Charles Todd - Wings of Fire

“When did she first mention the Gabriel Hound to you? Or was it you who told her?”

“One day she found a book in her grandfather’s library, and read about them. ‘Twas an old story, and she wanted to know if I’d heard of it, and of course I had. She wanted to know then if I’d believed in it, and I said, ‘Child, I’ve seen the Turks, I don’t need to fear any hounds!’ And she answered me with that straight look of hers. ‘I’ve heard them. The night Anne died.’ It was all she said, and after that, I found myself lying awake of nights, listening too. Because you took Miss Olivia’s flights of fancy serious. She was a knowing one.”

“Then why didn’t she speak to her mother? Or Adrian Trevelyan? Surely they’d have believed her.”

“I asked her once. She said, ‘I was warned.’ And she wouldn’t budge from that.”

He felt the cold on the back of his neck, as if something had touched him where the hackles rise. Small wonder Olivia had lived in her own world for so very long. She had been frightened into it, and it had become her sanctuary.

Sadie’s eyes brimmed with pain. He hastily changed directions.

“Tell me about Richard’s death.”

She looked at him over her cup before taking a long swallow. “You know about that. It’s the burying you want to hear.”

Surprised, he said, “You knew what she’d done?”

“Not then. Not when it happened, no. But once I found her crying over that little garden she’d wanted to make on the hillside, and when I smoothed her hair and told her her little brother was with God and happy, she turned to me and said in a voice that curdled my blood, ‘God doesn’t know where he is! I should have let them bury him in the vault with the others, but I thought-I thought it might make Mother happier if he wasn’t found. If there was hope alive. I thought-I thought the one who’d killed him would be terrified he’d come back and point a finger, and it would make him confess, and I was wrong!’ I can hear her, clear as I hear you, and it wrung my heart, I tell you! It was later I got the whole story from her, but by then Mr. James had shot himself, and it was better to leave Miss Rosamund with some hope, however small it was. So we did.”

Rutledge looked up from his notes. He doubted that anyone else in the village would have taken that step with Olivia. It was a measure of Sadie’s understanding of a fragile child. “Did Nicholas know?” he asked.

“Nicholas knew everything,” she replied, “and held his tongue because Miss Olivia couldn’t prove a word of it then. He was afraid the blame’d turn on her, you see. That they’d say she must’ve killed the boy herself, because she’d hid him, and was now trying to blame someone else. It was a terrible fix to be in. I thought it would be the death of them both. But Miss Olivia was strong! And he gave her all the courage he had, more than many a man possesses. I never saw such courage in a lad. These were children, mind you, carrying a secret too heavy for them. It made them older than their years. But they thought it had stopped, you see! When Miss Rosamund married Mr. FitzHugh. Mr. Cormac and Mr. Nicholas, they went away to school as it was set out they should, a governess was found for Miss Olivia, the twins were born, and the house was happy again. For ten year or more.”

“Because he had to be patient. To wait until he himself was ready.”

“Aye,” she told him sadly. “The worst, in a way, was to come. Mr. Brian was thrown by his horse, they said. Nicholas was there on the strand, speaking to him not half an hour before. Miss Rosamund wasn’t in the Hall, she was out in the gardens somewhere. Mr. Nicholas went to find her and that was when Mr. Brian died. But not before Mr. Brian had told Mr. Nicholas that Mr. Cormac, he wanted to change his name to Trevelyan, and would he, Mr. Nicholas, speak to Rosamund about it. Mr. Nicholas asked why Mr. Brian shouldn’t ask her himself, and Mr. Brian said, ‘It’s not my place. I’m not a Trevelyan, and Mr. Cormac isn’t a FitzHugh.’ Mr. Nicholas, he didn’t understand what Mr. Brian meant, but Mr. Brian just shook his head and said, ‘No, I love your mother very deep, and I’ll not ask favors of her! Let her do it out of her heart, not for my sake or Cormac’s.’ “

“Did Nicholas ever mention that conversation to his mother?”

“Lord, no! Before he’d found her, they set up a shout about Mr. Brian being bad hurt, and Mr. Nicholas, he looked like a ghost walking and never spoke of it to a soul except Olivia, and that was only after the funeral. I was the one laid out Mr. Brian, when they brought him up the stairs and put him in the bedroom beyond the landing. Looking for a clean shirt, so’s to make him presentable for Miss Rosamund, I found a letter ready to mail in his drawer, stuck deep under them. It was to Mr. Chambers, and it set out, starkly, the circumstances of Mr. Cormac’s birth. But when I spoke of it to Miss Olivia and we went to look for it, it was gone. Mr. Chambers, he never got it.”

“You read it? When you found it?”

She got up and went to the door to let the cat out into the night. He caught the breath of the sea and knew that the wind had changed direction. “Have you never lived in a house with servants? They aren’t deaf as posts and blind as bats. It was buried amongst his shirts, sir, not in his desk. I’d never have touched the papers in his desk, but it fell out on the floor and the sheet of paper went this way, the envelope that. I picked ‘em up and read the one before putting it in the other and setting it where it belonged, in the desk. And it was gone from there the next day.”

“You’re certain Mrs. FitzHugh herself hadn’t take it?”

“Well, as to that, sir, we couldn’t very well ask, could we, now! But later, when she was restless and uneasy in her mind, wandering the house all hours of the night, trying for sleep and not finding it, I wondered. Mr. Adrian, her father, hadn’t wanted her to marry Mr. Brian, and she knew it, but Mr. Brian was a kind man, he made her laugh and he had no eye for her money. The house’d gone to Miss Olivia, but the money was still Miss Rosamund’s. Mr. Brian gave no thought to it. He was happy if she was, and he gave her the twins, and Miss Rosamund adored them. It wasn’t a bad marriage to my way of thinking. Then Mr. Chambers, he started coming around when the period of mourning was finished, and Miss Rosamund, she looked for a time to be herself again, roses in her cheeks and that special way she had of tilting her head as if listening to something sweet in the air, whenever she was happy.”

Sadie, standing at the open door, shut it as the cat came back inside, and went to the hearth to stand. She was tired, her face deeply lined. But Rutledge thought he couldn’t have stopped her now if he’d tried.

“That was in June. By September she was dead, and they said it was by her own hand. But Lord, sir, I knew how much of the laudanum she’d took! I was the one that had to beg her each night to swallow half a draught to ease the despair she’d felt all through that last month. But she’d shake her head and say, ‘No, Sadie, I need my wits about me!’ ‘You’ll have no wits left, if ye don’t rest!’ I told her plain out, but she said ‘There’s something I must do, and I’m not sure exactly how to set about it. I’m not going to marry Mr. Chambers. Or anyone else. I’ve got my children to live for, and that’s the most important part of my life now.’ There was no changing her mind, she was that strong.”

“She’d decided against marrying Thomas Chambers? Had she actually told him that?”

“Oh, lord, yes, but he was there every weekend, come to call and dine with her. I heard her say to him once, ‘I’ve killed them all. George and James and Brian. I can’t bear to see you die, and I won’t, I tell you!’ And he said, That’s nonsense, my love, you’re letting grief turn your thoughts.’ She just looked at him, her face sad. ‘I’m bad luck, Tom, I’d rather stay single than wear widow’s weeds ever again.”