waited for him to open the door for me. I wondered if he would immediately find
Lawrence and tell him that his idiot wife had gone for a stroll around the
grounds.
As I walked across the wide front lawn, I wondered about my decision to remain
here, and my future with this house.
It didn’t look promising. I shuddered, but not from the cold, although the air
was chilly, very still, the late afternoon sky a lead gray. I hadn’t
particularly noticed before, but the trees now had nothing but naked branches,
no more bursts of colorful autumn leaves at all now. Winter had finally come to
Yorkshire. I began to shake off the final effects of the laudanum, and my bone-deep
fear was ridding me very quickly of my lethargy.
I walked toward the stream, some distance away from the manor, my head down,
thinking, thinking. I had told Brantley where I was going. No one would try
anything, it would be too risky. Besides, I couldn’t think clearly if someone
was hanging around me, clucking and carrying on, and driving me mad. And that
brought up the best question. Who could I possibly trust?
John, I thought. I had to trust him. There was simply no choice.
I kept thinking, sorting through things, trying to pick things apart, but there
was just nothing. Simply nothing.
Except Caroline wanting perhaps to talk to me, however a spirit managed to do
that.
And the malignancy in the Black Chamber that was still here, still alive,
waiting, waiting. For what?
I reached the stream bank. I pulled my cloak very tightly around me and sat down
beneath one of the huge willow trees. I stared out over the narrow ribbon of
gray water. The surface was very still, like a smooth gray slate. I didn’t know
where the ducks were.
I realized now that I had forgotten all about George. He had not been in The
Blue Room. I hoped Miss Crislock or Judith had him well in hand. If something
were to happen to George, I didn’t know what I would do. If I’d had the energy,
I would have gone back and fetched him, but I didn’t. I felt the willow bark dig
into my back.
I was becoming hysterical. Nothing would happen to George. But I knew if it did,
I would tear down Devbridge Manor with my bare hands.
I don’t know how long I sat there before I heard him say from behind me, “Belinda
stopped me in the corridor and wailed about you tottering out of bed, nearly
drowning yourself in your bath, and actually leaving. I asked Brantley if he had
seen you, and he told me you looked nearly dead and had planned to come down
here.” He paused a moment, then shrugged. “I came after you.” He shrugged again,
but I knew him. He was just revving himself up to blast me. It wasn’t long in
coming. He actually pointed his gloved finger at me and shook it.
“I did not even come close to drowning in my bath.”
“Damn you, Andy, you promised me that you would never be alone. What the hell is
wrong with you? Did the blow to your head render you an idiot? No, probably not.
You come by that quite naturally, don’t you? Answer me, damn you.”
Chapter Twenty-one
He was right, I suppose, if one chose to look at things in just that particular
sort of very harsh light. I just shook my head, saying nothing, and that
certainly enraged him even more.
He walked quickly over to me and positioned himself right in front of me, legs
spread, hands on his hips. He didn’t block the sun, since there wasn’t any, but
he did fill up too much space. He’s too big, I thought, staring up at him, much
too big and too strong. But I knew he wasn’t dangerous to me, even though it was
obvious that he would very much like to throw me into the stream.
And I smiled up at this man, who had once made me feel drilled into the ground
with fear. “I have my derringer.” I lifted my hand out of my cloak pocket and