Obsession by Katherine Sutcliffe Page B

roused me from bed and driven me to the mine. Coincidence, certainly.
    “Christ,” I whispered. “If I hadn’t been there, Maria would be dead as well.”
    Edwina sighed. “That, of course, would have been a shame.”
    I cut my eyes to hers in a murderous look.
    She backed away, her eyes wide and as blue as the dressing gown she wore. “Get some rest. You’re exhausted. I’ll have Herbert bring up some tea with your bath.”
    As she left the room, I walked to the bed and stared down into Maria’s eyes. Disappointment weighed on me. Frustration closed off my throat.
    “I thought…Out there on the fell, I thought for a moment that you recognized me. I suppose not.”
    I raked my hands through my hair, feeling as if I were going to explode as violently as the gas that had sent sixty men to their deaths. For a moment—a very brief one, I envied Thomas, Myron Heppleborn, and Craig Gosworth—no longer burdened with life’s cruel twists and heart-rending disappointments.
    Thunder crashed in that instant, followed by an explosion of bright light in the sky that wrung from the clouds yet another catastrophic crack, rattling the windows and shaking the floor.
    Maria shifted, and her blank, emotionless expression became one of fear and confusion.
    “Paul?” she whispered. “Are you there?”
    I moved closer. “Maria?”
    “What happened? That sound—”
    I followed the direction of her gaze to the shadows just beyond the lamplight. Nothing, of course. What had I expected to find there? Paul? Christ, I was becoming as mad as she.
    “Maria, please.”
    She sat up partially, her brow furrowing and her lower lip quivering. “What do you mean, Bertha is gone?”
    “Listen to me.”
    “Where am I?”
    Again, I glanced toward the shadows, staring as the play of lightning reflected in a shimmering glow off the wall. I thought of the voice again and a shiver ran up my back.
    “I won’t remain calm!” Maria cried, returning my focus back to her. She glared at the wall as her face blotched with angry color.
    “Stop this,” I declared with all the authority I could muster despite my rising sense of frustration. “Do you hear me? Stop it.”
    “Paul? Don’t leave me—”
    Taking her slender shoulders in my hands, I gently shook her. “Goddamnit, you’re going to listen to me.”
    “Bertha!” she wept. “Bertha, please—”
    “She’s gone, dammit. I’m afraid you’re stuck with me—”
    Her hands beat at my face.
    “No! Don’t touch me!”
    She shoved me aside and rolled from the bed. Her arms flailed out in front of her, as if she were stumbling in the dark.
    “You’re going to stop this,” I shouted, my frustration mounting, as was my fear that she was lost to me. Lost! I knew not how to reach her, and for a moment I felt as mad as Maria. “You’re going to listen to me—”
    “Help me! Someone help me!”
    She backed into a corner and slid down the wall, her legs drawn up to her breasts, her hands buried in her hair. Her eyes closed. And she began rocking, humming Maria’s Song.
     
    A S I POURED HALF A BOTTLE OF E DWINA’S ROSE-SCENTED toilet water into the steaming bath, she looked on, horrified.
    “You bought me that in Paris,” she cried.
    “I’ll buy you another.”
    “With what? A candlestick?”
    I glared at her. “I’m in no mood to tolerate bitchiness at this moment. I suggest you make yourself useful. Help me undress her.”
    “You’re not serious. She’s…dangerous.”
    “So am I.”
    Her eyes widened and she swallowed. “You’re going to owe me for this, Salterdon.”
    “Get in line, Edwina. I owe just about everyone else in this country, in one way or another.”
    Maria lay curled up in the bed, staring at the window. I motioned Edwina to the opposite side of the bed in case Maria attempted to run again.
    She didn’t, thank God, just lay as limply as a rag doll as I peeled the singed, soot-stained nightdress from her. Gently, I lifted her; she didn’t struggle.
    I