The Lodestone (23 page)

She knew him by his thin, pointed face and the evil in the eyes peering at her from the recesses of his mask. She hated him, for she knew it was he who was holding her captive, forcing her to drink something that made her feel that she was floating and that induced long lapses into a state where everything that happened seemed to be a dream.

But she knew now that it was not a dream when the evil man had held her legs apart while something hard and foreign invaded her at her most tender spot. This was the memory from which she had hidden so long. At last it broke through the still, placid surface of her mind, and she awoke in the middle of one stormy night to hear the awful sound of a woman screaming, one frenzied scream after another. And then she realized that she was the woman, and that the terrible screams were coming from her own throat, pulled up from somewhere deep inside her. The screams were no longer confined within her head, trapped there as they had been for years. The ravings so carefully imprisoned in her mind, ravings that she could allow no one else to hear, else they think her mad, finally erupted. And someone heard.

The women in the white robes had rushed to her side. They had tenderly embraced her and comforted her as if she were a child. They prayed with her and told her that she had done nothing wrong, that God loved her. When the screaming at last subsided, they encouraged her to speak. She, who hadn’t spoken a word in years, could only moan and sob and whisper over and over, “Mother. I want my mother. Please, where is my mother?”

As she grew stronger, she was able to remember more. Her mother had died in that awful house where the fat man sold Mignon like a slave to the highest bidder, and then other men had touched her in places she didn’t know she had. And then the evil man had come to the house, bought a night with her, and although disappointed in her, he paid the fat man a large sum of money and took her with him on his travels. Most of the time, he kept her locked in a small room, bringing her out only for the amusement of his guests.

She remembered waking up in the back of Joseph’s wagon, covered with a heavy canvas cloth; and she remembered Joseph falling on his knees on a dark, deserted highway, praying to Jesus and all the saints to have mercy on his soul. And finally, she remembered Joseph bringing her to the big stone house where there were no men, save Joseph who was allowed to work in the garden and sleep in the barn. Then one day, a tall man came and told her he was her brother. His name was Drake, and he had eyes like their mother. He told Mignon she would never suffer again, that he would always protect her, even when she didn’t understand what that meant.

She understood now, for she remembered everything. She
remembered
, and the fear at last had fled. She allowed her eyes to open, knowing now that everything would be as Drake had promised. Sitting up carefully, she looked around the room and when she saw him sprawled in a chair nearby, sleeping soundly, she felt comfort such as she’d never known. She was safe, and she knew he would keep her safe. Safe from the memories and safe from the evil man and those who did his bidding. With a deep sigh, she settled again beneath the coverlet and drifted into a peaceful sleep.

**

When he came back from Italy, Drake seemed somber and a bit distracted by whatever business had taken him there. Cleome longed to ask him about the woman who’d needed his assistance but she decided against it. Much as she loved him—and she could no longer deny that she did—she had no claim upon his heart. So instead of questioning him, she recounted the details of her visit to Easton Place. He insisted Cleome return Lady Easton’s overture of friendship by extending an invitation to her, Oliver Landshire and Edwina to come to tea at the tavern house. He could have done without Garnett, he said, which Cleome found amusing, but included him as well.

“But what can I tell the others?” Cleome asked. “Mary and Tibbits and Jacqueline? If I have the Eastons to tea, I’ll have to tell them something.”

“You must tell them sooner or later,” Drake admonished. “Cleome, you must prepare for your new life. It will serve my purpose as well.”

“Indeed? In what way?” She felt strangely uplifted. “If you will not allow me to work for you any longer, what use do you intend to make of me, Mr. Stoneham?”

His eyes met hers steadily and a tremor quaked through her as he leaned closer. “I have in mind, Miss Parker, to watch you become a lady.”

“Why?”

“I am jaded. Perhaps I merely want to experience a bit of life through your untainted eyes. You must learn all that your new friends can teach you, Cleome. You have fascinating worlds to conquer and the right contacts can help you do it.”

Hoping to lead him into discussing their attraction to each other as he had promised, she returned, “I sense there is more to it, sir.”

“Much has changed,” he said, considering her gravely. Then he smiled. “Very well, mademoiselle. I am caught and shall now confess all. Your presence at the opening will please me immensely and Garnett will be thrilled. He’ll want to show you off to all his friends. Every female there will be in an ecstasy of speculation about you, and Lady Easton will be in her glory at its center—because of her inside track, you see. Wine will flow and purses will be opened wide.”

“So you mean to use me as a device to bring business into the house,” she surmised shrewdly. She had never flirted and didn’t know if she was doing it properly but it prompted a smile from him.

“I cannot deny it,” he teased.

“And will I see a share of the profits, sir?”

He laughed, delighted with her, lightly kissing her hands before he let them go, instead of using them to draw her closer as she longed for him to do. “Cleome,” he said, his voice low with sensual promise. “You must agree that this is a perfect opportunity for you to see London and Stoneham House. You’ll be cosseted, chaperoned and generally looked after by Oliver and the Eastons, and likely wooed by every fortune-hunting swain in the city. There is nothing for it but to leave you to Lady Easton’s tender ministrations.”

“My grandfather taught me,” she replied smoothly, with no trace of bitterness and only a slight pang of sorrow. “But as I have not played in years, you would have the advantage, I assure you.”

**

More than anything, Cleome wished to please Drake, and his point was valid, after all. She knew the servants must be told, and she could delay it no longer. Drake ordered them to assemble in the parlor after dinner that night, and when he’d explained Cleome’s new status, she announced that she and Jacqueline would soon be going to London with Lady Easton. Cleome would open and refurbish her new home, she told them; and in the spring, she would return for her mother and any others at the inn who wished to be in her employ. There was a long silence as they all looked at her, and then each other, in awe. Fanny was the first to respond. Pale and trembling a little, she dropped a deep curtsy before Cleome.

“I wish to beg pardon, milady, for me sullen behavior in recent weeks,” she said in a tone full of respect. “And . . . and for all me lies. T’was wicked and cruel and I was wrong to do it. Can your ladyship ever forgive me?”

“Of course,” Cleome murmured, truly touched, for she had never known Fanny to be contrite about anything.

The other servants then curtsied, bowed or touched their forelocks in Cleome’s direction, which horrified her. “Oh, please don’t,” she begged. “Do not cast me so heartlessly from your circle. Nothing has changed, not really, except that now we’re not destitute. And Mamma is the baroness, so she is to be addressed with the title, not I.”

But things had changed, drastically and forever, and they all knew it.

Jacqueline was ecstatic to learn she would accompany Cleome on her journey and hurried off to the attic to find Lady Adelaide’s old trunks. Mary assured Cleome that she would watch over Ramona as carefully as if she were a newborn babe, and said she’d be pleased to go down to London as Ramona’s nurse when Cleome had everything ready. When they had all gone back to their duties or to retire, Drake asked Cleome to stay a moment longer.

“Now that we have that business out of the way, and you can begin to prepare in earnest, I must return to Rome,” he said. “Unless you have some other use for me.”

“Indeed, I do, sir.” She could tell he was surprised at her boldness but she pressed on. “As, at your insistence, I’ve invited the Eastons to tea, I do not wish to be left alone with them. You must not go anywhere until after that momentous event has transpired.”

“I
must
not?” he asked, unspent laughter sparkling in his eyes.

“If you please,” she responded softly, wondering what she could do to entice him. She had tried to give no credence to Fanny’s gossip, but the thought that Drake might have a romantic interest, even in so distant a place as Rome, was torture.

“Very well.” He humored her, amused. “Is that all, Cleome?”

“No sir. May I inquire as to your business in Rome? Has it to do with Stoneham House? Perhaps I can still be of some assistance—”

“No,” he interrupted firmly. “Not this time. It is some rather unpleasant business of a personal nature. You must not concern yourself.”

“But you will not desert me in my hour of need?” she implored. “You will stay until the Easton tribe has been to tea?”

“Yes,” he promised. “I’ll stay.”

He smiled warmly down at her, and at that moment, there was no doubt in her mind that he wanted her in his arms as much as she desired to be there.

**

Preparations for Cleome’s departure got underway with a feminine flurry of vital tasks. She tried on her few dresses and put aside most of them to give to Old Sam’s granddaughters; and then she sorted through piles of stockings, gloves and undergarments, most of them seriously outdated or worn. Since she, Ramona and even Jacqueline were to have new wardrobes, Cleome saw no reason to transport all her old things to the city, only to throw them away.

The bustle of activity was interrupted only once, briefly, for the ill-advised tea with the Eastons, Oliver and Edwina. Fanny stumbled all over herself, trying to show the proper obeisance. Sir Laurence had somehow been persuaded to join them; and obviously reserving his judgment of the occasion, he seated himself in a corner as far away from his wife as he could get. Garnett seated his mother in a chair opposite Drake and Cleome indicated to Edwina and Oliver that they should take the chairs near her own. When Cleome began to pour out the tea, Garnett was immediately at her side offering his assistance as Drake looked on dispassionately. Garnett said once again how fortunate it was that their grandmothers were such good friends, and how natural it would be for him and his parents to introduce her into society and protect her from anyone who might try to take advantage of an innocent young girl.

“Truth to tell, my dear, it is a rather belated debut,” Lady Easton remarked. “After all, you are nearly nineteen. But of course, you’re so pretty and proper that you shan’t have any trouble taking your rightful place among gentlefolk. But . . . we must discuss a rather delicate matter.”

“And what is that, Lady Easton?” inquired Cleome politely.

“Why, the
explanation
for your late introduction. What reason shall we give?”

“What’s wrong with the truth?” Drake asked. “Her grandmother passed on, her mother was ailing and she was for years separated, through no fault of her own, from relatives in London.”

“Well, you must agree that it is a bit awkward.” Lord Easton spoke at last. “I mean with her, uh . . . parentage not properly established.”

“What would you say of me?” Cleome asked, more sharply than she intended. “I see no reason for lies. I am a tavern keeper’s granddaughter and the child of a tinsmith who died in service of the King. I have no cause to feel ashamed, nor do I. If my parentage is too disgraceful for the fragile world of proprieties, then I shall not enter that world.” She turned to Elizabeth Easton. “Please do not feel obligated to introduce me anywhere, or to anyone, milady; as I am perfectly happy to live a quiet life taking care of my mother and pursuing knowledge.” Edwina had told her about possibilities of study in London that were not available in Oakham, and Cleome longed to do something useful with her mind. She noticed that Drake was looking at her with a new respect.

“She is quite correct,” Oliver Landshire interjected. “With the Houghton wealth at her disposal, she is in a position to be admired and sought after no matter how she chooses to live, or from whence she sprung.”

“Yes,” Lord Easton mumbled his resentful agreement. “The interest alone is guarantee of that.”

Ignoring her husband, Lady Easton bestowed a compliment that to Cleome sounded sincere. “My dear, I respect your courage, and we are proud to sponsor you. I merely wished to warn you about possible rumors of scandal.”

“It’s amusing to have anyone warn
me
against scandal,” Cleome said with a patient smile. “I’m already something of a nine days wonder, am I not? I don’t imagine my questionable lineage can affect my bank accounts one way or the other.”

“And it will give the gossips all the more to prattle on about!” Garnett said with a chuckle. “Do you not think our Miss Parker is quite the most amazing woman you have ever met, Drake?” he asked, exultant that he was responsible for Cleome’s success.

“Quite,” was Drake’s subdued response.

Since they were all going down to London at about the same time, Elizabeth suggested that Drake join their little caravan. Graciously, he accepted her invitation on condition that he was able to conclude his business in Italy by the proposed date of their departure. If he should miss them, he promised to contact them upon his arrival in London.