Blood Autumn Read online

  He raised his glass high. "A toast to a courageous woman."

  "Hear, hear," Montchalmers said.

  Lyttleton nodded but did not speak. He glanced at August and found her gazing at him. He smiled, and the corners of her mouth lifted slightly.

  "Thank you for sharing your experiences with us, ma'am," Montchalmers said, "and if you should ever need help, please feel free to call upon us."

  "Thank you," she murmured.

  "I think we should be going, Mrs. Hamilton," Terris said. "It has been a long and emotional evening for you, and we don't wish to tire you."

  "Yes, yes," Montchalmers said. "We must go so that you may rest."

  Lyttleton bowed over her hand, as the others had, but did not speak. Her eyes met his and locked as a wave of warmth rushed over him, almost as though he were blushing. He knew, though, that he was not. With an effort he broke the contact and stepped back to the others.

  They departed the house and climbed into Montchalmers' carriage. Lyttleton glanced back and thought he saw a slight movement by one of the drapes upstairs, but he must have been mistaken. He leaned back.

  "Where are you off to now?" he asked, his voice quiet. He was feeling oddly subdued, and he didn't know why. Perhaps he was tired from the strain of the evening, the horror of seeing his old friend.

  "Henry says he'd like to return to the club for a while," Terris said, "and so would I. Care to join us?"

  Lyttleton shook his head. "I think not, although thank you for the offer. I'm tired, and I think I'll return home."

  "Extraordinary," Terris murmured from the other side of the coach.

  "What is, Wyndy?" Lyttleton asked.

  "That woman."

  "Indeed she is!" Montchalmers agreed enthusiastically. "Damned fine looker. Bit of a waste for ol' Tommy, I would guess. Not," he added hastily, "that I'm sayin', that is, I mean ..."

  Terris rescued his friend. "We know, Henry, what you mean."

  "Don't you agree, old boy?" Montchalmers asked.

  Lyttleton, frowning and preoccupied with his own musings, was staring out into the darkness of the London streets.

  "What's that?"

  "Your mind is far away tonight. Or," Montchalmers added slyly, "is it a few streets behind us, eh? Certainly I wouldn't blame you."

  "Don't be ridiculous," he snapped. He was more curt than he'd intended. Still, Montchalmers seemed more than unusually lewd and insinuating tonight. "I'm sorry, Henry. I'm a little distressed by what I saw and heard tonight. I can't get it out of mind . . . that wreck of a man."

  "None of us can." Montchalmers' voice was serious now. "It must have been one hell of an illness. Thank God, Tommy had Mrs. Hamilton to tend to him so devotedly."

  "Yes, thank God," Ferris echoed. "She's an absolute angel."

  "Hear, hear," Montchalmers said.

  "You can let me out ahead," Lyttleton said. "I'll walk the rest of the way." Once the carriage stopped, he grasped his walking stick in hand, bid his friends farewell, and strolled away. For a while he could hear the clopping of the carriage horse's hooves on the cobblestones; then the sound receded, and he was left alone with his thoughts.

  Lyttleton recalled the curve of August's white bosom. Montchalmers and Terris thought she was an angel? No. What she was, he could not say; but she was not an angel.

  *

  That night Lyttleton did not sleep well; strange dreams interrupted his rest. Upon waking, he could not remember the nature of the dreams, and only a sense of uneasiness remained with him.

  A few days after he'd met Tommy's wife, Lyttleton was again reminded of the Hamiltons when right after breakfast his servant Edgar brought in a note.

  Lyttleton opened the note and stared at the palsied, barely readable script; then his gaze dropped down the page to the signature. Tommy Hamilton. Tommy wrote that he wanted to see his old friend — privately. His wife would be out all that afternoon, and he asked Lyttleton to come to him while he was alone, for the matter was urgent. Lyttleton frowned, wondering what Tommy wanted. He thrust the note into his coat pocket, finished his tea, and fully intending to go see Tommy in the afternoon, left the house.

  But on his way there he encountered friends, and they fell into discussion. One thing followed another, and he completely forgot about the note until starting to change for dinner, he put his hand in his pocket and found the slip of paper. All at once he remembered what he had meant to do, and he was horrified that he'd forgotten.

  "I won't be having supper," Lyttleton informed a surprised Edgar as he rushed out of the house.

  With a growing sense of urgency, Lyttleton hailed a hansom cab and set out for Tommy's house. Unfortunately, the evening traffic was heavy and sluggish, and just ahead in the street a vegetable wagon had overturned, bringing all traffic to a standstill.

  Lyttleton drummed his fingers impatiently on the padded leather seat as he waited for the wagons and horses and vendors to untangle. The air inside the cab was hot and close. He opened the blinds and stuck his head out the window and gulped deeply. That wasn't much better, for the street smelled of rotting vegetables, horse manure, and dust, all made worse by the heat, but at least a slight breeze blew and stirred the odors.

  The sense of urgency was growing stronger, making him more impatient by the second, and just as he was preparing to leave the cab and strike out on foot, the cart ahead rolled out of the way. After a few false starts and more wasted time, the cab finally moved ahead. As soon as he reached the Hamilton house, Lyttleton paid the driver and took the steps up to the house two at a time. He rapped on the front door and was admitted by the butler.

  "I've come to see Lieutenant Hamilton."

  "One moment, sir."

  The butler left him in the front parlor, and again Lyttleton noted the unusual odor that he had noticed on his earlier visit. Before he had time to think any more about it, he heard the whisper of material behind him and turned.

  August Hamilton stood in the doorway and looked just as beautiful and just as compelling, and her eyes glimmered.

  Tears, he realized, and took an involuntary step toward her.

  "August — Mrs. Hamilton — " Lyttleton began.

  "It's Tommy." She spoke in a muffled voice. One tear crept down her cheek, and she quickly brushed it away. "Poor Tommy." Her shoulders shook.

  "What happened? He isn't . . ." Lyttleton was unable to finish, for an invisible hand tightened around his chest, squeezing the breath out of him.

  She bent her head, her jet hair swinging forward to shield her cheek. "I'm sorry, Mr. Lyttleton, but I must tell you that I have ill news. Tommy died this afternoon. I wasn't here at the time, and when I came home, the servants told me ... It was so sudden!"

  Lyttleton was shocked into speechlessness.

  If only he had come earlier, he might have seen Tommy while he still lived. He might have known why Tommy wanted to see him. Lyttleton opened his mouth to ask if August knew the reason, but something inside him kept him from speaking, and he shook his head sympathetically instead. Self-consciously he set his arm loosely around the woman's shoulders and patted her somewhat awkwardly. As her head shifted to rest on his shoulder a distinct and pleasurable tingle passed through Lyttleton.

  "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Hamilton, so frightfully sorry about Tommy. It's such a shock — certainly he wasn't in good health, but I never expected ... I cannot believe he is — We were good friends, you know. I'm so sorry, Mrs. Hamilton." She nodded against him but did not answer. "Here, please sit." Gently he guided her to a chair, and she sank into it.

  "Thank you so much, Mr. Lyttleton," she murmured.

  Closing her eyes, August rested her head against the back of the chair.

  She looked so frail and vulnerable, and Lyttleton's heart ached for her loss. He cleared his throat and took a deep breath.

  "If there is anything that I may do or that my friends may do now, please let us know."

  "Thank you."

  They were silent for a few minutes; th
en he spoke again. "What will you do now, Mrs. Hamilton? I know it cannot be pleasant for you to contemplate, but I — that is, my friends and I — are concerned about you."

  "You mustn't worry really about my plight, Mr. Lyttleton. While it is true that I have no family and friends left in India and that I am new to this country, I think I have little choice other than to stay here."

  He thought he detected some irony in her tone, and something more. But surely not at this time. He glanced at her and found her face as composed in its grief as a few moments before.

  Again there was silence between them, the only sound coming from the ticking of the clock across the room. He was to blame, Lyttleton knew. Events might have gone differently today if he had only called upon Tommy earlier. If only he had come, then Tommy would not have had to die alone. How terrible she must feel, Lyttleton thought, not to have been with her husband when he needed her so.

  "How did Tommy die, Mrs. Hamilton? Had I realized he was quite so ill, I would have visited him before this."

  "I believe it was his heart."

  "Had you called a doctor?"

  She nodded, mute.

  Lyttleton's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "The doctor confirmed this?"

  "Mr. Lyttleton — please, I cannot go on," August whispered, a sob catching in her throat. "My husband has just — just ..."

  Immediately he felt a surge of remorse. "Forgive me, Mrs. Hamilton! Please forgive my rudeness! I would like to pay my final respects to Tommy while I am here, if this is not an inconvenient time."

  "I'm sorry, Mr. Lyttleton, but there will be no viewing of the body."

  At first he thought she meant there would be none at the present, and then he realized she meant no viewing at all. "No viewing! But, Mrs. Hamilton, I'm a friend of Tommy's!"

  "Mr. Lyttleton, please believe me when I say that I quite understand your desire to see Tommy, but I do not think you should, for it was a most unpleasant death and apparently he suffered toward the end. I wish to spare you this ordeal." August gazed at him, a beseeching expression in the dark depths of her eyes. "Please understand, Mr. Lyttleton, I am not being contrary." A shudder passed through her.

  "Very well, Mrs. Hamilton. I understand." The truth was that he didn't understand her denial, which he found strange. It didn't matter how terrible Tommy's appearance was; he still wanted to say good-bye one last time. She should have known that wouldn't have mattered; he could have borne however Tommy looked.

  The elderly butler entered at that moment and spoke in an undertone to his mistress for a few minutes. "I'm sorry, Mr. Lyttleton, but a household matter demands my immediate attention. Do you mind sitting here alone for a few minutes? I am sorry."

  Lyttleton had the feeling that she expected him to leave. He was determined not to. "I don't mind waiting at all."

  "Thank you," she murmured and swept out, the servant following.

  Lyttleton paced the length of the parlor, sat on a sofa, then stood. He couldn't wait. He was going to find Tommy. Curiously, he felt furtive, as though he might be punished if he were found outside the room.

  Outside the parlor Lyttleton hesitated as he listened for voices or footsteps, but he heard nothing. He proceeded to the next room, another salon duplicating the first in style and furnishings, and equally gloomy. It was empty. He had visited Tommy here many times before his friend left for India, so he was fairly familiar with the house. The library, kitchen, and dining room were the only rooms left on the first floor, and he doubted Tommy was in any of those. His friend must be upstairs.

  Carefully he advanced up the stairs, his breathing surging and pounding, and thunderously loud to him, and more than once he caught himself holding it so he would be quiet. When he was at the top of the carpeted staircase, he paused to get his bearings.

  The hallway swung left around a corner and led to the master suite of a bedroom, small parlor, dressing room, and bathroom; to his right the hallway crooked to the right and three guest bedrooms.

  Which way? Doubtless, Tommy's wife would remain in the master suite. Lyttleton closed his eyes as the images surged into his mind. August reclining, naked, upon a silk coverlet, her legs spread open, her hand trailing down her stomach to caress her —

  No! For a moment he thought he shouted it, and he listened, waiting for someone to discover him On the landing, but no one did and he realized that he hadn't spoken aloud.

  What was wrong? he asked himself as he headed to the right. Why had he thought that? He shook his head and entered the first bedroom.

  As it happened, Lyttleton found his friend in the first bedroom.

  Heavy draperies had been tightly pulled against the evening, and no lamps were lit, and at first he almost missed the bed and what was in it. Then he saw. He stepped inside, found a long taper nearby, lit it, and walking over to the bed, held the flickering candle aloft.

  It was Tommy, but a Tommy who looked far worse in death than he had in life. August had not been exaggerating about her husband's appearance, and his hope that Tommy might have found some release, some repose, was shattered.

  Life had not ended peacefully in sleep for Tommy. Far from it.

  In death, Tommy's face was severely contorted. The glazed eyes gaped open, and the ashen face wore an expression of such horror that Lyttleton involuntarily stepped back. His friend's mouth hung open, as if he had screamed even as he was dying, Lyttleton thought. Tommy's withered limbs remained twisted, as though he had strained against something that held him down, as though he had writhed in agony. It was as though Tommy had faced demons in the last moments of his life, and as he confronted the other world he had found it populated, too, with demons. Lyttleton could only hope that his friend had now found some rest.

  For a long moment Lyttleton stared at the dead man and relived the many memories of their long friendship and he wished that there had been more years. Finally, he blew out the flame and left the room.

  It was still important, he thought as he went down the stairway just as stealthily as he had ascended, that no one catch him abovestairs. At the foot he paused and heard voices coming from the back of the house. He returned quickly to the parlor and had no sooner caught his breath than the door opened.

  "I am sorry to have left you so long, Mr. Lyttleton. Were you able to amuse yourself?"

  Again the irony, he thought, although this time it seemed almost a taunt.

  "Yes, thank you. I'm sorry again, Mrs. Hamilton, about your loss, and I know that I shouldn't take up any more of your time, for no doubt you have arrangements to make. If you would like, I will inform Terris and Montchalmers." She nodded. "I would appreciate it, too, if you would notify us of the service."

  "Of course, Mr. Lyttleton. How kind of you to come this evening." She paused, and her lips parted, and he found himself staring at their redness, their fullness. Thoughts of Tommy fled until he forced himself to recall what had happened today. "May I ask, Mr. Lyttleton, what brought you here tonight?"

  "Certainly. I was concerned about Tommy, so I thought I'd come for a visit. I was too late, though." His voice was bitter.

  "Yes, that is a shame, for last night Tommy called for you several times."

  Lyttleton winced. "Good evening, Mrs. Hamilton. Until we meet again."

  "Yes."

  She gave him her hand, and it was icy, like the cold of a grave.

  *

  As he suspected he would, Lyttleton found Montchalmers and Terris at the club. They called for him to join them, which he did.

  "What brings you out on this hot evening?" Montchalmers demanded. "I'd have thought you'd be staying home, reading some book or the other." He peered at his friend. "What's the matter? You look gloomy."

  "I'm afraid that I am gloomy, and I have gloomy news for you both."

  Terris sat up. "What is it?"

  "I've just been to see August Hamilton."

  "You sly dog!"

  "Henry!" Lyttleton said, his tone admonitory. Montchalmers' smile faded. "There is no e
asy way of telling you — Tommy died today."

  "My God!" Montchalmers said.

  "No!" said Terris. "It can't be. I know he was ill, but he wasn't that ill, surely."

  Lyttleton shook his head. "I don't understand it myself,

  Wyndy. Perhaps the journey from India weakened him. Perhaps he was worse than we thought. Mrs. Hamilton informed me that he died this afternoon while she was out. I'm afraid it wasn't an easy death, either."

  "Poor Tommy," Montchalmers said. He swallowed quickly and looked away.

  Terris would not look up, but Lyttleton could see tears in his eyes.

  "I told her that I would tell you, and she'll notify us of further arrangements."

  "Dead," Terris whispered. Lyttleton nodded. "But how? How did Tommy die?"

  "Mrs. Hamilton thought it was his heart," Lyttleton replied in a neutral tone.

  "What did the doctor say?" Montchalmers asked. He still looked stunned.

  "I really don't know, Henry," Lyttleton said. "We did not discuss that." He did not want to relate that part of his conversation with August Hamilton, for he was still uneasy about it. Too, he had decided on his way to the club that he would say nothing to them about the note he had received from Tommy that morning — nor the expression of horror on Tommy's face. It was sufficient that he had told them of their friend's death.

  They talked for some time of Tommy and of their memories, and as other friends and acquaintances drifted into the club, Lyttleton informed them as well. All of the men shook their heads ruefully over the loss of such a good and upstanding man.

  When the three friends were once more alone, Montchalmers said in an innocent tone, "I suppose she's bearing up quite well, all things considered, what?"

  "Yes." That wasn't precisely an accurate description of August's state, but Lyttleton didn't know what was. He frowned thoughtfully as he stroked his moustache.

  "Damned brave woman if you ask me," said Terris, shaking his head admiringly.

  "Yes," Lyttleton murmured. The others, too engrossed in their own grief, would not notice if he answered strangely, and for that he was thankful. Suddenly he was very weary and wanted to go home. "I'm sorry, gentlemen, but I can't linger tonight. Tommy's death has shaken me, you know."