Vanessa sighed. "You're right, of course. Thank you for being so solicitous of my good name."
"It's the least I can do, given none of this has been of your own making."
"Still, I'm grateful, even if I don't seem to be." She gave him a timid smile. "It's all been so sudden. Has been so confusing."
"If there's anything I can do to help lift the confusion, you have only to say. I shall try my best to help."
"It's just--" She clamped her hand over her mouth and blushed.
"Go on," he prompted gently.
"It's just that you are so different from what Gerald has told me. And everything is so new and strange. I've barely got my feet back under me after my aunt's death. Now I'm being forced to move out of the only real home I've ever known, back to Hawkesworth House, which I barely remember, and only with dread."
His honey-blond brows lifted. "Dread? An interesting word. Rather a strong emotion, wouldn't you say? And an unusual one. A place where she grew up ought not to fill a child with dread."
She massaged her temples and looked at him in puzzlement. Meeting his gaze, she said shyly, "I'm not sure why I used the word. Perhaps I should have used the word misgivings."
"Dread is as good a word as any, if it was the first that came to mind," he said, leaning forward in his chair to examine her more closely. She had certainly become awfully pale again.
She pressed one trembling hand to her forehead. "Please don't look at me as though I'm mad. I'm accustomed to stares from the servants and neighbors back in Dorset, but I don't wish to see that doubtful expression in your eyes."
He took her hand in his own. "I never said you were mad. The expression you see is simply one of worry. You are as sane as I, my dear. Confused, perhaps, at the moment, but otherwise certainly very bright and intelligent.
"Weak men fear that. I am not weak, however, of either willpower or mental capacity. So I do not fear you. I hope a time will come soon when you will no longer fear me."
She pushed herself down deeper under the covers. "Please, I need to rest and think."
He stroked her auburn hair on the pillow, marveling at its softness. "Yes, of course. I shall call Emma now, and let you sleep."
He rose and left the room. Much to Vanessa's regret, he did not return with Emma.
Vanessa made small talk with the girl for a moment longer, and then put her head down dutifully. She closed her eyes, but sleep was a long time in coming. Even when it finally did arrive, it brought no refreshment.
Luridly-colored visions of the maze and lawn at Hawkesworth House, and a woman in a blue gown with blood all over her, haunted her sleep. Dark shadows, approaching footsteps, a dead cat, a decapitated puppy, a plate full of writhing worms, a dead lamb, a maimed horse, spun through her head in a terrifying swirl, until at last she could bear it no longer and flung herself off the bed screaming.
"Clifford! Clifford, help me!" Emma shouted in alarm.
He took the stairs two at a time, and put himself between Emma and the flailing arms of Vanessa as she thrashed about, still caught in the throes of her nightmare.
"Vanessa! It's me, Clifford. You're safe! You're safe. Please, let me help you. That's it, that's it, you're safe."
Her fisted hands gradually relaxed, and her arms stopped waving about. She allowed him to pull her to his chest, where he ran a soothing hand down her auburn hair to her shoulders. He sat her on the bed and covered the upper half of her body with the warm dressing gown she had worn that morning.
"You're all right now," he soothed the wild-eyed girl. "I'm here. I won't leave you. Emma and the others won't leave you alone either. You're at Dr. Gold's house. Do you remember? Nothing will hurt you here. Nothing. Do you understand?"
Vanessa nodded, and loosened her crushing grip upon his shoulders. "I'm so sorry. I have no idea what came over me," she apologized, still shuddering like a leaf in a gale.
"A nightmare, if I had to guess. What did you see?"
Vanessa struggled to recall the images. As she did so, he lay her back down on the pillows which Emma had fluffed up. At length she replied, "A dead puppy, a plate of worms. But that makes no sense."
He rubbed his hand in small circles on her back soothingly. "Nightmares rarely do. Don't fret yourself. You'll be fine. You're not mad, do you hear me? I know it's what you fear. With all the gossip about you, you're terrified, and naturally so. But I tell you, you're not mad."
"Will I never escape from Hawkesworth House?" she whispered so quietly that only Clifford caught her desperate words.