Free Twelfth Night at Eyre Hall by Luccia Gray Page A

own
house?”
    “Mr. Mason. I have come to discuss a
private matter with Mrs. Mason. Would you kindly leave us?”
    He walked to the door, turned to me and said,
“You have not heard my last word,” as he left the room.
    Jane stared at the door for some moments
before speaking. “I am married to a monster.”
    “It was your decision.” It was the
truth. I had hated her for marrying him and part of me wanted her to suffer for
having done so.
    “When you have a child, if you ever do,
you will understand what I had to do.”
    “I gather the marriage is not happy?”
    “You know the answer to that question.
Do not play with me,  Lieutenant Kirkpatrick.”
    “Pardon me, Mrs. Mason. I am sorry that
you are troubled by Mr. Mason.”
    “Fortunately he is rarely at Eyre Hall.
When he is, I lock my door at night and sleep with a knife under my pillow. ”
    “He hasn’t hurt you?”
    “Do you care?”
    “Of course I care.” I strode towards
her. “Has he?”
    “He tried to.” She looked towards the
hearth and smiled. “But I used the stoker.”
    “Good idea.” My furrowed brow smoothed
out into a smile. “I have seen you use it before, to great effect.”
    She smiled. “Dr. Carter was a saint in
comparison. Mason tried to use a zombie powder Edward had told me about that
they use in the Indies that converts people into will–less dolls. So I hit him
and he has never tried to enter again.”
    I smiled. “I can believe that. He must
be terrified of you,” I said, but I knew Jane did not have the strength to
resist an attack if he ever tried to force her. My greatest concern was her
safety, and she would only be safe if Mason were dead.
    “Not at all. I am the one who is
frightened out of my wits, when he is at Eyre Hall, which fortunately is not
frequently.”
    “I wish he had accepted my challenge so
I could have killed him.” I was serious; my need to protect her was stronger
than any idea of self–preservation, sanity or survival. I would never forgive
myself if he hurt her. 
    “Why did you leave me, Michael?”
    I could not answer at once. My name on
her lips once more wounded my heart more than any firearm.
    “You know why. I… we…. It was not, is
not, possible.”
    “You broke my heart.”
    “It was never my intention to harm you.
Please forgive me, Jane.”
    We looked at each other for what seemed
a long moment until she finally spoke. “Well, let us sit down again. Tell me
why you are here.”
    “I have come because Susan has asked for
my help.”
    “Susan, of course,” she said as a sad smile
crossed her lips. “What is the matter with Susan?”
    “Susan is with child.”
    “Dear God! Susan? How is it possible?”
    “She says she fell in love, but perhaps
she was seduced.”
    “Who is the father?”
    “Dante Greenwood.”
    Her brow furrowed. “Dante? Are you sure?”
    I nodded.
    “Absolutely sure?”
    “Susan is sure.”
    “Are they in love?”
    “I believe so; at least that is what
Susan has told me, although I have not spoken to Dante yet. I wanted to speak
to you first.”
    She pressed her temples. I took a
decanter, poured some brandy and handed it to her. She shook her head, so I
washed it down myself and brought some water, which she accepted.
    “You must know that Mr. Greenwood has
asked me for Annette’s hand in marriage to his son, Dante.”
    “That is why I am here. I have come to
beseech you to stop the wedding and insist that Dante do the honourable thing
and marry my sister.”
    A look I had never seen glazed her eyes.
She stiffened and spoke quietly. “It amazes me how differently you behaved when
you had fathered a child yourself.”
    I remembered how her soft skin had moulded
pliantly into mine, how she had surrendered completely to me, and I wanted to
beg her forgiveness, but my words were trapped in my dry throat.
    She walked to the window and pressed her
palms against the panes.
    “Get out.”
    “Please forgive me, Jane.”
    “Now.”
    “I did not