Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
J uliet could not recall the color of Horatio's eyes. Were they brown, hazel, or even gray?
As she had lain in bed one morning, drowsy and struggling to throw off the mantle of sleep, she realized that she could not clearly remember. His body , she remembered, but memories of him merged with dreams. Had they swum together in a lake in the woods? Was that a dream or a memory?
Juliet wished she could have a moment of lucid thought, untroubled by fatigue or the fogginess that seemed to characterize more and more of her days. She thought that it had been five days since she had awakened in her bed, after falling asleep next to Horatio. But she could not be sure. It might have been longer. It might have been less.
She frowned, trying to find solid memories onto which she could build. But nothing remained solid. Details escaped her, proved elusive. In turn, this made her think that those details had never existed. She had fabricated them and now could no longer remember all the lies she had invented.
A cough made her shudder and she reached for a glass of cider which had been left beside the open window to chill. The cool liquid and tart taste soothed her throat.
Her head ached slightly and there was an empty feeling in her limbs that she recognized. It might have been hunger, but she knew deep down it would remain even after her stomach was full. It was the illness, sapping her strength. Juliet knew the signs of an oncoming episode, like a sailor reading the skies for the storm that brewed beyond the horizon.
Looking to the window, she noted the paleness of the sky. Her window faced east. The sun was not above the horizon yet. Birds trilled their welcome to the day. As an exercise, she tried to list the different types by their song. After a few minutes, she stopped in sheer frustration. Knowledge that she had taken for granted, learned as a child, eluded her now. The fog seemed to close around her, holding her thoughts like insects caught in sap.
There came a soft, gentle tapping at the door. Juliet sat up at the sound, quiet but loud in the early morning silence. She regretted the sudden movement as her head spun, forcing her to lie back, closing her eyes and gasping for breath.
“Cousin Juliet?” came Edith's whispered voice, “are you awake?”
Juliet forced herself up, stumbling out of bed and falling to her knees at the keyhole. She rested her head against the door, panting with the effort of moving. This was going to be a particularly bad storm.
“Yes, Edith. I am here,” she breathed heavily.
“Thank goodness. I tried to return as arranged but Mrs. Swift was always at your door. As though she were standing guard over you. I did not understand why at the time. I believe I do now.”
Juliet frowned, trying to penetrate the fog of fatigue, trying to concentrate on Edith's words.
“She has been guarding me? Is that not usual then?”
“No, she usually spends her days at her leisure in the gardens or the drawing room. Except for the time she comes to your room to speak to you. But I overheard Papa talking to her. They intend to send you away and will not risk you escaping before they can make the arrangements,” Edith whispered.
“Send me away? Wherever to?”
“I found correspondence in Papa's study from a man who runs an asylum on the Isle of Wight,” Edith said, quietly. “It said that they would accept you.”
Juliet's blood ran cold. She wished she did not feel that she had been awake for three days without rest. Or that the illness was not cramping her stomach and sending dull aches through every other muscle in her body. A cold sweat broke out on her forehead. She wanted to sleep, wanted it like a man dying of thirst craves a drop of water.
“I don't think it is right,” Edith said fiercely. “Even if you made up your encounter with the Duke, that does not mean they have the right to lock you away.”
“Maybe they think it is the only way to keep me safe,” Juliet murmured, “maybe they are right. If I had my freedom, I think I would run back to Ravenscourt. Except I cannot be sure that it would be running back. I am starting to think that maybe I am mad. Wouldn't an asylum be the best place for me? I don't think it would be for long…”
“I will admit that the behavior I have heard described is odd. Even for you, and you are the most eccentric person I know, but… but…” Edith’s words trailed off. Then, she took a deep breath and continued, “I… I overheard a conversation earlier. That you had been found asleep on the Duke's bed while he was half naked in it. Mrs. Swift was scandalized to hear it too.”
Even Edith sounded slightly scandalized, though she cared little for social conventions or the rules of so-called polite society. Something in Edith's words resonated within Juliet though. It triggered a memory of something Mrs. Swift had said to her. About Juliet claiming to have gone to sleep next to Horatio. Suddenly, it was as though a lighthouse had cut through the fog with a powerful beam. Juliet lifted her head, heart pounding with the excitement of realization.
“Edith,” she said, “I never told anyone that I fell asleep beside Horatio. It is true. I tended to him as he suffered from a fever. Then I fell asleep with my head on his bed. But I told that to no one. So if I dreamed my time with Horatio, then how did Mrs. Swift know such a detail?”
It seemed such a small detail, but a crucial one. All very well to say that Juliet had fabricated being intimate with Horatio or simply being in his house. But to say that she had lied about falling asleep on his bed? There was no way that such a detail could be known without Juliet relating it directly.
And she had not.
Therefore, everything that she remembered must have been true!
Juliet felt overwhelming relief and joy at the thought, while at the same time, a gnawing anxiety. Her dreams were real. Horatio was her lover. She had lain with the man she loved, had shared her body with him. But what had become of him since? Why had she been here a month and heard nothing from him? Had he been persuaded that he should give her up? Because of her illness perhaps? Or had the Godwins tried the same subterfuge with him as they had with her, trying to convince him that she was of unsound mind? Her behavior with him must certainly have seemed eccentric. Would it be so big a leap from that to madness?
“I believe you. The more I have heard, the less it all makes sense! But what can I do, Juliet?” Edith whispered urgently, “Mrs. Swift guards the key to your room. It is on her person at all times. I am not sure I can get you out of there.”
Juliet thought furiously. Edith might persuade a servant to break the door down. If, perhaps, Juliet started a fire in the room. But Uncle Gilbert could easily countermand any instructions given by Edith. And once out of the room, he or Aunt Margaret could order her to be held and then just lock her away again.
No, she needed outside help.
Horatio ? If word could be gotten to him, then Juliet hoped that he would ride to her rescue. But if he was denied entry to the house, what could he do? Return with a constable perhaps?
But he would certainly take the word of the master of the house. Duke or not, Uncle Gilbert was master of Wetherby, and as such, had certain rights dating back to the Magna Carta.
Then, the solution hit her.
“Edith,” she said urgently, “you must get word to Lord Hemsworth at Fordham Grange. He is a magistrate and he is my friend. He will help and Aunt Margaret will not be able to deny him entry to this house!”
“I will do it, Juliet. I will write to him this morning and carry the message to the village myself. I will ask the postmaster there to dispatch it by rider to Fordham Grange, not wait for the post coach. I have some money to pay him. But Juliet, this is important. I saw Mrs. Swift adding something to your food and to your tea. At first, I had thought it to be medicine, but the cook did not know it was being done. I believe it must be some form of drug to keep you subdued. You must not take any more food or drink from her.”
Juliet reeled at this new information. She thought back over the days in which she had been held prisoner. At the fogginess of her mind. So confused had she been that she had begun to doubt her own memories. And all this time, she was being drugged?
For what purpose?
There could be only one objective. To keep her safely out of the way so that Frances could be offered to Horatio as wife. Just as Aunt Margaret had wanted all along. Juliet was to be kept drugged so that she could not protest and then quietly sent away. Horatio would doubtless have been told lies about her and would eventually forget her. Or at least be dissuaded from marrying her. The illness would eventually claim Juliet and then it would be too late, even if Horatio found out the truth.
Juliet suddenly wished that he did not care so much about his family name. That he would just ride out to claim her and dash the scandal. She felt selfish thinking it. Selfish and sad. Horatio would never give up the reputation that's restoration meant so much to him.
“Someone is coming. Remember, do not take any refreshment except which I give you,” Edith whispered. “I will bring you something to eat when I am able. Father knows I often eat in my rooms so no one will think it odd. I must go!”
Juliet listened to the sound of Edith furtively leaving the anteroom. Moments later, she heard firmer footsteps coming towards her door. She scrambled to her feet but was overcome by a coughing fit and stumbled. Her legs felt like jelly and her head pounded with each convulsion of her lungs. This was the worst episode yet. The sound reached her of the door being unlocked and then opened.
“Now then, what on earth are you doing out of bed?” Mrs. Swift demanded.
She attempted to help Juliet back onto the bed but Juliet shook her off. It took a supreme effort to clamber up onto the bed alone, and then blessed relief came as she lay down.
“Are you unwell? You look very pale and I heard your coughing fit from the other side of the corridor,” Mrs. Swift said.
“Did my Aunt and Uncle not tell you of my hereditary illness?” Juliet murmured weakly.
“ Illness ? No, they did not,” Mrs. Swift stepped back from the bed.
“But you are a nurse and unafraid of disease. You will have seen so much of it,” Juliet muttered, feeling spiteful. She remembered the reactions of people to learning who she was, ever since she was a child. Smiling thinly, she continued, “I am the daughter of Judith Semphill, who died of an incurable illness. Whose husband had followed her to the grave, a madman. Perhaps affected by the same illness. They shied away from us all and treated her like a leper.”
“Is this another of your fairy stories?” Mrs. Swift said, uncertainly.
“Does it seem like a fairy story?” Juliet demanded.
“I was told that I was to care for a young lady of unsound mind,” she started, taking another step back.
“Sound mind, but unsound body. Let us hope that I am not contagious. I cannot be sure that this ailment came from my mother at birth or was contracted from being in her prolonged company.”
“I shall speak to his lordship about this at once! In the meantime, I have brought you breakfast and tea. Be sure to eat it all.”
She brought a tray through from the other room and then hurried away. Juliet had the satisfaction of knowing that she had given the villainous Mrs. Swift a fright if nothing else.
She prayed that Edith would accomplish her mission. Prayed that Nigel would free her. Then, perhaps she could go back to Horatio and find out what had become of him. And if he still wanted to marry her.
Her final prayer was that Horatio would choose her over his family name.