The Devil’s Due by Boucher, Rita (short books for teens .txt) 📕

pain, torment understood torment. Duncan knew that the silent child was silent no more. He ran toward the castle.

“Maybe ‘tis best that you don’t go up,” Fred told him, standing before the door. “‘tis but the little one ‘avin’ a bit of a bad dream, ‘tis all, Major”

Duncan gave no answer, but the expression on his face made his intent clear. Fred stepped aside, then followed his master’s charge up the stairs.

It seemed almost like a Rembrandt painting that Duncan had once seen. Light spilled from the wide-open door framing the women and the child upon the bed in a softly illuminated tableau, momentarily tranquil, until an ear-piercing shriek tore the temporary fabric of peace.

“Hold her, Daisy,” Kate said, grabbing Anne’s flailing arm.

“Hard to credit the little one’s so strong,” Daisy grunted as she held the other hand fast. “Get the leg if you can, else she might twist her shoulder right out of its socket.”

“Anne, Anne, listen,” Kate said, desperation in her raised voice. “Mamma is here! Daisy is right beside you. We will let nothing harm you, love. We will protect you. ‘Tis but a dream you fear, only a dream.”

But the squirming did not diminish as the child struggled against the arms that held her.

“Got to pare her nails again,” Daisy observed, looking ruefully a red slash along her wrist, “gotten lax, I fear, since we ain’t had none of these nights for a while.”

“Oh, Daisy,” Kate said, struggling to keep Anne’s fingers from scratching her own face. “I am sorry.”

“I know she don’t mean it,” Daisy said gruffly. “Just fear that she might succeed in gougin’ herself, like she done before, poor little mite.”

At that moment, Duncan wanted nothing more than to go back to his cache of bottles and find solace in whiskey, but then Kate chanced to look up at him. The weary sorrow in her eyes made him ache with compassion.

“Do you dare to pity me, Duncan MacLean?” Kate challenged, when the cries had stilled to a guttural whimper. “Or my child?”

There was a second of stillness as her expression dared him to deny it. “Both,” Duncan answered, “I pity you both. Is there aught that I can do to help?”

“There is hope for you yet, Duncan,” Kate said, warmth lighting her eyes. “I thank you for your honest concern, but there is nothing you can do. When Anne gets like this we cannot waken her.”

“Why? What is wrong with her?” Duncan asked, stepping into the room.

Anne began bucking about violently.

“If it’s helpin’ you want to do, get yourself out!” Daisy yelled, bracing herself against the child’s shoulder. “It was you who started it, with her seein’ you yellin’ and tossin’. ‘Tis no wonder that the sound of your voice is settin’ her off. Get out!”

Duncan backed away in confusion, pulling Fred with him to the end of the corridor. “The child heard me, Fred?” he asked, grasping the Cockney by the shoulder. Fred’s sudden concentration on his feet was all the answer Duncan needed. “How much did she hear? Didn’t you close the damned door?” Duncan demanded, bunching the fabric of his servant’s shirt in his fist.

“Shh!” Fred put a finger to his lips and nodding his head toward the open door. The cries had died momentarily. As they went down the stairs, Kate’s voice rose in song. “Sleep my baby-”

Duncan halted as the memory of that voice in the night flooded back. He was in La Purgatoire, Colin at his side and then a voice had called him from the depths. It wasn’t his mother’s voice, although it was a tune that she had sung long ago, but the words were in English.”

“How long?” Duncan asked, clasping Fred by the arm. “How long was Kate with me?”

The man shrugged his skinny shoulders. “Can’t rightly say ‘ow soon they came.”

“They?”

“The babe, ‘er ma and the dog.”

“A regular Bartholomew Fair crowd,” Duncan said from between clenched teeth.

“Came to ‘elp you, they did, not to gawp,” Fred said, his voice rising in annoyance. “She’s a right one, the lady. And them Frenchies must of blinded you in more than one eye if you can’t see it.”

“I do not need anyone’s pity.”

“Nay, don’t need nobody’s pity do you?” Fred shook his head. “Not mine, not ‘ers, not nobody’s, not when you got so damn much for your own self. Pity to spare.”

It was as if the Cockney had upped and slapped him in the face. Duncan looked at him, startled. “Sergeant Best,” he began.

“Ain’t no sergeant no more, and you ain’t no major. You’re a man, same as I, alive an’ breathin’ if you don’t go to pullin’ no more stupid larks. You’re alive, Duncan MacLean, alive and you got a hell of a lot of cheek cryin’ over it! So they saw you! What does it matter except that what they saw might of been cause for little Annie’s nightmare? As to pity, Major, there ain’t no shame in feeling pain for another’s hurt.”

That rasping childish wail rose once more to break the peace of night and Fred felt his master’s silent shudder.

Duncan looked at the Fred uncertainly. “Do you think that I . . .?”

“No sayin’, lad,” Fred’s tone was kinder, as he answered the unfinished question. “If I knew what brings bad dreams and what makes for good, I wouldn’t of ‘ad to put on the King’s red coat, would I? Open me a shop on Bond Street and I’d make me a fortune, I would. But I’d give ‘er good dreams on the ‘ouse, poor lass.”

“And me, Fred?” Duncan asked, his mind growing clouded, the effects of restlessness and alcohol draining him.

“Aye, lad,” Fred said, picking up the blankets that he had left by the door and spreading them on a pile of straw. “I’d save the best dreams for you. Now lay yourself down.”

Obediently, Duncan lay down and closed his eyes. He did not even feel the rough blanket as Fred tucked it carefully beneath his chin.

. . .

They