and find the keys, Nick." Leo started down the hall as he spoke. He passed Lucy on the landing. Vlad stepped back, silent.

"Bergen, you take this door," Nicholas said. "I'll take the dressing room door." Nicholas disappeared into his and Elizabeth's bedroom.

"Perhaps I could help?" Randall planted himself in front of the door. 

Bergen shoved Randall roughly aside and stepped back, preparing to throw his shoulder against the door. This time it was Lucy who blocked him, taking the position Randall had just vacated and smiling her wide feline smile.

"Trouble?" Lucy's eyes raked slowly over Bergen's body. Her ruby lips formed a pout. "Can I help?" 

Randall made an angry noise. Fury exploded in Elizabeth. How dare this woman play seduction games now! Her mother could be dying and Lucy thought of nothing but her own sick need to befuddle every man in her vicinity. Elizabeth pushed away from the wall and lunged at the woman, meaning to knock her out of the way. Bergen's arm shot out. With gentle strength he forced Elizabeth back against the wall again. Lucy didn't seem to notice, her eyes still on the doctor, at once taunting and devouring.

"Please move, Lucre...Lucy," Bergen's voice was gently imploring. "We need to get into that room."

Lucy reached out one perfectly formed arm. The long hard nail of a single finger traced the doctor's cheek from temple to chin, leaving an angry red welt in its wake. Bergen didn't flinch.

"Please,
mea adorat
," the doctor said. 

Lucy dropped her arm to her side. Her other hand reached behind her, resting on the doorknob. For the space of several agonizing heartbeats she remained there. Then a low laugh gurgled up from deep in her throat. 

"You want to go in? Allow me." The doorknob clicked, turned. Lucy let go of the knob, allowing the door to glide open as she stepped aside. Cold air streamed into the hall.

The window near her mother's bed was open, the pink curtains blowing in the night breeze. Amelia Smith lay pale against white sheets. Elizabeth gasped. Nicholas stood beside the bed, his hands at her mother's throat, her blood oozing red between his fingers.

Elizabeth was the first to reach her mother's side, but she was immediately relegated to the foot of the bed by Dr. Bergen. Nicholas released his grip on her mother's neck and Amelia's eyelids fluttered. The doctor bent low over his patient. 

Elizabeth wanted to scream, to sob. Instead she reached beneath the blanket and wrapped her hands around the ice-cold flesh of her mother's feet, trying to warm them, willing her to live. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew it was a selfish wish. Amelia Smith had suffered enough. 

Through the deaths of so many loved ones over the years and through her own torturous battle with the cancer eating her from within, her mother had held on with unfailing courage. Elizabeth knew that unyielding endurance had been for her benefit. Her mother had been afraid to die and leave her daughter alone in the world. But now Elizabeth was married and, in her mother's eyes, her life settled. 

Her mother had no idea Elizabeth would soon follow her to the grave. And she would never know. Elizabeth had been able to do that much for her, allow her that small sliver of happiness in the end. Amelia Smith would die believing one of her children had survived, married well, and lived happily ever after. Elizabeth had believed it was the last gift she could give her mother.

Now, looking at her mother's pale face, hearing her weary moan as Doctor Bergen tried to stop the loss of blood, Elizabeth knew there was one more gift she could give. She could let her mother go.

Across the bed Amanda handed Nicholas a towel. He cleaned his hands as best he could, his gaze traveling between his wife and his mother-in-law. Amanda shut the window, locking out the cold, then found a blanket to add to the many already covering the dying woman. Leo returned, keys in hand, and took a place beside Amanda, Lucy and Randall in a silent semicircle well back from the bed. Dressed in funeral black, their expressions grim, they looked like specters of death.

Elizabeth shivered. She released her mother's feet and went to kneel at the head of the bed. She lifted her mother's hand and rubbed it lightly between her own. Life-weary eyes fluttered open to focus on Elizabeth. A smile curved bloodless lips. 

"There's no pain where I'm going, Lizzie." Her mother took several labored breaths as if those few words had drained her. 

Doctor Bergen's eyes met Elizabeth's across the bed and he shook his head. Her mother wasn't young and strong like Margaret. Elizabeth felt Nicholas's hand squeeze her shoulder. She waved him off; afraid even such a small gesture of compassion might send her into hysterical sobbing. That wasn't how she wanted these last moments to be. All her life her mother had been strong for her. Now she would be strong for her mother. Nicholas moved away to stand with the others. Bergen stepped back as well. 

"Go, Mama," Elizabeth whispered. "Go where there is no pain. It's all right to go. I'll be fine."

"Yes, my girl, fine. Your brothers are so happy for you, Lizzie." 

Her mother whimpered softly and her legs thrashed beneath the heavy quilts. 

"Sshh, Mama," Elizabeth smoothed the hair at her mother's forehead, not allowing her eyes to do more than skim past the twin puncture wounds still oozing blood. As she stroked her hair, her mother calmed, closed her eyes, and lay so still that for an instant Elizabeth thought she was gone. She leaned over and kissed her soft white cheek. 

Her mother's eyes flew open wide and she was suddenly more alert than Elizabeth had seen her in weeks. 

"Careful, my love." Her mother's gaze flashed about the semi-circle of people surrounding the bed. Elizabeth wished they would go away and leave them alone. Her mother had lived a private, dignified life. Her passing should be the same. 

As if he'd read her thoughts, Nicholas said, "There's nothing more to be done. It's time to leave Elizabeth and her mother in peace."

"No!" Her mother's voice rang out from the bed. "The evil one will escape. Blood! Blood! You'll not have my girl! You will not!" Her eyes were wild, feverishly flying from one face to another. 

Elizabeth tried to follow her mother's gaze, but couldn't tell who it was that was upsetting her. When Elizabeth looked back at her mother her eyes were closed again. Her agitation gone as swiftly as it had come. One frail hand squeezed Elizabeth's. 

"Yes, of course, I'm coming," the dying woman mumbled. Her legs thrashed beneath the quilts again and then she lay quiet.

Nicholas ushered everyone from the room, before seting a chair next to the bed. Elizabeth rose from her knees and sank into it. Nicholas draped a blanket about her shoulders. He said nothing, nor did he try to touch her, and Elizabeth was grateful. Then he and Bergen sat in silence near the fireplace, waiting. 

Her mother didn't speak or open her eyes again. Elizabeth held her hand and wept and prayed. Over the next quarter-hour her mother's breathing slowed and became shallower. Finally it stopped. Elizabeth cried out and pressed her cheek against her mother's hand. Nicholas and Bergen came to stand at the foot of the bed like twin angels of death, their dark heads bowed. 

Amelia Smith had joined her husband and sons in the final peace of death.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Amelia Smith’s body had been laid out in a small parlor near the library. A woman from the village, a matron of some talent, had been hired to wash and dress it. Elizabeth had been grateful for both the woman's skill and her courage. She'd come to Heaven's Edge while so many others were fleeing. Many of the staff Vlad had managed to retain the morning Grubner's body was found, hadn't returned to the house following his wake. Still more had deserted following the stable master's funeral. The few remaining were overworked and skittish. Asking any of them to keep the traditional vigil and sit overnight with Amelia Smith’s body would have risked more defections.

Elizabeth sucked in a breath as she entered the parlor. Twin candles burned on high-pillared stands at her mother's head and feet. Their soft light created a golden aura around her body, an island of radiance in the otherwise inky blackness of the room. Amelia looked like a sleeping princess. Her hands were folded in relaxed elegance at her waist. Her silver-streaked hair curled in loose ringlets down either side of her face and past her shoulders. It had been artfully arranged to hide the wounds. The paleness Elizabeth had become accustomed to was gone. Skillfully rouged lips, cheeks and hands gave her mother a healthier complexion in death than in life. It was almost as if she truly was sleeping, and if touched would awaken. 

Elizabeth reached out, but fearing the reality of cold flesh, she avoided touching her mother's skin. Instead she stroked the delicate lace of her wedding gown. Once ivory, the material had yellowed over the years. But tonight, in the warm glow of candlelight, it was a dress of golden lace. 

Her mother had insisted on being buried in this dress. Everything beautiful in her life, she'd claimed, had begun the moment she'd put it on: becoming the wife of the man she loved, bearing the children she'd treasured until their deaths and, past that, to her own. Elizabeth shook her head at her mother's foolishness. This dress had brought her a husband who'd died young, leaving her alone struggling to raise children born to die too soon as well. Only Amelia could have found the blessing in that.

One tear after another pooled on Elizabeth's lashes and spilled over to run down her cheeks. She brushed them away. Earlier that day, following Grubner's funeral, Lennie, Nicholas, and Dr. Bergen had carried her mother's body downstairs on a board. They'd placed it in this elaborate coffin, carved with tiny angels dancing among flowers. Elizabeth traced one of the happy figures with a damp finger. Would these same cherubs dance around her when the time came?

"Oh, Mama," Elizabeth whispered. "I thought when you were finally safe I would be ready to go as well, but...Mama, I love him. I love him and I can't bear to lose him."