Parting the Veil by Paulette Kennedy
CHAPTER 46
Eliza flew through the red door, not knowing where it led, all of her instincts screaming for survival. Malcolm was roaring like an angry lion behind her. His wound had only inflamed his madness and rage.
She took a deep breath, her throat still stinging where Malcolm’s thumb had nearly crushed her windpipe. She’d almost died in that room. But she couldn’t think about that right now. She had to think about her baby. Herself.
After a few moments of blind stumbling in the dark, Eliza realized she was in the basement passageway she’d explored days before. The smell of damp earth surrounded her, and up ahead, lit by the open trapdoor, was the spiral staircase that led to the south wing.
She hurtled forward and heaved herself onto the first step, using the metal railing to propel herself upward.
“Eliza!” Malcolm’s voice was a ragged screech as it echoed off the stone walls of the basement. “Come back! I won’t hurt you—I promise. I’m so sorry.”
She wanted to scream curses at him. Instead, she remained silent, trying to get a sense of how far he was from her. A plan was beginning to form—a way she could save Gabriel. Her real husband. The man who loved her. A memory of their wedding flashed across the back of her eyes—a memory of promises made in another man’s name, but no less true. No. She wouldn’t lose him. She would fight.
In an instant, prey became predator.
Eliza hoisted herself through the open trapdoor. Quickly, Liza. Move!
She ran to the window and tore the ragged drapes free, dust and soot flying into her face. She layered them over the chair she’d fallen over the night she’d discovered the room, then took up her post, crouching behind the pile of detritus.
It wasn’t long before she heard Malcolm’s labored breathing at the bottom of the stairs. He was muttering to himself, his words indiscernible. Eliza reached into the pocket of her dungarees and slid open the lid to the tin of matches. She took three out. And waited.
And then there he was, the top of his head emerging through the open hatch. He chuckled as he saw her. “Ah, there you are, my pretty little wife. My angel in the house.”
“Please don’t hurt me, Malcolm.” The wheedling tone in her voice was pure artifice. Inside, she felt only rage.
“I’m afraid I have to, darling.” His mouth wrenched into a pained rictus. “I only have one regret.”
“What is it?”
“That I didn’t take you that day in my study when you opened your pretty quim for me.”
“It could still happen, Malcolm. We could truly be as man and wife. I could fetch a doctor to treat you with new medicines. We’d be happy, the three of us. True libertines. Think about it.” She was moving now, sidestepping, leading him toward her. “No one would ever have to know our secrets.”
“You’re ever the temptress, aren’t you?”
“I have your heir, Malcolm. Here.” Eliza rested her hand on her belly. “Don’t you want to see him?” She took another step. He mirrored it. “Don’t you want to have more?”
“I’m dying, remember? I have nothing to lose. Nothing to gain.”
“Then why kill me? Why kill our baby?”
“His baby.”
“No one has to know.” Eliza strove for the right words. “I’m so sorry your father hurt you. He turned you toward wickedness with his hateful words and his cruelty. But I see you—I see your goodness beneath all that anger. I won’t desert you. You can trust me, I swear it.”
“I can’t trust you, darling. You’ve proven that.” He strode closer, so close she could see the runnels of sweat trickling from his temples. His lips widened into a vulpine grin. “But if I’m to be honest, that’s not the reason I’m going to kill you. No. I merely want the pleasure of watching you die. And I am more my father than you know.” He lunged toward her, his hands grazing her throat.
Now! Eliza roared and torqued her leg upward, her knee solidly connecting with his groin. He toppled backward, falling to the floor as he clutched himself and howled. She jumped over the chair and crouched, striking all three matches against the floor. The scent of sulfur blossomed as fire flared in her hands. Eliza threw the matches onto the chair, where the threadbare drapes and horsehair stuffing kindled immediately.
Malcolm’s eyes widened in panic at the sight of the flames. He gave an infuriated howl as he struggled to stand. The hem of his pajamas caught a tongue of flame, and fire raced up his leg. He thrashed and rolled on the floor, trying to put it out. To her horror, a shadow slowly emerged from the wall behind Malcolm. For a moment, she thought it was only smoke, until it took on the form of a man, looming and dark with anger. Her stomach turned, just as it had at the séance. Old Havenwood.
Eliza bounded toward the trapdoor, her knees quaking with fear. She jumped through, pulling it closed and buckling the hasp. Malcolm screamed over and over, his cries harrowing. She was a murderer. But she couldn’t dwell on that now. She had to save Gabriel. If she was lucky, she had perhaps ten minutes before the fire consumed the south wing and crossed into the north. Once the fire made it to the north wing, the gas lines would ignite. If that happened . . .
Panic hurtled her onward, as she relied on memory and adrenaline to guide her steps through the dark corridor. Finally, she saw the slender cone of light leaking from Gabriel’s room. Eliza rushed through. He opened his eyes, shock flashing across his face. He’d been crying.
“Eliza! What are you doing?”
“We have to go. I’ve set the house on fire.”
“Oh my God.”
She worked at the rope, her fingers brittle and sharp as daggers. Still, the knots held fast. “Do you have anything? A knife, scissors?”
“Yes, there’s a hunting knife in my bureau, in the top drawer.”
Eliza rushed to the chest of drawers and flung the top one open. A bowie knife lay neatly on a stack of handkerchiefs. She knelt at Gabriel’s side and started sawing at the wiry hemp. The acrid smell of smoke curled through the door. They didn’t have much time.
Finally, she had one hand free, and then the other. Gabriel took the knife from her and sawed through the rope at his feet. Overhead, there was an earsplitting crash.
“Likely the floor to the room you set fire to,” Gabriel said, panting.
The room Malcolm had died in. She couldn’t . . . no. No guilt. Not now.
Gabriel got shakily to his feet, swaying. “We can’t go back through the south wing. There’s another way out.”
“Save your breath and show me,” Eliza said. She grabbed the handkerchiefs from the drawer. “Put these over your nose and mouth.”
Eliza propped Gabriel’s arm over her shoulders, supporting his weight, and they went out. The passageway snarled with bouncing, hellish orange light. Above her head, black smoke choked the air like a funeral pall. Panic flared again in Eliza’s gut, momentarily paralyzing her and numbing her legs. She shook her head and covered her mouth and nose, taking shallow, spare breaths.
“We have to go to the right. There’s a service stair by the . . . coal chute,” Gabriel said weakly.
They trudged forward. Gabriel’s height made the going even more difficult as the passageway narrowed, and he was growing heavier by the moment. Eliza’s eyes stung as the heat from the fire channeled down the corridor. Finally, a dim square of moonlight appeared through the tumbling smoke. It was the opening to the coal chute. Eliza moved toward it, and Gabriel pulled her to the left.
“No. The door . . . is there.”
As they pushed forward, Eliza tripped, falling against the edge of a stone step. She pulled Gabriel up with her, his breath rattling in his chest. She put her hand out to feel in front of her. After five steps, there it was—dry wood splintering beneath her fingertips. The door.
“I’ll have to let go of you for a moment to find the latch,” Eliza said.
Gabriel didn’t answer. Instead, he went completely lax, his weight pulling Eliza down as he collapsed, his head hitting the stone step beneath them. No, no, no. Not now. Not when they were so close! Eliza found the latch and the door sprung free, snow blowing over the threshold. She grasped Gabriel beneath the arms and pulled. His great length dragged forward, one agonizing inch at a time.
There was another crash, then a low rumble vibrated through her feet. A sound as if a thousand cannons were being fired all at once blasted from above. The gas lines had ruptured. The house was going to collapse, and they were going to die here, buried beneath flaming rubble. The conflagration above roared in her ears, shaking the foundation of the house like an earthquake. Suddenly, a light as bright as a thousand suns careened down the basement corridor toward them with a deadly, searing heat.
Eliza saw her death coming and denied it.
She gave a Valkyrie’s scream and pulled with everything left in her.
They were free then, alive, tumbling onto the snow-covered ground. The cold air woke Gabriel from his stupor. He rolled onto his knees and coughed raggedly. Eliza helped him to his feet, and together they hurtled to the safety of the gravel service drive as another explosion rocked the ground. She eased Gabriel gently down, then turned to witness the hellish inferno that was now consuming Havenwood Manor. The hell she’d wrought.
All three stories were fully engulfed, orange light bouncing off the skeletal trees, vivid against the indigo night. Smoke billowed heavenward, sparks flickering like fireworks as flames licked at the windowsills and roofline. It was a terrible kind of beauty.
A cacophony of ringing bells and clattering hooves broke through the low roar of the fire. The fire brigade burst through the main gates and rattled up the drive. A hodgepodge of volunteers made up of young men from the village hopped off the wagon and began priming the water pump.
“Man the line, men! Hurry, now. Aim for the roof and the foundation!” the fire chief barked. Lengths of hose uncoiled like serpents and water spurted forth, but it was far too late. With an agonizing groan, the house Eliza had once loved collapsed as if it were falling onto its knees in surrender, its new slate roof flinging smoldering embers through the air as its weight forced the brittle wooden frame to the earth.
The tower had fallen. And it had fallen by her hand.
Eliza covered Gabriel’s body with her own and wept.
Clarence drew back the bed curtain with a squeaking rasp. Gabriel lay sallow and drawn on the white mattress, his eyes flickering beneath purple-veined lids. She reached out to stroke his stubbled cheek, tears coursing down her face.
“He’s sustained a severe concussion and formidable damage to his lungs, I’m afraid. He may not survive. The heart often tires in situations like this. The next few hours will tell it.”
Eliza sank into the chair next to the hospital bed, cupping her forehead in her hands. “He has to live. He has to.”
“He was in a state of near starvation and dehydration, Eliza. Do you happen to know why?” Clarence was studying her with a mixture of empathy and curiosity as he blinked behind his owlish spectacles.
“He’d been under the weather for some time. Not eating much. I thought it was the flu. We’d just returned from London after Lord Eastleigh’s funeral when he fell ill.”
“Right. Could be influenza, certainly. I’d like to keep you overnight as well. You’ve been under immense strain. I’m concerned about a miscarriage. I’ll bring a cot and a fresh gown.”
Eliza cradled her belly. She couldn’t miscarry. Not after all she’d come through. A rush of unexpected sympathy went through her, thinking of her own mother. How many times had Maman worried over her own babies, hoping that each would be born healthy and alive, just as she was doing right now? Eliza felt forgiveness grow within her. Hadn’t her mother loved her like this, once? Perhaps she’d just not known how to show it. Perhaps . . . she’d done the best she could. “You’re going to come through this, little one. And so is your papa. We both love you, so much.” The baby fluttered in response.
Clarence wheeled in a folded army cot and handed her a clean cotton robe. “I’ll be in to check on you and his lordship every hour. I can give you a mild sedative if you’d like.”
Eliza cast a furtive glance toward Gabriel’s sleeping form. “No thank you, Doctor. I think I only want to rest my eyes.”
Clarence turned with a crisp nod, closing the door to the ward with a gentle click.
As there were no other patients in the room, Eliza stripped down to her camisole and drawers. She pulled on the clean dressing gown and closed it over her aching breasts, then crawled beneath the cool sheets. Every muscle and joint in her body felt like a lead weight had been tied round it. She turned in the narrow cot and watched the shallow rise and fall of her husband’s chest until morning broke.
Gabriel. Ada’s warrior. Honest and true.
Two days later, he still slept.
Eliza had only broken her vigil to go to the washroom or take the air for a few moments away from the sterile confinement of the hospital ward. Sarah had visited the morning after the fire, dressed in cheerful scarlet wool. She’d brought Eliza a change of clothing and a tin of her favorite tea biscuits, as well as news of Polly’s elopement, which had brightened Eliza’s mood.
After she dressed in Sarah’s borrowed gown and washed the soot from her face and hands, they went out to the sun-filled hospital courtyard. Sarah took Eliza’s hair down and gently began combing through it with her fingers. “What happened, darling?” she asked. “How did the fire start?”
Eliza flinched. “I’m not sure. I smelled smoke, and it roused me from my bed. I went to wake Malcolm, but he was locked in his rooms. I had to kick down the door.”
Sarah dropped the hank of hair she was untangling. She came around and knelt at Eliza’s knee, fixing her with meltingly soft eyes. “Look. You don’t have to lie to me, Eliza. I know more than you think. Malcolm’s dead, isn’t he? It’s Gabriel in that bed. I’d stake my life on it.”
Eliza’s stomach flip-flopped.
Sarah reached for Eliza’s hand. “I’ve known something was amiss ever since my party last summer, right after you’d wed. Remember how he mentioned the girl with the flaxen hair at the ball in Somerset when we were sixteen? Malcolm wasn’t there. But Gabriel was.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Eliza asked.
Sarah gave a mournful smile. “I was angry at him, at first. I wanted to broach the subject with you—I just didn’t know how. And then, after the séance, I felt you probably knew, and were party to it, and I couldn’t quite reconcile how I felt about that. Still, as your friend, I should have come to you sooner. I’m so sorry, love. Can you forgive me?”
Eliza stroked her thumb over the roundness of Sarah’s cheek. “It wasn’t your fault. You were caught out, just like I was. I’m still working through my feelings as well. I don’t have all the answers yet. I’m not sure I ever will.”
Sarah shook her head. “They wouldn’t have pulled it off for so long for any frivolous reason. There had to be some rationale behind it. Gabriel didn’t—doesn’t—like lying. Not as a rule.”
“I wonder if it was because Malcolm had syphilis.”
Concern widened Sarah’s eyes. “Oh no. You’re not infected, I hope?”
“No. I don’t think so. Malcolm and I never lay together. I thought it was him, but it was always Gabriel in my bed.” Eliza searched Sarah’s round, honest eyes. “Do you think he loves me, Sarah? Can I trust him not to lie again, even after all this?”
Sarah’s smile spread across her entire face. “Oh, darling, he adores you. Our Gabriel has a true heart. Believe that.”
Eliza wanted to believe it. She wanted to try to understand the story behind their deception. All of it. She wanted to try to forgive and move forward. To trust again. Perhaps they could come to some sort of accord, at least for the sake of their child.
If only he would live.
Later that day, as the afternoon sun blazed through the thick green glass of the hospital windows and the unsteady whoosh of Gabriel’s sleeping breath whispered next to her, she began a letter to Lydia. She would tell her the full truth, someday. But for now, all Lydia needed to know was that her sister and her sister’s husband were alive.
Clarence swung through the door and lifted Gabriel’s wrist to check his pulse, then gently began to palpate his abdomen.
“Lydia told me to ask after you in her last letter,” Eliza said, lifting her pen from the paper. “I’m writing to her now. What should I say?”
Clarence smiled, brightening at the mention of Lydia’s name. “Tell her my heart is steadfast, and that I look forward to the day when she rejoins me in our work. Tell her she’s the brightest and most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and the finest nurse I have ever worked with. There’s more I could say, but I don’t suppose you’ll have room for it in your letter.”
“She’ll be glad to hear all of it.” Eliza smiled. “She’s studying at Charity in New Orleans. They have a well-regarded surgical program. One of the best in the world, in fact. Lydia is just as anxious to return as you are to have her, I believe. And I am anxious to gain a new brother.”
“Yes. Very good, very good.” Clarence coughed roughly into his sleeve, but not before Eliza saw the faint glimmer in his eyes. She turned back to her writing to spare Clarence the embarrassment of having seen his tears. She wrote, Clarence misses you. I miss you. On your return, we’ll redecorate an entire wing of Sherbourne House for the two of you. You’ll want your peace and quiet . . . because you’re going to be an aunt, Lyddie! Malcolm and I are expecting. The house might be smaller, with all of us in it, but things are turning out just how you wanted, all the same.
Eliza was walking back from mailing Lydia’s letter when she saw a man in a derby hat go through the doors of the hospital. There was something familiar about his face, as if she’d seen him somewhere before. Could it be? She picked up her step.
When she pushed through the doors to the recovery ward, the man was standing over Gabriel, his hat in hand. He took Gabriel’s hand in his own and kissed it, silent tears rolling down his cheeks. Eliza cleared her throat.
The man turned, hastily wiping his eyes.
“Oh, sorry. Hello. You must be Eliza.”
“I am.”
“You don’t know who I am, do you?” He offered a tentative smile—one tinged with the kind of sadness she’d once seen in a portrait.
Ada’s portrait.
Eliza drew in a sharp breath. Her heart gave a kick. “No . . . I think I do.”