Chapter 32
The stench was intolerable, and on my complaining of it the Mother pointed to … the putrid—the absolutely melted away remains of her eldest son. On inquiry why she did not bury … she waited till her other child would die, and they might bury both together.
“Do something!” I screamed the order, but the bewildered Dr. Brady simply stared, wide-eyed, at the scene before him.
At Lady Catherine’s dead body, the light of breathtaking dawn illuminating the heinous scene.
At me, bathed as I was in her blood, chilled to the very marrow of my bones as her life’s essence soaked through layer after layer of clothing.
Permeating the grooves of the hardwood floor.
Pooling in coagulated glory, stains that might never come clean.
Dr. Brady was too late; we were too late.
I knew it, but I still couldn’t make sense of it all.
Cormac had whisked Diarmuid from the room the moment Lady Catherine crumpled to the floor and returned with Dr. Brady … how much time had passed? I knew not.
Wound. Pressure. Stop the bleed. I stared at her lifeless face, long since warped into a mask of stiffening flesh. No, not her face, not anymore. For that’s the verity of death; as the soul departs, the husk of what once was is clearly no more.
Dr. Brady cleared his throat, and my gaze fell to my hands, caked red and cramped, the length of ripped chemise beneath them a mere branch staving off the onslaught of a strong current. But the river no longer ran, and I no longer needed to shore the breach.
And yet, I could not move, nor could I will my tears to dry. Tears that had not come during my darkest of days. Tears that hadn’t come since.
But now, the dam had burst.
Something hard bit into the palm of my left hand, and I closed my fingers around it. Slowly. Painfully. The object Lady Catherine had passed to me, once cold, now warm. Warm as Lady Catherine had once been. I slipped it into the pocket of my skirt.
Boots thudded, and a strong pair of arms encircled my waist.
“Come away.” Cormac.
I shook my head, but as he plucked me from Lady Catherine’s corpse, a scream fit to wake the dead tore from my throat.
“Get this cleaned up,” Cormac barked, heaving me over his shoulder. I clawed his back, thumping my bloodied fists as sobs and screams fought for dominance. “Is the bath ready?”
A distant “Aye” met my ears.
“Broth and porridge. A dram of something strong if we have it,” Cormac continued, stomping from the library.
“She’ll need to rest—” Aggie.
But the last I remembered, before shaking myself to find Beth scrubbing the blood from my hands, was Cormac shouting: “God rot the lot of ye.”
We had two days before the new moon. Two days until the Cailleach needed her due. I was exhausted, but rest was the farthest thing from my mind. Now clean and fresh in a new day dress, clarity blossomed as I paced my bedchamber, wearing a path from door to window and back again.
Lady Catherine might be dead, but to feed the Cailleach—and ensure the safety of the villagers—vengeance must still be meted.
My brows drew together as I thought. The only way to fix this … it started with Lady Catherine’s death.
My eyes widened, and I halted before burrowing a hand into my skirt pocket.
I’d somehow gathered the wherewithal to fetch the object Lady Catherine had passed to me before Beth took away my bloodied ensemble for burning.
I had even cleaned the blood from the slim metallic rectangle before popping it into my new pocket.
Hurrying toward the window, I pulled it out before turning it over in my hands. A seam … a clasp. It was a box. With some fiddling, the seams parted, and inside—
“Her necklace,” I whispered, lips parting at the sight of the golden triskele charm, the length of black ribbon wrapped around it. And beneath? That old familiar key to the attic. I glanced over my shoulder at the door. “Michael? What should I do?”
But there was no answer from my dearly departed. Instead, a sudden knock startled me to attention.
“Enter!” I called, and in bustled Aggie, face drawn and pale, worry hooked through the lines of her forehead. “Has all been made right?”
“I …” Aggie took a breath, then squared her shoulders.
“The library has been cleared, m’Lady. Dr. Brady has seen to the gentleman in the guest wing and reports he is sleeping well, thanks to whatever medicine the good doctor administered.
I’ve instructed Beth to serve his evening meal in the guest room—”
“No,” I said, placing the empty box on the windowsill before pocketing the necklace and the key to the attic. “There’ll be no need to feed him. Where is the child?”
“Ye plan to starve him?” Aggie brought a hand to her chest as her lips tugged downward, melding into the folds that ran from jaw to jowl. “M’Lady, the house may be in mourning, but to not feed him … what if he leaves and reports us? We are already in grave danger with Lady Catherine gone—”
“You are in grave danger,” I hissed, striding forward. “Whatever curse is at work here will undoubtedly come for you all if I do not get to work. He will not eat, is that clear? And he will not leave. No one can, as well ye know.”
“Ye know?” Aggie asked, aghast.
“She told me everything, and I will set things to rights,” I snapped. “Now, where is the child?”
“I-in the kitchens.” Pursing her lips, Aggie straightened her spine. “Safe. Hale and hearty.”
I nodded as I neared and paused before her. “Keep him safe.”
“Does this mean”—Aggie whipped out a hand and grabbed my arm—“ye’ll fix it all? Even all that goes on in the attic?”
Before I could ask what, exactly, went on in the attic, a shadow filled the open doorway, and my heart leapt in my chest as Cormac stepped into the room.
“Mr. O’Dea,” I said, by way of greeting. Dark circles painted the delicate skin beneath his eyes, and I knew mine matched.
“I must go to Lahinch and report her death. She left a will,” he announced, holding out a folded letter. “And this was with it, in the top drawer. Like she said.”
Brow furrowing, I reached out to take whatever it was Lady Catherine had left behind, right as Aggie rounded on Cormac.
“Ye cannot report her death!”
“If the will is to be executed, we must. We need a death certificate,” Cormac countered, brow furrowing as I plucked the letter from his grasp. “The constabulary will have to investigate.”
“Ye fool. No constabulary in the country would have a current record of this estate, or the village, or the parish. Even if ye report it, none would be able to find it!” Aggie exclaimed, covering her mouth with her hand. “They’d take ye to the Galway asylum.”
“Of course he should go and report it,” I said with a sigh, unfolding the letter. My eyes scanned the neat script, and with each phrase I read, my pulse ignited. “By the time he returns with the constabulary, it will all be done.”
“What will be done? And what are we to do? Without Lady Catherine, our protection payments are lost, with no way to get them back. And if the woman in white isn’t appeased, none of it will have mattered, for we’ll all perish,” Aggie continued, grasping my shoulders the very moment I committed Lady Catherine’s sign-off to memory.
“I’ll appease her first and figure out the rest,” I assured Aggie, placing the letter in my pocket before locking my gaze with hers. “But first, ye must have Beth gather all the incense we have—the kind with the special herbs—and burn the lot in our injured guest’s room.”
“Incense? But that’s for the remembering.” Aggie’s lower lip trembled, and I squeezed both her shoulders.
“Just do it. When yer done, take everyone—the child included—and assemble the entire village in the parish hall. Yer job is to keep them there ’til tomorrow morning. Can ye do that for me?”
“I … but why? How are ye going to set things to rights? Why in the name of God did her ladyship do that awful thing to herself?” Aggie’s face crumpled, and tears glistened in her eyes.
“Because it was the only way to do what needs to be done, and she trusted me to do it. Will ye trust me now, and do as I ask?” I inhaled deeply and waited—one, two—’til Aggie finally nodded.
“Aye,” she said, dabbing her eyes with the sleeve of her gown before sweeping from the room.
Releasing my breath, I placed both hands against my hips and kicked a foot against the hem of my gown.
“Did ye read it?” I asked.
“I did, aye. Are ye sure ye can do it? Ye don’t have the Sight,” Cormac said softly. I glanced at him, and the weight of exhaustion begged me to lean into him, to take solace in his safety for just a moment.
But I simply could not. “Whatever devilry is at work here is contained in the necklace. And only one person can wield it. That’s why she did that. So I could wear it and figure out what I’m missing. So I can change the course of the vengeance and have the Cailleach declare a new victim.”
A muscle ticked along his jaw as he stared off toward the window. I hadn’t noticed before, but he’d washed, as I had, and the faint welting of a straight blade burned red against his neck. But ’twas not his fresh face that gave pause.
“What … what are ye wearing?” I asked, gob agape as my mind caught up to my eyes.
Fine buckskin pantaloons tucked into tall riding boots, a fine linen shirt, an immaculate cravat woven with brown and gold silk of paisley design, all topped off with a beige-colored clawhammer coat.
I’d only seen such an ensemble in the pamphlets Lady Grace ordered in from London.
This was not merely the dress of an Anglo, but a landed British aristocrat.
Startled, Cormac turned his attention to his clothing, running his gaze from the toes of his boots, up his legs, before glancing at me, cheeks aflame. With two hands, he adjusted the single-breasted lapels of the clawhammer coat.
“Her ladyship had this made for me long ago, and I refused to wear it,” he admitted, wincing as he placed a finger between cravat and neck.
“’Tis awful uncomfortable, but I supposed today was as good a day as any to put it on …
honor her in a small way. I thought it best to report her death as a blood relative.
The get-up might intimidate them a bit.”
“Ye certainly look the part of a countess’s nephew,” I said, but then pursed my lips. “Better if it were black for mourning, though.”
“Beggars can’t be choosers,” he replied with a shrug. “It’ll strengthen the case that we were shocked by her sudden demise. I’ll ride myself and switch out the horse along the way.”
“Aye.” I rounded my shoulders.
“Are ye sure ye can do this by yerself?” he asked, brows furrowing. “It could wait—”
“Go,” I said. “Once everything is in motion, there’s naught ye could do to help anyway.”
“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Cormac said. He nodded, resolute. He’d read his aunt’s final words, as I had, and knew the truth of it. That the task before me was vast, but only I, and I alone, could take it on.
For the necklace was the charm that tied the Cailleach to Lady Catherine’s control and allowed the owner to view others’ memories while the incense worked its magic.
In viewing the memories, Lady Catherine could determine when the vengeful person had come to their conclusion, before alerting the Cailleach, so the Cailleach could announce what the sacrificial vengeance would be.
But with Lady Catherine now gone, and with the necklace now in my possession, I would have the ability to view others’ memories.
I glanced at the letter in my hand, eyes scanning the passage that explained the how.
To end it all, Maggie, you must uncover the root of his actions and shift the blame away, thus creating a new path toward vengeance. For the reason it all happened lies elsewhere, and with that truth, you can save the child.
And now it was time.
For Theodore Moore-Vandeleur to remember.