Chapter 12

Cruelty has a Human Heart

And Jealousy a Human Face,

Terror, the Human Form Divine,

And Secrecy, the Human Dress.

—Blake

"Lady Elysia, please wake up. Lady Elysia!"

Elysia murmured protestingly and snuggled down farther beneath the covers, pulling them about her shoulders. But the maddeningly insistent voice persisted, like a buzz in her ear.

"Oh, please, yer ladyship, ye've just got to come," the squeaky voice pleaded tearfully, until finally Elysia felt herself being shaken from her sleep. She turned over onto her back and peered into the shadowy darkness above her bed. "What is it?" she asked drowsily.

"It's me, yer ladyship," a small voice spoke weakly from beside the bed.

Elysia reached out her hand and drew back the hangings of the bed, seeing before her a small shivering form vaguely discernible by the light from the fire. "Who is it?"

"I'm the upstairs maid, Annie. I—I sometimes help Lucy."

"Annie?" Elysia yawned sleepily. "Yes, well…" she yawned again and sighed. "What is it you could possibly want at this hour? It must be after midnight, at least?"

"After two, yer ladyship," Annie answered promptly.

"After two?" Elysia sat up, shaking the sleep from her brain. "Whatever is the matter?"

"I've a note fer ye. It's a matter of life and death I be told te tells ye," she whispered, thrusting the paper forward with a crackling noise .

Elysia took it cautiously, looking suspiciously at the young maid. "Who is it from?"

"I'm never to tell. Seein' how it's a secret an' all. I gave me word of honor, that I did."

Elysia tossed back the bulky covers and slid reluctantly from the warmth of her bed, slipping into her slippers as her feet touched the floor. She walked over to the fire and opened the note, her eyes scanning the contents quickly as the light from the fire threw shadows across her face. "Get my cloak from the wardrobe, Annie. The dark one with the fur hood—and be quick. We must hurry."

Elysia wrapped herself in the thick cloak, pulling the hood forward over her hair. "Are there some back stairs that will let us out near the stables, Annie?" Elysia questioned the girl.

"Oh yes. There be the side stairs—for the servants."

"Show me quickly, but be quiet. No one must find that we've gone," she cautioned as she swept out of the room, the edge of her cape catching the corner of the table like the snap of a whip, sending the thin sheet of paper floating to the middle of the floor.

Elysia followed the little scurrying maid down seemingly endless darkened corridors, until finally Annie stopped before a plain, narrow door, the flickering light from the candle she held in her shaking hand their only guide.

"This be it, yer ladyship. Ye'll be careful, fer it's a might steep. The stables be te yer right."

"Thank you, Annie. Now, I will knock twice," she explained, "and you let me in. I do not know how long I shall be."

"Oh, yer ladyship!" Annie exclaimed in a frightened voice. "I don't rightly care to be a-stayin' here in the dark."

"Nothing will harm you here in the house, Annie."

"Well, ye never know what's to be about at night—maybe even one of them Frenchies—cut yer throat they will," she paused apprehensively, "after they've done worse te yer body if ye knows what I means." She stood nodding her head knowingly as she hunched her shoulders together, hugging her thin arms protectively about herself .

"As long as you remain as quiet as a mouse—not fidgeting about—then you shall be perfectly safe. Sit here and wait for me," Elysia said authoritatively, anxious to be on her way, as she firmly guided the timid girl into a chair near the door. She sat there, perched on the edge, shaking as much as the flickering flame of the candle.

Elysia reached the stables without mishap, entering through a side door that was concealed from the windows of the house. The strong smell of horses and hay struck her nostrils as she moved silently along the stalls, the occasional neighing of a horse in greeting accompanying the swish of her cape, as Elysia made her way towards a faintly glowing light in a corner of the stable.

"Ian."

"Shsssh!" Jims cautioned her, placing a warning finger against his lips. "We'll not be wantin' the whole stable to be awakin' up, now do we, Miss Elysia?"

"Ian, what has happened to you?" Elysia demanded, kneeling down beside him on the straw and taking his bruised face gently between her hands.

"I suppose you would not believe me if I told you that I walked into a tree?" he joked feebly.

"No indeed, I would not—more than likely it was a taproom brawl, by the way you look and smell," Elysia declared indignantly, wrinkling her nose with distaste. She moistened a soft pad of cotton with water and patted it carefully against his swollen eye, holding it firmly despite his wincing at the contact.

"Don't know why Jims had to call you in on this. You're hardly fit to be out of bed. I'll deal with you later, Jims," he bit off angrily between gritted teeth.

"Now, now, Master Ian," Jims said placatingly, not at all intimidated by Ian's promise of discipline. "How was I to know you weren't hurt real bad? Being covered with blood and all—you looked half dead. Miss Elysia'd never forgive me if I'd not called her, and you'd of died or something." He shook his head worriedly, pursing his lips thoughtfully. "Reckon these parts around here ain't safe fer Demarices. "

"Jims was right to call me, but enough of what should have been. The important thing is, what happened to you, Ian? I hardly think a tree delivered what must have been a fine left hook to your eye," she said, wiping away most of the blood and dirt that had covered his face.

"Ye'll be havin' a real shiner, Master Ian," Jims commented.

"I can feel that for myself," he grumbled.

"At least you are beginning to look human again." Elysia sat back on her heels, handing the soiled rags to Jims. "Are you in pain anywhere else?"

"My pride has been dealt a mortal blow, along with a few well-aimed punches into my stomach," he told her as he felt his stomach gently.

"I'll wager a monkey you did some damage before they laid you low," Jims chuckled, relishing the thought of some broken noses and missing teeth.

"Not as much as I'd like to have, but I can guarantee you they will remember the feel of my fists," he added, "and they will be nursing a few bruises before the night is out."

"Ye always could place a punch where it counted," Jims added proudly, as he rinsed out the soiled rags in a bucket of water.

"Well, they certainly made short work of me this evening," Ian admitted ruefully. "Dusted my jacket but good."

"There were more than one?" Elysia demanded outraged that a gang of cutthroats should accost her brother.

"There were a couple of brawny, ham-fisted fellows that I'd not invite for afternoon tea, sweet sister."

"Oh, Ian, do be serious. You've very nearly had your brains bludgeoned, your face pummelled into a pulp—and you sit here calmly cracking jokes which I do not find in the least bit amusing," Elysia said, near to tears.

"I'm sorry, my dear—I only sought to relieve the tension. Sometimes a joke, regardless of its merit, does help."

"No, I am the one who is sorry for snapping at you," Elysia said repentantly, "but if you only knew how worried I have been. I cannot introduce you to my husband, or friends. You skulk about the countryside by night with disreputable types who would kill you—masquerading, as heaven knows what? I know you are involved in something. Can't I be of any help?"

"There is too much at stake in this masquerade I am playing to take any chances," Ian said, giving Elysia and Jims a hard stare. "The future of England may be in jeopardy."

"Oh," Elysia murmured, dismayed.

"This is far more important than either of us, right now," he explained, "and furthermore, I am not here under my true identity. People know me as David Friday."

"David Friday?" Elysia questioned. "But you can't be—you are the one that Louisa was telling me about."

"Louisa Blackmore…she has spoken of me?" Ian asked hesitantly.

"Yes she has," Elysia told him, looking at his flushed face with knowing eyes. "In fact, she is quite enamored of you."

"She is? Louisa has some small fondness for me?" he asked with a shining light in his blue eyes.

"Hardly a small one. You made quite an impression on her, I should imagine." Elysia stared at him in puzzlement. "Why must you assume a false name?"

"When you do not know who the enemy is—or what information he has—then you must take all possible steps to safe-guard yourself and your mission. My name might have been mentioned at the Ministry, and as the saying goes, walls have ears. Possibly we are over-reacting, but no precaution is too great, if it insures success."

"It sounds very dangerous," Elysia said thoughtfully, as she stared at Ian's bruised face.

"Yes, these men deal roughly with intruders. I would not care to have you within a mile of them, Elysia, that is why I hate having you even remotely involved."

"How did they discover your identity?"

"They do not know yet who I really am, or I would be fish bait now—not merely suffering from a few bruises."

Elysia shuddered at the horrible thought of what could have happened, taking hold of one of his big hands and holding onto it tightly as if she'd never let go. Ian smiled, knowing she must be frightened, and squeezed it comfortingly .

"They think I'm a no-account sailor—dishonorably booted out of the navy, and a little too fond of the bottle to be reliable." Ian sniffed distastefully at his clothes, which reeked of cheap whiskey. "I took the precaution of liberally dousing myself with the horrid stuff before venturing too close—just in case I was seen—which, as it so happens, I was," he concluded with self-disgust.

"Too close to what?" Elysia asked anxiously.

"Too close to a dangerous smuggling ring."

"Here? But I thought most of those stories were bombast—and what could a few barrels of brandy and several yards of velvet matter to you—an officer in the navy?"

"These smugglers do not traffic solely in contraband cargoes—they smuggle in French spies who steal and buy secret information at great cost to our country and people."

"Treason," Elysia whispered. "But surely no Englishman would betray his country. Are you quite sure?"

"Yes," Ian answered resolutely. "There are men who would sink to the basest of foul deeds in seeing to their own interests. They'd sell their souls for a few gold sovereigns."

Who could possibly be so treacherous to sell out their country? Elysia thought, a frown marring her forehead.

"Squire Blackmore," Ian answered her thoughts.

"The squire? But that is quite impossible. Why…he is a…a puffed-up peacock," Elysia exclaimed in disbelief.

"A peacock, yes, but beneath that brilliant plumage is a greedy, power-hungry man—coiled like a snake ready to strike should someone interfere with his plans. He plays the bountiful host, while he starves his tenants. He shows a benign and affable face to his guests while he tyrannizes the countryside with his cruel ultimatums and threats."

Elysia sat stunned, disbelief written on her face. Squire Blackmore? A smuggler—a traitor? But he acted such a buffoon, an obvious braggart, bloated with pride, obsequious and toadying up to his affluent friends, that she had never imagined he could be dangerous. Elysia remembered how he bullied Louisa though, and he did remind her at times of a jack rabbit—hopping about the place, his nose twitching at the least little thing, aware of every movement in a room; almost as if he were expecting some danger, as if he were on the alert.

She had been fooled, blinded by the flashiness of his dress, not seeing the real man bedecked by the glitter—a glitter that was tarnished.

"We must apprehend this traitorous band of smugglers before they can succeed with their plans," Ian continued in a hard voice. Elysia watched him as he talked. He had changed more than she had realized, for he was a man with a purpose—a determined man who would be a merciless enemy.

"I do not wish to involve you, Elysia, but you could supply me with information. You could be my eyes and ears. You have access to Blackmore Hall, which I do not. You must watch for any new arrivals—anyone you have not met before. I also want you to keep an eye on the squire, and those with whom he would hold private conversations, although I doubt that he would be so obvious about it. But one can never overlook the obvious, it is sometimes the best form of concealment. The one person I am especially interested in, as to his movements, is the Comte D'Aubergere."

"What has he to do with this?" Elysia asked startled.

"He is our spy."

"No, it cannot be true."

"You have met him?" Ian asked sharply with interest kindled in his eyes, his left one beginning to close from the swelling.

"Yes, I have," Elysia answered sadly. "I cannot believe that he is implicated. I know he is French, but he hates Napoleon. Why, his estates were confiscated and he is now penniless because of Napoleon. How could he possibly be an agent?"

"He is," Ian replied emphatically. "He has secret governmental papers right now which he stole from the Ministry. He will try to get them to France. We've proof of his allegiance to Napoleon. He was lying when he said his estates had been confiscated, if indeed he ever had any estates—probably isn't even a count. And if he really is what he says, which I doubt seriously, then he is like many of his compatriots who seek to regain their estates by doing Napoleon's bidding."

Elysia sighed heavily. Was no one what they seemed? Were they all playing at deceit—a continuous, never-ending game of charades? Even she hid her true feelings from others. How easy it had become for lies to leave her lips.

"The count has carefully hidden the documents, and should you see or hear anything, you must tell Jims, and he will let me know. We have ships watching for the crossing from France, but we cannot allow them to spot us and flee. We have reason to believe they are waiting for a French war ship to transport them—this information is of that great a significance. It will occur within the next few days. Saturday is the first night without a moon, and they could not risk the crossing during the past few nights with it being clear and bright under a full moon."

Ian pulled himself up, and bringing Elysia to her feet gave her an affectionate hug. "You will confine yourself to listening and watching—no snooping. I do not want you to put yourself into any danger. Jims will keep me informed on your recovery."

"But I am practically fully recovered now, Ian," Elysia interrupted.

"You are still weak and I'll take no risks with your safety, but I know your hot-bloodedness at times, so I caution you, Elysia," Ian warned her, "this is no game we are about. These people are dangerous, and they would not hesitate to remove you from their path should you stand in their way. That is why Jims will know of all that you do, and you shall report everything to him—do you understand me, Elysia?"

"Yes, Ian," Elysia promised reluctantly. "I shall be careful."

Ian seemed satisfied by her answer, but cautioned, "Now you understand why, more than ever, that my identity must remain a secret. No one must know of me, or my mission, for we do not know for sure who are our friends. Now you must go before catching your death of cold. I feel dreadful about your having even the slightest knowledge of this affair—God only knows how much I wish you were back up north, and clear of this situation," Ian added worriedly.

"Do not worry about me, Ian. I shall be fine, for you've far too many thoughts to trouble your mind without adding the worry of my safety to it," Elysia said confidently. "Besides, they wouldn't dare to harm a marchioness. I shall be quite safe. But what about Louisa?" she added softly. "I have come to like her a great deal, and I am sure she is not involved."

"Of course she isn't—why, she is as innocent as a babe." Ian looked despondent. "I am worried about her too, but what can I do?" He shook his head with defeat. "She will get hurt no matter what, for there is only one outcome to this, and her name will be blackened by it all." Ian glanced at Elysia as she stood quietly beside him. "Look after her, will you? She will need someone to turn to, to shelter her, and…" he stopped, unable to continue, despising the role he would have to play, "…she will not desire my presence."

"I shall look after her, Ian, but I think you wrong Louisa. She will understand when she knows the whole truth—she will not hate you."

"Go now, my dear," Ian whispered, resigned to the course he must follow, unable to believe Elysia's words of comfort.

She kissed him quickly, and pulling up her hood, silently left the stables with Jims insisting upon accompanying her safely back to the house.

"Jims," Elysia implored him as they stood before the small door set into the side of the house, "watch out for him. He will need your help more than I will."

"Now, Miss Elysia. Here ye are a-askin' me to be a-watchin' Master Ian, and he's a-askin' me to be a-watchin' ye, and ye both be a-knowin' that ye never do what I tells ye anyway. Ye always go and do what ye wants to—hardheaded ye both be, and nothin' I'm a goin' to do is goin' to be a-stoppin' ye," he complained.

"Poor Jims, we've always been a trial to you, haven't we?" Elysia asked contritely.

"Well now, I can't rightly deny that." Jims grinned, having wished it no other way. "Ye know I can't abide them tame dispirited un's—like 'em sassy and full o' the devil, that I do."

"Hard as it may be, Jims, do keep an eye on Ian, will you?" she whispered before disappearing behind the narrow door.

Elysia shivered and pulled off her cloak, flinging it upon the bed, and moved to stand before the fire, seeking its warmth, the light silhouetting her slender body beneath the thin cambric nightgown as she stood rubbing her cold hands together.

Annie had let her in at her knock, with ill-concealed joy at the sight of Elysia—her face pale and eyes round as moons from her solitary vigil in the darkness of the corridor. Annie scurried away gladly to her own bed after hanging onto Elysia's arms with a viselike grip, as they silently made their way back.

Elysia hugged herself trying to stop her shivers, more from nervousness than from the cold, she suspected, as she stared ruminatively into the flames. She really could not see how she would be of any help to Ian. She did not even know where to begin—or what to watch and listen for. Now that she knew the truth, every action, no matter how innocent, would seem suspicious to her. And what of Louisa? How would she fare after Ian's disclosures? She did not like to think that Ian was correct in his assumption that she would despise him, and turn from their friendship. If only…

Elysia turned, startled from her thoughts by the sound of a creaking chair. Alex was sitting quietly in the darkened corner of her room, unobserved by her when she had entered it moments before. How long had he been there?

"Where have you been?" he finally asked, in a deadly quiet voice that was menacing in its intensity.

She could not speak. Her voice felt frozen in her throat, and she could not turn her gaze from the golden eyes that seemed to be burning into her mind—reading her thoughts.

"Well, have you no glib tale to tell me? I do believe that I've some small right to know—after all, I am your husband. Or have you already forgotten that? Maybe you do not believe I've the right to know where my wife sneaks off to in the middle of the night—a rendezvous of such import, that she braves a cold wind, half-dragging herself to keep her clandestine appointment."

He stood up and came slowly toward her, panther-like—as if stalking his prey. Elysia could feel the barely restrained violence of his body as he halted before her, blocking any avenue of escape she could have planned, and stared down at her with contempt .

"Was it worth the effort?" he sneered, his lip curling with distaste as his eyes ran over her figure insultingly, mistaking the color in her cheeks from the heat of the fire, and the brightness of her eyes from surprise, as passion. "Did your lover fold you close into his arms and warm your shivering body with the heat from his own?"

He turned from her violently, as if he could not stand the sight of her, pacing back and forth in front of the blazing fire that seemed to feed his anger. Alex paused and looked at Elysia. "Well? Have you no plausible excuses, no honeyed lies to try and deceive me with?" he demanded. "Or are you going to stand there and brazenly admit you have met your lover? Well?"

"I've no lies, or excuses. I've nothing to say. You may believe what you will—although I would caution you that appearances can be deceiving—and what appears to be the truth is not always so," Elysia said quietly, unable to defend herself with the truth without breaking her solemn promise to Ian. Alex would either have to find it in himself to trust her—or believe her unfaithful.

"You caution me?" he asked in disbelief. "Well, you do speak the truth, for you are not as you would have people believe; the innocent young maiden—sweet and gentle, and so honorable." He laughed bitterly. "You were weaned by Eve herself. Deception and intrigue comes naturally to you.

"You are like all women—craving the excitement of stolen kisses—and stolen husbands. You make a mockery of all decent feelings. Your falseness and shamming almost blinded my eyes to your true colors." He turned from her, a look of self-loathing on his face at his own duplicity, and then abruptly flung a thin sheet of paper at her. "I do not believe I know this Ian—one of your lovers from the North, perhaps? Or were you really going to London to meet with him, this story about a wicked and cruel aunt and your seeking a job just another of your lies? Maybe you were even in on Sir Jason's plan—was I that easy a pigeon to trap? I must congratulate you, for you play the part of the innocent maiden as if born to it."

"You should know better than anyone that you were the first and only man that I have ever been intimate with," Elysia finally said in her defense.

Alex's hands clenched, and a muscle twitched in the side of his cheek as if he could no longer control the burning anger inside him. He turned away from Elysia as she stood there with her green eyes accusing him of some crime. The cords in his neck were standing out tautly as he glanced about the room, coming face to face with the small porcelain-faced doll that sat taunting him with its painted smile, reminding him of the feminine wiles and treachery that he should never have forgotten. He wanted to smash it into nothingness. His hand reached out, and despite the despair-ridden cry behind him, grabbed the little figure personifying all that he had come to loathe. He threw it from the table onto the floor where it lay broken—the face shattered.

Elysia pushed past him and sank down upon her knees, oblivious to the sharp pieces of porcelain as she bent over her doll and picked up a piece of the head; holding a blond curl, odd pieces of face dangling forlornly from the crushed skull. She sank farther onto the floor, her body shielding the broken doll in a protective manner, as if from further destruction, sobs of anguish coming from deep within her, shaking her body uncontrollably.

Alex stood dazed, stunned by his own loss of control, until the sounds of Elysia's weeping awakened him from his immobility. He stared bemusedly down at the crumpled figure that shook with each heart-rending sob. Reaching down he placed his hands on her shoulders to lift her up, but she jerked away from his touch as if burned, cowering away from him like a beaten dog.

Alex cursed softly before determinedly placing his arms about her and lifting her from the floor, holding her firmly, even as she struggled to escape him.

"Be still, Elysia. My God, I'll not beat you. You've no reason to pull away from me."

Elysia gave up then, going limp in the arms that still held her tightly to his chest. He put her down gently on the satin coverlet, smoothing back her hair with oddly stiff fingers.

"Elysia, look at me," he commanded, but her eyes stared into space—seeing nothing but her own tortured thoughts. Her face was deathly pale, her eyes red and swollen from her weeping as he reached down and pried loose from her death-like grip a piece of the broken doll.

"I despise you," Elysia finally whispered in an emotionless little voice, as he bathed the scratches on her hands with his handkerchief, moistened from a carafe of water on the bedside table.

Alex stood up when he had finished and said coldly, "The feeling is returned." With that he left her room. Elysia heard the door close between their rooms; a door that closed off more than just their adjacent bedchambers. She pulled herself up into a half-reclining position, propped up by her elbows, and stared down at the mess on the floor. Lying there, broken by an imperious hand, were all of her hopes and dreams, all illusions—beliefs callously destroyed in a second of white-hot anger.

What did she care? If she was honest with herself she would admit that she'd already felt an erosion and corroding of those ideals. She had just not wanted to admit it to herself—possibly because that was all she had left to hold onto. Even false beliefs die hard. All she wanted was to be cherished and loved, wanted and protected, her family about her. If she lost faith in those dreams, then what indeed was there left for her? She would rather die than have her dreams shattered.

What had she done that was so damning that she should deserve this? Elysia gave a choked little laugh of despair. To have fallen in love with that devil—she deserved whatever fate had dealt out to her.