Chapter 13
Deliverance
At first, I did not realize that our lives at Grayspires Manor had shifted, that Grayspires was orbiting around a different axis now.
But the frown lines deepened in Ada’s face every time Gideon moved to increase my comfort, even cruel and careless as he still was.
Small actions like keeping a fire in my room, or buying me new clothing, made a chill go down my spine at the expression on her face.
And strange things began to happen, so innocent and usual that they could almost have been accidents. . . except that I did not trust Grayspires.
A window missing its sill. . .
A crumbling rock near the moor that almost pitched me forward into a ditch. . .
A staircase that had soap on it. . .
And then one day Mariam fell ill.
I was in the receiving-room, working on my embroidery as Gideon composed some letters.
Recently he had begun insisting that I sit there while he worked, and of course if I refused, he would only drag me downstairs.
When suddenly, one of the maidservants ran in to say Mariam was foaming at the mouth and in awful pain.
Ada was sent for, and she rushed into the room, her face pale and fearful. But none of the home remedies for stomach-ache worked and things became so dire that a servant was dispatched to bring back Brother Bartholomew to pray over her.
Her screams of agony even from the other room frightened me.
Was he really to give Mariam her last rites? I felt frightened and confused.
She had just helped me let out one of my dresses this morning for my growing belly.
"Perhaps she has been stealing rich food from the table that she should not," Ada said angrily.
She seemed so infuriated that Mariam was sick, but I did not understand what could have possibly happened.
"What did she eat today?" Gideon asked one of the scullery maids, in a hard, tight voice.
"N-nothing sir," she replied, but my husband interrupted in a yet harder voice.
"She must have—must have. With these symptoms—or has she been near my workshop—"
He looked so fierce and angry that the little maid fairly quaked her in shoes and said,
"Per—haps, sir, perhaps some of the leftover food or drink from the table, we often take the leftovers. She meant no harm by it!"
My eyes felt as round as saucers, but Gideon seemed to notice me listening, for he shooed me outside so I wouldn’t be distressed.
As I left, I got one terrifying glimpse of Mariam, the other servants surrounding her, but when the housekeeper saw me, she stretched her hands out and appeared to be trying to say something.
But what?
I had no time to know before Gideon lifted me down the steps and shut the door behind him.
What could be in that workshop that was so dangerous? Wind from the moors whirled around my thick updo as I crept as close to the whitewashed wood building as I dared.
But all I heard was a mysterious mechanical grating behind the door, which was secured with a massive lock.
Did this door hold more of my husband’s depraved secrets?
With nothing else to do, I wandered into the herb garden. It too was poorly maintained and messy, and my hands itched to work it. But Gideon would say it was not a fit occupation for his wife.
It seemed to take a long time before I saw a carriage arrive and the tall figure of Brother Bartholomew get out, his brown hair curling over the bright-white clerical collar.
He looked up and our eyes met as Gideon hurried him inside.
Pulling my cloak closer around my body, I looked out over the moors, the landscape bleak and unforgiving, with those twisted gnarled trees casting unholy shadows. And, somewhere out there in the fog was the high rock outcropping that could help me find my way to St. Mary’s.
And maybe then. . . somehow, back home?
The thought of my father and The Gables caused many melancholy sensations, and I was only jolted out of them when Brother Bartholomew came up beside me.
His blue eyes looked unusually serious now.
"Is she all right?" I asked anxiously.
He shook his head. "I am sorry, Deliverance, but she is dead."
"Dead?" I gasped. “It seems impossible, when she was perfectly well only a few hours ago!”
"Did you drink any of your breakfast tea this morning?"
I thought for a moment and then shook my head.
"No, no, I didn't. Why?"
He looked off into the dark woods for a minute, then turned to me.
"After interviewing some of the maids after your, er—husband left, they were most insistent the only thing Mariam took from the table was the remains of your tea."
"My—tea? But why should that make her sick?"
"Deliverance, you signed on my palm for help?” he asked, not answering my question. “Why?”
I hesitated, and replied with a question of my own. “Tell me, do you know if men dislike virgins? Are repulsed by them? Horrified?”
Bartholomew seemed startled, and a little flush rose on his cheeks.
“It is my—understanding that it is—mostly—a desirable quality to a man. Please excuse my bluntness.”
Hell and godsdamn it! Gideon had taken advantage of my innocence and naivete to perpetrate a depraved deception. And I had fallen for it.
“My husband, he–is not a good man,” I said. “I want to escape him, but I cannot figure out how to. And I-I’m pregnant.”
Bartholomew looked at me for a moment, then said.
“Your tea was poisoned. I was able to get close enough to sniff the contents of what remained in your cup, and I recognized the scent of a powerful poison.”
"But—why should there be poison in my drink?" I cried. “Surely you must be mistaken!”
Bartholomew looked sad.
“In my training as a priest, I often aided an apothecary, so I don’t think I am mistaken. I wish I was.”
“An accident of some kind?”
"It may be an accident," Bartholomew said. "But—"
He stopped. Mariam—poisoned! It seemed unbelievable!
"How did anyone even know how to get a hold of such a thing?" I ran on.
The monk hesitated for a moment and then said, "Perhaps it is not fit that I should speak, but I must tell you that your husband is a—well-known purveyor of poisons."
"Of poisons?" I cried, stupefied. "You must be mistaken, or—maybe this is a cruel joke!"
"It is no joke," he said. "And I never would have spoken such a thing to you if I wasn't worried, Deliverance, for your safety."
My name in his gentle voice almost brought tears to my eyes.
"Who—does he poison?" I asked indignantly.
"Anyone who has the means to buy one of his concoctions may take it and use however they choose. An inconvenient father who hangs on to life too long when a son is in debt. A husband who stands in the way of a wife marrying another man. . ."
That blonde woman! I thought instantly. I had assumed she was a secret lover, but she was likely just another customer.
"I am sorry to bring you distress,” Bartholomew went on as I began to pace back and forth. “I wanted to caution you to be careful. Perhaps after all Mariam was the target. Perhaps she knew too many secrets. She must see all the people who come to Gideon for their poisons."
But I did not think so. Someone at Grayspires Manor wanted me dead.
Was it Gideon, to clear the way to marry his mistress? Was his care for our baby just a ruse? Or was it Ada, out of jealousy for any attention Gideon gave me, or the fact that my husband was visiting my room now more than ever. . .
Bartholomew seemed ready to say more, but just then Gideon appeared around the side of the house.
"Come inside right now, Deliverance!" he called. "Idiotic to be staying too long out in this weather."
Since he instantly began to stride toward me, I had only a few private moments to speak.
“Could you please contact a lawyer named Mr. Finch?” I asked. “I am curious to know more about how the disposal of my father’s possessions is going and if he has been able to sell enough to cover his debts. Don’t mention my name. Please–”
I wanted to say so much more, but Gideon was already there, putting hard hands on me, his face glowering like a dark, vengeful angel.
Brother Bartholomew took his leave as my husband bore me inexorably inside.
I did not resist, listening with fake penitence, although inside my mind was in chaos.
I knew my powerful husband was cruel and did not care for me, but now—attempted murder! How could he take me to church without fearing G-d would strike him on the spot for his sins?
Ada looked pale and snapped at me for talking to Brother Bartholomew.
"I suppose you were out there gossiping to him."
"No," I said, “Just telling him I’m a slut.”
“The hell you are,” Gideon snarled, and luckily the moment where they might have asked what Bartholomew learned had passed.
I went back to my embroidery. But what had happened to Mariam? All I could glean from a few overheard whispers was that they speculated she had broken into the workshop somehow and obtained the poisons.
But—why would she have taken them? How did they get into my cup?
And I could not help remembering the last words of warning Bartholomew had whispered quickly before Gideon bore me away.
"Watch what you drink—take nothing from anyone's hand!"