Her new husband was an enigma. He’d been curiously obscure about the basic details of his life, revealing only the facts he felt were pertinent to their marriage and estate. His moods were increasingly mercurial, his tastes unpredictable. It was both frustrating and fascinating. And if she were being honest, more than a little concerning. If there were some sort of hereditary psychopathy that ran in his family, it was entirely within the realm of possibility her husband had fallen victim to it.
Eliza once more returned to his mother’s diary, seeking answers in Ada’s cramped, tiny words.
May 1st, 1874
’Tis Beltane. I have been biliously sick in my confinement, bedridden with cramping pains and headaches keen as a hatter’s needle. Thomas has gone to the crofters’ cottages to celebrate with a bonfire and ale, but I am left alone with Mrs.Galbraith—her beady eyes darting from corner to corner as she whispers and laughs to herself over the mending.
Yesterday I was feeling better and wanted to take the air. I rode with Galbraith to market, and on the way back, she told me a bit of gossip: ‘Every Lady Havenwood has met with a bad end.’ She said it lightly, as if it were a trifle about the weather. As if I didn’t sit there, beside her, the fourth of my kind. Galbraith has a cruel streak.
‘First there was Mary, the wife of Reginald, who slit her own throat. Charlotte fell in front of a carriage after drinking too much wine. She was the daft one!’ She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth and laughed. ‘But Laura—sweet, angel-voiced Laura—she found the childbed fever after the birth of your husband. Took her three days to die, I hear.’
She stopped talking then, Galbraith. But her grin stretched wider.
‘And you will meet a bad end as well!’ That’s what she meant to say—her unspoken words poisoning the silence between her next breath and mine. I sickened again and heaved my breakfast over the side of the wagon. I had to spend the rest of the day in my room saying prayers to settle my mind.
How horrid is this house, and everyone within it!
So that’s what Una had meant bythe others. The other wives. The ominousness of the passage sent a twist through her gut, but Eliza pressed onward.
September 21st, 1874
My perfect darlings were born late last night. I was sleeping when they were delivered, as surgery was necessary to bring them safely into the world. There was some degree of complication—I am told I nearly joined the rest of the unfortunate Ladies Havenwood in the halls of eternity. I can just imagine Galbraith telling everyone, ‘And Ada, only sixteen, bled out in childbirth.’ I’m happy to report I have lived, mostly to vex her.
Upon waking, weak and dizzy with my loss of blood, I was greeted with the most serene and ecstatic vision. My bairns, with their ebony curls and skin like milk, were placed in my arms, where they nuzzled their way to my breast. Though tired, I wept for joy. I was unsure of my fitness as a mother when I first learned of my condition, but now I am filled with new purpose!
I have called them Malcolm, who will be my protector, and Gabriel, who will be my warrior.
Given the dates in Ada’s diary, she’d been well into her confinement on her wedding day, which was surprising, given the virginal tone of her earlier entries. Tonight Eliza would be pressing her husband more about his family—especially about Ada. She tucked the journal beneath her mattress and dressed for dinner.
Malcolm was waiting for her at the foot of the stairs as always, beaming up at her as if she was a new revelation to his eyes. “Did you have a good day, darling?” he asked, taking her hand.
“I did indeed. Mrs.Duncan and I went to town to choose new draperies for the front drawing room. I was thinking a gold velvet with copper fringing. Won’t it match the green damask well? They have the most fanciful tiebacks at the mercantile—they look like human hands! I found them most curious.”
“Purchase whatever delights you, my love. My day wasn’t nearly as successful as your own, I’m afraid. I’m having a bit of trouble.”
“Oh?”
He pulled out her chair and kissed the back of her neck as she sat, sending a shiver from her spine to her toes.
“It seems none of our local craftsmen want to work on the manor.”
Turner poured their wine while Eliza helped herself to the cheese on her plate. Creamy, crumbly Stilton. Her favorite. “Did they say why?”
Malcolm gave his wry grin. “No, but I wouldn’t be surprised if Eastleigh had something to do with it. That, or they’ve heard our old stories.”
“That’s preposterous,” Eliza said. “We’ve perfectly good money on offer and it’s mostly the roof, isn’t it?”
“The wallpaper will need to be pulled down and the plaster will have to be refinished due to the smoke and water damage. There are a few broken windows that need replacing, but yes—the roof is by far the worst of it.” Malcolm took a drink of his wine, twisting the long-stemmed goblet in his hands. “I’ll go into Southampton and see if any men are willing to come out. There are plenty of sturdy Irish there who don’t mind a bit of hard work. They shouldn’t care to know anything other than that they’ll be paid well.”
“Perhaps we can have them take a look at the pipes too,” Eliza said.
“Pipes? Why? Are we having issues with the plumbing?”
Eliza was beginning to wonder just how hard her husband had been knocked about the head when he was a child. “Really? You honestly don’t remember the night I came pounding on your door?”
Malcolm laughed. “Oh, yes. Something about the rapping in your room, wasn’t it? I was barely awake, darling.”
“You were a complete ass.” Eliza smirked and took a drink of her wine. “I nearly clobbered you with my bed slipper.”
