The Devil of Clan Sinclair (16 page)

“He knows about your trip to Scotland,” Enid said. “He’s intimated Elliot is not Lawrence’s child. I’ve kept him on because if I don’t, he’ll go to Jeremy.”

Virginia clenched her hands together. “Oh.”

“Indeed.”

Beyond the door were normal sounds. Ellice laughed. Eudora said something to one of the maids, who answered with a lilting voice.

“What are we going to do?” she asked, all thoughts of Cornwall pushed to the back of her mind.

Enid picked up the pen in front of her, studied it, then let it slide from her fingers.

“What can we do?”

When she didn’t answer, Enid continued. “Employ him for the rest of his life or ours. Ensure he’s happy.”

If she told Enid that Paul looked at her oddly, would Enid do anything about the situation?

Her mother-in-law couldn’t dismiss him, for all their sakes. The minute she did, Paul would go to Jeremy. This elaborate ruse they’d concocted would come falling down.

As she folded her hands tidily on her lap, a stanza from Sir Walter Scott came to mind:

Oh what a tangled web we weave,

When first we practice to deceive!

She couldn’t help but think that Enid and Paul were spiders on either side of an elaborate web, while she was in the middle, trapped like a fly.

Chapter 18

V
irginia knew something was wrong because of the silence. Eudora and Ellice were not chattering at each other. Ellice was not picking up her skirts and flying down the hall, violating at least three of her mother’s tenets. The maids weren’t congregating at the stairwell engaged in gossip.

Even the day was quiet. The garden was perfectly still, without a gentle breeze.

She found Enid in the doorway of her eldest daughter’s room. Her mother-in-law was pale, perspiration dotting her upper lip and forehead. Before she could ask what was wrong, Enid shut the bedroom door and leaned back against it.

“Where is Elliot?” Enid asked, her voice quavering.

“In the nursery. I’ve put him down for a nap. Mary’s watching him.”

Enid nodded. “Good. Good.”

“What is it, Enid?” she asked, taking a few steps back from the doorway.

“You need to keep him on the third floor.”

“Why?”

“I’ve only seen it once before,” Enid said, “and I hope my memory is false. If not, my darling Eudora is very ill.”

“Enid, what is it?” She pressed her fingers against the brooch at her neck. A gift from Enid, it contained a lock of Lawrence’s hair.

“Smallpox.” Enid pressed a hand to her chest as if uttering the word had caused her heart to flutter.

“I was never vaccinated,” Virginia said. Her hands were cold, panic stiffening her spine.

“We were,” Enid said. “But somehow, my darling Eudora is still ill.”

Virginia wanted to gather up her child right this moment, leave her belongings behind and simply race away from this house. They’d go to Cornwall, or America, or even Scotland. Somewhere safe, where the hint of disease couldn’t touch them.

Was any place safe in the world?

She grabbed her left wrist with her right hand, holding on so she didn’t fly to pieces.

“Do not be around Elliot, Virginia,” Enid said, leaning her head back against the door. “Keep Mary and only Mary with him. She doesn’t mingle with the rest of the staff.”

She nodded. “What if he becomes ill?” she asked, giving voice to her worst fear.

“Then we’ll have to be as prayerful as we can, Virginia. Starting now, I think. Say a prayer for Eudora.”

She turned away from Eudora’s bedroom, but not before she heard Enid’s softly spoken words. “And a prayer for the rest of us, too.”

Virginia took the stairs to the nursery, her heart pounding so rapidly she thought she might faint. Standing at the door, she called out to Mary, but when the girl would have opened the nursery door, Virginia held onto the latch.

“Do not open the door to anyone, Mary,” she said. “Not even me.”

She was giving the care of her child over to another child, but she had no other choice.

After she explained the situation to the young girl, she said, “Every day, Hannah will come and ask about Elliot.” She placed her hand flat against the door. “Tell her if you need anything. I’ll arrange for your meals to be placed on a table in the hallway.”

They would have to get a wet nurse, a woman from outside the house. Someone safe, who could feed her son.

Pressing her hand against her aching breasts, she gave Mary further instructions, all the while distracted by a growing fear.

Maybe Enid was wrong. Maybe she’d been mistaken. A hope that lasted until the doctor attended Eudora.

A week later he returned to the house to treat Enid, but not for smallpox.

Eudora, lovely and talented Eudora, had died of pneumonia, and Enid was inconsolable. At her shocking and rapid death, Enid had simply collapsed in on herself, retreating to her bedroom much like Lawrence had, leaving instructions she was not to be disturbed.

When a scullery maid died four days after that, her family took possession of the body, the transfer done at midnight at the rear of the town house. She was a sweet girl, with a gap-toothed smile and pleasant disposition.

Virginia had been left the task of conveying their condolences to the parents. A difficult task when she could not seem to keep from crying herself. Grief over Eudora and fear for Elliot made her weep incessantly.

After three more days she thought she might be as exempt from illness as Enid, Ellice, and the rest of the staff seemed to be. When they got word that Albert, too, had died, one mystery was solved: how they had been exposed to the disease in the first place. The majordomo’s family had been infected, and he’d unknowingly carried it to the town house.

Every day, Hannah relayed news of Elliot’s health. Every day, she sat in her bedroom, afraid to be with the other people for fear she would either catch the disease or pass it on.

One morning she awoke with an ache in her temples and a feeling of growing discomfort, like she was coming down with a cold. The small of her back hurt, reminding her of when she was laboring with Elliot.

When the maid delivered her breakfast tea, she kept her outside.

“Are you ill, your ladyship?” the girl asked, her voice fearful.

Virginia was panicked as she stood on the other side of the door, leaning her forehead against the panel.

“Yes,” she said, “I’m ill.”

Would the maids refuse to serve her? In all honesty, she couldn’t blame them.

She stared down at the palms of her hands. A painful rash had appeared there this morning and on the soles of her feet. Her mouth was sore, her tongue swollen, and the taste at the back of her throat was something she’d never experienced before, almost like she’d eaten something made of metal.

Five minutes later Hannah entered her room.

“You should leave,” she told her.

Hannah only shook her head. “I’ll stay, your ladyship.”

She was so grateful that tears sprang to her eyes. Above all, she didn’t want to be alone when she died.

Hannah coaxed her back to bed and closed the draperies. She brought in several brown glass bottles, set them on the chest, and started unrolling long strips of material.

“What are those?” Virginia asked. “They look like bandages.”

“You’ll have some pustules in the worst of it,” Hannah said, matter-of-factly. “You’ll want to scratch at them, but if you do, you’ll scar.”

“I’m not concerned about scarring.”

Hannah didn’t say anything, merely unstoppered one of the bottles. A pleasant minty odor emerged as she poured the contents onto a bandage then began to wrap it around one of Virginia’s hands.

She stared down at her hand, more afraid than she’d ever been. Was this punishment for her actions? She had grievously sinned, but Elliot needed her. She didn’t want her son to grow up without his mother, as she had.

Hannah regarded her somberly for a moment, then finally smiled. “You aren’t going to die, your ladyship.”

“Eudora did,” she said, looking at her. She could no longer blink back her tears. Dear God, she was so afraid. “So did the scullery maid.”

Hannah nodded. “They didn’t have me caring for them, now did they?”

Virginia wiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand, closed her eyes and said her prayers, like a child again in upstate New York, the only child of a rich and powerful man. Except this time the prayer was absurdly simple and didn’t mention her father, her governess, or her dog.

Please, God, protect my child. Please don’t let me die.

Between Sydney and London

July, 1870

T
he air was heavy on his skin, pressing in on him. Macrath could do without sea spray in his face, coating his hair and stiffening his clothes. He was tired of the ocean. Tired of the endless noise of his own ice machine. Tired, too, of traveling. He wanted to be home at Drumvagen. Home in Scotland where he didn’t have to eternally explain that, no, he wasn’t immigrating to Australia like so many Scots he’d met.

He’d met more Scots in Australia than in London.

“Congratulations, Mr. Sinclair,” Captain Allen called out, motioning him to his side.

Macrath moved to stand next to the captain on the bridge.

Allen reminded him of a Highland bull, with the mop of his hair falling down on his brow and his wide, blunt nose. Even the captain’s beard, trimmed to a point, fit the picture.

“The
Crown
threw their cargo overboard this morning,” Allen said with a grin. “Rancid meat, most like.” He pointed to a dark horizon. “They may be faster than we are,” he said. “But their ice room isn’t better than yours.”

“They chose insulation and nothing else,” Macrath said. “They’ve no machine on board.”

“All is well with yours, I trust?”

The Sinclair Ice Company had provided the machinery for Captain Allen’s ship. Macrath’s model worked on air compression and expansion. Installing it on the
Fortitude
required it be powered by the main boiler. He and Jack had insulated the refrigeration room with charcoal and wool batting. The frozen beef, mutton, lamb, and butter were wrapped in wool and the surrounding air withdrawn, cooled, and expanded back into the chamber. To spare the machinery, he turned it off for hours at a time, but monitored the temperature in the chamber before and after doing so, to ensure the cargo remained frozen.

“The temperature is well within acceptable ranges,” he said now.

“You think, then, that we’ll reach London with the cargo safe?”

“Ready to be eaten by the good citizens of England,” Macrath said.

“It’s about time the world tasted Australian beef,” the other man said.

He grinned at the captain, who smiled back. Together, the two of them stood to win not only a large purse for this contest between ships, but bragging rights as well.

“Your achievement is remarkable, Macrath,” Allen said. “I didn’t think I’d be impressed but damned if I’m not.”

Macrath smiled. He liked this Australian. “It’s a good design,” he said. “The ice room holds in the cold as well.”

“I would never have thought of using wool for insulation. Nor did I expect you to have the machine running clear across the ocean.”

Two of his three competitors had opted to build a cold room, while the third chose to use ether as a refrigerant. Macrath had built a cold room as well, along with a protective shed for the latest version of his ice machine. He and Jack had spent most of the voyage wiping the machinery down, keeping it clean of salt spray, and praying it lasted the duration of the voyage.

The
Fortitude
was powered by steam and had cut the trip between Sydney and London to about sixty days, a savings of almost half the time of a clipper. He’d sent Sam home aboard the
Princess,
and they might reach Scotland before him.

The
Grafton
had started dumping its cargo two weeks out of Sydney. With the news that the
Crown
was out of the running, too, the
Magellan
was their only competition.

“We’ve a fortnight till London,” the captain said, “but I’ve a wager you’ll win.”

“A wager you’ve made with the other captains?”

“Aye,” the man said, grinning at him. “We’ll have one of those haunches of beef you’re cooling for us.”

They spoke of the voyage for a few more minutes before Macrath turned back to his machine. Tending it all these days had been wearing, but not if he won the wager.

In a fortnight he’d be in the city where she lived.

He’d tried not to think of her, the second time he’d attempted to wipe his memory clean. He’d given a valiant effort to eradicate all thoughts of loving her, of that time in the grotto, of her kisses, her whispers, the sound she made when she found pleasure in his arms.

In the process, he’d been willing to admit he was only human and some memories were not easily forgotten.

Even now he could summon her simply by closing his eyes. He could feel her, pliant in his arms, her breasts overflowing his hands, her laughter echoing in his ears. She trembled the first time he’d kissed her. In Scotland she’d done the same, but without the intrusion of prying eyes he was able to hold her close until she was the impatient one. Until she reached up and kissed him back.

How the hell could he forget that memory?

He wasn’t a man who confided his feelings to others, but on nights like these, when the stars peered down at him like a million interested eyes, he wished there was someone to whom he could say, “I was a fool not to court Miss McDermott. It wasn’t her fault she didn’t possess a throaty laugh or eyes reminding me of clouds. Nor was she to blame for my being unable to get Virginia’s face from my mind.”

If he were honest he might have said, “I should hate her for leaving me. For choosing a title over me.”

Despite her protestations, being the Countess of Barrett had meant more to her than anything else. More than staying in Scotland with him. More than his feelings for her. More than his love.

The stars, winking above a black sea, were silent.

London

July, 1870

I
n her delirium, Virginia was a girl again, racing through the woods near Cliff House, laughing. In the next instant she was standing on the bluff overlooking the Hudson River shining blue-gray and bearded by strips of forest. Her father owned most of the land she saw, but he rarely seemed pleased about his possessions. Or her, for that matter.