The Shadows Page 14

  The pianoforte started again. Not over yet, thank the gods. He eased down the steps. The hall was clear; he was halfway to the study.

  Then he heard footsteps coming from the parlor.

  Diarmid froze against the wall. All he could hope was that the light was dim enough. But it wasn’t; he knew that the moment he saw her coming toward him. She stopped. He heard the soft catch of her breath. She looked right into his eyes, and his heart jumped.

  Grace.

  Her hand went to her throat, a pretty little startle. “Der—”

  He shook his head and pressed his finger to his lips, and she went silent. Then he took his chance. He went to the study door, with one last glance at her before he opened it. Her skin looked white in the dim light, her eyes like black pools. She said nothing as he slipped into the study, closing the door behind him.

  He didn’t wait to hear her call the others. He raced to the window, pushing it open, throwing himself out, then closing it again behind him. He grabbed up the ogham stick where it lay in the grass and then hurtled to the gate, launching himself into the park and the darkness.

  He was blocks away before he realized no one had come after him. It was too much to hope that she had said nothing. She didn’t like him; no doubt she’d take the first opportunity to turn him in. Unless she thought he was there to see Lucy, in which case perhaps she’d keep quiet. She’d kept Lucy’s secret until now, but she might not continue once the ogham stick was discovered missing. She was no fool. She would know who had taken it.

  Which meant he had to do something to make sure she kept her silence.

  THIRTEEN

  Grace

  Patrick lifted my shawl from the mass of cloaks and hats in the butler’s arms and put it around my shoulders, his fingers brushing my skin so lightly it raised little shivers. He leaned close, whispering, “I wish we’d had a chance to speak alone.”

  I told him, “I haven’t forgotten the things you said the other night at dinner.” And I hadn’t. His talk of old magic and whatever amazing thing the Brotherhood had done. I’d wanted all night to ask him more.

  But we hadn’t been alone the entire evening. I’d caught him watching me, staring at me thoughtfully and sometimes impatiently, and I felt impatient too.

  He murmured, “Later. Sleep well,” and kissed my temple, so sweetly and tenderly, as if I were this precious thing he meant to keep close, and I felt the strain of what I’d been keeping from him for an hour or more and thought of telling him. Just saying, “Your stableboy was sneaking about the house tonight.”

  But I didn’t. Just as I didn’t think about the way I’d felt seeing Derry standing there and knowing why he was here: for Lucy. I shouldn’t care. I would not care.

  I smiled and said, “Good night, Patrick,” and my mother thanked the Devlins for the lovely evening—which had been lovely, if for no other reason than that the O’Daires and the Nolans now knew about me and Patrick. He’d made no secret of it, attending to me with the dedication of a husband, and Mrs. Devlin often had made little hints: “How fine the two of them look together, don’t you think, Maeve?” and “I hope very soon to be looking into the faces of my own dear grandchildren.” Patrick had smiled at me in a way that made me blush.

  When Patrick left me to say good night to the others, I cornered Lucy. “You should be more careful,” I whispered to her. “Do you want the whole world to know what you’re doing?”

  She frowned. “I’ve no idea what you’re speaking of.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep your secret. But if you’re so foolish as to get caught for taking such a risk, don’t blame me.”

  She just stared at me blankly. She was much better at lying than I’d imagined, and I’d done enough of it myself to recognize it.

  The O’Daires took Mama and me home in their carriage, and once they left us off, my mother said worriedly, “Wherever do you think Aidan could have got to?”

  My brother was supposed to have come to supper tonight, but he’d been nowhere to be found when it was time to go, and Mama had spent the evening fiddling with her handkerchief, glancing out the window.

  I said, “No doubt he had another card game to attend. We haven’t lost the house yet; there’s something to gamble away before the lawyers get it.”

  “Oh, Grace, what shall we do with him? If the Devlins were to discover . . .” She trailed off hopelessly.

  Too many things could finish that sentence: The extent of our debt, how very much Aidan drank and gambled, the fact that I expected the doctor’s lawsuit any day, or the madness my grandmother was slowly falling prey to. Any of those things could destroy my chances with Patrick. I’d told him that Grandma was ill, but madness . . . that was something else altogether, a stain on our family. The Devlins knew that we’d lost the business and the stocks—the whole world knew that. Lucy had said herself that Patrick was saving me, and so they also knew how very much his suit meant and how disposed I was to accept it.

  My pride hurt at the thought; again I felt the weight of everything I must accept. I closed my eyes and made myself think of Patrick’s fingers lingering on my skin, the whisper of his voice against my ear. “Perhaps I could be your Diarmid.” I liked him so much, and I knew I could love him. Perhaps I already did. What was not to love? He was so handsome that it was hard to look away from him, and his kiss . . . yes, I had liked that, too, very much. I felt safe with him. Again I told myself how very lucky I was.

  The house was dark. The gas had been turned off for lack of payment, and when we stepped in I lit the oil lamp we’d left just inside the door. The emptiness of the house felt eerie in the wavering light.

  Mama said, “I’ll check on your grandmother and then I’m going to bed. It’s been a long evening.”

  Together we went up the stairs. I watched her go down the hall, stooped and wan looking now that she’d dropped the merry mask she’d put on for the Devlins.

  I remembered how happy she’d been when Papa was alive, how she’d enchanted. Her teas and suppers, her light fingers over the keys of the pianoforte, the shine of her red hair in the gaslight, and the sparkle of jewels against her throat. I could give her those things again. Once I married Patrick, I would make certain she never wanted for anything.

  I went into my bedroom, closing the door. The only light came from the streetlamps outside. I didn’t bother to light a candle. Instead, I unbuttoned my gown and stepped out of it, laying it over the back of the chair. I took out the ribbon and let my hair fall, too tired to braid it. I would regret it in the morning, but just now I didn’t care. When I took off my boots and stockings, the cool wood floor felt good against my swollen feet. The release of my corset was a relief, and I let it fall and kicked it aside. I reached to pull off my chemise.

  And then I felt something. Or heard something. I froze, listening. Perhaps Aidan coming home. But no, there was no noise at all but for my own breathing. Still, it seemed that the eeriness I’d felt downstairs had followed me here. As if the room itself were watching me.

  My nightmares flashed through my mind. Still wearing my chemise, I climbed between the sheets, looking about the room, trying to peer into shadows. I took a deep breath to calm myself. There was nothing frightening here. Mama and Grandma were in the next room. I lay down, pulling the blankets to my chin, telling myself not to be a fool.

  A shadow surged toward me, a weight on my bed. I gasped and jerked up, but he pushed me back, a hand clasped over my mouth, whispering harshly in my ear, “Don’t scream. Don’t make a noise. I’m not here to hurt you, lass. I just want to talk to you.”

  I tried to thrust him off, but his hands tightened on my arms, his whole body against me, hot and heavy.

  “Grace, don’t,” he whispered, and I knew then who it was. Derry. His face was so close to mine that I felt the brush of his hair against my cheek. “I don’t mean to hurt you, d’you understand?”

  I nodded. He was so strong that it was hard to move against him.
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  The pressure of his hand lessened. “You won’t scream? You promise?”

  Again I nodded.

  “All right. I’m going to take away my hand. I’m trusting you, lass. Don’t make me regret it.”

  Slowly, he lifted his hand. I did as he asked; I didn’t cry out. Aidan wasn’t here, and Derry must know that already. My grandmother and mother would be no help. And the truth was that I was no longer afraid now that I knew it was him.

  He’d only lifted his hand; other than that he hadn’t moved. I felt him breathing, the warm weight of him, and my own breath came fast.

  I whispered, “Get off me.”

  He rolled, stretching out alongside me. The light from the street passed over him; I saw his silhouette as he went up on one elbow to look down at me, though I couldn’t see his face.

  “What do you want?” I asked angrily. “Or do you just have some disgusting penchant for watching girls undress?”

  “I wouldn’t call it disgusting. And you’ll note I made a noise before you took off everything.”

  “How good of you.”

  “I’ve some scruples.”

  “Perhaps they should extend to not sneaking into girls’ bedrooms. Do you know what the Devlins would have done if they’d caught you there tonight?”

  “I have a good idea,” he said drily.

  “I would have thought Lucy more than willing to come to you at the stables. You shouldn’t have taken such a risk.”

  “Careful, lass, it sounds as if you care.”

  “I care for Lucy. She’s Patrick’s sister. I don’t want her hurt.”

  “I’d prefer to avoid that myself,” he said, and there was a resignation in his tone that alarmed me, as if he knew she would be hurt eventually.

  “You know she’s in love with you.”

  He sighed. “Aye.”

  “And your intentions—”

  “Are none of your business.” He leaned closer. “Just now I’m more curious about your intentions. Did you tell anyone you saw me tonight? Devlin?”

  “No. I didn’t want to get Lucy in trouble.”

  “Good. I’ll thank you to keep my visit a secret, if you would.”

  “I would have done so anyway. You didn’t have to come and scare the life out of me.”

  He was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “There’s another thing.”

  I felt a little flutter of . . . not fear exactly. “What?”

  “Devlin will find something gone tomorrow. When he does, I want you to keep quiet. I’ll bring it back in a few days.”

  He’d gone into Patrick’s study, I remembered. Where the collection of relics was. “What did you take?”

  He hesitated. “The ogham stick.”

  “The ogham stick?” I leveled myself up on my elbows too. “The one I told you about? But why?”

  “Ssshhh.” His hand came to my shoulder as if he meant to push me down again, then lingered before he pulled away.

  I swallowed hard and asked again, more quietly, “Why did you take it?”

  “There’s someone I want to show it to, that’s all. Then I’ll bring it back.”

  “But who? And why? What has it to do with you?”

  “Nothing,” he said in a soft, soft voice. My skin felt too sensitive, I was too aware of him—his breathing, his heat. “’Tis nothing to do with me. Devlin will have it back before he knows it. I won’t damage it, Grace; I promise.”

  “Miss Knox to you,” I said, hoping he didn’t hear the waver in my voice. “Why should I keep your secret? You’re a thief. Why shouldn’t I tell Patrick everything?”

  “Because I’ll be arrested if you do.”

  “Perhaps it’s what you deserve.”

  “Perhaps.” He leaned forward, planting his hand at my other side so he hovered over me, and I fell back against the mattress to avoid him. His eyes shone, but the rest of his face was all in shadows. “Tell me what I can give you in return for keeping quiet. You have me in your power—command me as you will. Miss Knox.” He whispered my name mockingly against my ear. Then he drew back, just enough. His mouth was only an inch from mine.

  I turned my head away. “What can you possibly give me that I want? Can you change the world? Can you cure Aidan of his drunkenness and turn him into the brother who once cared about his family? Can you erase our debt? Can you ease my mother’s worry and save my grandmother from her madness?” I turned to look at him again. I felt the bitterness rise in me so it seeped into my every word. “Well? Can you do any of that? Because those are the things I want.”

  He went still.

  I pushed at him, my palms against his chest. He was unmovable. “Just go, Derry. I’ll keep your secret. Just leave me alone.”

  “What if I can’t do that?” His voice was low, almost hoarse. It had the strangest effect on me. I felt suspended, expectant. My hands were still pressed to his chest. I felt his breath against my lips. I only had to raise my head the slightest bit to kiss him. I knew it was what he wanted me to do, and it was suddenly what I wanted too.

  Then I remembered. Patrick.

  I pulled away. Derry moved then, as if my touch had anchored him and now he was free. He was no longer hovering, no longer touching me at all, and again, as when he’d taken his arm from my shoulder at the fair, I felt cold.

  “You’re not as powerless as you think, lass.”

  I laughed harshly. “Is that so?”

  “Aye.” He rose, the mattress lifting. He stepped away, only another shadow in the darkness. “I know it, and someday you will too.”

  I heard him move to the door.

  “Good night, Miss Knox.”

  And then he was gone, and both the eeriness and the warmth I’d felt were gone with him, leaving a hollowness in my chest, and a memory of him, lips close enough to kiss, like a long-ago dream.

  FOURTEEN

  Patrick

  She was beautiful and sweet, and Patrick was still burning at the way she’d looked at him tonight. He’d wanted nothing more than to continue the conversation Lucy had interrupted the other day, to tell Grace that he’d managed to bring the legends alive. But there hadn’t been an opportunity, not with so many people about, and tonight had been about convincing others to invest in the Fenian Brotherhood. Soon, the Children of Domnu would be here, and with them an army ready to rally to Ireland’s cause. That was what he should be concentrating on.

  Patrick closed the study door behind him. He took off his frock coat and laid it over a chair, and then he went to the display cases, pressing his hands against one. The lamp on the desk behind him cast his shadow over the case so the amulets inside went dim. He looked over the relics with satisfaction, as he often did. The bowl with the carved wrens there, the serpent bracelet over there, the ogham stick—

  Patrick looked closer.

  The ogham stick was gone.

  He lifted the lid. Unlocked. In disbelief, he searched the case, pawing over the items even though he knew the stone was not hidden among them. Gone. He looked at the lock, which had been forced, and then he ran to the window, jerking it open, thinking that somehow he would come upon the thief. There was only the faint laughter of someone still out in the park so late.

  Who could have taken it? Someone here tonight? No. They were investors. But for Rory Nolan, they knew nothing of the Brotherhood’s secrets. The others had been Grace and her mother, and the thought that one of them might have sneaked in here during the evening and stolen it was laughable.

  Which meant it had to be someone else. But who? Who would have known its importance?

  It’s not important anymore, he reminded himself. The stone needed the rowan wand. And the Fomori had already been called, so it wasn’t as if someone could call them again.

  Still . . .

  Best to take precautions. Patrick went to his desk, scrawling a note to Rory Nolan and another to Simon, to ask if the rowan wand was still safely hidden. He woke a servant to take the messages off immediately, with instructions t
o wait for answers.

  Within two hours, he had both. Nolan hadn’t taken it. Simon still had the rowan wand.

  Patrick sank into the chair at his desk. He looked toward the display case, the scratched metal of the lock, and he could not keep from asking Why? Why the ogham stick when there were other things in the case more valuable? That meant it hadn’t been an ordinary thief but someone who could read ogham.

  Patrick was seized with a grim foreboding. Whoever had taken it had a reason.

  But what?

  The question kept him staring into the darkness.

  FIFTEEN

  Grace

  That night I dreamed of Derry again. He was bare chested, bruised and bloody, as if he’d been in a fight, his arms braced on the pillows behind him, laughing as he teased me. I pushed him, and he caught my hand and pulled me down with him. His eyes were so dark I felt lost in them; the longing I saw there matched my own. All I wanted to do was kiss him, but as I leaned to do so, the dream shifted, ravens screaming over narrow, dark streets. Clubs and knives flashing purple with the lightning crashing above, and Aidan saying, “Don’ run off with him . . . Don’ go. . . .”

  I woke shaken—not just because of the dreams but because of the way Derry’s visit seemed to have inspired them. The warmth of his skin, how close he’d been—the things I’d told him that I’d never said to anyone. I made myself think of how desperate Patrick would be when he found the ogham stick missing and how great a risk I took in keeping quiet, in trusting that Derry would return it as he’d promised.

  It turned out that I was right to be worried. That afternoon as I sat with Mama in the parlor, reading while she embroidered, there was a knock on the door.

  A bill collector, I assumed, and I put my book aside.

  Mama glanced up. “Is Aidan home?”