Chapter Eighteen
Landon stared at Guy and Virginia in disbelief. In Virginia’s arms, their daughter smiled at him, not sick at all. “But the lad told me Thalia needed a doctor.” Landon glanced over at the Marquess of Dodsworth—also known as Doctor Westward prior to inheriting his title—who had come with him. Bewildered, he turned back to Guy. “The lad said you asked me to come right away and to bring a doctor with me.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, but we’re fine,” Virginia said. “There’s nothing wrong with Thalia.”
“The lad must have made a mistake,” the doctor said, turning to Landon. “It’s all right. I’d rather come here and find out nothing is wrong than find out someone really does need help.” He gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “It’s nice that you care so much about your brother and his family.”
Landon waited until the doctor left before he turned back to Guy and Virginia. “The lad gave me your name. Why would he do that when Thalia ith all right?”
“I don’t know,” Guy replied. “I’m as bewildered as you are.”
“I don’t think the lad made a mithtake.” Landon stopped, realizing his frustration was causing him to lisp without thinking about it.
Landon wasn’t making any of this up. He had just gone to the drawing room of his townhouse when the lad came up to the door. The lad had said Guy had sent for him and that Thalia was seriously ill. Why would he do that if it wasn’t true?
“If the lad didn’t make a mistake, then why would he tell you something was wrong with Thalia?” Guy asked.
“It doesn’t make any sense,” Virginia agreed. “If it wasn’t a mistake, then it was done on purpose. And if so, what did he hope to gain by it?”
“Or by the person who paid him,” Guy added. “How old was the lad?”
Landon thought for a moment then said. “Ten. Maybe eleven.” Then he realized the lad was too young to come up with something like this all by himself. Someone had to be behind it. “I don’t know why he did it, but if I get a chance to talk to him again, I’ll find out.”
“If something serious really does come up, I’ll get you myself,” Guy told him. “That way you know it’s true.”
Good. Landon sighed and ran his hand through his hair. As the doctor said, it was good that everyone was all right. Even with this situation being as strange as it was, it was better than something bad happening to his niece.
“I’ll go tell Opal what happened,” Landon said. No doubt, she was worrying about them since he’d left in such a hurry.
Landon turned to leave and Virginia called out, “It’s nice you care about us so much.”
Guy smiled. “It is.” He gave Landon a hug. “Thanks, brother.”
Landon returned their smiles, feeling a little better about the whole ordeal. He left their home and scanned the street, but he didn’t see the lad anywhere. Not that he expected to. The lad was probably long gone. But it was possible whoever had put the lad up to the lie could be watching. Landon took a good look at all of the gentlemen who were passing by. No one seemed suspicious. Of course, just because someone didn’t seem suspicious, it didn’t mean he wasn’t.
With a shake of his head, he went to the carriage and settled into the seat. Something was going on. He was sure of it. If only he could figure out what it was. What would someone have to gain by claiming Thalia was ill? There had to be a reason for it. No one would send a lad to him unless they benefited from it somehow. He rubbed the back of his neck, puzzled to no end over this strange occurrence.
The carriage moved forward, and he brought his attention back to the street around him, wondering if the person responsible was watching him and wondering what that person was thinking.
***
Opal didn’t feel any better after she had a cup of tea. If anything, she felt worse. Because now the maid and the other staff were looking at her as if they pitied her. It was the same look the staff used to give her while her mother and Byron had been alive. She hated that look. She didn’t mind it when she was pretending to be insane, but she did now that she honestly believed it.
When she finished the tea, she picked up the book and tucked it under her arm. She took a deep breath. Did she dare look in the den and see if those paintings were still there? It seemed that every time she went there, she saw something that shouldn’t be there. She should probably avoid that room. Common sense told her she was better off staying away from it.
Except she couldn’t get rid of the small voice in the back of her mind that was prompting her to go and check it out. To know if she would see the paintings of the graveyard and the ghost again. Or, if like before, she’d see things that were supposed to be there. Every other time she had taken another look in the room, things went back to normal. The horse inkwell had been on the desk. The books had been lined in alphabetical order according to title. If she was right, then when she went into the den, the paintings of the three horses and the autumn trees would be back.
After a moment of lingering in the doorway of the drawing room, she approached the den. Again, she didn’t hear any strange tapping sound in the hallway. This time, she didn’t feel as if the shadows lining the hallway were going to reach out and grab her. Everything felt normal. Everything, that was, except for her. She couldn’t help but wonder if she was the only thing wrong with the place.
When she reached the den, she took a moment to steady her nerves. She could do this. She could go in there and face her fears. She took a step into the room and glanced at the desk. The horse inkwell was there. Her gaze went to the bookshelves. The books were as they should be: in alphabetical order according to title.
Taking a deep breath, she turned to the wall with the paintings. They were as they should be, too. The horses were grazing in the grass while a dog lingered nearby. And the trees in the other painting were arrayed in an assortment of autumn colors. She closed her eyes again, willing the other paintings to return. But when she opened her eyes, she didn’t see the graveyard or ghost paintings. She only saw the paintings Landon had purchased. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.
Clutching the book to her chest, she left the den and went up the stairs, heading for her bedchamber. She probably shouldn’t go there, but she needed to be alone for a while. The last thing she wanted was to see another pitying expression from one of the servants.
As soon as she reached her bedchamber, she peeked into the room. It looked normal. She hadn’t ventured up here by herself during the day since she’d first heard the knocking from Landon’s bedchamber. She wasn’t sure what would happen if she ventured in here now.
Well, there was only one way to find out. She went halfway into the room and studied her surroundings. Everything was normal. Nothing was out of place. She debated whether to close the door to the hallway but decided to keep it open. Suddenly feeling tired, she set the book on the vanity then went to the bed. Rest. She’d get some rest. Then when she got up, she might feel better.
Maybe she should ask Landon to take her to the country. Then she’d live out the rest of her life in isolation, safe from anyone who might tell people in the Ton that she was losing her mind. Warren and Iris shouldn’t have to deal with the shame of such gossip. Some people would probably refuse to let them invest in their businesses if they found out something was wrong with her.
She didn’t think Landon would mind going to the country. He felt self-conscious with his lisp and avoided as many social activities as possible. The only reason he was in London was because of her.
But if she was losing her mind, then what? Would things get worse? Would she start to act in ways that made her unsafe to be around? Would she eventually pose a threat to others? If that happened, would she be able to spend time with her child? Would she and Landon even be able to have a normal marriage? Or would he end up feeling more like her guardian than her husband?
She wiped away her tears and went to the bed. After she climbed in, she pulled the blanket up to her nose. She could smell Landon. If she closed her eyes, she could even imagine he was wrapping her in a protective embrace.
Would he even want to stay with her if he knew she was descending into madness? Her mother had often commented how difficult it was to tend to someone who acted like she was still three or four. At the time, Opal hadn’t minded because it meant her mother stayed away from her as much as possible, and considering the years of abuse she’d suffered at her mother’s hand, it’d been a relief.
Unwittingly, her mind went back to that day when she was thirteen. It’d been the day that had changed everything. She had gone out on her horse with the intention of breaking her neck by jumping off her horse. But though she had jumped, she had survived.
Given the extent of her injuries, her mother had been so overcome with guilt over the way she had treated her that she finally stopped hitting her. And that was when Opal decided to pretend she had lost her sanity. After that, her mother had never harmed her again.
Was Opal losing her mind because she’d lied to her mother? Was this a matter of getting what she’d deserved? Lying was wrong. She’d known it was wrong. But she’d done it anyway. Maybe these things had a way of coming back to haunt someone when they least expected it.
She heard a knock at the door connecting her bedchamber with Landon’s. She stiffened. After a tentative moment, she turned her gaze to the door. Was someone really there, or was she imagining it?
She opened her mouth to ask who was on the other side, but then she shut it. She should ignore it. It probably wasn’t really happening. She swallowed the lump in her throat and turned away from the door.
If she waited long enough, it would stop. All she had to do was remind herself that it wasn’t real. Maybe if she didn’t give into the belief it was happening, she would be able to get a handle on things.
It’s not real. It’s not real.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
She swallowed and took a deep breath. It’s not real. It’s not real.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
She gripped the blanket. It’s not real. It’s not real.
The door creaked open.
She squeezed her eyes shut tight. It’s not real. It’s not real.
“Opal,” came a whisper.
Her eyes flew open, and she looked at the doorway. In a ghostly pallor stood Byron. She let out a startled cry and bolted up in the bed, her heart pounding.
“Why don’t you visit me?” he whispered.
She shook her head and closed her eyes. It can’t be real. It can’t be real.
“Opal,” he whispered again, this time sounding closer.
She dared to open her eyes and saw that he was halfway in the room.
“Don’t you know I get lonely at the estate?” he whispered.
“You’re not real.” She clutched the blanket to her chest, tears filling her eyes. “I’m only imagining you.” Her voice cracked on the last of the sentence.
“I need you to leave London,” he whispered, extending his hand toward her. “Come visit me.”
She bolted out of the bed and ran for the small room off to the side of her bedchamber. She slammed the door behind her and locked it. Then to make sure Byron wasn’t going to come in, she grabbed a chair and propped it against the door so that no one could enter the room. She retreated to the corner of the room and sat down, hugging her knees to her chest.
A ghost. Not once in her life had she ever seen a ghost. She hadn’t even pretended to see a ghost while her mother and Byron had been alive.
It’s all in my mind. It’s all in my mind. None of it’s real.
Trembling, she wiped her tears away and stared at the door, wondering if the apparition would pass through the door.
Was this whole thing about Byron? Was it possible she felt guilty for the fact that she didn’t miss him? Was that why she imagined the missive from him?
Her mother had been cruel to her, but Byron hadn’t been. Granted, he wasn’t the noblest of brothers. He’d been hoping to pawn her off on a wealthy gentleman when she was old enough to have a Season even though he had believed her to be insane. But he never hit her. When they were younger, he had even protected her from their mother’s wrath.
Maybe she imagined the missive he’d written, the paintings of the graveyard and the ghost, and his ghost because she thought she needed to visit his grave. To atone for her lack of sympathy over his death. Maybe once she went to the cemetery at her brother’s estate, all of the things she was imagining would go away.
Gulping, she pushed the strands of hair from her face and waited to see what would happen next.
Nothing. All was silent from the other side of the door. No strange knocks. No whispers.
The only sound she could hear was her shaky breath. She didn’t dare move from her spot. Now that everything had stopped, she was afraid if she got up, it would all start again. So she remained right where she was. At least for now, she was safe.