Chapter Thirty-nine #2
When Genova told the nursery governess the gist of the story, however, Mrs. Harbinger nodded. “I had begun to suspect as much, Miss Smith, and was in something of a puzzle over what to do about it. Strange goings-on.”
She led Genova into the nursery where only one cradle remained, and scooped out the sleeping baby.
She wrapped him in an extra blanket and passed him over.
Genova carried him away, thinking she knew Sheena’s concern.
Life in her village was probably simple and poor, and having tasted better, she might want better for her child.
Genova navigated the stairs with care, since a baby and hooped skirts was a challenge. Distant music told that the Christmas revelry continued—a celebration all to do with a baby. Charlie stirred, his mouth working for a moment.
“Don’t cry for food yet,” Genova told him. “Especially since Lord Rothgar might still be there.”
He settled, and she hummed the presepe song to keep him happy. She entered the room to find Ash alone with Sheena and Lawrence in a tense silence.
It broke as soon as Genova gave the baby to Sheena. Lawrence’s open delight, the eagerness with which he took Charlie into his arms, eased some of Genova’s concerns. But the story wouldn’t end until they were comfortably settled somewhere.
Rothgar returned with a servant who was to take Lawrence to the grooms’ area above the stables. As soon as he started to leave, Sheena clung to him, crying.
Genova had Lawrence explain to the girl. Sheena reluctantly let him go and left to return to the nurseries, but as if tragedy weighed on her head.
“I feel like a Capulet or Montague,” Ash said. “I hope you’ve locked away the poison, Rothgar.”
“This abbey is clear of meddling monks, at least. What will you do now?”
Ash moved around the room, pausing at the table holding decanters. “May I offer you some of your own brandy?”
Rothgar smiled and declined.
“It would be useful to find Molly and confront her with her sins, but perhaps cruel to make her confess them in public.”
“You’re more compassionate than I am,” Rothgar said.
“May I be of service in presenting this evidence to the king? I believe he would find this tale of Irish lovers interesting, perhaps even touching, if told aright. He could be persuaded that he has been less than just. It would be wise to marry, though. Kings hate to have it obvious that they have changed their mind.”
Genova looked at her meaningless ring. She told herself that she didn’t want Ash to marry her only because a rapid wedding would suit. Anyway, Damaris Myddleton would snap him up.
“It is time I married,” Ash said, “though I doubt anything will convince the king that I’m a saint.”
“He’s pragmatic enough to realize that if he surrounds himself only with saints he will wander empty rooms, and lack some excellent advisers. His Majesty does persist, however, in believing that marriage can save a sinner. Have you read my mother’s papers?”
Genova looked up and saw the cousins assessing each other.
“I haven’t read all of the journal, but it doesn’t paint a picture of cruelty.”
“No, and I can pledge my conviction that my father was incapable of it. Perhaps he came to find her trying, however, so he may not have been a perfect husband.”
“I found her trying and I was only reading her daily grievances.”
Genova stood still, hardly breathing, not wanting to break this crucial dialogue.
Ash looked into the fire, then up. “Was she mad?”
“In the end, certainly. Whatever led her to believe that Edith must die cannot have been sane. Earlier?” Rothgar shrugged. “We all walk an edge between sanity and insanity and can be pushed over by a powerful enough force.”
Another edge, Genova thought.
“Some require very little pressure,” Rothgar said. “I think you will have seen that she was unstable.”
Ash turned to fully face his cousin. “Rumor said you would not marry because of the madness in your blood.”
“We all walk that edge,” Rothgar repeated. “I came to understand that I was my father’s son as well as my mother’s, that I had kept my balance through trying times, and that the factors forming future generations cannot be predicted. And I had fallen in love.”
“Love. Are men like you and I allowed to indulge in that degree of insanity?”
Did Ash glance at her for a moment? Genova’s mouth dried and her heart beat faster.
“It’s an unjust world if we’re not. Can we cry peace, Cousin?”
Ash looked into the distance for so long that Genova wanted to speak just to break the silence. Then slowly, he said, “Peace be with you, and upon your house be peace.”
Genova tried to not even breathe as the cousins shook hands and gave each other the kiss of peace.
As they stepped apart, Ash said, “I would like to take the journal and some drawings to show to our grandmother.”
Rothgar stilled. “I would prefer that they not be destroyed.”
“I give you my word that they will return here safely.”
“Then perhaps we could agree to an exchange of documents.”
“For some that you would wish destroyed?” Ash asked, and Genova knew that was of great moment.
“Precisely. We have no more need of weapons, I think.”
“Nor of defense, I hope. Very well. I will arrange to have them delivered to you. Or perhaps you would trust me to destroy them and the supporting evidence. I will be thorough.”
Now it was Rothgar who hesitated, but then he bowed. “My thanks. Now, excuse me but I should return to my guests.”
He left the room and Genova exhaled.
“What was that about?” she asked.
Ash had turned to look into the fire. “The documents? I hold some work of his that in the right hands could destroy him.”
She’d shared a more perilous edge than she’d known. “You would have used them?”
He looked at her. “I don’t know. Do you approve of this peace?”
“It’s not my place—”
“To hell with that. Do you approve? Did I do the right thing?”
“Yes, of course!”
He turned back to the fire. “How pleasant to be so sure of everything.”
Genova bit her lip. “I’ll leave you now,” she said, and headed for the door.
He caught her hand as she passed. “Why? The night’s still young.”
“And you’re in a mood best served by solitude.”
“Foul, in other words.”
“Yes.”
He let go of her hand but stepped closer. “I might be improved by a taste of a sweet bread from Genova.”
He lowered his head and nibbled gently at her lower lip.