Page 23 of The Fulbourn: Pitch & Sickle

Did this woman think of nothing else but marriage? Pitch’s drug and champagne-addled tongue nearly gave her a piece of his mind.

‘No, no,’ he said demurely. ‘I’m unwed.’

There was a small, unsteady flicker of interest at that, but then her shoulders slumped, and she went back to bothering at her skirts. ‘I see. My dear, if you are here to see Mr Charters, I’m afraid I must disappoint you –’

‘I heard he is on the Continent, actually. I’m sorry to have missed him.’

The woman’s hand halted its brushing of chiffon. ‘Yes, yes. The Continent. He’ll be there a long while.’ Her face was pinched, her manner at once tight and unhappy. ‘That’s right.’

‘I myself am travelling to visit my aunt in Rome early in the new year,’ Pitch said. ‘I wonder if I could pay him a call. Might I know where he is?’

‘No.’ Spoken with bite, and far too quickly. ‘I mean, he asked me not to say.’

‘Really? Not even to me?’ Pitch put forth his most charming smile, tilting his head and softening his gaze in a manner that had given him what he wanted a hundred times over. ‘I have thought of him so very often since we parted this summer.’

Mrs Charters stood but a foot away and had not raised her hand in greeting. She looked up, and her anguish was terribly evident before she hid it away. ‘I do so wish it had turned out differently between you, believe me when I say it.’ Pitch had no doubt, for Miss Cargill, at least in theory, had all the right body parts in all the right places. ‘But Edward is…he’s not…this is terribly hard, but my son is…’

A tinkling of understanding chimed for Pitch. ‘I know he has not been well,’ he said. ‘Not just in his body but his mind.’ Edward’s mother looked mortified at the statement but held her tongue. ‘He was greatly troubled, and I did what I could for him, but I fear I could have done more.’

Guilt made the words stick fast, and his ire towards Seraphiel rose another notch. He did not know what had led the angel to choose Edward as his vessel. A lover of Pitch’s from a few years past, when the prince wore a different face and name to Tobias Astaroth while he indulged his incubus needs? The angel could have created his own form, as Pitch did, rather than possess a purebred who was likely to buckle beneath the weight of such a powerful invader. The decision had always struck Pitch as curious, especially considering Seraphiel did not take Edward’s body beyond the Sanctuary walls whenever he and the daemon were there. Perhaps it was meant to distract Pitch from who was actually being so rough with him in the bedchamber, where pleasure crossed the border into pain on a regular basis.

‘If there is anything at all I can do,’ Pitch said, ‘please tell me. Perhaps I can pay him a visit to give him some cheer? I miss him so.’

‘You are very kind, my dear. I always thought so.’ Mrs Charter surprised him by reaching to take his hand. The woman trembled, and her eyes seemed to glisten in the faintly green gaslight shed by sconces along the wall. ‘He has been keeping some dreadful company… There was a young man, an unsavoury fellow he associated with who I cannot help but think is in part to blame for…’ She bit at her lip and patted Pitch’s hand. He wanted to slap her. ‘Never mind all that. You are just what Edward needed, I know it, but he could not be told.’

‘Perhaps I could persuade him.’ Pitch laid a gloved hand over the older woman’s, tapping his foot restlessly beneath his skirts. Mrs Charters shook her head, her hair so stiffly held with pins it did not shift.

‘I’m afraid it is not possible to see him.’ She edged closer, glancing back the way she had come. ‘It would be unseemly for a lovely young lady such as yourself to visit such a place.’

Pitch fought back a shudder. Gods. He suspected he knew exactly why the lieutenant had disappeared without a trace. ‘Oh my goodness, you have me truly worried now. He is not on the Continent, then?’

Mrs Charter’s grip on Pitch’s hand bordered on painful. ‘I’m afraid not.’ She dashed her free hand at her eyes. ‘I won’t burden you with this. You are here for enjoyment, not unpleasant details.’

But Pitch was far from done. He lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘I assure you, you have my utmost discretion in this matter. Mr Charters is still dear to me. I simply must know. Has he been taken to an asylum?’

Edward’s mother sucked in her breath and lowered her head. ‘Miss Cargill, I cannot say.’

And yet, she may as well have just affirmed it with a shout. Fuck. They had sent Edward to a madhouse. If the poor bastard were not already barely holding on to his sanity after being pulled from pillar to post by a damned arrogant angel and an intolerably selfish daemon, he would surely come undone in one of those places.

‘I have a cousin,’ Pitch launched into a lie, ‘who needed some care, across in Ireland. Tyvain is not of sound mind in the slightest, terrible thing, very sad, but we did what needed to be done. We did what any caring family would do…what you have done for Edward.’ He must remember to tell Tyvain he’d made her a madwoman. The soothsayer would be delighted.

‘Oh my dear, how awful for you. Isn’t it just dreadful? The shame of it.’ The glistening in Mrs Charter’s dull brown eyes, nothing like Edward’s light grey hue, was obvious now. Any moment a tear would be shed, tears she was spending on herself and not her son. Pitch balled his fist amongst the folds of his gown.

‘I know how it is not to be able to speak to anyonef. Let me be your shoulder.’ And he would grow some thorns on that shoulder to pierce her cheeks. Gods, Edward deservednoneof this. ‘Sometimes one just needs to air their grievances to feel better about things.’

Mrs Charters clung tight. ‘I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve such a son,’ she sniffed. ‘I care for him, of course I do, as any mother would. But he…’ She shook her head. ‘Well, if he had not been so foolish as to decline your company, we might have both been able to make a more admirable man of him.’

Pitch crept ever so close to realising that slap. ‘Where have you sent him?’

Mrs Charters sighed and at last released her hold on Pitch’s arm. ‘Luckily, I’ve been spared the gruesome details. It is being taken care of by Mr Fothergill. He was my late husband’s man of business. I trust him implicitly. He ensured me Edward was taken somewhere he’ll be well cared for and has, in fact, just informed me that he seems to have settled in well.’

Pitch wiped at where her fingers had laid. ‘Of course, I totally understand.’ He barely got the words past his grinding teeth. Fuck, he should not have indulged so much with the tincture. His insides were wobbling like jelly.

‘Shall we go downstairs, then?’ Mrs Charters asked. ‘My guests will have missed me by now. I’m being a terrible hostess.’ And a more terrible mother. Though he only guessed at that, for Pitch had none of his own for comparison.

‘Actually, I was just hoping to freshen up a little. If I recall correctly, there is a water closet in the bedroom at the end of this hall?’ At the very most inopportune time, a memory struck him. One of asking such directions at Gidleigh House. He flushed to think of it, the heat unpleasant and stifling.

‘Yes, second last on the right.’ Mrs Charters nodded. ‘Do come and find me when you are ready, won’t you?’