Falstaff watched with his head cocked and one beady eye fixed on the rhythmic sweep of the brush, maintaining a soft stream of obscenities throughout. Beatrice abandoned her sleeping litter for.a few moments and stretched herself in the sunlight on the windowsill, warming her flanks. Dante looked expectant, his feathery tail thumping the floor periodically.
"I wonder what you'll all think of London," Chloe remarked absently, threading a cornflower-blue ribbon through her hair. "We won't be able to go until you've weaned the kittens, Beatrice." A feline ear pricked. Dante sighed heavily and flopped to the floor, clearly deciding that nothing noteworthy was about to happen. "But then, I expect it'll take that long to persuade Sir Hugo to agree and to make all the necessary arrangements," she mused, sitting on the window seat, careful not to crease her dress.
It was an hour before the lone horseman appeared on the driveway. Chloe sprang to her feet, closed the door firmly on a disconsolate Dante, and ran to the head of the stairs, from where she looked down into the great hall.
Hugo strode up the steps and into the house, his face set, lines of fatigue etched deep around his mouth and eyes. His red-rimmed eyes were lightless, like dull green stones in a face drawn beneath the sun's bronzing.
He threw his crop onto the table and ran his hands through his hair, massaging his temples with his thumbs in a gesture that Chloe was beginning to find familiar. It spoke of such utter weariness that she longed to comfort him, to find some way to bring him peace. What must it be like never to sleep?
Hugo glanced up suddenly to where she was standing stock-still at the head of the stairs. "Come down to the library," he said in a flat voice.
Chloe's optimistic assurance faltered at his tone. She hesitated, one bare foot raised to take the first stair. "Now/"
She gasped and ran down the stairs as if there were a whip at her back, but he'd already turned toward the door leading to the kitchen.
"Wait in the library," he instructed her curtly, and went through the door.
Chloe obeyed slowly, all her earlier confidence evaporated. He hadn't seemed to look at her properly, let alone notice her appearance. She stood in the library door, looking around the room where so much had happened. It seemed as gloomy and unfriendly now as it had the first time she'd entered it in search of Lawyer Scranton's letter.
Her feet led her to the couch, and she gazed at the rumpled cushions, at the rusty smudge on the shabby velvet. She'd been bleeding a little when she'd reached her own room, but in the shock of Hugo's violent rejection on the heels of euphoria she'd paid no attention beyond a superficial mopping up before crawling into
bed. She bent to touch the dark mark of her body, trying to reconnect with the joyous moment that had created it.
At this moment Hugo walked into the library, a glass in his hand. His stomach plummeted with renewed self-condemnation.
Chloe whirled toward him, her eyes wide with anxiety. "I was only… I was only…" she stammered, trying to find the words for what she had been thinking.
"I want you to drink this," he said, brushing the stammered attempt aside, refusing to see what lay in her eyes. He held out the glass.
Chloe took it and looked at the cloudy liquid it contained, her nose wrinkling at the powerful aromatic fumes. "What is it?"
"Drink it," he said.
"But… but what is it?" She gazed up at him in bewilderment. "Why won't you tell me?"
"It will ensure that there are no consequences from last night," he stated, his voice cool and even. "Drink it."
"What consequences? I don't understand." Her soft mouth quivered in a tentative smile of appeal, the blue eyes turning as purple as the heather on a Scottish moor. "Please, Hugo." Her hand drifted toward his arm, and he jerked away as if from a burning brand.
"Naive little fool!" he exclaimed. "I cannot believe you don't know what I'm talking about." He swung away from her to the brandy bottle and glass-ever-ready succor. He gulped down a shot and felt the warmth settling in his belly. The tremor in his hands steadied. He drew a deep breath and turned back to face her.
"A child. That is the consequence. You may have conceived a child. What's in that glass will ensure that it doesn't happen."
"Oh." Her expression became grave. "I should have thought. I didn't mean to be such a simpleton." She spoke clearly and distantly. Then she tilted the contents of the glass down her throat, closed her eyes against the unpleasant taste, and swallowed. "Does it work?" "Yes, it works." He walked to the window. His first time in the crypt, he'd learned about the potion. The woman had asked him for it in the dank drear light of dawn, when the hallucinatory euphoria of the night was fading and the spirit felt cold and dark. He hadn't known what she'd been talking about, and she'd laughed at his naivete, a harsh and unkind laughter that had lacerated his youthful dignity. She'd called to Stephen and laughed with him at her young lover's inexperience. But Stephen had not taunted him. He'd been sympathetic and understanding and had taken the youthful initiate to the cupboard where all the strange substances were kept. He'd explained how to mix the contraceptive herbs and a few days later took him to the charcoal burner's hut in the forest where the herbalist plied her trade.
Hugo had listened as Stephen and the old woman discussed what new supplies were needed. He watched as Stephen paid in gold for the leather pouches and the alabaster jars. And the next time the cupboard needed replenishing, Hugo ran the errand himself.
The herbalist still lived in the charcoal burner's hut. She'd recognized Hugo, even after fourteen years, and to his eyes she hadn't changed much, maybe a few more lines on the wizened face, and the gray-white hair was thinner and more unkempt. But her eyes were as sharp and her price as high.
Chloe put down the empty glass and stepped toward Hugo as he stood staring out of the window. She took a deep breath, then reached up and touched his face over his shoulder. "Hugo. I-" But she got no further.
He swung around, slapping her hand away with a violence that made her cry out. "Don't touch me!" he
snapped. "Don't ever touch me again, do you understand?"
She nursed her smarting hand and stared up at him in shocked silence.
He took her by the shoulders and shook her once. "Do you understand?"
"But why?" Chloe managed to say.
"Whyf'he exclaimed. "You ask why? After last night."
"But… but I enjoyed last night, it was lovely, I felt so wonderful. And if you feel guilty about it, you mustn't." She spoke with fervent urgency, her eyes burning with intensity. "There's no reason for you to feel bad about it. There's nothing to regret-"
"You presumptuous little girl!" he exclaimed. "You have the audacity to tell me what I should or should not regret! Now, you listen to me, and you listen very carefully." The bruising grip of his curled fingers on her shoulders made her wince, but she could no more move than she could tear her eyes away from the piercing green gaze that held her own.
"What took place last night occurred because I was drunk. If I'd been sober, it would never have happened. Do you think I'm mad enough to find a naive schoolgirl irresistible?" Another sharp shake punctuated the question.
"I did not know what I was doing." He enunciated the brutal words with a cold clarity. "And from now on you will stay out of my way unless I summon you. And I swear on my mother's grave that if you ever try your temptress tricks on me again, it will be the sorriest day of your life."