“No wonder she could not bear my questioning,” Leila said. “Her head must have been aching all morning.”
Neither she nor her husband seemed to notice that it was Noah’s back that was the cause of her distress.
“John,” Noah managed to gasp out. “John, please, our chamber…”
Thornton needed no other encouragement. He lifted Noah in his arms, trying his best not to touch her back, although she cried out harshly as one of his arms scraped across just below her shoulders, and made for the great staircase as fast as his legs could carry him.
“Not…not…” Noah said, and Thornton thought he knew what she was trying to say.
“She just needs some quiet,” he said to the Thanets. “I’ll let you know once the worst has passed.”
And with that he was gone, Noah groaning desperately in his arms, and the Thanets were left to stand in the centre of their hall, mouths agape.
Jane writhed uncaring on the floor as her head, arms and body hit the table legs. All she knew was the agony, all she knew was the suffering, all she knew was…
Something intruded into her blinding morass of pain. It was nothing recognisable, merely a presence, but Jane grabbed on to it without thinking or reasoning as to what it may have been.
It was a companion in pain.
Someone else who suffered and who, somehow, had forged a connection to her.
Thornton kicked open the door to their bedchamber. Noah was now writhing in his arms, and biting her lips to keep from screaming out loud.
Catling had appeared at the head of the stairs, and now she shut the door as Thornton lowered Noah to the bed.
She rolled away from him instantly, and a terrible groan ripped out of her throat.
For an instant Thornton stood helplessly, not sure of what he should do. He glanced at Catling—she was standing at the foot of the bed, watching her mother with unreadable eyes—then Noah had rolled back towards Thornton, was reaching out to him with one hand, and was moaning and sobbing: “Sweet gods in heaven, please, please, please…”
Thornton grabbed her hand, wincing as he felt the bones crush under her grip, then realised that blood stained the back of her bodice. Without thinking, he managed to extricate himself from Noah’s grip, grabbed the seam where it was laced closed at the back of her neck, and ripped the material apart down to her waist.
What he saw would haunt him for the rest of his life.
Sharp ridges ran down Noah’s back from her shoulder blades to well past where her skirt was tied about her waist.
It looked as if…it looked as if something, some fiend, was raking her from within.
Thornton froze in horror.
Two claws emerged from the new welts appearing on Noah’s skin down the right-hand side of her spine, and Thornton knew then that whatever was within Noah was about to rip her to shreds.
“Oh God, oh God, save her,” he gasped, and grabbed at her, trying to hold her arms, hold her to him, anything, so long as he did something.
“I can’t help,” he heard Catling say at the end of the bed, but Thornton paid her no attention as blood erupted from the terrible wounds in Noah’s back, and spattered over his face.
Jane rolled about the floor, weeping in her misery, yet still aware that someone else shared her pain. Noah? Noah? Is that you?
Who is this?
Jane.
Ah, Jane, does your imp bite as well?
Jane moaned. Noah, run, if you can. Do not trap yourself as I trapped myself.
I cannot run…
Noah…
The presence faded.
“Jane!” Noah called out. She went rigid in Thornton’s arms, then abruptly collapsed into unconsciousness.
Her body slowly relaxed.
“Thank God,” Thornton whispered. He held her a moment longer, then sat up, kneeling on the bed. His face, chest and arms were covered in blood. He looked at Catling, still standing, watching with apparent calm, at the foot of the bed. “Catling, what just happened?”
“Sometimes,” Catling said, “my mother bleeds…”
Her bizarre words somehow frightened Thornton even more deeply than the past few terrible minutes. “What can I do?” he said.
“Love her,” said Catling, “and wash her back.”
“The first shall be no burden at all,” Thornton whispered, “and the last…”
He looked to Noah’s back, now covered in fresh wounds down both sides of her spine, and shuddered.
Charles and Catharine spent the afternoon of that day in a reception put on for them in The Hague by Mary, Princess of Orange.
It was a great, glittering affair, and both Charles and his wife were predisposed to enjoy themselves. Last night a fleet of ships had arrived from England, sent by Parliament to bring home their king in all the glory he deserved. All the officers and gentlemen of this fleet were at the reception this evening, dressed in silks and velvets and jewels, led by the General-at-sea, or Admiral of the Fleet, Sir Edward Montagu, the Earl of Sandwich.
Sir Edward was chatting to them now, describing how they should be met at Dover by General Monck himself, “Bearing all the love that both he and England have for you, majesty,” Montagu said. He gestured forward a tall, well built man with heavy lidded but beautiful dark eyes, and long, curling black hair almost as luxurious as Charles’ own.
“My secretary,” Montagu said as the man bowed to Charles. “Samuel Pepys.”
“Master Pepys,” said Charles as Pepys kissed first his hand, and then Catharine’s. “I trust you enjoy the evening.”
“More so I enjoy the thought of your majesty’s return to England,” said Pepys. “We have been the poorer for lack of your company.”
Catharine laughed, clearly taken with the man. “You are a true gallant,” she began, and then she froze, her eyes widening, as if some monster had nipped at her soul.
The next moment, just as Charles, Montagu and Pepys all stirred in concern, Catharine’s face regained its smile, even if her eyes remained clouded. “A passing trouble only, my lords,” she said and politely requested Pepys to speak to her of her new home, London.
A few minutes later, as Montagu and Pepys moved away and the next guest stepped forward, Catharine leaned close to her husband and whispered, “Weyland Orr has struck again tonight, my love. Noah is in such agony as we speak that I do not think I can bear it.”
“I will do what I can,” Charles whispered hastily. “Can you manage a few minutes alone for us? Soon?”
Catharine nodded and, once the next guest had made his salutations, she put her hand to her cheek and spoke of a passing indisposition.
“A few moments in a side chamber, perhaps, my lord,” she murmured to Charles and, the deep concern for his wife evident in his face, the king escorted her through the throng—all standing back and bowing or curtseying as their majesties passed—to a small room just off the main audience chamber.
“How bad is she hurt?” Charles asked when they were alone.
“Horribly so, my lord. But at least now the fiend has done with her. For the moment.”
He was silent, his face lined with worry. “Gods, Louis,” he finally whispered, “don’t fail!”
Langley House, Hertfordshire, and Tower Street Ward, London
There was water already steeping in a ewer by the hearth, for which Thornton was glad. He poured out a measure of the warm water into a bowl, took one of the towels that Leila Thanet had provided for Noah’s and his use, and, steeling himself, set to washing the wounds on Noah’s back, sickened by the memory of what had caused them.
What evil was trapped within Noah?
Noah moaned whenever he touched her back, but there was little Thornton could do save continue to wash. The wounds needed to be cleaned, their bleeding needed to be staunched, and when he had finally done, and had taken a fresh shirt to use as a bandage across them, Noah managed a faint smile as she looked over her shoulder and thanked him.
“Noah…” Thornton said, not knowing how to ask.
She sighed, turning her head back to look at the windows. Night had fallen now, but the rain still beat against the thick panes of glass.
“In the morning,” she said, “I shall have to leave here and go to London.”
“What is causing these injuries? Noah, what—”
“John…” She sighed again, and Thornton could see a tear run down a cheek.
Thornton looked from her to Catling. “Catling?”
“Catling,” said Noah before her daughter could answer Thornton, “will you go to Mistress Thanet and beg from her some warm buttered beer? And if she has some powdered bark of elm, then perhaps she could put a goodly measure of that into the beer. Tell her that the beer and the elm bark shall ease my aches somewhat. You can do this for me, at the least.”