Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

" Mother, your cruelty knows no bounds, for I love her more than life itself! "

Lucius Apuleius, Metamorphoses

OCTOBER 6, 1821

M adeline awoke midmorning. She had done naught but sleep, drink cold broth, and use the chamber pot with the help of her mother since being put in her bed. Taking stock of her body, she discovered there were aches and twinging pains in her limbs. Her belly hurt, and her throat was raw. There was a definite weakness in her muscles, and a general fatigue that spoke to her troubles of yesterday.

But …

Turning her head, she found Simon watching her with a pleased expression.

"I feel better."

"You appear better. Your color has improved considerably."

"What did Lady Trafford say?"

"She assures me you are young and healthy. She will be here soon to check on you."

"What about my work?"

Simon grinned, lifting a hand to caress her cheek and producing a single red rose from behind his back. Madeline reached for it, sniffing deeply of its fragrant petals before clasping it to the coverlet covering her figure. "Your mother will take care of it. She is sleeping in after helping me take care of you all night, but I think your manufactory is large and productive enough to do without the two of you for a few days."

Madeline wrinkled her nose, reaching up to check her hair. "This is not my most attractive aspect," she declared.

"Every aspect of you is attractive. I have no complaints."

She smiled, pleased at the compliment. "What comes next?"

He chuckled. "You recover."

"And then?"

"You recover some more. Would you like me to bring you some reading?"

She pouted at his evasiveness. "What about us?"

"Hmm … what about us?"

Madeline huffed in frustration. He was obfuscating, but she was too weak to insist on a proper answer. She assumed Mama would not allow a gentleman to encamp in her bedchamber unless an understanding was to be reached, but she supposed they would discuss it when the time was right.

With all that had happened, she yearned for the future they had discussed in their youth. One where she worked with the artists of the manufactory while Simon worked alongside her mother to handle the business dealings. But she did not wish to require this from him or take advantage of his guilt over what had been done to her. Madeline wished that Simon would offer her their long-discussed imaginings of partnership of his own volition. After all they had endured, all the ups and downs of yesteryear, it seemed meaningless unless Simon raised the issue from his own desire to wed her, and not from some misguided sense of obligation because his mother had attempted to murder her.

She supposed that what she desired was for Simon to demonstrate his commitment to them.

"Is there more broth?"

Simon had been reading his mother's journals for several hours, continuing to pore over the pages of her spider scrawl while Madeline was being assisted to bathe in the next room.

There was much to answer, including the inadvertent revelation from Roderick about his father's death. The more he read, the more disturbed he became, but it was his burden to bear. He needed to absorb the contents so he might brief the people affected by her actions.

This afternoon he would need to go home to figure out what the current state of his entailments were in Scotland. He had no notion if his mother had been a good peeress who took care of her duties, but considering the madness inked on the pages, he assumed that there were tenants up north who sorely needed some attention from a responsible caretaker. It would all depend on the stewards who oversaw the respective estates.

Too many of the nobility treated their titles as a right, but Simon was well aware it was a privilege with accountability. Thus he must ascertain the situation for the people under his leadership, and take steps to confirm the stewardships were in expert hands, or replace them as necessary. Simon hoped he would find some method to pursue his own goals. If the past few weeks had taught him anything, it was that his duty had superseded his own dreams to leave him a lifeless husk. Since learning he was not to be Baron of Blackwood, his vitality and interest had begun to return. He did not wish to live a lifetime of unhappiness, which would put the past dreary decade of misery to shame.

Soon he returned to sit by Madeline, who fell into a deep sleep after the exertions of being up to bathe and change her nightclothes. The sound of her rhythmic breathing as he read on was the most beautiful symphony he could imagine. Lady Trafford had pronounced that Madeline was on the mend during her visit at midday.

When the sun was low in the sky, Simon set aside the most recent journal and looked up to find Madeline had awakened, her amber eyes watching him as he read.

"Do you have your answers?"

"Mostly. The journals begin when she came out, and then there are a few years missing. Around the time she wed up until I was about two or three years of age. Then there is a meticulous record up until a few days ago."

"Is it horrifying? To read your mother's private thoughts?"

"Very."

"What did you learn?"

"I learned that my grandfather was enraged that a daughter was to inherit the title. He had his heart set on a son, but after four daughters, he was forced to admit defeat. It would seem he made Isla aware of his feelings throughout her youth."

"Your poor mother!"

Simon shook his head. "Nay, fair Psyche, each one of us has our crosses to bear, and her father has been dead longer than I have been alive, so her past does not justify the present. You and I know about burdens better than most, denying our own happiness these past years. Most do not consider their personal troubles as a license to embark on a tyranny of murder. Three men are dead. Trafford, John, and yourself could have been killed. Yet all of you are innocent of doing her any harm."

Madeline chewed on her lip as she thought over it. "You are correct. I sympathize with her circumstances but not her solution. But … who is the third man who is dead?"

He dropped his chin in anguish, still reeling at the words inked upon the page. "My father. Mother and Roderick had taken to slipping him opium, unbeknownst to him, which was perilous considering Dr. White had him on laudanum. They fumbled the dosages one night, each dosing him without being aware the other had already done so, thus causing an overdose, so it appeared he had suffered an apoplexy in the night."

"Faith! Why did they do it?"

"They were engaged in an affair. Opium ensured my father would sleep through the night so Roderick could visit her bedchamber without fear of being caught. Father's accidental death seems to have accelerated her descent into madness, and these extensive journals were some sort of outlet for her repressed emotions. All the things she never said. And I think she had the affair with Roderick to manipulate him into doing her bidding, but I imagine the guilt over killing my father further addled her head."

Madeline emitted a low snuffle of disgust. "It is all so … abhorrent."

"It is. And a slippery slope. When John came home from the coronation to complain about Lord Filminster, she was horrified to hear that the baron might be aware of Peter's sons. They were acquainted, so she visited him after dinner at the Forsythes' to learn what he knew. When he mentioned he had reached a decision and just completed writing a letter to Home Office to inform them of my nephews, she struck him with a statuette so she might search his study. The laudanum she took must have dulled her humanity because there is no remorse when she writes about him bleeding out on the floor. She makes it sound as if it were terribly inconsiderate of him because drops of his blood ruined her favorite slippers, and Roderick had to destroy them on her behalf."

"And the footman who was killed in Filminster's household?"

"She paid him to search for the letter to Home Office when she could not find it."

Madeline sat up, trembling with fatigue but shooing Simon when he tried to help. "I must push myself a little. Lying about too much will weaken me further." She twisted around to rearrange her pillows, then leaned back in a half-seated position.

"What of John's wife? Did she have anything to do with that?"

"No and yes. My mother guessed from Susan's symptoms that she might have been suffering from arsenic poisoning from her skin creams, but remained silent. It inspired her plot to poison John."

"Lady Blackwood did it all? She killed your father, Filminster? Tried to kill John, Trafford, and myself? It was all her?"

Simon was still struggling to come to grips with the extent of her villainy. "It was. Her and Roderick."

"I hate to be cruel, but it is a mercy they are dead."

"I agree. Picking up the pieces will be difficult enough without adding a scandalous public trial."

"And what of Dr. White? Do you know why he did not notice the symptoms of arsenic poisoning during John's long illness?"

"Dr. White has disappeared. Called away on urgent business, his household is telling us. He could be involved in the murder plots, or perhaps he is afraid to answer for his incompetence."

Madeline emitted a guttural sound of frustration, staring up at the ceiling for long seconds until turning her gaze back to him. "What happens now?"

"You take care of your health while I see to the inquest for their deaths. Then …"

Madeline's face lit up, her expression hopeful. "Then?"

Simon hated to disappoint her, but he had things to take care of. "Then … I must leave for Scotland, I am afraid."

Her face fell, her jaw falling open in protest. "What? Why?"

"I must inspect the estates I am now responsible for. See to my responsibilities as the new lord."

"Lord?"

Simon nodded. "My mother held titles of her own. I am to be confirmed as the Viscount of Campbell, Baron of Lochinver, and … a couple of minor ones which I do not know how to pronounce. Once I am confirmed, I must see to the estates. I do not know what their condition is, who the stewards are, and what measures need to be taken to care for the tenants and staff."

"How long will you be gone?" Madeline's tone was forlorn, and Simon wished he could speak to their future, but he could not even speak to his own until he had gathered more information. After all he had put Madeline through, he needed to put his affairs in order without burdening her with his problems. Until he had done that, he did not wish to create false hopes.