Household (32 page)

“Never mind that.” Juliet propped herself against one of the chimneys stacks. “I’m used to it,” she said, shrugging. “I heard a new note in your caterwauling that sounds even more ominous than usual. What more can happen to us?”

“Ach, ’tis the poor little one.” She unleashed a lugubrious sigh.

“Which?” Juliet asked but knew the answer. “Lucy?”

“Aye, little Lucy.”

Colin, gliding to the roof, changed and asked gruffly, “When?”

“’Twill be three days after her child is born.”

“Ohhhh,” Juliet moaned. “Why?”

“Because she be frail as a mayfly. ’Twas that Erlina Bell done for her apurpose. ’Twasn’t to be expected she’d escape the curse. Now be off wi’ ye. I must get on wi’ me song.” The banshee resumed her howling.

They moved away. “Oh, Colin,” Juliet mourned. “We cannot let her go, nor our Lucy.”

“We cannot help her,” he said quickly.

“We can.” Juliet put her little hand upon his arm. “You know we can,” she said tensely.

“We’ll... talk about it.” There was reluctance but possible acquiescence as well as he changed quickly and flew from the roof, followed by Juliet. An even more ominous wail broke from the banshee coupled with a piercing screech from Grimalkin, which neither sister nor brother heard—nor would they have heeded the warning if they had.

❖

Lucy awakened, feeling marvelously fit. She also felt considerably lighter. Much as she had longed for the birth of her child, her daughter Olivia, she had been tremendously heavy and weary at the last.

In spite of all her resting, it had not been an easy birth. She could still hear the doctor’s gentle urging, “Push, push, push...” She had obeyed to the best of her ability, but it had been so hard that she felt as if she had been torn in half. Later, seeing the darling little red-faced baby with the dark swirl of hair which was the very same shade as Swithin’s, she knew it had been worth every tedious second of the last six months, only she did wish that Swithin had looked happier.

He should have been happy, being the father of such a darling, but perhaps he had wanted a son. She had taxed him with that only to have him weep and say that he wanted exactly what she had given him—a daughter. He had agreed with a sob that he, too, liked the name Olivia, which she had culled from a favorite Shakespearean play. “Look you, sir, such a one as I, is it not well done...” she had quoted softly from
Twelfth Night
, Olivia’s speech, only to have Swithin burst into even louder sobs. She had never seen him weep and it frightened her, especially as she felt so strange and weak.

“Am I going to die?” she remembered asking him, only to have him turn away, his shoulders shaking, corroborating her fears.

“You’re not going to die, darling.” Eliza had been there, too, looking pale. She was into her sixth month of pregnancy and married to Stephen Hawley, a poor exchange for Swithin, Lucy thought. It did seem as if she would die; she had been feeling so weak, especially at night. She had dreamed a great deal about Juliet and Colin, wondering why they had not come to see her. Last night she had dreamed that Colin had kissed and kissed her, but she would never confide that dream to Swithin. He would think she cherished some sort of secret passion for her uncle. Actually, much as she loved Juliet and Colin, she had always been a little revolted by their condition, especially since neither seemed in the least disturbed by what they had to do. She knew they had been once, but now they actually seemed to revel in it. They didn’t even miss the sunlight!

“The moon is so beautifully bright,” Juliet had confided once.

Lucy glanced toward her window but saw only darkness. It must be the dark of the moon, yet she could have sworn it was full when she drifted off to sleep last night. That was why Mark hadn’t been to see her. Poor Mark! The last time he visited her he had looked so pale and miserable, all his bright coloring dimmed and his eyes like two burnt holes in a blanket, worrying over her, she guessed. But no one had to worry any more. She was better, much better. She could hardly wait until morning came and she could see Swithin. He wasn’t sleeping with her now. They had been apart for six months, but now he would be able to come back to her bed and make love to her. She thrilled to the thought, and then she tensed, hearing a sound, a cry, a baby—her baby? No, it was an animal, a rabbit, she didn’t know how she knew that, but she did. It had been caught by an owl, poor thing. The owl would devour it, drinking the blood.

A thirst grew in her, and she needed water or tea to quell it. Her throat was dry, so very dry. Had not Swithin left the pitcher near the bed?

She put out her hand and felt softness above her. The quilt? She tried to push it away and felt hardness now. She cried out in fear and then the hardness was gone.

“She’s awake,” someone said.

It was still dark, but looking up Lucy had no trouble seeing Juliet and Colin. “I need water!” she groaned.

“Water, so soon?” Juliet said inexplicably.

“Soon?” Lucy did not understand.

“Are you thirsty, love?” Colin asked ruefully.

“I am,” she responded crossly. “Is there not a pitcher? I do not expect I should get out of bed, but I do feel much stronger.”

“Do you, dearest?” Juliet asked.

“Yes, but I am so thirsty,” Lucy complained wondering why they were not giving her the water she craved so desperately.

“It did not happen to me... so soon,” Juliet muttered. “Nor me, but circumstances alter cases,” Colin responded. With rising indignation, Lucy said, “Please, I beg you’ll not stand there talking when I am so thirsty. I need a drink!” She knew she was acting badly, but she could not help it, listening to them nattering away when she was so much in need of water.

“We know, child,” Juliet said. “Come.” She pulled Lucy to her feet.

Lucy felt most peculiar, as if she had passed through something yielding that should not have been yielding. She had glimpsed the solidness of a door and a second later had been outside of it—without its opening! That had to be a dream! But she was outside. Grass was tickling her bare feet, and there were trees around her. Looking up, she was nearly blinded by the mere sliver of a new moon.

“How did I get outside?” She stared about her and saw great carved monuments white in the moonlight. “Why am I
here
?” she whispered on a rising note of panic.

“Lucy...” Colin began.

“Dearest,” Juliet chimed in.

Lucy swallowed, trying vainly to vanquish that terrible thirst. Looking at her companions, she suddenly knew why she was there and knew what they had done. A terrible despair engulfed her.

“Why?” she cried accusingly. “Why, why, why did you do it?”

“My love.” Juliet put her arm around Lucy’s shaking shoulders and looked into her tearless eyes. “We could not bear to let you go.”

“So you... so both of you...” She could not finish the sentence but knew the reason for her weakness of the last nights and knew that they knew she knew.

“Swithin!” she wailed. “My child... my child.” But in her new agony, she could not think of them any longer because she was so thirsty.

Later, when the radiance of the moon had dimmed and when Lucy had sadly and regretfully drunk the warm blood of a rabbit, hating the way it made her feel, full of life and well, she stared at her relations—resenting them, even hating them!

They understood.

“Dearest,” Juliet said, “I know we shouldn’t have done it.”

“I shouldn’t have let you talk me into it.” Colin regarded Juliet ruefully.

“No, no, no, you shouldn’t have done it!” Lucy agreed despairingly.

“But think,” Juliet urged. “You’ll be able to visit Swithin and Li via.”

“Livia? Her name’s Olivia.”

“They will call your daughter Livia, my dear.”

“Ohhhh,” Lucy wailed blinking against the tears that did not, would never come. “No, I’ll not see them, not like this. Oh, I am accursed.” The truth of her cry came home to her. “The curse?” she whispered.

“Yes, yes, it must have been,” Juliet cried, almost in relief.

“It must have been,” he agreed.

“Will it fall upon my child?” Lucy demanded.

“Perhaps not,” Colin said soothingly. “She’s not a Veringer.”

“The blood of the Old Lord runs in her veins,” Lucy moaned. “Poor child, poor child, and poor Swithin, my love.”

“You may see him, dearest,” Juliet said.

“No, I will go away. You must take me far, far away. I may go, may I not?”

“All that’s needed is a stone and Mark to help us when we need his help,” Colin said.

“Mark! Does he know?” Lucy asked.

“Mark is here,” he said, coming to stand beside Colin. There was a compassionate and sorrowing look in his golden eyes. “Lucy, my dear, none of this was my doing, but I am glad to see you and I am here to help you. I knew, knowing you, that you’d not want to stay.”

“
And I knew, too, my poor child.
”

Lucy looked around and saw Richard Veringer as he had been in life, clad in dark knee breeches and a black satin coat, lace sparkling with diamonds at his throat, his hair lavishly powdered and clubbed at the back with a dark grosgrain ribbon. He did not look old. He seemed in the prime of life, but his eyes were aged and agonized.

“Great-grandfather,” Lucy moaned. “Why did you let them do this to me?”

“
I was not consulted, dear child,
” he said ponderously.

“Oh, Mark.” Lucy raised her eyes to his face. “Could you not out of your love for me pound a stake through my heart when morning comes?”

“Lucy, no.” There was terror in his voice. “You’d not want that!”

“
No, child, you would not
,” The Old Lord whispered.

“You could not,” Juliet said, exchanging an agonized look with Colin.

Staring at them, Lucy found to her own confusion and utter shame that, on thinking of it, she did not want it either. “I must go away then,” she said.

“
We will all go away, my child. The world is wide
,” the Old Lord said.

“And we must never come back,” Lucy told him solemnly.

“We never will.” Juliet and Colin spoke almost in unison and with equal solemnity.

“You know I am with you, Lucy,” Mark said.

Lucy found that she could smile. “My child will be safe,” she murmured. With a little moan of fear, she stared at the Old Lord. “Erlina Bell must be satisfied by now.”

“
I am sure she is
,” he agreed gruffly.

“The sky is paling,” Mark reminded them.

“Come, love.” Juliet put an arm around Lucy’s shoulders and led her back to her tomb.

L
ivia Blake lifted a closely written page and waved it at the girl who stood before her desk. “Look at the number of misspellings in this story!” She shook her head, saying even more caustically than usual, “Had I not spoken with Mrs. Howard we would have come out with errors that would have made it totally useless as a news item. If the preparations for your forthcoming nuptials are going to interfere with your efficiency...”

“I am sorry,” Miss Emily Harte began, “but...”

“You’re being sorry is no excuse.”

“But...”

“Do you wish to continue working at the
Marblehead Mercury
or would you prefer to resign?” Livia’s eyes, a clear gold, seemed to flash fire.

“I want to continue,” Emily said. “I do enjoy writing for...”

“Enjoy?” echoed Livia. “
Enjoy
suggests that you would be as happy cycling or dancing or swimming or camping. Writing for the
Mercury
is a vocation and an occupation. Have you any notion how very few women are engaged in the business of turning out a newspaper?” Without waiting for the response that was obviously trembling on Emily’s lips, she continued sharply. “Very few is the answer. Women are not expected to be editors or reporters. They are expected to marry, as you will soon do, breed brats and turn their underdeveloped intelligences to cookery. You came to me because you said you wished to write. I have given you that opportunity, and the minute a gentleman looks sideways at you, you are ready to swoon into his arms and forget everything you told me when you applied... when you begged for this position.”

There was a knock on the door. “Well?” Livia called impatiently.

The door was opened by Marian Sedley, the clerical typist who also served as receptionist for the
Marblehead Mercury.
She was a small, slender woman who was, at this moment, looking harried and extremely confused. “Miss Blake...” she said tentatively.

“Well,” Livia snapped, “what is it, Marian?”

Miss Sedley pushed a straying brown curl out of her eyes, leaving a smear of black on her forehead. “There... there’s a gentleman here.”

“Indeed? And is he so frightening?”

“Frightening?”

“Judging from your expression, this gentleman wants to eat you for dinner and toss your bones over his shoulder when he is done.”

“Oh, Miss Blake,” Marian said, giggling nervously, “it’s not that. It’s that he wishes to place an advertisement.”

“An advertisement?” Livia’s eyes widened.

“Gracious!” Emily interjected. “A gentleman?”

“And very well-spoken, too.” Miss Sedley turned a little pink.

Spotting this telltale hue, Livia said coldly, “Does the gentleman have horns and a tail or possibly purple feathers sprouting from his head?”

Emily giggled nervously, and Marian blushed an even deeper pink. “He is most personable,” she murmured.

“I am glad of that,” Livia said sarcastically. “I should be intimidated myself, if I thought our offices had been invaded by some monster rather than one who has merely come to place an advertisement. We have had advertisements before, not many, I’ll grant you...”

“And never from a man,” Emily broke in.

Livia opened her mouth for another withering retort and thought better of it. It was unwise to keep one of her few advertisers waiting. “Since you feel incapable of dealing with this crisis, Marian, I suggest you show the gentleman in here.”

“I did not say I was incapable,” Marian began, with a rare display of spirit, “but I just thought you’d like to know.” Some of Livia’s hauteur vanished. “And so I would, Marian dear, though I could wish it were not such a nine-day wonder. Show him in, please, and Emily, you may go.”