Lily (51 page)

Could she push? She couldn’t
not
push! She was filled with a wild elation as she bore down, panting and crying, excitement far outstripping the pain. “Can you really see it?”

“I can see it! It’s coming, it’s coming. It’s got a face, and hair—brown hair, I think. Keep pushing!”

She obeyed gladly, and it was as if she were finally doing something, finally contributing to this child’s birth. At last she felt one final, terrific contraction. As clearly as if she were watching it happen, she knew when her baby’s long, perfect body slipped and slithered out of hers. The sensation made her laugh through the tears of relief and release that streamed down her cheeks. “It’s a boy, isn’t it? I know it is!”

“Yes, it’s a boy. He’s beautiful. Look at him, Lily.”

“Oh, God.” He was the most beautiful baby in the world, wet and red and squalling, and wriggling already. His fingers and toes enchanted her; he had a lovely, handsome nose and his lips were perfect. She was in love with his shoulders; his ears were utterly beguiling. His feet!

She reached for Devon’s hand and squeezed it. She was almost too tired to move, and yet a deep, sweet euphoria was rising and rising, ready to overflow. His fingers were warm and strong, enveloping hers, and in his eyes she saw the mirror of her own heady excitement. But what amazed her was that he was crying, freely and without embarrassment.

“Oh, Lily,” he kept saying, shaking his head, cradling his tiny son’s body in one arm. “He’s beautiful, he’s so beautiful. He looks exactly like me.”

A
T DAWN A LIGHT
rain glistened and puddled on the jagged rocks dozing at the cliff base. Along the shore everything was gray, a misty, monotonic seascape without shape or perspective. But out to sea, miraculous white clouds bulked and massed on the edge of the horizon, and above them the yellow stars winked out one by one. The day would be fair.

Devon breathed in the salt smell of seaweed and driftwood abandoned on the shale by the storm. There was no sound but the gentle breathing of the sea. Thoughts of his father drifted through his mind, random at first, but persistent, like the steady ebb of the outflowing surf.

Edward Darkwell had been a big, handsome man, tall and strong, with brown hair that had turned white in his forties. Devon remembered him as generous and impulsive, a deeply principled man—but also troubled, torn by passionate extremes, and too sensitive to the inconstancies of his own emotions to enjoy sustained happiness for long.

For years, Devon had thought he was like him. His mother called him “intense;” Clay spoke of Devon’s and his father’s love of the sea and how it “steadied” them. Devon knew now that they had something else in common as well. Thirty years ago Edward had committed a sin, an act of infidelity. The consequences of that betrayal had devastated a family and caused the deaths of two men, one of them his own son. Sometimes justice was slow, but it was sure. And the lesson was bitter but unavoidable: the sins of the father were, eventually and inevitably, visited on the children.

To the east, beyond a crumbling fortress of rocks half buried by the retreating tide, the pale tip of the sun oozed over the skyline. The waves brightened to purple-green, that peacock color peculiar to the Cornish sea and no other. Devon rested his head against the rough cave wall and felt fatigue wash over him, heavy as the sucking tide. Behind him, inside the cave, Lily and the baby were sleeping, nestled naked side by side under their warm fur blanket. He felt the soft, lulling seduction of his dream, his miracle-hope that he could have them both, live out his life with Lily and his child and be happy. But the dream wavered, flickered. The unmoved voice of his conscience disturbed it, reminding him that an old score was not yet settled. He still owed a debt. A man was not rewarded for stupidity and wrongdoing with the object of his heart’s desire. Not, at least, in the world Devon had come to know.

One early gull soared over the quiet cove the sea had clawed out of the granite cliffs. The last star disappeared in the wash of the sun. On this rare May morning, the first day of his son’s life, Devon understood that the universe was as orderly as the cycle of the tides, that all actions had consequences, and that his destiny was ineluctable. He rose slowly from his crouch above the foam-wet rocks and climbed the high steps back into the mouth of the cave, moving toward the flickering lantern light.

Lily awoke, empty-headed. A second later, the fierce, sweet excitement rushed back as strong as before, as if she’d never fallen asleep. She opened her eyes and saw Devon in profile, cradling Charlie—wrapped in softest cotton and warmest velvet—and studying the baby’s face with a look of rapt intensity. A welter of emotions tumbled inside her. She murmured Devon’s name and held her hand out to him.

He looked up, and his face changed to a new expression she couldn’t read. Their gazes held as he moved toward her. The baby began to whimper. She stretched out her arms expectantly, smiling, feeling lit up with gladness. An odd moment passed. Her smile wavered. She felt a chilly frisson of fear—just before he bent, placed the infant in her hands, and stepped away.

She forgot her anxiety immediately, forgot everything but the extraordinary feel of her baby in her arms. “Look at him, Dev. Oh, look at him.” She adored him. “He has your hair. My chin, I think. I don’t know whose nose this is, but isn’t it wonderful?” She touched the baby’s nose with a fingertip, enchanted, then pulled the furs away to uncover her breasts. “He’s already hungry again. There, baby. Yes, sweetheart. Look how he knows exactly what to do. It’s so …” Words failed her. She closed her eyes, lulled by the soft tug of Charlie’s mouth at her nipple. This tiny human being had lived inside her for nine months, and now she was feeding him with her own body. Incredible! It was all too much, too splendid; she felt overwhelmed by the miraculous perfection of everything in creation.

Charlie fell asleep with his mouth open, little fists clenched on either side of his face. “Sweet baby,” Lily crooned, kissing him. He squeezed his eyes tight, smacked his lips, and fell into a deeper sleep. She arranged him with great care in the crook of her arm, softly tucking the covers under his chin.

“The tide’s running out.”

She glanced up. Devon had stepped back from the warm circle of lamplight; she could barely see him, a tall shadow against the deeper blackness behind him. “What time is it, do you think?”

“Early.”

“Come closer, Dev, I can’t see you.”

“They must have looked for us all night; I saw lanterns just before dawn, above the cliff. I’m going up now, Lily. Will you be all right for a little while by yourself?”

She nodded, frowning into the murk.

“But I have to tell you something first,” he said.

She wanted to touch him, but he seemed so closed up, so far away. “I can’t see you,” she said again. He hesitated, then stepped into the light. She patted the side of her fur mattress invitingly. After another odd pause, he moved closer and finally sat down beside her. She felt so full of joy and relief and quiet happiness that his gravity bewildered her.

“I’ve made a decision,” he said.

A reflex made her tighten her arm around the baby. Heat rushed to her face. “About Charlie?” He frowned, and she said quickly, “I named him that months ago. It was my father’s name.”

His eyes lit up briefly; he eked out a faint smile. “It’s a good name. I wish I had known your father.”

Resolving to think about that later, Lily forced herself to ask, “What is the decision you’ve made?” Dread returned in a flash, anger too, when he didn’t answer right away. How cruel to tell her this now, when she was too weak to fight him, too—

“I’ve wronged you, Lily. From the first day we met. You were right about me—I set out to seduce you from the beginning, with no thought for the consequences or the harm it might do. You gave me—everything, and in return I offered you money. Later, I refined it to a living.”

“I made that choice,” she corrected softly. “You didn’t force me into anything I didn’t want to do.’”

“That’s not true. But we both know that’s not the worst.” He girded himself to say it. “I thought you had hurt Clay—tried to kill him for money. I
believed
it. It’s astonishing to me now; inconceivable. Abominable. I came so close to hurting you—physically hurting you.” His face took on a haggard look, but he went on doggedly. “I tricked you on the eve of your wedding to a decent man. I used you in the basest possible way. I made sure that you were publicly humiliated, and then I abandoned you. I walked away and left you to face whatever would come, knowing it would be hard, something—”

He stopped. Lily had begun to cry. He couldn’t look at her now, but he had to finish the harrowing list. “If Dr. Marsh hadn’t explained it to me, I would not have looked for you. I’d have left you to your fate. You’d have perished with Gabriel on the moor.” He turned away, spoke to the shadows. “Lily, I find … I find that I must make amends.”

Her eyes swam; she used her wrists to wipe them. “What do you mean, Dev?”

“I have something now that can make up for what I’ve done.” His low voice deepened. “This child. I give him to you. He’s yours. Go wherever you like, I won’t stop you. You’re safe from me. I swear it.”

She was pressing her hand to her throat. He took her silence for agreement; but a moment later he found he had to know for certain. “Is the debt paid, Lily? Is it enough?”

She couldn’t speak; she could only nod, and finally whisper, “Yes, it’s enough.”

“Good.” He stood up. “Then it’s done,” he said with hoarse finality. His glance flickered over her breast to the baby sleeping at her side. He tried to smile. “It’ll be all right, Lily, for you,” he told her softly. “I’ve come to think we get what we deserve in this world.” Then he turned around, stiff-limbed, and disappeared into the darkness.

Quiet drifted back in the wake of his heavy footfalls. The sea was only a fitful whisper, distantly echoing the baby’s soft, shallow breathing. Lily’s eyes darted from shadow to shadow, scouring the cave walls for purchase, for stability. She moved her legs, restless; a pounding in her skull throbbed in time with her slow, erratic heartbeat. She squeezed her eyes shut tight, fighting against a feeling of lightness, a dark, older, unenlightened justice that said, Yes, this is equal, this loss Devon feels is as deep as my loss was, and it’s fair. We are even.

Be gentle, Lily. Forgive the one who hurt you so bad.

In the deep stillness, the high, quavery voice was as clear to her as if Meraud were in the cave, sitting beside her. She could almost see her old friend, puffing on her pipe, leathery cheeks billowing, blinking into a pungent peat fire.

Soften your heart, child.

But he hurt me so much, she countered in self-defense. He believed the worst of me, Meraud. All the things he said just now—

Let go o’ your pride, lamb. What good is being right if you’re alone?

Charlie drew a deep breath; for a few seconds his whole body quivered. Then he subsided peacefully and relaxed against her. She loved him completely, absolutely. She would die for him without a second’s hesitation. Did Devon feel the same? She did not doubt it.

This child’s a gift. He makes a circle, Lily.

A circle. Yes. She and Devon and Charlie were a circle. She saw that anger and the darkness of betrayal had shackled her to her sick intransigence. Once, her body had known better and defied her, in Devon’s arms. Afterward, when she’d thought he’d betrayed her again, she felt ashamed. Now her very shame humbled her. And he had given Charlie to her—
given
him to her. His most precious gift. Lily’s heart turned over and she forgave. He loved; she loved. The past was over. She was his, and so was this child.

She was smiling through the tears, but a yawn overtook her. She was so tired. How could she stay awake until he returned? But she had so much to tell him! She gave Charlie’s soft temple a kiss and focused her gaze on the darkest of the cave shadows, the place where Devon had disappeared, willing herself to stay alert and to wait.

But a minute later her lids drooped. Her last thought was that she hoped he would bring her something to eat, because she was starving. Then she fell asleep. Still smiling.

“She’s coming! She’ll be right down.” Alice floated out onto the terrace in a gown of powder blue muslin, silk slippers, and a beribboned straw bonnet—her bridesmaid’s regalia. “She said she had one more thing to do and then she’d come.”

Reaction to the news that the bride would be late was mixed. Clay shrugged and motioned for Alice to come and join him on the settee. Elizabeth went back to cooing nonsense to the infant in her arms. Francis Morgan squared his shoulders and made a stronger effort to engage the groom in light conversation. Reverend Hattie said, “Hmpf.” Devon broke a recent promise to his mother and started pacing again.

Everyone said it was a fine day for a wedding. The cerulean sea matched the sky and the noonday sun shone high and bright, as warm as a kiss. Flowers draped and garlanded and crowded the terrace with tiers of heady balsam and tamarisk, purple fuchsias in hanging baskets, fragrant myrtle in great clay pots, geraniums and campions, foxgloves from Devonshire, Falmouth orchids and hydrangeas and sweet-smelling camellias. The men observed that there was hardly enough room for the people; the women nodded and smiled, feeling complimented.

“So, Dev.”

The groom stopped pacing. “So. Francis.”

“Where are you two going on your honeymoon?”

Devon brightened. “Penzance, just for a night or two. Lily’s never been there.”

“So short a time?”

“We can’t leave Charlie with the wet-nurse for longer than a few days.” He smiled. “We’d miss him too much.” Francis smiled back. Devon studied him casually. Two weeks ago Clay had remembered why he couldn’t stand Francis. He cheated at cards. Or he had, one night at Poltrane’s back in ‘92. Clay had a long memory.

“Will you take a real honeymoon later, then?” Francis wanted to know.

“Yes, when Charlie’s older. Greece or Italy, we think.” Lily was all for Italy, Devon for Greece. He regretted telling her that he’d heard the Peloponnesus looked like Cornwall; now she mocked him, claiming that was his only reason for wanting to go there. Of course it wasn’t; it was just his main one.