Gilly exuded a deep sigh. "I suppose the journey would take but a fortnight at most." His gaze traveled ruefully toward James. "But it will not be easy. His lairdship doesn't take too kindly to the notion of my company."
"You can go or stay. It is all the same to me." James jammed his heel into the other boot. "But don't expect any gratitude. I will likely curse you every league of the way."
"I have been cursed frequently, Englishman," Gilly said. "In more tongues than you are master of."
When she saw Gilly relenting, Phaedra gave him an impulsive hug. While James gathered up the rest of his belongings, Gilly treated her to a stern lecture. "While I am gone, you keep to yourself and out of mischief. No matter what happens, I don't want you making any noble gestures. No heroic confessions, coz."
"Of course not," Phaedra said, avoiding meeting Gilly's eyeS. She knew she would do whatever she deemed necessary.
"Make her promise." Although he had never so much as glanced around, Phaedra was startled by both James's perception and his strained command.
When her vague pledges of good conduct did not satisfy Gilly either, she snapped, "Oh, very well, I swear it in blood. I will keep silent. I hope that satisfies the pair of you."
Gilly grinned. "Then be off with you while I change my own clothes. I am not so free and easy before the ladies as Jamey lad. My extreme modesty, you know."
James glared at Gilly, a blush overtaking his pale cheeks.
It was a bare half-hour later when Phaedra trailed after the two men to the small stable yard at the back of Jonathan's house. The grooms had fetched both Nemesis and Gilly's sorrel.
After bestowing upon her a brisk hug, Gilly mounted his horse.
Phaedra was relieved to see that James was looking stronger, although still quite strained. She wanted to help him up into the saddle, but knew he would resent the gesture. His expression caused her heart to break.
She saw no trace of warmth in his face-no trace of the man she'd known. His mouth appeared so hardened she doubted if he would ever smile again. Ever since she had given him the news of his sister, all fragments of youthfulness had disappeared. Suddenly Phaedra envisioned him as an aging, embittered man, ever bound to his angry resentment. She had tried to break those chains for him, but now she saw that she had attempted the impossible.
It was so ironic. Both of them had sought a freedom-he from memories, she from dependence upon any man. But he would never know his freedom, and she didn't want hers.
As he reached for Nemesis's reins, he paused, his gaze drawn back to her against his will. "It would seem," he said, "that this is farewell."
She nodded numbly. "I wish you ... " What was there for her to wish him? She doubted he would find any happiness in his reunion with his sister, a broken woman, so mad she would not even know him. "I wish you peace, James Lethington," she finished sadly.
He vaulted into the saddle, his eyes empty, his voice hard. "I won't find it. Not this side of the grave."
Without waiting to see if Gilly followed, he reined Nemesis about and was gone.
A fortnight passed. Sawyer Weylin improved enough for Phaedra to consider moving him back to Blackheath. Jonathan, however, argued vehemently against it.
"Your grandfather will never again be strong enough to leave his bed. It will be entirely too much for you to cope with that vast house and an invalid."
"But we have burdened you with our presence here long enough," Phaedra protested.
"Never!" Jonathan pressed a fervent kiss against her hand. "It has been the greatest happiness of my life to have you safe beneath my roof."
Phaedra disengaged her hand. "I want my grandfather to spend his last days in his own house." She did not add that she had another reason, equally compelling. The look in Jonathan's eyes had waxed far too ardent of late. She had no desire to give the man false hope. She herself had known too much of that kind of pain to inflict it upon Jonathan.
Although Jonathan continued to resist the notion, Phaedra prevailed in the end, and her grandfather was conveyed back to his cherished Heath. September had come, but the summer did not slowly dissolve into fall; it died. The summer-Phaedra's season of fire and love, had snatched away all its greenery and warmth and fled. The chill of autumn blighted the Heath's gardens; brittle leaves and withered stalks now stood• where the roses had bloomed. To Phaedra it was like watching the promise of life itself dying, the passing of dreams that were to never come again.
She began to fear that returning to the Heath had been a mistake. It did not give her grandfather the ease that she had hoped, and his condition seemed to worsen with each passing day. He spoke less and slept more, and the right side of his body was paralyzed. In spite of Weylin's dreadful crime, and the pain the old man's ambitions had brought both herself and James, Phaedra could not help pitying him.
Never before had she realized how much her grandfather's presence had filled the Heath. It was as though the ostentatious, overlarge rooms had been scaled to match his enormous bulk and blustery temperament. Now he was but a sunken shadow of himself, and the vast house seemed like a suit of clothes that no longer fit.
At least the cool winds of autumn had eased tempers somewhat. For a long time, Phaedra had gone in dread of another attack upon her grandfather. Despite her promise to James and Gilly, she had been fully prepared to confess that she was Robin Goodfellow. But the Londoners were quick to find new interests, and the Gazetteer and Goodfellow were both forgotten in the heat of new political matters. The king and his ministers were now being harried by the prospect that France would almost certainly sign a treaty with the American colonists. Jessym had paid a fine and been duly released.
Phaedra was astonished with what indifference she received the news of colonial affairs. Once she would have been ecstatic to hear of the treaty with France, certain that with such aid the colonists would be bound to emerge victorious. In a burst of enthusiasm, she would have reached for her quill to applaud France's intervention. But now she regarded all such political tidings with indifference. The struggle for liberty being waged across the sea seemed but a small matter compared with her own heartbreak.
Because no housekeeper had been engaged to replace Hester Searle, Phaedra filled her own days by directing the servants' activities at the Heath. She found herself increasingly grateful for such mundane tasks, and she had neither the heart nor the mind for greater exertion. Listlessness had taken possession of her. She was frequently ill, especially upon rising in the morning.
At first she had supposed her fatigue was merely so much stress, finally taking its toll upon her. But when she studied her body in the mirror, she was forced to admit that the tenderness of her breasts and the slight thickening of her waist were not caused by any illness. She could no longer delude herself. She was with child.
After her initial shock, she experienced a rush of anger at the perversity of fate. How oft she had longed for a child! The prospect of knowing a mother's joy had been the only reason she had ever tolerated those brief, humiliating couplings with Ewan. And now she was carrying the child of the man she loved, yet the knowledge filled her with sorrow and dread.
How would James react when she told him? Phaedra doubted that she would ever know, for she had a feeling that when he found his sister, he would never return. Two weeks had stretched into a month with still no word from him or Gilly. She wondered why her cousin had not at least returned. Surely it could not be taking this long to locate Julianna. Phaedra suppressed a dread that they had found the girl in worse condition than anyone could possibly have imagined.
Turning away from the mirror, Phaedra dressed herself, feeling more depressed than ever. She went down to her grandfather's study. She felt an intruder there, but someone had to keep track of the accounts and see that the bills were paid. Shortly after returning to the Heath, she had taken on the task.
It was not so difficult, considering her grandfather's meticulous accounting. She had even located a private ledger in whic
h he had recorded with great detail, every sum, every item he had sent to Mrs. Link for the care of Julianna Lethington.
After Phaedra finished toting up the reckonings of the household expenses, she proceeded to clean out the center drawer. Jonathan had very kindly offered to take charge of all matters dealing with Weylin's many investments, an offer she had gratefully accepted.
But as she stacked up record book after record book, she felt saddened. Was this all that her grandfather had to show for his life? It all seemed so impersonal, these ledgers with the entries made in his crabbed handwriting.
She had come to the bottom of the pile when she felt something cold and hard in the back of the drawer. She drew forth two objects, realizing with some surprise that she held miniature portraits in gilt frames.
The first of these represented a young woman whose features bore such striking resemblance to Phaedra's father, she did not doubt that she gazed upon a likeness of her grandmother. Corinda Weylin had deep, cornflower-blue eyes, just like George Weylin. But the hair wisping about her sweet face was a soft brown, not the red-gold Phaedra once had guessed.
She set that portrait aside. It was the other that most intrigued and puzzled her. She studied the stocky young man with the belligerent tilt of his chin, suggesting that he had scant time for this nonsense of posing for the artist. It took a few moments for her to recognize her grandfather's features in the stubborn set of the lips and heavy eyelids. Most startling of all was the thatch of red-gold hair that waved back from his brow.
Phaedra fingered a lock of her own fiery curls, a wry smile curving her lips. All those times that he had groused at her about the color of her hair! Her lips parted to laugh, but to her surprise a sob escaped her instead. She bowed her forehead against her arm, her flood of tears wetting the scarred oak surface of the desk.
Lost in the release of her pent-up emotion, Phaedra did not realize she was no longer alone until she felt a light touch upon her hair.
"Phaedra?"
She jerked upright to meet Jonathan's concerned gaze. Wiping hastily at her eyes, she said "Oh, J-Jonathan. You startled me."
"I knocked, but I fear you didn't hear me."
"I but laid my head down on the desk to rest a bit and... " She allowed her voice to trail off, realizing how ridiculous it was to try to deceive him when she knew her face must be splotched and red with weeping.
"My dear!" Jonathan regarded her with deep, mournful eyes as he brushed away the last of the moisture from her cheek. "I should never have let you return to this gloomy house. You are never happy here."
"I am all right," she said, drawing back from his touch. "I was only feeling a bit depressed about Grandfather, that is all."
"Aye, my poor old friend. It saddens me to see him thus, too."
Yet Jonathan's gaunt features assumed a look more anxious than melancholy. "I hope you have never blamed me for what happened that night. For not permitting you to tell Sawyer the truth about Robin Goodfellow."
"Of course not," she said wearily. She rose from the desk. "I have gathered together the ledgers that you need. Here they are.”
But Jonathan's eyes never wavered from her face. "My dear, you do not look at all well. I must insist upon your seeing my physician."
"It would do no good. I fear I am past all curing."
She regretted the bitter words when she saw Jonathan pale with alarm. She started to pass off her comment as a foolish jest, but she could not seem to speak past the lump in her throat. She felt so desperately alone. Added to the strain of worrying about James and of trying to care for her grandfather, she was now burdened with another dread secret. She feared she would go mad if she did not confide in someone.
"The truth is, I am in a great deal of trouble," she said. “I fear I am with child."
Jonathan's face registered shock but no censure. He was struck dumb for a few minutes, her own misery mirrored in his dark eyes. She dreaded that he would demand to know who the father was, but Jonathan had far too much delicacy for that.
"Are you certain?" he asked.
She nodded. God help her, she did not know how, but she was absolutely certain.
His fingers laced together in a nervous gesture. He asked anxiously, "You are going to marry the father?"
Phaedra was rather astonished that that should be his first thought. "No," she said dully. "There is no likelihood of that. He's gone."
Jonathan exuded a deep sigh. He flushed as he caught her hands in a tight grip. He startled her by bursting out with, "Marry me, Phaedra! I have adored you ever since-"
"Hush, Jonathan," she begged, trying to stem the flow of words they would both regret on some calmer day in the future.
He dragged one of her hands to his lips, and then the other, kissing them with a passion Phaedra had never imagined the man capable of. His eyes glowed with such yearning that for one weak moment, Phaedra was tempted. She was so tired of struggling alone. At least she knew Jonathan would ever be kind to her and the babe. But her heart rejected the notion. She knew what it was like to marry without love.
She pulled away from him. "No, Jonathan," she said as gently as she could. "It would not do. You are most kind and I thank you, but-"
"Phaedra, please."
"No!" She evaded his attempts to recapture her hands. "You will only add to my distress if you continue to press me."
For the barest instant his eyes gleamed wildly, and she thought he meant to force her into his arms. But the high color in his cheeks ebbed and he lowered his eyes, his hands dropping to his sides.
"Then what will you do?" he asked.
"I don't know. When Grandfather-" She paused, unable to bring herself to say is dead. "When he no longer needs me, I shall probably have Gilly take me back to Ireland. No one would know the truth about the babe there."
"Ireland!" Jonathan's echoing of the word was so bleak, she might have been suggesting a voyage to the outer reaches of the Arctic. She began to regret her moment of weakness, that she had ever told him about the babe.
"You will drive yourself to distraction if you keep worrying about me," she said, trying for a lighter note. "You know I am forever in some sort of scrape."
"So you are." His voice held a touch of asperity. He forced his lips into a smile that Phaedra found strangely disquieting. "But I shall find some way to help you, just as I always do."
Although Phaedra thanked him for his concern, she was grateful when he said no more. He took his leave, appearing so agitated that he did not even pay a visit to her grandfather before departing.
As soon as Jonathan's coach vanished down the drive, Phaedra felt more lonely and depressed than ever. This day seemed twice as long as all the dreary days before it. That evening as she sat dining in solitary state, she left her food untouched again. Instead she glanced at the ceiling and thought of the old man in the chamber above, dying by slow degrees. She felt as though the same were happening to her. The very walls hemming about her seemed to reek of death. She could bear it no longer. Flinging down her napkin, she fetched her cloak and set out for a walk upon the grounds.
The days faded into night much earlier now, and the sky was already misting into the royal purple of twilight. The moon rose, a pale silver in the gathering darkness.
A bitter wind whipped the ends of Phaedra's cloak, making her glad of its heavy folds. She supposed she should turn back, but the house behind her looked dark and uninviting. She kept on with her aimless wandering until she drew near the region of the pond. The bushes rustled, the dried leaves hissing at her like snakes in the presence of an intruder. As she pressed past the brush into the clearing, the loud crackle of a twig made her pause for a moment, listening. But she reckoned it was nothing but some small creature, a fox or a badger, perhaps even one of the groom's dogs who had escaped being locked up for the night.
She glided silently toward the man-made pond. In the evening's dim light, it was an expanse of darkness, marked by one knifelike shimmer of light from the moon
above. How different it all was from the hot summer day when the sunlight had dappled the waters. Then it had been a silvery mirror, reflecting her and James upon the bank, entwined in each other's arms. Then their love had been bright in all its first flush of passion.
Yet how fleeting and ephemeral that love had proved, just like the ripples upon the water, going cold and still with the dying of the wind.
Phaedra inched her way to the very brink of the pond, peering down into its depths. It was as black and fathomless as the River Styx, the legendary boundary that separated the souls of the living from the souls of the dead. Her bleak thoughts wandered to all the tales she had heard, of the hopeless people who had sought oblivion by flinging themselves into a river. It was said that the Thames in London claimed nearly as many lives as fever or the pox.
She could not understand that. The Thames was so vast and impersonal. How much better to end one's life in the familiar depths of-
Phaedra shuddered, taking a step back from the pond's edge. What nonsense was she thinking? She felt her spirit rebel. To even think of killing herself was a sin. She now had more than Phaedra Grantham to consider. Her hand moved gently over the region of her abdomen. She was now custodian of another life, a life that, despite everything, was the creation of love. Hers and James. She could not-
Her thoughts broke off as she heard another sharp snap behind her. But this time her heart thudded. Surely that sound had not been caused by any nocturnal animal. It sounded more like a stealthy footfall. She remembered how James had stolen upon her here. An absurd hope welled within her. She spun about with his name on her lips.
But it changed to a cry of terror. The shadows themselves seemed to have taken on life and assumed the form of a cloaked phantom. Before she could move to flee, two hands gripped her shoulders and gave her a rough shove.
Phaedra fell backward, her arms flailing through the air, her body breaking the surface of the pond with a harsh slap. As the dark waters closed over her, their chilling depths sent a shock through her entire system.