Samuel Barrington, Julian’s elder brother, was dead.
Another man stood at Samuel’s bedside, also in his nightclothes. He had dark hair and a lean face with a hawk-like nose and deep-set eyes. Julian knew who he was, a friend of Samuel and a physician. That lean face was tight with grief and resolve. He was drawing a sheet up to cover Samuel’s face but Harold was resisting him.
“Your Grace… Samuel is gone. There is nothing more to be done but to give him some dignity,” murmured the doctor.
“To hell with your dignity, Hakesmere! To hell with it! He is my son!” Harold cried out.
“Wasyour son, Your Grace…” Doctor Hakesmere began tentatively.
“Get out!” Harold raged, “Begone from my house. You were my son’s friend, not mine!”
As he spoke, he pointed to the door, and that drew his eyes to Julian who had crept forward. Julian blinked back tears of disbelief and self-recrimination. Why could he not have resisted Samuel’s removal of his gloves? Why couldn’t he have run from his brother to keep him safe from his hideous curse? It was only when his father’s eyes fell upon him that Julian rememberedthat he was not wearing his gloves. They were in his garret room atop the windowsill.
“You!” Harold hissed, finger trembling.
Doctor Hakesmere looked towards the newcomer with a frown. When he saw Julian, a look of compassion stole across his face. He started around the bed towards Julian but Harold was faster. He leaped to his feet and strode towards Julian, still pointing.
“Where are your gloves, boy!” he demanded.
“Samuel took them off,” Julian whispered without thinking, “they are in my room.”
Harold stopped, mouth falling open and eyes blazing with malevolence.
“Samuel removed them? You touched him with your bare hands?”
“Your Grace, what is this nonsense about gloves…” Doctor Hakesmere began.
“It is the curse of the Barrington’s as embodied by the devil you see before you! It is due to him that my darling wife was taken from me. And now he has taken my son!”
Doctor Hakesmere directed a questioning look at Harold.
“I understood that your wife died in childbirth? One can hardly blame…”
Harold darted forward and seized Julian by the arms. His claw-like fingers pinched painfully and he propelled Julian from the room.
“He is dead because of you! The heir to Windermere, the son who would do so much honor to the Barrington name. The paragon of gentlemen. Dead! I have told you before. I have warned you! This is deliberate insubordination. Why did you do it?!”
“Your Grace! I must protest! This child…” Doctor Hakesmere followed Harold and Julian from the room but neither of the two surviving Barrington’s looked at him.
Julian found his full attention held by his father’s wide, staring eyes. Spittle had collected at the corners of his mouth and the whites of his eyes were visible all the way around. Julian felt the stone of the wall suddenly pressing into his back. Beside him was a window. His father reached for the metal latch and wrenched it open. Cold air immediately leached into the hallway, making the candle lights flicker. Harold’s mad eyes darted to the window, then back to Julian.
“I will be rid of you once and for all,” he breathed, and shoved Julian by the shoulder towards the cold black rectangle that let out into the night.
A maid suddenly cried out as the breeze made the flame of her candle waver, briefly touching her hand. She dropped it and the carpet immediately caught light. The sudden flare of light made Harold scream, throwing up both hands across his face. Doctor Hakesmere darted forward and seized Julian, hauling him away down the hallway.
“Best get you out of your father’s sight, young man, until he has calmed some,” Hakesmere said in a firm but gentle tone.
Julian allowed himself to be guided away but kept his arms firmly crossed and hands tucked under his arms. He would not risk any further deaths.
Eventually, he risked a glance over his shoulder. The servants were frantically trying to stamp out the fire while Harold Barrington, Duke of Windermere and father to Samuel and Julian, cowered against the wall, arms covering his head, trying to block out the agonizing light.
Then the doctor ushered him around a corner of the hallway and into a room. It was quiet and dark, the air cool. Julian was guided to a chaise longue where he sat staring at the oakwood floor.
“What happened to my brother?” Julian asked plaintively.
His voice wavered and tears blurred his vision. Fear gripped him. Fear that the doctor would confirm his father’s view. Would confirm the curse and condemn Julian to a lonely life.
“I do not know. He was struck down without warning. From the look on his face, I would say that it was a problem with his heart,” Hakesmere said. “Samuel and I traveled much of the world together and I have seen him defy death on more than one occasion. But we are all mortal and susceptible to disease.”
