A Stolen Heart (36 page)

“You don’t know what I did.” Rhea wiped at her tears with her other hand.

“It doesn’t matter. I couldn’t hate you. You are my mother. You raised me. You loved me all those years and took care of me.”

“But I’m not!” Rhea broke into sobs. “I’m not really your mother! Oh, God! I didn’t mean to hurt anyone! I was just so lonely.”

“I know you didn’t mean to hurt anybody,” Alexandra said soothingly, leaning closer to Rhea. “And I swear I won’t hate you. Please, just tell me. Tell me what happened in Paris.”

Rhea sighed. “All right,” she said. “I will.”

“S
IMONE CAME TO ME THAT NIGHT
,”
Rhea said dully. “The mob was out.” She shivered, remembering. “It was awful. I was so scared. They were like animals, wild and howling. We were leaving the next day. Hiram—Hiram had that cough, and he didn’t really want to go. He said that they had nothing against Americans. They wouldn’t harm us. But I was so frightened that he agreed to take me to England. Everyone was running around, packing. There was so much I couldn’t take. But I had to get away.”

“Of course you did. I am sure it was terrifying.”

Rhea nodded, reaching for Alexandra’s hand. “Simone came with the children. John must have been about seven. He was trying hard to be a little man about it. Marie Anne—she was a year or two younger than he, and she was clinging to Simone’s hand, crying. She was scared at leaving her father. And there was the baby—Alexandra. You.”

She smiled tremulously at Alexandra.

“You were so beautiful—that cloud of curly dark hair. I always coveted you. I knew it was a sin, but I couldn’t help it. You were such a beautiful, happy baby. I couldn’t have children. Hiram and I had tried, but it never worked. Simone thought it was funny that I always wanted to visit the nursery when I called on her.”

Rhea fell silent, and Alexandra prompted, “Why did Simone and the children come to your house?”

“They were on foot,” Rhea said, sighing. “Simone was terrified. She wore a cloak with a hood pulled around her face, and she had the children dressed in plain clothes. She and John carried little bags for them. She said—” Rhea drew a shuddering breath. “She asked me if I would take the children with me. She was so afraid for them. She said that she and her husband were trying to persuade her parents to leave with them, to go back to England, but her parents were reluctant. They didn’t want to leave their home and their possessions. They kept saying that the mob would quiet down and everything would go back to the way it had been. Silly, of course. They had stormed the Bastille. Nothing would ever be the same. Chilton, of course, had that English arrogance, that assurance that nothing would happen to them because he was British. But Simone was not so sure. She had a mother’s fear, a terror that the mob would kill her children. So she asked me to take the children to England with us, just in case she and Chilton could not get away. She said to take them to the Earl and Countess of Exmoor, Chilton’s parents. She gave me a letter she had written them, as well as a velvet bag of her jewelry, in case we needed extra money to get out—and, I think, as an inheritance. The two little girls had their lockets, and John had the Exmoor ring, a plain-looking thing, but Simone said it was very precious to Chilton’s family. It was the ring of the Exmoor heir. She knew, you see, that she and Chilton were going to die. I could see it in her eyes.”

Tears welled in Alexandra’s eyes and spilled over as she envisioned her mother, frightened, doing what she could to protect her children. “Oh, Mother, how sad!”

Rhea nodded. “Yes. Simone kissed them and hugged them, and they clung to her, crying. Finally, she tore herself away and left, and I took the children upstairs and put them to bed. Then I went up to the top floor and looked down the street. We lived only a few houses from them. It was an area where several foreigners lived. I could see the mob moving up the street like a great angry sea. It was awful. I could hear screams, and they set the house on fire. I knew they were dead.” Rhea began to cry, and it took her a moment to collect herself and go on in a calmer voice. “We barricaded ourselves inside the house. When the mob came, Hiram opened the window on the second floor and talked to them. When they realized that he was an American, they cheered and left us alone. The next morning our neighbors told us that everyone in the Chilton house had been killed—Chilton, Simone, her parents, the children. Of course, I knew that the children had not, but I wasn’t about to let on where they were. We left that afternoon. I have never been so scared in my life. Scared of the mob, of someone stopping to search us, of one of the children speaking in French and making people suspicious.”

Rhea shuddered, remembering. Alexandra patted her arm.

“It must have been a harrowing experience. You were very brave.”

“No.” Rhea smiled weakly. “I wish I could say that I was. Hiram was brave. He did all the talking, even though he was growing sicker and sicker by the day. I felt as if I were in a nightmare—trying to take care of him and the children and not give us away. I knew that it was my fault that he was sicker. I had insisted on leaving. If only we had stayed in Paris, he might have recovered. He would have had proper rest and care, but rocking along in that carriage, day after day, staying in whatever inn we came to—and then the crossing over the Channel! It was too much for him.” She shook her head, sighing. “He was a wonderful man. He would have done anything for me. And I was responsible for his death.”

“No!” Alexandra cried in protest. “You don’t know that. The fever might have killed him anyway, even if you had stayed in Paris. Or you could all have been killed in the rioting. I am sure you were right to be afraid, and no doubt Hiram wanted you to be safe. I am sure he was determined to do whatever it took to make you safe. And to rescue the children. If you had stayed in Paris, what would have happened to them?”

Rhea smiled faintly. “You are very sweet to try to reassure me. Perhaps you are right. But I’ll never know. Hiram died shortly after we reached England. We stayed in Dover for two weeks. Hiram had grown too sick to travel, and you children had caught the fever, too. Thank heavens you and Marie Anne did not have it badly. You got over it quickly. John was in a bad way. Hiram died finally, and I was lost without him! I didn’t know what to do. You were the only thing that kept me going—you were such a bright, beautiful baby. You were two, and you could walk, of course, and talk a little, mostly just babble. But you were so precious and funny and sweet. Whenever I needed it the most, you would come and sit in my lap and hug my neck. You called me Ree-ree, and you’d say, ‘Don’t cry, Ree-ree, don’t cry.’ Somehow it always made me feel better. I loved you so—you have to understand.”

Rhea looked at Alexandra with desperation in her eyes and sat up, clutching Alexandra’s shoulders. “You have to understand. I didn’t think it would hurt anyone, and I loved you so much! Your parents were dead, only your grandparents to take care of you, and they would have the other two children. I know it was wicked of me, but I—I was bitterly unhappy and lost. I didn’t know how I was going to live without Hiram. But you made everything bearable. It seemed so unfair that I had never been able to have children. All I wanted was just one, just you—”

“Calm yourself, Mother. It’s all right. You are not wicked. I am sure that whatever you did, you did with the best of intentions.”

“No,” Rhea said sadly, “only the most selfish. I had no right to take you. Legally you belonged to the Countess. But I—I simply could not let you go.”

“Mother, I don’t understand. What did you do?”

Rhea sank back against her pillow, resignation filling her face. “I told them you had died. I said the baby had taken sick with the fever and died. It was easy enough to believe. John was terribly sick with it. And I took you home with me. I raised you as my own. I lied to everyone, including you. I kept you from your true family.” Tears coursed down her cheeks, and she turned her head away.

Alexandra had known what was coming, at least to some extent, but still it stunned her. She stood staring at her mother, her face pale.

“God forgive me. I stole you from them.” Rhea pressed her fingers to her lips. “I know that you must hate me.”

“No! No. I could never hate you!” Alexandra cried. “You are my mother. You raised me. You loved me. I have been your daughter all my life. How can I blame you for loving me so much?”

“Truly?” Rhea turned toward her, her face lighting with hope. “You don’t despise me?”

“Of course not. I love you. You were in a terrible situation. What you did was wrong, but it is easy to understand why you did it. How you felt. I have had a wonderful life, a wonderful family. How could I despise you for what you gave me? And now—now you have given me back my other family. I have two.”

“Oh, Alexandra!” Rhea threw her arms around Alexandra. “You were always the best child in the world.”

They sat that way for a long moment, clinging to each other, tearful and happy at the same time. Finally Alexandra pulled away and looked her mother in the eye, taking Rhea’s hands in hers.

“But, Mother,” she began earnestly. “I don’t understand. What happened to the other two children? What about my brother and sister?”

Rhea gazed at her in confusion. “What do you mean? Nothing happened to them. John was very sick, but—he lived, didn’t he? Don’t tell me he died.”

“Mother, the Countess knows nothing about any of us. She thought that all three of the children died with their parents in Paris.”

“What? But I took them to her. I brought Marie Anne and John here, to London. I turned them over to the Exmoors.”

“You gave them to the Countess?” Alexandra had the sinking fear that Rhea had come completely unhinged.

“No, not directly. She had taken to her bed, they said, stricken by grief at what had happened to her family. I believe they said that her husband had died, too, poor thing. She refused to see anyone. When I told that woman who I was and who the children were, she said that the Countess could not come down and see me. So I gave the children to her.”

“Who? Who is she?”

“Why, that young woman. She wasn’t a servant. She was a cousin or something, a poor relative who lived with the Countess as her companion. That woman—that woman who’s been here watching me!”

“What!” Alexandra exclaimed, jumping to her feet. “You mean Willa? You gave the children to Willa?”

“Yes, Miss Ward, that is exactly what she means,” a woman’s voice said.

Alexandra started and whirled around. There was Willa standing in the doorway, as composed and quiet as ever. She walked into the room, closing the door behind her, and came to the other side of the bed.

“I was afraid that you had recognized me,” Willa told Rhea conversationally. “I had a suspicion that you were only pretending to be unconscious the last day or two. Did you follow me last night?”

Rhea’s eyes skittered away from the woman, and she did not answer. Alexandra stared, hardly able to take it all in. “Follow you! You mean to my room? It was you who—” She stopped, too stunned to complete the thought.

“Yes, it was I. It was obvious that you were never going to give up. At first I thought it would be all right if I simply got rid of Mrs. Ward, but then you kept on asking questions and digging. You had even gotten Lord Thorpe on your side! I knew that if your mother died, you would still manage to dig out the truth somehow.”

Willa grimaced, looking more exasperated than anything else.

“You were willing to kill me just to keep me from finding out that Mother had given my brother and sister to you?” Alexandra asked. “Why?”

Willa looked at her as if she were a dim student. “Are you mad? What would have happened to me if the Countess found out? She would have turned me out. After all these years, all the devotion I’ve given her, she would have cut me off without a farthing. What would I do if the Countess turned me out? I would have nothing! No one!”

“But why did you—what happened to John and Marie Anne? What did you do with them?” Anger rushed through Alexandra, sweeping away the shock, and she started around the bed toward Willa.

But Willa struck as quickly as a snake, pulling her hand from her pocket, a long, sharp knife gleaming in it. With her other hand, she grasped Rhea’s hair and jerked her roughly, the knife coming to Rhea’s throat. Alexandra stopped abruptly, her eyes on the deadly knife.

“Wait,” Alexandra began shakily. “It doesn’t have to be like this. Maybe if you told the Countess what happened…There must be an explanation.”

Willa let out a short, harsh laugh, her face contorting and her eyes glittering. “Oh, yes, there is an explanation, all right. Its name is Richard! Not much chance the Countess will approve of that.”

“Richard? You mean the Earl of Exmoor?”

“Yes, the Earl,” Willa agreed bitterly. “I was mad to do it! Mad with love for him. I would have done anything he wanted. I risked my position, everything, just to be with him—the Countess would have thrown me out on my ear if she had known that I was sneaking out to lie in his bed. And when that American woman came that day with the two brats, I knew what it would mean to him. He was the Earl, or would be once John and his father were declared legally dead. Everyone was already treating him as the Earl. After all, Bertie Chesterfield had come home and told everyone that Chilton and the children were dead. With the old Earl dead, the title was his. The estate, too. I couldn’t let that be taken away from him. I couldn’t!”

“So when Mother came to you, you didn’t tell the Countess about her visit. You never told her that her grandchildren had been spared.” Alexandra’s eyes flashed, and her fingers itched to grab for that knife. But she knew that it would be madness to do so. Willa could slice Rhea’s throat before Alexandra’s hand wrapped around hers.

“I wanted to help Richard. I thought—I thought I would keep his love forever if I gave him the children. I thought he would even marry me. Ha! I should have known the snake would cast me aside. He knew I could never tell the truth, never reveal what he had done, because it would have ruined me, too.”