Midnight at Mallyncourt Read online

  “You mean you’re still goin’?”

  I nodded, smiling. “If a ghost leaps out at me, Susie, I promise to give you a full report.”

  Susie looked aghast, blue eyes wide, hands clasped across her bosom. I was greatly amused by her tale of strange, spooky noises and misty white things that floated down halls. Every great house was supposed to have its own ghost, and I was pleased to find that Mallyncourt was no exception. I rather doubted that I’d run into it, though. Still smiling, I moved past the wide steps leading down to the back hall below and stepped over to the large door that opened from the long gallery into the east wing beyond. It was closed, and the hinges screeched as I shoved it open.

  I had only gone a few steps when the door swung to, slamming behind me with an explosive bang. I jumped, startled, then laughed quietly and moved on down the hall. Susie might claim she didn’t believe in ghosts, but she hadn’t sounded very convincing about it. The servants all tended to be superstitious, and I was far too sensible to put any stock in their tales. Betty, no doubt, was an exceedingly high strung lass with a vivid imagination, and as for the noises—well, every old house had peculiar noises. I had heard them myself. The wind whistling down the chimneys sounded like querulous voices, the windows rattling in their frames like prowlers trying to break in. The old house creaked and groaned and settled. Mice scratched behind the paneling. Tapestries flapped. The house was like one vast echo chamber, and the noises were probably magnified by the time they rose up to the attics. It was fun to think a ghost might haunt the east wing, but it was, I knew, highly unlikely.

  Leaving the hall, I passed through a large room with a great chandelier dangling from the high ceiling. Rain lashed against the tall, curtainless windows. The parquet floor was dusty. The furniture was covered with grayish white sheets. The walls, no longer white, were stained with mildew, and the gold leaf panels were flaking. It must have been a drawing room at one time, I thought, watching the cobwebs billow. The room was extremely cold, and there was a sour, unpleasant smell. Shivering, I moved on through into yet another hall. There were no windows here. Everything was dim, gray, spread with shadows, and that sour smell was stronger than ever.

  Doors on either side were closed tightly. I tried to open several of them, hoping to discover another Adam fireplace, another wooden paneling carved by Grinling Gibbons, but all the rooms were locked. They were probably guest rooms in those earlier, more colorful days when Mallyncourt was visited by Queen Elizabeth and her court. This hall must at one time have been filled with gaiety and laughter as ladies in farthingales and courtiers in velvet doublets and starched neck ruffs gossiped and flirted on their way to the long gallery. It was a shame the wing was closed off now, given over to dust and decay, but even a man as wealthy as Lord Mallyn couldn’t keep all the rooms in a house this large open, not in this day and age.

  Slowly, aimlessly, I moved on down the hall, engrossed in my thoughts, and I don’t know when it was that I noticed the silence. I stopped. Everything was still. Far, far away I could hear the sound of the rain, muted by solid stone walls, a mere pattering whisper that only intensified the silence here in he hall. I shivered, suddenly uneasy without knowing why. The walls seemed to be watching me, pressing in, and the air was fetid. I was reminded of a tomb. It was as still, as silent as a tomb, and the atmosphere was suffocating. I stood very still, my heart beginning to beat rapidly, my nerves taut. I couldn’t understand it. A moment or two ago I had been thinking about gallant Elizabethans, about the pageantry of times past, and now … now I was tense, alarmed. There was something malevolent in the air. I sensed it all around me.

  When the door swung open, when the hinges creaked rustily, I felt the color draining out of my cheeks. I almost fainted. For a moment I half expected to see something white and misty drifting toward me, and I leaned against the wall, my heart in my throat. Nothing happened. The door to a room across the hall had simply swung open. For some reason or other, it hadn’t been locked like the others. There was no ghost, no malevolent presence. It had all been in my mind. Susie’s tale must have registered more deeply than I thought. Taking a deep breath, I stepped across the hall to pull the door shut again.

  My hand on the knob, I paused, peering into the room. How strange, I thought. This room wasn’t dusty like the others. No cobwebs billowed from the ceiling. There were no dingy sheets over the furniture. Puzzled, I stepped inside. Though the light was dim, I could see that it was a bedroom with rich old mahogany wainscoting on the lower walls, deep scarlet embossed silk above. The black marble fireplace was beautifully carved, a heap of charred logs inside, a fine sprinkling of ashes on the hearth. A deep crimson carpet covered the floor, and the huge mahogany bed had a canopy of deep scarlet matching the silk on the walls. On the mantelpiece and on the low ebony tables stood a collection of fine bronzes, decidedly erotic, depicting mighty centaurs wrestling with nude men, centaurs abducting nude women, each small piece magnificently wrought, worthy of Cellini. The candles in the wall sconces were half burned, waxy drippings caked on the brass holders.

  Although the rest of the wing had an aura of desertion, of being left to crumble away, I sensed an impression of life here in this room. It was as though someone had just left, as though the air itself retained the vibrations of movement, activity. The room was bizarre, unpleasant. All that red, those erotic bronzes. There was a vaguely disturbing atmosphere, impossible to define, but I had the feeling that something evil had happened here, something furtive and perverse. Why should this room be open when the rest were locked? There had been a fire in the fireplace recently. A faint odor of smoke clung to the scarlet hangings. Moving over to one of the wall sconces, I touched the wax caked on the brass holder. Though hard, it was still malleable. The candles had been burning recently, too. Who lighted them? There was a mystery here, I thought, frowning.

  I remembered those disturbing, enigmatic words Lord Mallyn had spoken that first day, just before I left his room. Although I had decided later that he had been playing a prank, deliberately trying to frighten me, I had been alarmed as I stepped into the hall. I had sensed that something was wrong. I had that same feeling now. The frown still creasing my brow, I took a final look at the room, and then I turned to leave. I let out a cry as I saw the man standing in the doorway, glaring at me. The shock was so great that it took me a moment to recognize him.

  “What are you doing here!”

  “Edward, you—you frightened me.”

  “Answer my question!”

  “I—I was just—”

  I cut myself short, staring at him. I had never seen him this way before. His high cheekbones were chalky white, his eyes hard, snapping with angry blue fire. His mouth, set in a grim line, twitched at the corners, and he looked murderous. He looked worried, too, the icy composure gone, as though he had received a great shock.

  “What—what’s wrong? Why—”

  “I came upstairs. You weren’t in your room. The girl said you’d come to the east wing. I couldn’t believe it! Don’t you know—” Overcome with anger, he broke off, his nostrils flaring.

  “Edward, I don’t understand why you should be so—”

  “You shouldn’t be here. It’s not safe!”

  “Not safe? But—”

  “Don’t ask questions!”

  He seized my wrist, pulling me out of the room. Still seething, he moved briskly down the hall, half dragging me along beside him. Our footsteps echoed against the walls, his loud and firm, my own beating a rapid staccato. When we reached the large, shrouded drawing room, he stopped, releasing me. He took a deep breath, his chest swelling. I could see him fighting for composure. The rain swept against the windows in angry waves. I could hear it drumming on the rooftops.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I had no cause to explode like that.”

  “I—I merely wanted to explore. I’d explored the rest of the house. I saw no reason why I shouldn’t—”

  “Of course not,” he replied. He was cal
m now, in complete control of himself. “It’s my own fault. I should have warned you.”

  “Warned me? About what? Edward, is—”

  “There’s nothing to be alarmed about,” he said smoothly. “You’re quite unharmed. The east wing isn’t safe, you see. It’s half decayed. The walls aren’t sturdy, they’ve collapsed in several of the rooms. There was an accident a couple of years ago. One of the footmen was injured. When I heard you’d come here, I—well, I was frantic, afraid you might get hurt.”

  He was lying. I knew that immediately. His explanation was glib, well delivered, but not a word of it rang true. He was concealing something, and I sensed it was somehow connected with that room. He had been livid, consumed with fury, and there had been alarm as well. Why should he have been alarmed? Why should he have been worried? Because he feared I might have an accident? No, I couldn’t accept that.

  “The door to this wing should have been locked,” he remarked. “I’ll see that it is in the future. One of the servants might wander in here. I wouldn’t want another accident.”

  “The servants think the place is haunted,” I said.

  “Haunted? Nonsense.”

  “Susie says they’ve heard peculiar noises. She said one of the maids saw something moving down the hall—”

  His lips curled in a thin, deprecating smile. “I remember the incident well. The girl—Betty, I believe she’s called—is an illiterate, hysterical ninny who should have been sacked.”

  “Edward, that room—”

  “What about it? It’s just a room.”

  “It wasn’t locked. It—there were no sheets over the furniture. The fire had been—”

  “We’d better get back,” he interrupted, ignoring my words. “It’s icy cold here. You’re shivering. Come along, Jenny, and don’t ever let me catch you in this wing again.”

  I didn’t pursue it. I saw it would be futile. Edward had no intentions of answering any of my questions. Gripping my elbow firmly, he led me down the narrow, shadowy hall and into the long gallery. He closed the door to the east wing behind him and snapped the lock in place. During the time I had been gone, a servant had lighted candles in the gallery. They glowed with a wavering golden light.

  “You mentioned being in my room,” I said. “Was there something you wished to see me about?”

  Edward nodded. “Your gown was delivered,” he replied. “I thought you might like to see it.”

  “My gown?”

  “For the ball. As soon as I heard Vanessa talking about it, I realized you hadn’t anything suitable to wear. I sent a special order off to Madame DuBois, telling her what was required. She already had your measurements, naturally, and it was merely a matter of selecting a suitable garment and making a few alterations.”

  “I—that was very thoughtful of you, Edward.”

  He smiled again, as cold, as remote as he had ever been. “I can be quite thoughtful on occasion, Jennifer. I’m not entirely villainous, you know. There are one or two redeeming qualities.”

  “Are there?”

  “I’m quite pleased with the way things are developing. I had an interesting talk with my uncle last night. I believe he’s almost ready to write a letter summoning the lawyers to Mallyncourt.”

  “Indeed?”

  “He’s quite taken wth you. I’m certain he’ll make the will in my favor. We’re almost there, Jenny.”

  “I wonder,” I said.

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “When we made our bargain, Edward, you thought he was on the point of death. He’s recovering rapidly now. Even if he does make the will in your favor, he’s bound to change it when he discovers the truth. He’s not going to die conveniently as soon as he’s finished signing his name. He may live for years. His recovery—changes things.”

  “I’ve thought about that, too,” he replied. “You needn’t worry about it. We can remedy the situation easily enough.”

  “Oh?”

  “If worse comes to worse, I can take you back to London and marry you for real. No one need ever know the ceremony was—uh—a bit belated.”

  I stepped back, amazed. “That wasn’t—”

  “That wasn’t part of our bargain, I know. The situation has altered. You needn’t look so horrified, Jennifer. It might not be necessary, but if it is—I think marrying me should suit you nicely.”

  “If you think I—”

  “I sent the gown up to your room,” he said coldly. “I know you’ll want to examine it. There are a few more things I need to attend to downstairs. I’ll see you at dinner.”

  Cool, perfectly poised, he left me standing there in the gallery and moved casually toward the steps. I stared at his back, watched him disappear down the well. I heard his footsteps ringing on the wide, flat stones for a moment or so, and then they were drowned out by the sound of the rain beating, pounding, lashing against the window panes with an ever-increasing fury.

  Chapter Seven

  THE SUNSHINE was dazzling, splattering the gardens with warmth and radiant yellow-white light that seemed to shimmer, gilding dark green leaves, making brilliant golden patterns among the shadows cast by tree limbs over the grassy lawns. The rain was over, at last, and everything was newly washed, colors brighter, richer, the air cool and crisp and invigorating. It was impossible to stay indoors on a day like this, and I had been out for over an hour, exploring the extensive gardens behind the back lawn, marveling at the ponds afloat with pink-white lillies, surrounced by Japanese rushes that rattled in the breeze, at the mossy grotto, at the charmingly rustic stone bridges spanning a dozen artificial streams.

  Wearing an old, slightly faded tan cotton dress printed with delicate blue and green flowers, my hair tangled and mussed from low-hanging twigs that had caught at it, I must have looked a bit rustic myself, but I didn’t care at all. This morning I wasn’t Edward’s elegant, dignified wife. I was carefree, exhuberant, reveling in the rich, loamy smell of damp soil and the fragrant scent of blossoms. Bees droned, filling the air with a buzzing music. Birds twittered merrily, as elated as I was that the rain no longer fell, and, in the gentle breeze, trees seemed to stretch and shake their boughs in glorious relief.

  Leaving the watery gardens behind, I explored the walled gardens that extended in terraces on the west side of the grounds. The flat, brown stone steps were warm from the sun. Hollyhocks, red, purple, violet, grew in untidy heaps against the walls, alternating with vividly blue larkspurs. I passed under trellises heavily laden with honeysuckle, the bees a veritable orchestra here, and, finally, reached the small walled herb garden. There was a low stone bench outside the wall, shaded by a giant elm that spread enormous boughs overhead, and I sat down, leaning back against the wall, peering across the expanse of raked gravel at the maze of clipped yews that grew on this, the lowest level of terrace.

  Perhaps it was the sense of release after almost a week of rain, but I was in a remarkably lighthearted mood. All problems seemed minor, and the “mystery” of the east wing seemed, this morning, an absurdity I had created in my own mind. Not even the argument I had had with Edward after breakfast could deflate my high spirits. I had been in the back hall, ready to go outside, when he stopped me, a stern, icy expression on his face. Without a word, he handed me a cheap, rather battered envelope with a postmark from London.

  “What’s this?” I inquired.

  “Jeffers brought the mail to me in the study. It seems you’ve received a letter.”

  I examined it, surprised, and then I smiled.

  “Why—it’s from Laverne!” I exclaimed.

  “Laverne?”

  “One of the actresses from the company. I’ve been writing to her. I wonder what she’s doing in London—”

  “You’ve been writing to her?”

  “Of course. We were very close, you see, and—”

  “I see that the letter is addressed to Mrs. Edward Baker,” he said in a smooth, silken voice. “That would seem to indicate, Jenny dear, that this—Laver
ne person knows far more than she should.”

  “She knows everything,” I replied. “Oh, don’t worry, Edward. Laverne was like a mother to me. She’d never—”

  “You told her about our arrangement?” he interrupted.

  “Naturally. There’s nothing to be—”

  He was livid, his mouth tight, his blue eyes crackling with anger. For a moment, I thought he was going to seize me by the shoulders and shake me, but he managed to control his rage, growing more rigid and aloof, and when he spoke, his voice was as smooth, as silken as ever, far more chilling than heated exclamations would have been.

  “You realize, of course, that you’ve jeopardized everything? What if your dear Laverne decided to take advantage of this knowledge? What if she decided to employ a little blackmail? If she knows about the situation, she must know how imperative it is that it be kept secret. You didn’t think about that, did you, Jennifer?”

  “Laverne would never do a thing like that!” I said angrily.

  “Keep your voice down. I don’t want the servants to hear.”

  “You think everyone is vile, don’t you? Just because you—you have no scruples yourself, you think everyone else—”

  Flinging an arm around the back of my neck, he clapped his other hand over my mouth before I could say more. He held me like that, a thin smile on his lips as he peered down at me. I tried to break free. His grip tightened. Even though it was firmly controlled, I could feel his rage. I was furious myself as that palm crushed my lips.

  “Listen to me, luv,” he said tenderly, “and listen very carefully. You will write to this woman. You will tell her we’re leaving for France, that we plan to spend several weeks there and will no longer be at Mallyncourt. If she has blackmail in mind, that should hold her off for a while. You will give the letter to me when you’ve finished writing it, and afterwards you will write no more. Do you understand?”

  I glared up at him with blazing green eyes, stubbornly refusing to nod. The smile tightening on his lips, Edward pressed his palm brutally, forcing my head back against the curve of his arm. The muscles in my neck stretched painfully. I felt I was going to smother.