The Black Lotus (Night Flower) (11 page)

Chapter 10:

Melissa walked into the house, the happy mood of that morning evaporated by her summons into the house. Why couldn’t she stand in attendance with her brother and James? They were only shooting; it wasn’t as though the action would destroy the fabric of society. She swept along the hall and entered the parlour, noting the still form of her mother sat on the chair by the fire.

“Don’t you give me that look?” Before she had even time to speak, Lydia De Vire’s voice rapped out. “Yes I called you inside away from your shooting. I know you consider it unfair.” As Melissa opened her mouth, her mother raised her hand, silencing the protest before it could be voiced. “But think of the potential scandal. Yes your brother teaches you how to shoot, perhaps other young women know how to shoot, but I daresay you don’t know any of them.” Once again, Melissa tried to speak, yet her mother’s words carried on, quashing any possible objection.

“What if James decided to speak about you in club circles and it got out that you know how to fire a pistol. A good many people would consider that unladylike and you would lose a great deal of interest. You must never forget that your reputation is fragile, lord knows you should have realised this after the other night. I don’t want Marcus to have to duel again for you and I would hope that you wouldn’t wish it either.”

The tirade ceased and Melissa stared at her mother for one long minute, before she started to speak. Her voice was coolly angry and she didn’t bother to hide her frustration.

“Very well, if it is that important, I shall go and find my sampler. I feel certain there is a good deal more work that I can do on it. God forbid that I have any other interest.”

“Show me your sampler and I’ll decide whether you should be allowed another interest,” Another flash of annoyance crossed Melissa’s face as she reached across to the sewing basket to pick up her embroidery. Was she supposed to be contemplating marriage as an adult or was she a wilful child? Why did she have to hand her embroidery over for inspection as though she were still under the thumb of a governess? Still she held her tongue as she handed over the sampler. Keeping her face neutral, she waited impatiently for her mother to pass judgement on her stitch work.

“Your stitch work is terrible,” Her mother noted as she took the scrap of fabric in hand and stared at the untidy mess. Picking up a pair of ivory handled scissors, she snipped at the offending stitches, unpicking the disorderly muddle with several precise cuts. “There,” Her mother handed the small square of silks and tapestry back to her with a satisfied smile. “That’s that mess dealt with,” Melissa looked down at the unpicked canvas and gave a sickly smile. Her mother had removed a full morning’s work from the canvas.

“Yes M
other,” Biting back the comments that were teetering on the edge of her tongue, she took back the sampler. “Can I retire?”

“No, you will go to your room and write a composition, expanding on the virtues of patience, chastity and obedience. I will not stand here and take your insolence. You would not say this to your father and you will not say it to me. Do you understand?”

“Yes mother,”
The word issued from tightly clenched teeth as barely repressed anger buzzed in her head. Turning sharply, her feet carried her through the door and out the room.

Hurrying up the stairs, she threw herself onto the bed, trying to still the angry tears that threatened to spill down her face. She stayed like that for several minutes, her chest heaving from the angry breaths that she took.

“It’s not fair,” Her fist punched into her pillow and she pushed herself upright, trying to stop herself from crying. “It’s not bloody fair,” She seized her pillow and flung it across the room, giving vent to the anger that had been building since the other night.

“Be good Melissa, don’t shoot a pistol Melissa, sew that sampler Melissa.” With each complaint, she threw something, jewellery, pots of lead, hair decorations. “Don’t forget that Montjoy assaulting you was your fault Melissa.” Her sneering tones echoed across her room as she raged, angry beyond words at her lot. From the window she could hear the sounds of pistol fire and it stoked her anger further. Why couldn’t she be allowed to stay with her brother and his friend? Why did she have to stay in the house like a useless lump? Her fingers grasped the bottle of ink and she threw it against the wall. It smashed, ink showered over the wall and dripped down onto the floor and she stopped moving, anger turning into guilty horror.

Rushing to the other side of the room, she tried to mop up the spilt ink, but her efforts only spread the mess further and she stopped. Guilt stricken and worried, she moved to the door of her room. Stepping out onto the landing, she
rushed along the upper corridor, looking for a servant. Catching sight of her usual housemaid, she called the young woman over.

“I’ve had an accident with a bottle of ink,” She said hurriedly, not missing the other girl’s knowing smile. “Could you fetch me another bottle and sort out the mess.”

“Of course Miss,” The other girl bobbed a curtsey and hurried away. Returning to her room, she sat down at the window seat and stared out across the gardens. Past the yew garden and somewhere beyond the copse of trees on the edge of the estate, was Justin Lestrade’s house. Settling back against the shutters on the side of the window, she closed her eyes and thought back to their meeting at the Palace. Despite his seeming inattention, she still couldn’t stop thinking about him. Opening her eyes again, she fixed on the far distance and fantasised about sneaking over there, finding him and having the conversation she so wanted to have.

Chapter 11:

The room was dark and musty, malodorous with old odours sunk into the very fabric of the furnishings. Dark wooden, exposed beams made the room seem smaller and the semi closed curtains made the place claustrophobic. Katherine Lytchefield waited in the centre of the room for her ‘father’ to appear. With an expression of distaste, she noted the plate of rotting food on the main table and the pile of stained rags that covered the floor. Stood here amongst the mess made her skin crawl, but he had summoned her and once again she had found herself unable to resist his call. Adjusting her gloves as she attempted not to touch anything, she glanced over at the dirty mirror. Her face stared back, her distaste and nervousness clear on her heart shaped features. Beneath the white mob cap, her chestnut brown hair was arranged in the current style and her dress was plain but of excellent quality.

“Still vain I see,” Surprised
, she turned to face him, her ‘father’ for all intents and purposes. He walked into the room, tall, broad shouldered and almost handsome. One look at his eyes however. Katherine shuddered and dropped her gaze. “What no comment?” The man stepped forward and grasped her chin, forcing her gaze upward. “And please look at me when I speak.”

“I’m sorry,” Katherine breathed, wincing as his fingers dug into her flesh.

“So you should
be,” He released her and sat down in the chair on the other side of the room. “Now do you have anything to report?”

“Emily’s back in the country, she’s staying at the Hotel Saint-Clair.” Her words were clear and concise, her ‘father’ didn’t like mumbling
and many painful lessons had drilled the clarity he craved into her. Once again, she wished she had taken up Emily’s offer all those years ago. It was far too late to change her mind now.

“I see,” The man leant back
against the chair back and steepled his fingers beneath his chin. “What about Hugh?”

“I haven’t seen him, but I think he’s still at court.” At the disapproval on his face, she stammered. “I know he’s not made contact with either of the brothers.” Taking a breath, she tried to calm down; she didn’t want to
make a mistake. Mistakes had provoked as many painful lessons as mumbling in the past. Katherine was desperate not to bring down his wrath tonight. “Alistair is pretending to be a preacher and he still hates his brother, but he’s not doing anything particularly useful with that hate. He’s still making petty threats. Henry, I haven’t seen since 1710, I wouldn’t know where he is.”

“Don’t worry about Henry, I have tabs on him. So we only have to worry about Emily.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Has she made contact with Justin?”

“Yes, I saw her carriage at the Palace. I know he was attending that night, it seems likely that they met up together.
”

“Have you seen him?”

“No, I don’t believe he knows I’m in the country.” She had seen him however. It was fairly easy to hide at some of the large events. It had been remarkably easy to observe him, to see who he was with. It was such a shame that she had been unable to attend the Palace event, by all accounts it had been an interesting evening.

“
Does he appear to be worried?”

“No,” She answered, knowing that their campaign had been slow. It was entirely possible that he was unaware of their activities.

“Well done,” A rare smile crossed his features and he chuckled. “Well I believe we move up to the next phase. I understand he has been seeing some noble girl.”

“Is it necessary?” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. She could tell from the sudden set of his shoulders that
he did not appreciate the

sentiment. Taking a small step backwards, she hurrie
dly amended. “By that I mean...”

“Are you suggesting that we spare them?” His tones were mild, but they were enough to make her tremble.
“Is that what you suggest?”

“
No I don’t, I didn’t mean, I just thought.” She gabbled, trying to scramble away from the mistake she had just made. “I just thought that perhaps we could try something else, something that we haven’t done before.” He stood up and began to walk towards her. With a small cry of panic she took another step backwards. “Because he might figure out what’s happening?” Her voice spilled from her mouth, frantic and scared as he reached for her neck. “Please...” She whimpered as his fingers closed on her throat. “Don’t.”

“Say you’re sorry for contradicting my will.” His voice was cold and made much worse by its very softness. She felt his fingers close, cutting off her breath.

“I.. I’m sorry,” Almost choked by the tightness of his grip, she gasped out her apology. “I should never have tried to contradict you.” Black spots began to dance before her eyes and she felt herself begin to black out.
Gasping for air her fingers reached for his wrist and she clawed at it, feeling the iron hardness of his hand.

“Louder,” He muttered
and she felt herself choke as she struggled to find a breath. “I can’t hear you.”

“I’m sorry,” She tried again, but his vicelike grip ensured that her voice never managed more than a croak. “Please.” A last whisper before darkness shrouded her vision and she crumpled to the floor.

Chapter 12
:

The Castlemaines’ study was a long panelled room, filled with books and papers. Lord Edward Castlemaine was a noted scholar and his rooms were filled with maps of far off places and rare documents. It was said in London society that he knew more about foreign places and affairs than both the Secretaries of State for the Northern and Southern Departments. At this particular moment in time, Melissa and her mother were sat eating a late lunch and listening to Lady Edward gossip about society. It had been three days since their argument and Lady De Vire had been insistent about Melissa’s attendance at the luncheon and she had complied.

The middle aged woman sprawled on the opposite sofa was dressed in pale yellow muslin with a puce mantua and blue house bonnet. Melissa, perched precariously on one of the spindly chairs, had used all of her self control to keep her appalled giggles from spilling out and drawing down the woman’s wrath.  Despite indulging in the usual pleasantries, Melissa had been content to let her mother and Lady Edward talk as she sat, only half listening to the conversation. With uncharacteristic tact, Lady Edward had made little mention of her scandal at the palace and had instead delved into several lurid accounts of various other scandals that had been occupying the doyennes of high society of late. Almost drifting out of the conversation, she eventually realised that her mother was discussing the Marcus’ duel and Melissa listened more closely for information that her brother would not impart to her.  Not that Lady Edward knew all the details, but her husband had clearly regaled her with some of that morning’s events. Listening carefully, her interest was definitely peaked as the older woman revealed that Justin Lestrade had attended her brother’s duel.

“Oh you didn’t know that Lestrade attended?” Maria Castlemaine cried in a delighted voice. “Well my Edward says he was there.”

“He was?” Melissa opened her mouth for the first time during the conversation. Maria was her mother’s friend and though she had a daughter nearer Melissa’s age, she was not currently at home. Despite this loss however, Melissa was more than happy with the turn the conversation had taken. Quite a bit of information had been forthcoming from Lady Edward, most of it news that she was sure would have ordinarily be kept from her. Melissa leant forward, interested finally in the conversation.

“Indeed he was,”
The Lady placed her cup of tea onto the tray and sat forward to further entertain her guests. “My Edward saw the whole thing, apparently Lestrade turns up early, fresh as a daisy, which is of course quite sickening when you consider the amount he was seen to consume that night.” Maria took another pastry from the tray and consumed it in several dainty bites.

“And then what?” Biting back her impatience to receive the details, Melissa affected a bored nonchalance and hoped it would deceive her mother. She didn’t wish her parents to know that she had a curiosity about Justin Lestrade.

“Well then he proceeded to give Marcus advice,” Maria reclined back on the couch and stared at her guests in wide eyed astonishment. “The impertinence of that, the boy can’t be all of nineteen. He shouldn’t be able to advise your brother,” She turned to Melissa, trailing wisps of mousy brown hair from beneath her bonnet.

Melissa started slightly, she wondered briefly why Justin had turned up to advise Marcus, yet that thought was brushed aside as she wondered how her brother had taken to the idea of someone younger telling him how to fence.

“Your brother thought so too,” Maria continued as though following Melissa’s train of thought. “Stated quite baldly that Justin was younger than him and he shouldn’t seek to upbraid his elders. And would you believe that Lestrade laughed. Edward said that he positively threw back his head and guffawed as though he had heard a great joke. Your brother didn’t take kindly to the laughter, but Justin apologised saying that he didn’t mean any offence and that he was only trying to help.”

Maria returned her cup to the table and poured another. “According my Edward however, the boy was completely dead on. Gave Marcus some sterling advice.” She added a cube of sugar to the cup and stirred it.

“A strange boy that one,” She added, lifting the cup to her lips. “He came here to talk to Edward, spent ages in his study. My Edward said that he was impressed by the man’s knowledge. Of course he must have a very quick mind.”

“What?” Melissa spoke up, her voice strangely tremulous. “What was he asking about?” Her mother glanced up at her, clearly wondering why she was asking about Lestrade.

“Not a clue,” Maria took a sip of the tea. “Now tell me
Lydia dear, what do you think of this yellow muslin?” She indicated the pale yellow dress that covered her form. “I wonder if this colour makes me seem washed out.”

Several hours later, Melissa and her mother made their excuses and headed for home. Maria had mentioned little else of interest and the conversation had rapidly become boring. Yet they endured most of the tirade with forbearance and had settled into the carriage with a sigh of relief. The driver clicked to the horses and they moved out through the gates and along the road, a sense of release following them as they travelled.
Lydia said little, clearly valuing silence after an afternoon of chatter and Melissa stared out of the window looking out at the rolling landscape. Maria’s information about Justin’s presence at the duel had been a revelation. She knew that Marcus would not have thought to tell her. Pressing her forehead against the cool surface of the glass window, she wondered at the mystery of Justin Lestrade. Since his arrival on the social scene a year ago, he had been something of a mystery. He had an old and valued title yet few in society had ever met his parents. He was rumoured to have grown up in the colonies and only returned to his ancestral estates recently. No one doubted his pedigree, the name Lestrade reached back to the Norman Conquest and yet, he was a mystery. At least three of her acquaintances were harbouring thoughts about him and if Melissa were honest about herself, her thoughts about him were more than polite interest. In all her trammelled life she had never found anything as intriguing as Justin Lestrade. He fascinated her, even though she had only met him the once. A vision of him leaning over her, blossom clasped in his fingers as he smiled at her with tender apology drifted into her mind. A small voice wondered whether he had been sincere in his apologies. After all, he was a seducer and an extremely gifted one. It was not beyond the bounds of possibility that this was an exquisite tease; however she did not feel that it was. For all the warnings in her head, her heart cried that there was something genuine about him. Though, her mind retorted, her feelings could be nothing more than hope.

He’s a cad and a seducer.
Clasping the edge of the window frame, she dismissed the warnings of her mind with a minute shake of the head. They were connected somehow. She had felt that in the brief instant they had talked. And then there was his appearance at Marcus’ duel. Despite everything she had heard about Justin, he had helped her brother. That alone endeared him to her. 

The coach
rattled through a small hamlet and dragged her out of her thoughts. She was being silly, she couldn’t be connected to Justin, they had only met the once. Such foolish wonderings were the province of playwrights and poets. Love at first sight did not occur in the real world and her reality was different to that of the bard. Justin was simply a handsome enigma, nothing more. Running her eyes over the hedgerows filled with berries soothed her thoughts as she let her mind drift. Soon the landscape and the gentle, rocking motion of the carriage cast their spell and her eyes began to droop.

She woke to a strange landscape. A long panelled corridor stretched out before her. The threadbare carpets were swathed in dust and small bones were piled up in the corners. The walls were draped in billowing curtains of lace that on closer inspection turned into cobwebs. Wonderingly she turned about, staring at the endless corridor behind her. Moving forward with slow painstaking steps, she pushed aside the cobwebs. The spider silk clung to her dress and skin holding her briefly in its sticky folds as she forced her way through. A scampering sound on the floor drew her attention and she watched as a long tailed rat rushed past her. However that small traveller was the only other soul she encountered as she traversed the infinite space. In the silent ruin of what was once a rich hall, she found her eyes wandering. There were no doors yet in between the cobwebs, portraits hung on the walls. Slowly she regarded each painted face as she walked. With no exception, each painted depicted a man or woman contorted in horror and pain. One was depicted in the paroxysms of some fit; another was badly beaten; yet another had been stabbed. Shuddering in horror, she moved away from the paintings, dragging herself from the depictions of pain and anguish. Staring straight ahead, she continued to move onwards, moving faster as she tried to escape from the portraits on either side of her. The walls flew by as she increased speed. An unreasoning panic was rising within her as she moved and the heavy skirts of her dress slowed her down.

Melissa

The word echoed strangely, bouncing off the walls and overlapping till it hurt. Panicking, she tried to go faster, pulling the skirts up to her knees as she raced. The portraits were fixed on her now, staring at her with accusatory eyes as she tore past them, almost sobbing with the effort.

Melissa

Trying to go faster, her foot finally caught in her vast expanse of skirt and she tumbled over, falling to a floor that was now no longer there. A black pit yawned before her and she fell forward into it with a soundless scream. Cool air rushed past her face, carrying scents of rust and blood.

Melissa

Light flared suddenly in the blackness, illuminating a scene that made her heart stop. Beneath her was a flower. It was large enough to swallow a carriage and its petals were a glossy black. Yet it was not its size that tugged at her breath and forced another scream from her lips. Teeth, razor sharp and coated with the rusty brown of old blood, lined its petals. It reared in one sinuous movement and headed for her falling body. Unable to do anything but watch in horror, Melissa saw the bloom flex toward her and extend razor sharp petals ready to rend her skin. In a futile gesture she covered her eyes and waited for the blood to flow.

“Melissa,” Her name echoed again, yet this time the voice was familiar and welcome. Around her, the dream began to fade and she felt her body return to her place in the carriage. A gentle shaking assailed her body as feeling returned and she became aware of her surroundings.

“Melissa,” Her mother’s voice called again as she once more shook her by the shoulders. “Wake up now dear we’re home,” Melissa slowly opened her eyes and stared to her right. A set of steps was laid at the door of the carriage and beyond that she could see the familiar front door of her home illuminated in the gold of lamplight. It was almost dark outside and Melissa realised that it was approaching suppertime.  “You were asleep for a while,” Her mother smiled at her as she finally focused her vision on her face. “And quite deeply, it took me several efforts to wake you,”

“I must have been tired with all the worry about Marcus,” Melissa exclaimed, heading off the questions with a simple explanation as she stepped out of the carriage. It would not do to trouble her mother with stories of dreams and omens. At best her mother would think she was sickening for something and at worst she would wonder if the trials of her debut and the last few days had troubled her too much. Either situation wasn’t particularly desirable. It would be best to keep the dream to herself and perhaps a trusted friend.

“Well worry no more about it,”
Lydia said as they walked across the gravelled surface towards the door. “Your brother lived and your honour is defended. It is about time you put these black thoughts aside and focused on the rest of the season. It’s Lady Shearingham’s ball in two days and you must be ready for that,” They reached the heavy black door, which swung open as they reached it. Jane helped Melissa with her coat and she removed her gloves.

“Lady She
aringham?” Melissa asked as they crossed the hall and entered the parlour.

“Yes. She’s holding an event soon and we have an invite,” Her mother sat on one of the couches and picked up her sewing. “It happens to be one of the most prestigious events of the season. Anyone and everyone will be there,” She threaded a needle with aquamarine silk and began to ply herself to the sampler. “So that makes it the perfect opportunity to start finding a husband.”