The Haunting of Grey Cliffs (4 page)

This was not making sense to me. Why should the earl refuse a home to his nephews? I turned to Uncle Phillip. "Why, if the twins have not lived here before, were they brought here now?"

"It doesn't matter," the earl shouted. "I'll not have Robert's illegitimate brats here in the castle!"

So that was it—Robert's twins had been born on the wrong side of the blanket. But they were not to be blamed for that. I turned—

"Their mother died," Uncle Phillip was saying calmly. "Taken off by the fever.   There's no woman to care for them."

The earl stopped his stomping up and down the hearth to frown. "Their uncle should have taken them somewhere else then."

"Milord." I, too, rose and moved until I could look up into his eyes, eyes now gone so hard, so cold. "Milord, your brother's sons—"

His face, frigid, glacial, seemed to belong to a stranger. Though I hadn't known him long, I had thought him a man of some kindness, but now—now I saw only a bitter, calloused man, a man who meant to throw his brother's children out into the cold.

His gaze did not waver, remaining chill as a winter dawn. My legs began to tremble, but I could not back down, not when the welfare of children was concerned.

The earl continued to stare at me, his eyes unblinking, his gaze hostile.
"I
do not believe I asked for your sentiments on the matter," he said.

I was brought quite suddenly to the awareness that I had overstepped my bounds. "I know you did not," I replied, willing my voice to calmness and trying for a placating tone; but my effort had no effect, the earl continued to stare at me in icy anger.

"These are children," I pointed out, my own temper mounting. "Mere children. In no way can they be held responsible for their parentage." My tone matched his in iciness. "Children," I repeated.

For a moment I thought that his temper would explode at me. His jaw thrust out and a muscle on one side of his mouth twitched ominously. I could see that it was only with great force of will that he kept from cursing at me. But knowing I was in the right, I held my ground.

"My brother," he said, his voice stinging, "has illegitimate brats spread across the face of Cornwall, of England. Am I to support them all?"

I met his glare with one of my own. "Has anyone asked you to?"

Behind me, Cousin Julia cackled. For such an enormously fat woman she had an extremely shrill laugh. And that feeble yet vitriolic voice could soon wear on a person's nerves. As I turned toward her, she cackled again, the folds of fat beneath her chin quivering. Then she sobered. "Shall I ask your father—"

The earl whirled. "Forget my father! I am the earl now.
I
give the orders! Now, get out of here. Go to bed."

Cousin Julia shook her head at me, heaved herself to her feet, and waddled out. If I had been less distressed, I might have found the sight amusing. As it was, I was quite beside myself. To think that the man would turn out innocent children— I had made a mistake, I thought, a horrible mistake. I should never have married in such haste. I did not want this coldhearted man to father my child.

But I knew myself fairly trapped. I had sworn a solemn oath on all I held holy, an oath more sacred to me than even my marriage vows, to love the boy Ned as my own son. I could not leave this place however much I might dislike it—or the man who was now my husband—without disregarding that holy oath.

I turned again to him, but he was advancing on Uncle Phillip, his face a thundercloud of anger. "Where are they?"

The old man did not blanch. Did that mean he was accustomed to the earl's tempers, that he experienced them often?

"We put them in the nursery," Uncle Phillip boomed.

"With Ned?" The earl groaned.

Uncle Phillip nodded. "I'm sorry, Edward. We just didn't know what else to do with them." He glanced toward the clock. "All in bed they are," he said. "The upstairs maid, Betty, has been taking care of them."

The earl frowned. "How did Ned behave when the twins arrived?"

Uncle Phillip shrugged. 'The boy didn't like it a bit, those two taking over his territory so to speak, but he accepted it."

The great clock in the corner chimed the hour—ten o'clock. Uncle Phillip got to his feet and turned toward the stairs, his eyes twinkling. "I've got to go, got things to get ready for the witching hour." He grinned in my direction, tripped, and almost fell again. "Sorry, my dear. I'm a mite clumsy, always have been. Good night."

I watched Uncle Phillip go out and I bit my tongue to keep from calling him back. I found I did not want to be alone with my husband. He had some cause for his outbreak of temper, of course, but to blame innocent children, to make them suffer for the sins of their fathers ... I was most disappointed in him.

Hillyer returned finally with the hot tea and some stale biscuits. I sighed. The kitchen was no better run that the rest of this place. It appeared that the whole castle needed looking after.

I sipped my tea and ate one biscuit. The earl took only tea. He watched me closely, and as I finished the last bite, he rose. "You must be tired," he said, his tone even. "I will show you to your rooms."

My reluctance must have shown on my face—I had never been good at hiding my feelings.

"Our rooms adjoin," he observed dryly.

He took a candelabra from the nearby table and lit the way. The stairs were wide, five, perhaps six people could climb them abreast, and now they seemed huge and somehow threatening. At the top of the stairs all lay in Stygian darkness. As I ascended, my elbow in my husband's grip, I shivered, almost drooping with exhaustion. The darkness seemed to be pressing in, sapping me of strength.

Then I straightened. I would not allow anything to stand in my way. Ned's welfare was to come first, of course. And after that— Perhaps I had misjudged my husband. Surely having to deal with such a family could make a man tense to the point of eruption. A man saddled with such an entourage deserved sympathy rather than reproach.

Cousin Julia could try anyone's patience; certainly she had already tried mine. And Uncle Phillip's desire to meet the devil face-to-face was more than unorthodox and made me distinctly uneasy. If it made me feel that way, how did it affect the earl, who was responsible for the man?

And brother Robert! The earl, who had already suffered through much scandal, must have been galled by his brother's dishonorable conduct.

The stairs were tall as well as wide and the hall that led to our chambers long and dark. So by the time we reached there I had enjoyed ample time to consider my circumstances and to make allowances for my husband's behavior. After all, I was his wife, with a duty to care for him.

The earl opened the door, his expression revealing nothing. "This is your chamber," he said. "The housemaid will have already put your things away."

When I spied my best nightdress laid out across the lavender cover, my knees began to quake. I wanted a child, but I was not at all sure I wanted the consummation that must come before it, especially now.

The earl's gaze slid over the nightdress, ignoring it and the blush that rose to my cheeks. "You should have everything you need. Tomorrow you may send to the village for whatever else you want."

I saw what he was about, talking to me normally, acting as though his display of temper downstairs had not even happened. And his calmness did alleviate my fears.

He stepped closer to me. "So you want a child," he said softly, reaching out to touch my cheek. His fingers were warm, gentle. My skin felt warm, too, as though his fingers had imparted some of their warmth to it.

I nodded, mesmerized by the heat I saw in his eyes. He was looking at me differently, his eyes hooded, his mouth curved into the beginning of a smile. He took another step toward me, put his hands on my shoulders, and drew me close.

I felt my limbs go weak. His presence was overpowering, it seemed to envelop me. And when he put one warm finger under my chin and tilted my mouth up for his kiss I did not protest.

His lips were warm and persuasive, and the strange feelings I had experienced with him before returned. He kissed me for a long time, tenderly, gently, and then he turned me slowly about and began to unhook my gown.

Away from the mind-numbing influence of his lips, I was able once more to think. "Milord," I whispered, "please reconsider. Don't throw those poor children out." His fingers had ceased working with my hooks and I hurried on, frightened by my own temerity but determined, too. "They will be good for Ned and—"

With a curse he spun me away from him. "Enough!" he cried, tearing angrily at his cravat. "You know nothing about these boys."

I faced him though my knees were quivering with weakness. "I know that they are children and I know that children need love."

He glowered at me, his chest rising and falling with the force of his anger, his face growing redder by the second. "A noble sentiment indeed," he cried finally. "But as it appears we will not be begetting your precious child this night, perhaps you had best get to your bed and rest. You'll need all your powers of love tomorrow." He laughed harshly. "All." And he stomped off into the adjoining room, slamming the door behind him.

I stood there, half out of my gown, and a great sigh escaped me, whether of relief or disappointment I couldn't be sure. At any rate it seemed clear that this was not to be my wedding night.

I finished getting undressed, donned my nightdress, and, blowing out the candle, climbed into the big bed. The sheets had the smell of the outdoors about them and that helped to calm me.

I started on my prayers, dozed off once, woke to finish them, and then lay, staring into the darkness.

Nothing at Grey Cliffs Castle had been as I expected. I had come into a place inhabited by—the most charitable designation was eccentrics—a mountainous woman who lived in the past and spoke, or thought she spoke, to the dead; a bumbling old man who wished to meet the devil face-to-face and enjoyed preparing for the witching hour; a womanizing younger brother apparently intent on populating the countryside with his by-blows; and a husband whose temper and disposition were clearly not of the best. And I had yet to meet the child Ned. Living among these people it was no wonder he was into mischief. And these two new boys—if I could persuade my husband to let them stay on, it was I who would have the care of them.

I shivered. I had taken on quite an enormous task. I prayed God I would be equal to it.

Chapter Four

I slept, finally, and woke in the grey light of dawn, chilled to the bone. The great bed seemed vast and I felt almost lost in it. Huddling under the covers, I struggled to summon my usual cheery morning spirits, spirits that seemed reluctant to waken with the rest of me. But since I am by nature an optimistic person, by the time the sun was fairly up I had talked myself into a better state of mind.

Last night I'd been weary from the long trip, my nerves still on edge from so many unexpected happenings. Perhaps in the cheerful light of day the knowledge of Cousin Julia and Uncle Phillip, Robert and his sons, would all be more easily dealt with. And today I would meet Ned.

I was not anxious about that meeting; indeed, I looked forward to it. Whatever tricks Ned had planned for me—and I was sure he
had
planned some—I was equal to them. And when the boy realized that I truly cared for him, he would come round. I had won over boys before. I had all the necessary qualities: a good stomach and strong nerves, a lot of love, and considerable patience.

I washed and put on my gown of drab brown, not fitting for my new position in life no doubt, but my blue silk was my one good gown and for the moment I meant to save it.

As I finished fixing my hair, a knock came on the door to the hall. "Come in," I called.

The door swung open and a rosy-cheeked maid stood there, holding a tray. She looked so very normal that for a moment I wondered what she could be doing in this place. Then I smiled and motioned her in.

"Good morning, milady," she said, setting the tray on a little table near me. "I've brung you some nice hot tea. It can be chilling here of a morning."

I poured myself a cup. "Thank you—"

"Betty, milady, me name's Betty."

I seemed to remember the name. "You're the upstairs maid?"

She bobbed a curtsey. "Yes, milady."

"And it is you who takes care of the new boys?"

Her round face squeezed into a frown. "Aye, milady, and a wickeder pair I ain't never seen!"

"Wicked?" I repeated in amusement, sipping my tea.

"Aye. They talks to each other—in some strange language can't no one else make head ner tail of." Betty's eyes grew round and her cheeks redder. “Tis the devil's own tongue!" she breathed fearfully.

I shook my head. "I think not, Betty. They are children, just mischievous children."

I could see that she was far from convinced, but being a respectful girl she did not contradict me.

I heard a door opening behind me and saw Betty's expression change. If anything, she looked even more frightened. She backed hastily away, mumbling, "If that'll be all, milady?"

"Yes, of course." As she hurried out, I turned to face my husband, a husband who had entered my room without the courtesy of a knock.

"Good morning," he said pleasantly. "I hope you slept well."

I stared. Of all that I had expected or imagined during the long hours of the night, this ordinary greeting had not figured in my thoughts. Was this to be the way of it? I wondered. No apologies, not even any reference to the unpleasantness of the previous night?

"Good morning," I replied. "I slept reasonably well."

"Fine. I'll see you in the breakfast room." And he was gone.

I put down my cup, picked up my shawl, and followed him.

* * * *

The breakfast room faced the sea. From its tall, narrow windows I could see the waves breaking against the rocks below, throwing up great swells of spume, and the ocean, this morning a deep blue-green, sparkling in the sun.

The sideboard was loaded with food and I found myself ravenously hungry. I filled a plate and took it to the table. My new husband exerted himself to make pleasant conversation and the events of the previous evening began to fade from my memory.