Before the Scarlet Dawn (30 page)

Fiona met Hayward at the bottom of the stairs. The wrinkles beside her eyes deepened, her mouth parted, and she bit her lower lip.

“You wish to tell me something, Fiona?”

“Yes, sir. Sometimes women grow sick in body. But sometimes they grow sick in their hearts. It’s what ails Eliza.”

He stared at her a moment. “I have done nothing to cause my wife’s heart to be ill, Fiona. You know that.”

He went past her into the darkness of the hallway that led to his study. He glanced at the clock on the mantle and saw it was nearly nine. The gray sky outside had deepened to pitch. Five minutes later, he heard Sarah crying. Then the door swung open and Fiona stepped inside, her face contorted with sorrow, her eyes moist with tears.

Ilene was gone.

28

T
wo days later, Hayward walked his horse along a bridle path where hedgerows grew and the trees made a canopy overhead. Reaching the end where it lead to a field, he saw Eliza, a few yards off, sitting on the grass staring at a little mound of red clay. He drew closer, and she finally looked up to see him.

His breath heaved, and his heart seized as if an unseen fist had struck him in the chest. For a moment, it grieved him to see her eyes a torrent of sorrow. Her appearance disturbed him, and he wondered how she could display such emotion for a child not her own flesh, born to a servant and a truant father—unless his suspicions were correct.

A sickening feeling rose in his belly, and he swallowed down the bitter taste in his throat. He slid off the saddle and put out his hand for her to take. She stared at it a moment, then looked away.

“You’ve been gone all morning, Eliza. It is time you come home.”

“A moment more.”

“Come now.” He lifted her up, and she bent her head against the breast of his coat. He drew her back, his hands gripping her shoulders. “What is it about this child that makes you grieve so deeply?”

“Ilene was so young. Now she is with God.”

He released her. “I suppose she is.”

“Do you believe in Heaven that souls are divided into classes?”

His mouth twitched, and his nerves grew taut. He did not like talking about God or Heaven when it came to this. He’d seen men do their worst in battle. Young and old were butchered before his eyes, and to think of Heaven seemed futile to him now. The eyes of the young British soldiers he had killed would never leave him, nor would the horrors of the prison ship. How could a loving God allow so much suffering? How could He take a child from her mother?

“You have no answer?”

“No.”

Eliza gazed at the tilled ground near her feet. “Ilene
is
in Heaven. So are Addison, and my father and mother. Their rewards shall no doubt be greater than ours.”

“Why? Because they were young, pious, poor, or good?” He clenched his hands into tight fists. “And I suppose he will punish masters, is that what you are saying? You forget how kind I’ve been, Eliza. I have fed and clothed our servants, provided for them, treated them fairly and with mercy. I allowed you to bring Fiona to Maryland. And I could have sent Sarah away, back to whomever she belongs to.”

Shaking her head, Eliza walked slowly toward the hill. Hayward followed her. He was agitated, and his temples pounded. “Your grief over this child must end now.”

She stood stark still and looked as though what he had said had hurt her. “Have you no feelings at all?”

“Yes, Eliza, I do. But you have forgotten Darcy, your own flesh and blood.”

She turned to meet him. “That is not true. I love Darcy.”

“Then show it. She’s been asking for you, and you were nowhere to be found. I ride out here and find you pining away, instead of being at home where you belong. Thank God, no one in the county has seen your behavior.”

At his words, Eliza bowed her head. “You do not understand.”

His jaw clenched. “Is there something you need to tell me?”

“Why can you not accept that as a woman, I have a heart?”

“I do not doubt whether you have a heart. It is your conduct I cannot accept.”

“Is it so wrong to show sorrow for a child I watched grow from an infant, that I fed and clothed the years you were away?”

“It was your duty to clothe and feed her as long as Sarah remained here.”

“Food and clothing are not always enough. Sarah has been abused, treated cruelly by others in her young life. And now this happens to her . . . It pains me to see others suffer.”

He laughed bitterly. “You think we should put our needs above those beneath us?”

“We are admonished to do so . . . feed the hungry, clothe the naked, give drink to the thirsty . . . visit those in captivity. It is your choice to do none of these, just as it is your choice to close your heart to a child and refuse to shed one single tear over her death.”

Blood rushed to his face, the burn going deep. He went to his horse, thrust his boot into the stirrup, and hauled himself in the saddle. “Will you ride home with me?”

“I will walk,” she said.

Drawing the reins through his hands, he turned Gareth back toward the hill. His hands shook as he gripped the reins; such was the surge of fury that coursed through him, that urged him to settle this once and for all.

He spurred his horse with his heels, clenched his teeth, and looked up at the sun. How he wished it would blind him from seeing the truth.

When Eliza reached the house, she paused to watch her daughter spin on the swing Addison had made for her.

“Mama, where have you been?”

“Out walking, my darling.”

“Did you go to that place?” Darcy slipped from the seat of the swing.

Eliza smiled lightly and came toward her. “Where, my darling?”

“That place—where Papa put Ilene.”

“I walked there, yes.”

“Will you take me? I can pick wildflowers. Ilene likes them.”

“Not today, Darcy. I am weary.”

Darcy ran to Eliza. She took her hand, entwined soft, delicate fingers within hers, and looked up at Eliza with sparkling eyes. “It’s all right, Mama. I’ll take you inside.”

Shadows lengthened, and the house grew cool. Eliza could not stop thinking about what Hayward had said. She gathered Darcy in her arms and stayed with her until the sun fell behind the mountains and the stars brightened in the night sky. Once Darcy was asleep, Eliza tucked her into bed with her rag doll cradled in her arms. After closing the door, she stepped down the hallway to her room. Despair gripped her nerves, and she sat on the bedside twisting a ribbon between her hands. Hayward had not come to her. She had not seen him since he rode off in a fury. She leaned her head back against a pillow and shut her eyes.

“Lord, how can I keep this a secret any longer?”

She listened to his footsteps mount the staircase and sat up. The door swung open, and he stood in a shaft of candlelight. His eyes were dark and wild, his face flushed. A muscle in his cheek jerked, and her heart sunk.

She could not recall a moment when his eyes were filled with such unrestrained resentment. Her heart ached with knowing, and she gathered her courage to answer.

He moved his hand behind him and pushed the door closed. Rain rippled down the windowpanes. At first, it murmured. Then it rushed, and forced its way through the tangle of branches alongside the house. The air drummed with it, whipped up the scent of mud and decay. The rain invaded her, chilled her, snatched warmth from her, from the room, from Hayward. He remained where he was, his stare cutting into her.

“You have not eaten dinner. I will have Fiona bring something upstairs, and we can sit here together.” She lowered herself in front of him. “Let me take off your boots.”

He did not move, and when she glanced up at him, she saw a heated anguish in his eyes. She stood and slipped her arms around his waist. His hands grazed her arms and tightened around her wrists.

“God help me, Eliza, if you were not born to plague my heart.” He stepped away.

Eliza bent her head. “I would never do that. I am your wife, and I love you.”

“Yes, you are
my wife.
” He clenched his teeth together hard as he spat out the words.

“Yours as long as I have breath in my body. Nothing will change that.”

He let out a bitter laugh. “Nothing, you say? Do you know what you’ve done? You have been lying to me all this time.” He then began to pace the floor. “I want the truth. I demand the truth.” He forced her down into the chair near the cold hearth. “Now tell me yourself, or I shall find a way to get it out of Fiona and Sarah.”

She lifted teary eyes and trembled. “I cannot live a lie any longer. You are right, I have hidden the truth from you.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You best tell me now, before I lose my mind, Eliza.” She waited a moment and looked into his eyes with her soul quaking. Her whole body shook. What would he do to her, say to her?

“Sarah is not Ilene’s mother. Forgive me, my love.”

“Forgive you?” he breathed out painfully. “Then Ilene was your child.”

She stretched her arms out to him. “I never meant for it to happen. I never wanted to hurt you. I love you.”

“Your love was not enough to keep you from . . . I cannot say it.”

Eliza stood and threw her arms around him, buried her head against his chest, and sobbed. “I made a terrible mistake. But it is over. We can begin again as if it never happened.”

He grabbed her wrists and pried her away. “That is not possible.”

“Hayward . . . please . . . I thought you were dead. I told you all about it, how it broke my heart. I still have the letter.” She rushed to the dresser, opened the top drawer, and took out the letter from William Breese. Her hand shook when she handed it to him.

“William told me you had died on a prison ship— remember?”

He took it from her hand and opened it.

“I was crushed, my pain unbearable. Out of my mind with grief, I went out and wandered the road until I came to Halston’s house.”

Hayward swept his arm across her dressing table, topping her perfume bottle, powder box, and mirror to the floor. Eliza backed up in fear that he might strike her.

“Halston? That’s the man? If he were alive, I would kill him!”

She wept. “Neither of us ever meant for anything to happen. But I was weak, broken. I wanted to die.” She collapsed into the chair and covered her face in her arms.

Hayward moaned, and the depth of his pain pierced through her. “If you loved me, you would have never given in.” Dropping his hands, he stared at her. “What kind of woman falls into the arms of another man as soon as she hears her husband has died? You are an insult and a shame to me.”

“I know, and I have lived with that shame every minute of every hour. I confess my sin and beg for your forgiveness.”

“God punished you.
You
are the reason that child died.”

At his words, Eliza’s heart shattered. She stared up at her husband as if he had plunged a knife into her breast. Tears fell from her eyes. Her sobs choked her. Panicked she had lost him, she fell to her knees, and threw her arms around his legs. She clung to him, begged, and pleaded.

“Please, Hayward, forgive me.”

“Never.”

“Please. I do not want to lose you. I cannot lose you. We are bound to one another, you and I. You must forgive me . . . love me again . . .”

He flung her from him. “You disgust me. You are not fit to be my wife. I am the one who made the mistake in marrying you. I should have known better.” Glowering, he walked toward the door. She scrambled to stand and follow him.

“Please, do not go, my love.”

“You betrayed me. You lied. You concealed the truth. You drew our servants into your secret. You have ruined everything.”

When she crumbled against him, he stood stiff as stone, his arms at his sides.

“I do not want to see you anymore tonight. Stay in your room. I’ve already told Fiona and Sarah they are not to see you. I should send them both packing, but I cannot blame them totally. Women are more loyal to their mistresses in these cases. I think they meant to protect us both.”