If He's Wild (5 page)

“In a way, he was, I think,” replied Alethea. “I saw him dragged from a rose garden. He knew what was to happen. There was fury and fear, but his mind was clouded, and his body would not heed his commands. He could not save himself, and he was enraged.”

“Peterson exactly,” murmured Aldus as he and Gifford retook their seats.

“And the word
hate
written below the drawings?” Hartley asked.

“It came from many of them. The Rose was the most infected with it, however. Greed, too. That came only from The Rose.” She took a deep breath to steady herself, still trying to dispel the taint of all the ugly emotions carried within the vision. “Bloodlust and power. The Rose savors both, one feeding the other. The killing makes her feel strong.”

“The couple, the compte and his lady, were betrayed? That is the word you wrote next to their picture.”

“Yes. Betrayal, utter despair, and then a demand for vengeance was what I felt from them.” She frowned slightly. “There was something else. No, someone else. Two someones sheltered behind them, but I could not see them.”

Iago nodded. “I felt the same. The compte and his lady are now very clear to me, but they are not alone. There are two essences with them, clinging and shielded.”

“The children,” whispered Hartley, the sting of grief that seared through him telling him that he no longer doubted the gifts of the Vaughns. “But there were four children.”

“Only two others were with them,” said Iago.

Pushing aside her horror over the realization that Madame Claudette had sent children to their deaths, Alethea mentally reviewed her vision and nodded. “Yes, only two others were with them.” She struggled to recall exactly what she had seen and sensed concerning the French couple. “Young. Very young. One young enough to struggle with his words.
His
words? Ah, a small boy, then.” She shook her head. “Not enough seen or sensed for me to know for certain which two children were there.”

“But young?”

“Yes. Of that I
am
certain.”

“As am I,” said Iago.

“They had four children,” said Hartley. “Andre, who was but two years of age, Blanche, who was five, Bayard, the heir, and eleven, and Germaine, who was fifteen. The older children are from his first marriage. To my sister Margaret.”

Alethea sighed, knowing there was nothing one could say to ease the pain of such a loss. “I am sorry, Hartley. I did not see or sense the older children. Were they quiet children?”

“No. Bayard was quite spirited, and Germaine was a complete hoyden.”

Iago frowned. “I felt nothing…Yet, a girl so close to womanhood? And spirited? I think she would not be hiding.” He shook his head. “If you seek some clue that they still live, I am afraid we can give you none. I did not feel their presence, and Alethea has not yet seen them in her visions. It could mean that they yet live. Sadly, it could also mean that they, well, moved on, shall we say.”

“And there is no way you can seek them out?” Hartley asked.

“Not really. Alethea’s visions cannot be that well controlled, if at all. You just saw how she fell victim to it by simply picking up a handkerchief. If I see the spirits who cling to Claudette’s skirts again, I might seek them, might have a chance to gain some information from the strongest of them. I can promise nothing, however. Spirits are not always cooperative. The ones about Claudette are most specific about what they want, but they may ne’er be clear about why, or who they are. How long ago would they have died?”

“Nearly three years ago. That was when the escape was all planned, yet they never made it.” He mumbled a curse and dragged a hand over his hair. “I cannot believe I am accepting this, even suggesting more, and yet…” He waved a hand toward the sketchbook.

“Exactly,” said Aldus. “And yet. A shame it cannot all be controlled and used as one wishes, when one wishes it.” He looked at Hartley. “Give it a little more time, see if more comes forth, and then we will set our people on it.”

“But they have been looking for the de Laceaux for three years.”

“Yes, for a family, for the compte and his lady and
four
children. That could be blinding them. Once we can offer more than, er, visions to explain how we know only the two eldest children may have survived, we will do so.”

Hartley nodded and helped himself to an apple tart. “Bayard would be fourteen now and Germaine a young woman of eighteen. That would, indeed, alter the search that has been ongoing.” He struggled to temper the hope surging to life inside of him, but it was difficult. Although reluctant, he knew he was rapidly becoming a believer in what the Vaughns could do.

“If you have anything from that time,” began Alethea, and then she shook her head. “It would have to be something personal, something that was there when the deaths occurred or the danger was present.” She looked at the handkerchief still lying on the floor near the fireplace. “I could try to see if that stirs another vision.”

“But not today,” Iago said firmly. “We shall both have a go at it on the morrow, under the proper conditions. ’Tis possible Claudette had it with her and that she was there when the de Laceaux family was set upon. ’Tis also possible it but held some memories from those who cling to her. I favor the latter, for what woman keeps a handkerchief for three years?”

“One who was once very poor,” Alethea said as she poured herself yet another cup of tea. The harsher the vision, the more thirsty it left her. “One who has suffered the sting of poverty and the scorn that can come with it. The handkerchief is of the finest linen and the most expensive lace, things she never had the coin for. She will not rid herself of it until it is stained beyond cleaning or tattered.” She noticed all four men were staring at her, thought over what she had just said, and frowned. “I wonder how I knew that. Ah, and she was raised in a poor tenant’s cottage.”

“How do you know
that?
” asked Hartley.

“I have no idea. Something about chickens. Odd that that should come forth now.”

“It was probably overshadowed by all the more upsetting images,” said Iago.

“That must be it. Perhaps more will come to me later.” She smiled faintly at Hartley, heartsore that she could not provide him with something he could immediately make use of. “None of it is much help, is it?”

“It confirms a lot of our suspicions,” he replied.

“And gave us some information concerning the deaths that we had not had before,” said Aldus. “The sort of information that could be very useful if we get our hands on one of the ones who was involved. A mention of such details, the sort only those involved could know, can make a prisoner think you know it all, that one of his own has or is betraying him.”

“And it assures us that we are on the right path, have not been wasting our time,” said Gifford. “We do that too often in this game.”

Alethea smiled, relieved and pleased. “I know you cannot tell people
how
you came by the information and were concerned that that made it all useless. It is good to know that it can serve some purpose, be of some help to you. As Iago said earlier today, what is the worth of such gifts if they cannot be put to some use?”

“I, for one, wish we could put them to even greater use,” said Aldus. “The possibilities are endless, and both time and work could be saved, used more profitably elsewhere. And lives could be saved as well, many lives. Unfortunately, acceptance of such things is not widespread, as you well know.”

“Even those who do believe can be most reluctant to deal with such gifts in even the smallest way.”

“Or can begin to wish one could still pile kindling around your feet,” drawled Iago.

Everyone winced, and the conversation turned back to what little they had learned. Sensing that the Vaughns were in need of some time to recover from their ordeals, Hartley soon brought an end to the meeting. He still found it all unsettling, but he could no longer deny the truth. Alethea Vaughn had visions, and Iago Vaughn saw the dead. Part of the birth of his new belief was because of the Vaughns themselves. He realized he trusted them implicitly, and there were few people he could say that about.

“Damn my eyes, but I wish we could use this information openly, without fear of ridicule over how it was obtained,” said Aldus as their carriage started on its way back to Hartley’s home.

“We shall just have to think of some clever story to explain how we know what we know.” Hartley thought of the possibility that his sister’s children were still alive and fought against the surge of hope that tried to rise up within him. “And soon.”

“You think your niece and nephew may still live?” asked Aldus.

The man had always been able to sense what was on his mind, Hartley thought and sighed. “’Tis a possibility, a small one. They were just children. Yet Germaine was always a strong, clever girl. If any young girl could survive such a tragedy, survive on the streets of the madhouse that is now France, it would be Germaine.”

“Even with a young boy to protect and care for?”

Hartley nodded, absolutely confident in his opinion of his niece. “Even then. In fact, that would make her even fiercer and more determined to survive. I fear having my hopes raised, but I cannot stop it from happening.”

“Perhaps seducing Claudette—”

“No. A woman who kills so easily will not be brought down by seduction and pillow talk.” Hartley grimaced. “I would also fail in seducing her now, I fear. I will never be able to look at her, touch her, without seeing the faces of Peterson, Rogers, the compte and his lady, and those two innocent babes.” He silently admitted to himself that even his baser lust had stopped being tempted by the woman from the moment he had stared into a pair of silvery blue eyes.

Gifford nodded. “Just do not tell our superiors that.”

“Why not?” Hartley asked. “I shall need to explain why I am turning away from her.”

“Oh, you will still be able to do that, but I think we shall say that our knowledge comes from a careless slip made by Claudette as you worked your magic upon her.”

Hartley hesitated for only a moment and then nodded in agreement. It was a good plan. Unease tickled at him, however, and he suddenly realized it was because he did not want Alethea to hear that he was still sniffing after Claudette. He inwardly shook his head when he next realized that the only woman he wanted now was Alethea Vaughn, a woman who had a gift that sent chills down his spine.

Biting the inside of her cheek to curb the urge to smile, Alethea greeted Hartley as he was shown into the small blue salon. He looked nervous, a look that did not sit well on his strong, handsome face. She doubted it was because he found himself alone with her. He paced the room until Ethelred brought in some tea, wine, and cakes. The moment the butler left, Hartley sat down on the settee facing her.

“Is Iago home?” Hartley asked, nodding his agreement when she silently gestured toward the teapot.

“No,” Alethea replied as she poured them each a cup of tea. “This is the night he goes off with his friends. If it is important that you speak with him now, I believe Ethelred could tell you where to look or send a message to him.”

“Ah, no. Do not do that.” He grimaced, a little surprised at how concerned he suddenly was with the proprieties. He had spent a lot of time in rooms alone with a lot of women and never fretted, but, then, those women had not been Alethea. “I did not expect to find you all alone.”

“I am not a young maiden, Hartley. A maid will be chaperone enough.”

“There is no maid here.”

“There is, if anyone has the temerity to ask or imply otherwise.” She smiled faintly. “Do not fear. If you call for help, Ethelred and Alfred will immediately rush to your aid.” She ignored the disgusted look he gave her. “Why are you here?”

Hartley took a bracing sip of the strong tea. “After what you told us two nights ago, after hearing all you had learned from simply holding that scrap of linen and lace, I began to think on what you might discover if you did touch something else, something that belonged to the prey instead of the predator.” He struggled to keep the image of her pale, tear-streaked face from his mind, because he needed her to do this, needed to find the truth.

“As I told you, I cannot promise anything.”

Alethea could understand what drove him to make the request. He needed to know what had happened to his niece and nephew. She could see the hunger for that knowledge in his eyes. Considering what might have happened to them, she was not eager to touch anything that might have been with the children that day, but she could not bring herself to refuse him. This was what her gift was for. If those children were alive, and she was, even in the smallest of ways, able to help him find them, then it was worth whatever unpleasantness she might have to suffer.

When Hartley saw the faint look of unease on her face, the memory of how upsetting it had been for her to hold that handkerchief, the grim images she had been forced to see, slipped free of the bonds he had put on it. He hesitated to add to that, to chance giving her new, even more upsetting images, but only for a moment. For three long years he had wondered what had happened to his niece and nephew, had searched and worried. Although he had also worried about the compte, his wife, and their two children, it was Bayard and Germaine he had been desperate to find. Aside from a few distant cousins, they were all the family he had left. He could not fully discard what he had seen two nights ago, could not make himself dispute Alethea and Iago’s claims that the compte, his wife, and their two children were dead. His need to know the fate of his sister’s two children had grown with each hour since then. Hartley pulled Germaine’s locket out of his waistcoat pocket and stared at it for a moment before fixing his gaze on Alethea.

“I bought this for Germaine when she was but ten,” he said. “It was one of the few things found at the place where the whole family was to meet with me and my men.” He frowned at her and then glanced toward the door. “Should we call your maid in case you will be needing her aid?”

After considering that, Alethea shook her head. “You were here that night and saw what she did.”

“She stroked your hair and spoke softly to you until you recognized she was there. Only then did she take away the handkerchief. Then you drew those chilling pictures, and, once done, she had you drink tea.”

“Sweet tea. At least four lumps of sugar.” Bracing herself for what she might face, she held her hand out for the locket.

“I
have
to know,” he muttered when he still hesitated, both in apology to her and encouragement to himself, and then he placed the locket in her hand.

For a brief moment, Alethea thought nothing was going to happen. She was both relieved and heartily disappointed. She truly wished to help Lord Redgrave, to help those lost children, but she was not that fond of her visions, especially when they were of dark, frightening things. Just as she saw the hope Hartley tried to hide begin to fade, she was caught up in a dizzying barrage of images and emotions. Her whole body rocked with the force of its arrival. She saw it all, just as if she were one with the young girl who had worn the locket while her world had been decimated by violence. She experienced all the terror, the grief, and the rage. Then, ever so slowly, the mist began to clear. Alethea became aware of a pair of strong arms around her and a deep, melodious voice. Her senses returned, lured back by the scent of him. She was strongly tempted to wallow in that comfort for a moment, to soak up the warmth of the big, strong body so close to hers. The urge to record what she had seen prevailed, however.

She pushed free of Hartley’s grasp, ignoring the sharp pang of regret for doing so, and fell to her knees by the table. A heartbeat later she was sketching out her vision with a strong touch of desperation, as if she could pull it out of her mind by putting it to paper. There was too much, however, so she restricted herself to those things she felt certain would stir her memory each time she looked at them.

It touched her heart when Hartley tended to her first. She knew he was desperate to learn what she had seen, but he helped her sit down when she was done and stayed by her side as she drank the hot, sweet tea he had poured. When he picked up the locket she had dropped on the floor and glanced anxiously toward her sketchbook, she put her hand over his. She was not sure what to say to prepare him, however.

“It was bad?” he asked in a soft voice and then cursed and shook his head. “Of course it was. I could see it in your face. They are dead?”

“I cannot say. At the time your niece had the locket with her, no, she did not die. In the following years?” She shrugged then tightened her grip on his hand before he could reach for the drawings. “Wait. Let me tell you what I saw first.”

“There is no need. I can just look at your drawings. Do not torment yourself with speaking of all you saw.”

“I believe this vision will linger for quite a while no matter what I do. The drawings do not tell all I saw. There was too much. It was as if I was seeing it all as she saw it, suffering as she suffered.” When he put his arm around her, she did not hesitate to lean against him, savoring his warmth, for she was chilled to the bone. “I can only tell you what happened up until your niece lost that locket.”

“It will be more than I know now.”

Alethea nodded and took a deep breath to steady herself. “They were all waiting for you on the shore as planned. They had packed lightly but carefully, a few clothes, all the money they could gather, and all of their jewels. Bayard needed to, er, visit the bushes, and Germaine went to guard him. She heard shots. The marchioness screamed. Germaine started back, moving swiftly but keeping out of sight. She saw six men. The two youngest children were already dead, the marchioness on her knees wailing over the bodies. Her father cried out that they had killed his only children, and Germaine knew he was telling her to get away, to get Bayard away. She caught her brother trying to go back and fled with him. She heard the marchioness’s wailing abruptly stop as she pushed and pulled Bayard up a steep, rocky slope. She heard her father curse the men before he, too, was abruptly silenced. At the top of the rise, she saw a coach. When she saw who stepped out of it, she shoved her brother down and lay down beside him. It was as she scrambled along, pulling Bayard and trying to keep out of sight until she could get them away from that part of the road, that she lost the locket.”

Hartley sighed, saddened by the wanton killing of a good man and his innocent family, yet hopeful that his niece and nephew had survived. Cautiously, he moved to look at what Alethea had drawn. The images were stark, chilling, and he was horrified by what his niece had seen and suffered. A drawing of Germaine’s face held him spellbound, the girl’s expression fascinating him even as it alarmed him. This was not the sweet, funny, laughing girl he had known.

“Germaine looks as if she wants to kill someone,” he murmured.

“She does. That was the last clear thing I saw and felt, and then the locket was lost. Germaine recognized the person getting out of the carriage.” Alethea pointed to the rose she had drawn.

Staring at that and knowing whom it represented, Hartley felt nauseous. He had touched that woman, kissed her, would even have bedded her had not the Vaughns intruded. It had been bad enough to know she had had something to do with the death of his compatriots, but the proof of that had been so thin, it had been easy to doubt it all. But Germaine had seen the woman at the site of her family’s deaths. It was still not proof he could use, and he did not understand how Alethea could see such things, but he believed it all.

“They escaped,” he whispered as he returned to his seat next to Alethea, blindly accepting the tea she gave him. “They did not die with the rest of them.”

“No. They fled,” said Alethea. “Unfortunately, the locket was lost before your niece had any plan of action aside from keeping her brother alive. Oh, and killing that woman.”

“If she tried to kill the woman, she would have died there with her family, simply done so a little later.”

“True, and I grasped no sense of such a plan. Your niece was thinking coldly, clearly, and only of saving Bayard. I believe she would have chosen duty over emotion. There was no sense of immediacy to her thoughts of killing the woman. It was simply a fact.”

Hartley cursed, rubbed a hand over his face, and then took a drink of his tea to steady himself. He would have liked something a great deal stronger but decided it was for the best if he stayed with tea. “Germaine was only fifteen, more child than woman, and Bayard was still more infant than child. So young. Too young to survive in the rabid air of France, alone, for three years.”

Alethea sighed. “It would seem so, and yet, it was truly as if I were there with her, Hartley. No, with
in
her, seeing and feeling all that she did. There is a deep core of strength in your niece, Hartley. Think on it all. She saw her siblings dead, heard her stepmother die, and then her father. Yet she never faltered, never hesitated to act as she knew her father meant her to. She heard his last command, subtle as it was, and acted immediately. There was such pain and grief within her, a roaring agony of it, but she kept that boy moving, hiding, silent. Even when she heard the shots and the marchioness’s first scream, she did not run blindly toward her family, but moved toward them with the ever-present thought of the need to stay out of sight. I know, truly know, that the girl was desperate to go to her family, but she did not. That girl has hard steel in her spine, and, now, a deep need to avenge her murdered family. I wish I
could
tell you what happened after that moment on the beach, but once the locket fell from her neck, I lost touch with her. I do feel, however, that she has an indomitable will to survive, and to keep her brother alive.”

He nodded and stared at the drawing of Germaine as he sipped the last of his tea. Alethea suddenly found her attention pulled away from him, which surprised her a little, as she took a dangerous delight in watching him, being close to him, even taking subtle deep breaths so that she could fill her head with the crisp smell of him. She stared down at her hands and allowed her mind to wander where it wished, to pick through the flood of images and emotions she had just experienced. There was something there demanding her attention, and she had experienced such a thing often enough to know it was best not to ignore it or fight it. Breathing slowly and evenly, she let her thoughts flow.

When Hartley turned to speak to Alethea, he frowned and set down his cup. She looked half-asleep. He softly called her name, but she did not respond. Afraid she had slipped into some kind of trance, he gently stroked her arm and tried to decide what to do next. He was just thinking he ought to call for her servants when she suddenly sat up straighter, her body tense and her eyes wide. It startled him a little when she turned and grabbed his hands in hers. This gift of hers was going to take some getting used to, he thought and then wondered why he was concerned with that.

“The jewels,” Alethea said, struggling not to allow her excitement to overrule the lessons she had been taught by other Vaughns about how to best use her gift.

“What about the jewels?” Hartley asked. “Have you seen something else?”

“No, nothing new. I but carefully looked over all that I saw. When a vision is as strong as this one, the images coming so fast and the emotions so intense, it sometimes takes a while to recall the small, often very important, details. Something was pestering me, as if some piece of information was demanding I take note of it. The compte and his family brought a casket of jewels with them, yet you said very little was found upon the beach.”

“I suspected anything of any value was taken and has been sold by now.”

“Some of the things, most surely. But not all, I think. I was blinded by Germaine’s emotions when she saw the Black Rose—”

“The Black Rose?”

Alethea blushed faintly. “The name I decided to call the woman, I fear.”

A quick glance down at her drawings revealed that the rose she used to indicate Claudette was indeed black, that she had shaded in the petals with her charcoal instead of leaving it as just the outline of a rose. “A good choice.” He looked back her, trying hard not to be infected by the excitement he could see sparkling in her beautiful eyes. “Go on. What have you remembered?”

“Germaine saw the woman get out of the carriage and”—she pointed at the drawing of Germaine—“you can see how she felt, so you can surely guess how strong that emotion was. Then the need to flee, to hide, returned, and I now realize that she saw a little more than the woman, even looked back once. A man came up from the beach and handed the woman a casket. She opened it and smiled, briefly lifting a lovely ruby pendant up to look more closely at it before stuffing the whole casket into the carriage. Just before Germaine lost her locket, she had the thought that she could find the woman through those jewels. Germaine was certain the woman would try to keep most of them, if not all of them. Could you not do the same?”