Midnight at Mallyncourt Read online

  I reached up to pat one of the long auburn ringlets. “Indeed?”

  “It was about th’ well,” Susie continued, heedless of her inattentive audience. “It’s at th’ back of th’ property, beyond them water gardens, an old well what ’adn’t been used for years—Mister Lyman put in a new water system some time ago with pipes ’n things, and this old well was abandoned. Dry as a bone, it is, an’ several ’undred feet deep. A few years back one of th’ farm children was nosin’ about where ’e didn’t ’ave no business bein’ and tumbled into th’ well—broke both ’is legs, ’e did, almost died before they were able to rescue ’im.”

  “How dreadful—” I exclaimed, giving her my full attention.

  “Awful, it was, just awful. They ’eard the boy yellin’—’e’d been down there for ’ours—and Mister Lyman was marvelous. ’E got ’im a rope and went down after ’im ’imself, riskin’ ’is life. George told me all about it. Anyway, ’e ’ad a cover built and nailed it over th’ top of th’ well so no one else’d ’ave an accident. That’s what th’ row was about—Mister Lyman discovered that a ’igh wind’d blown th’ cover off th’ well ’n Anderson ’adn’t nailed it back on, ’adn’t reported it either. Mister Lyman tore into ’im somethin’ fierce, said there wudn’t no excuse for such negli—” She stumbled over the word, frowning, “said ’e oughta ’ave ’is bloody ’ide for not reportin’ it immediately.”

  “I don’t blame him,” I remarked.

  “Anderson was shook up mightily, and George says Mister Lyman was fit to be tied when ’e came back to the ’ouse. ’E ’ammered th’ cover back on th’ well ’imself, said ’e was surrounded by bloody incompetents and was goin’ to sack th’ whole bloody lot one fine day. Mister Lyman does ’ave a temper, though ’e’s fair. Everyone says ’e’s fair.”

  “I’m sure he is.”

  Susie shook her head and stepped back to examine her handiwork, satisfied that my appearance met her high standards. A string of pearls might be nice, she said, but then with my high coloring I didn’t really need any ornaments. She adjusted the hang of the rich golden brown skirt, wondered aloud if she’d ever have enough bosom to wear low-cut gowns and declared I looked like a bloomin’ duchess, I did indeed.

  “Your cousin’s goin’ to be impressed,” she added.

  “Do you think so?”

  “’E’s certainly a fine figure of a man. Betty’s been assigned to do ’is room. ’E was there when she went in to change th’ linen, ’n she said ’e was th’ ’andsomest devil she’d ever clapped eyes on. ’Course Betty says that about anything in trousers. Funny you never mentioned ’im before, Miss Jenny.”

  “Didn’t I?”

  “You never said a word about ’im, never said you’d invited ’im to Mallyncourt. Took us all by surprise when ’e turned up this mornin’. Didn’t give ’is name or anything, just told Jeffers ’e wanted to see Mister Edward right away.”

  I refrained from making any comment, and Susie was visibly disappointed, quite plainly hoping to reap more information about the cousin who had materialized so suddenly. I opened a bottle of perfume, applying a touch of scent behind each ear.

  “Miss Vanessa seems quite taken with ’im,” she remarked idly, brushing a blond lock from her temple. Her blue eyes were deceptively innocent. “They were quite chummy when they came back from their ride this afternoon, ever so relaxed, like they’d known each other for years ’n years.”

  “Clive makes friends quickly,” I remarked.

  “So does Miss Vanessa,” she said slyly.

  I ignored the comment.

  “Mister Lyman was in th’ stables when they returned. ’E’d just gotten back from ’is row with Anderson and was in a very foul mood, George says. George was there, chattin’ with one of th’ grooms. Anyway, Miss Vanessa ’ad ’er arm linked around your cousin’s and they were laughin’ and carryin’ on ever so chummy like, like I said. Mister Lyman met up with ’em outside th’ stables and Miss Vanessa introduced your cousin. Your cousin bowed real polite like and Mister Lyman just scowled and went on ’is way, didn’t say ’ow do you do or anything. Your cousin looked surprised, but Miss Vanessa just laughed.”

  “Mister Robb isn’t noted for his good manners,” I said. “It’s getting late. I’d better go down.”

  “’Ope dinner isn’t a complete shambles,” Susie remarked. “Cook ’asn’t been ’erself since she turned up those cards this mornin’. Death ’n disaster, she keeps repeatin’. ’Course I don’t put any faith in them cards, but Cook, you see, she actually believes in ’em—”

  I stepped out into the hall, dreading the ordeal ahead. It was going to be quite an evening, I thought wryly. Cook was hardly a gourmet’s delight to begin with, and the food would probably be inedible tonight. Lyman’s foul mood wouldn’t help matters. Even though he had been tolerant of Lyle Radcliff and quite plainly couldn’t care less about Vanessa’s conduct, he had obviously taken an immediate dislike to Gerry and had no intentions of being civil. We were going to be a jolly group at the table, all right. Another pleasant evening at Mallyncourt, I told myself, stepping into the long gallery.

  “There you are,” Edward said. “I’ve been waiting for you. I thought we should go down together.”

  “I’d as soon skip the whole thing,” I said bitterly.

  Edward smiled. Resplendent in dark suit and a sky blue waistcoat embroidered with black silk, he was the picture of sartorial elegance, cool, composed, his dark blond hair gleaming. It irritated me that he should be so calm, so completely unperturbed by this new turn of events.

  “You look upset, Jennifer.”

  “I’ve been upset all day long,” I snapped.

  “Whatever for?” he inquired lazily.

  The sardonic amusement was back in his eyes again, and it disturbed me even more than it had this morning.

  “Could you possibly still be worried about Prince?” he said smoothly. “I thought I told you I’d handle him. You must learn to trust me, my dear. I sent a letter to my solicitor this afternoon. The money will be here in a few days. There’s nothing whatsoever to worry about.”

  “I wish I could believe that.”

  “Compose yourself, Jennifer,” he said. He wrapped his fingers around my elbow, leading me to the steps. “Come, they’ll be waiting for us. You must be very gracious to your cousin tonight—”

  As we went downstairs, I kept thinking about Cook and her tarot cards. I didn’t believe in such things, of course, but, just the same, I wished Susie hadn’t mentioned it. It didn’t help at all.

  Chapter Eleven

  I STOOD beside one of the pairs of tall French windows that opened out from the ballroom into the side gardens, temporarily without a partner and glad of the respite. It was gay. It was grand. It was a great success, and I was bone weary after too much dancing, longing ardently for another glass of champagne. Behind me, in the gardens, Japanese lanterns swayed from tree limbs and spread splotches of wavering blue and red and green, and couples strolled along the paths, enjoying the night air, enjoying stolen kisses among the shadows, and here in the ballroom six great chandeliers hung from the ornate ceiling, shedding a brilliant radiance over a dance floor crowded with swirling couples. It was a kaleidoscope of movement and color, men in dark, elegant suits dancing with women whose skirts billowed like colored petals, jewels flashing, dancers bending, turning, abandoned and adrift on a sea of music.

  Gilt chairs and Regency sofas had been placed all around the floor for those not dancing. Men stood in scattered groups, discussing politics, and plump matrons gossiped behind fans. Shy young girls sat demurely, casting longing glances at robust young men ill-at-ease in their swell attire. Buffet tables had been set up in the formal drawing room adjoining, laden with gorgeously arranged meats, moulded aspics, pyramids of tiny glazed cakes, presided over by liveried servants who served the guests with stern, impassive faces while others, equally as impassive, circulated with large trays of champagne glasses filled to the brim,
going back for more as soon as the tray was empty. A hearty festivity prevailed. Country gentry, I observed, enjoyed themselves wholeheartedly, with a robust zest quite lacking in the formal London society dominated by a prudish Queen.

  A gentle breeze lifted the long yellow silk draperies behind me, causing them to billow inward, rustling. I wore a rich gold brocade gown, the skirt very full, the tight bodice emphasizing narrow waist and full bosom, cut low, the puffed sleeves dropping off the shoulder. The rich cloth was embroidered with tiny silk flowers of darker gold. Dancers swept past me. On a sofa nearby two elderly women in old-fashioned gowns waved their dusty ostrich fans and talked about their ailments, and a young girl in white, eyes forlorn, stood beside a pot of tall green plants and watched her sister flirt with a dashing young man in a dark blue uniform with shiny golden epaulets that shimmered when he moved.

  The reception line in the great hall had been an ordeal, but, standing beside Edward, I had played my part brilliantly, greeting each and every guest, never once betraying the nervousness inside. I chatted with a cantankerous old duchess who looked like a cracked, aged china shepardess in pink organdy and imitation pearls. I smiled as matrons gushed and tittered, eyeing me with great curiosity. I nodded and shook hands and made pleasant remarks and prayed for it to end.

  It did end, and Edward and I opened the dance. He was perfectly at ease, but I was nervous, knowing all eyes were on us, and when the first dance was over I danced with retired military men, with energetic country squires who talked about horseflesh and hunts, with young bucks who held me too tightly, with a duke, with a parson, with Lyle Radcliff, silent and embittered as he tried to keep his eye on Vanessa in the crush. I danced with Lord Mallyn, who danced just the one dance with me, creaking around the floor with a defiant expression on his face as his doctors watched from the side of the room. Then he took me for champagne, and I had time for just one glass before a ruddy-cheeked squire seized my arm with robust glee and led me back to the dance floor and another round of dancing began.

  I finally managed to escape, and now, as I stood beside the tall windows, I hoped no one else would ask me to dance, at least for a while. I could see Lord Mallyn across the room, holding court. Standing with the aid of a silver-headed cane, dressed to the hilt in a tight-fitting black suit and an outrageous magenta waistcoat that would have done justice to a young Disraeli, he was in his element. Rings flashing, dark eyes snapping, he looked like some dry, decrepit old butterfly just recently broken out of a dusty cocoon, and, seeing him, one would never have guessed he had been seriously ill such a short time before. He was enjoying himself thoroughly, preening audaciously, drinking far too much champagne, yawning at bores and chuckling raucously with old cronies.

  Glancing around the vast, crowded room, I saw Lyman standing in a corner, sullen, looking ill at ease in his handsome black suit and a gleaming white satin waistcoat embroidered with darker white patterns. The splendid apparel offset his virility and made him seem even more rugged. His white silk tie was crooked, his raven locks tousled, his eyes dark and brooding, and he was obviously miserable, wishing the ball were over and he could get out of the fancy clothes. As I watched, an attractive, flirtatious blonde in sky-blue organdy sailed over to him, smiling and placing her hand on his arm. Lyman scowled and said something between his teeth and the blonde hurried away, blushing furiously. He scowled again and looked more miserable than ever.

  In contrast, Vanessa was radiant, a merry smile on her lips as she swept around the floor in the arms of a tall, handsome youth with brick-red hair and a rakish manner. She hadn’t been without a partner since the ball began, and she was quite easily the center of attention in her spectacular silver gown, emeralds blazing at her throat and dangling from her ears. Her ebony hair was superbly arranged. Her cheeks were flushed a delicate pink. Her eyes sparkled, vying with the emeralds for brilliance. The men sought her attention, young and old alike, and she reveled in it, allowing this one to fetch her champagne, permitting that one to bring her a plate, abandoning both to return to the dance floor with yet another. I noticed several of the women whispering behind their fans as they observed her, but Vanessa couldn’t have cared less what any of them thought.

  As she swirled past, I caught sight of Gerald Prince standing across the room with two pretty girls, one in pink, one in white, both listening with rapt attention as he continued some narrative. Gerry was quite a sensation with the ladies tonight, attentive and gallant to the older ones, jovial and roguish with the younger. More than one matron had told me how much she admired my cousin, and I knew he had received a number of invitations from several with marriageable daughters. The role of Clive Randall, amiable cousin, was one he performed with great aplomb, and I wondered how much longer we would have to suffer his presence at Mallyncourt. As he ended his narrative, the girl in pink giggled and the girl in white looked deliciously scandalized. Gerry chuckled, pleased with himself, pleased with his success.

  I wondered where Edward was. I hadn’t seen him in over an hour, not since the first dance, the duty dance, Edward Baker and his new bride opening the ball. He hadn’t asked me to dance a second time. He had turned me over to the duke, had turned to a pretty girl in lavender, the music beginning again, separating us, and I had lost sight of him, disappointment deepening as time passed and dance followed dance and he didn’t seek me out again. He had to dance with all the ladies. It was his duty. Disappointment? Absurd. I didn’t care whether I danced with him again or not. I had danced enough already to last a lifetime.

  A strapping lad with untidy blond hair and boyish brown eyes came over to me, grinning affably, and I felt my heart sink. He had almost broken my rib cage earlier. He was going to ask me to dance again. He did, and I couldn’t refuse without being rude. I smiled. I braced myself. He wrapped his arm around my waist and seized my hand in a bone-crushing grip and propelled me onto the floor, into the midst of the swirling color, the movement, and I continued to smile, enduring his awkwardness, enduring his talk about the county fair and the hog he intended to enter in competition, and when the waltz ended I sighed and turned and found myself face to face with yet another lad, dark-eyed, intense, wickedly handsome, and he pulled me into his arms and the music began again. He danced divinely, smoothly, not awkward at all, and he talked too, not about hogs, but about life and love and poetry, fancying himself a Byronic figure, telling me his life was a perpetual search for a woman who would understand him and touch his soul, and I told him I was happily married and he frowned, disappointed, dancing in silence, and, the dance done, going on with his perpetual search while I danced with another squire, with a student from Oxford, with an aged gentleman with silver hair and rheumatism who looked down at his feet throughout the dance, counting steps, one two three, one two three.

  Shortly after nine, the music stopped. The dancers applauded. I applauded, too, in the middle of the crowd, standing with Lyle Radcliff who was still silent and embittered, staring at Vanessa. On their raised platform at the end of the ballroom, the musicians put down their instruments to take a short break, and the crowd began to mix and mingle, voices rising, laughter trilling. Lyle asked me if I would like a glass of champagne, and I shook my head and he thanked me for the dance and walked away looking painfully young, soon swallowed up by the crowd. A general movement began toward the drawing room where champagne was still flowing, the tables still laden, and I moved back toward the French windows, eager for fresh air and another rest, however short.

  I stood in front of a set of windows, my back to the gardens, drapes billowing in the breeze, the air refreshing. The crowd was thinning rapidly on the dance floor now, the golden parquet littered with ribbons and petals and dance cards. Vanessa was standing alone, people moving past her, the skirt of her gown like a great silver bell, the formfitting bodice cut extremely low, emeralds dripping from her throat. She was watching someone approach, an expectant look in her eyes. People passed. I lost sight of her for a moment. When I saw her again, Gerry
was with her, and she tilted her head back, looking into his eyes, smiling. He leaned down, whispering something into her ear. She nodded, placing her hand on his arm. They moved toward the door leading into the hall.

  And then, suddenly, Edward was standing in front of me, a smile on his lips, his blue eyes filled with amusement. I had been so engrossed in watching Vanessa that I hadn’t seen him approach. He seemed in an unusually relaxed mood, almost jolly.

  “Hello, Mrs. Baker,” he said.

  “I—I didn’t see you.”

  “I saw you—standing all alone in your magnificent gold brocade gown, looking disturbed. I dumped Mrs. Crothers. Mrs. Crothers was telling me all about her roses. ‘Damn your roses,’ I said, ‘I’ve got to go cheer up my wife.’”

  “You didn’t say that.”

  “I wanted to. I foisted her off on Colonel Jameson. Colonel Jameson is half-deaf, has an ear trumpet, but he grows roses, too. You look absolutely lovely, my dear. Now you look startled.”

  “I—I’m not used to compliments from you.”

  “It wasn’t a compliment. It was a statement of fact. You’re the most beautiful woman here tonight. Everyone says so. ‘You’ve picked yourself a real stunner, Baker,’ Sir Roderick told me. ‘That red hair—damned if she doesn’t look like Lady Hamilton.’ Sir Roderick is ninety-one years old. He was a young diplomat in Naples, knew the lady in question well.”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “Why am I doing what?”

  “Being so friendly. It—isn’t like you.”

  “No?”

  “Not in the least.”

  “Must I have a motive?” he asked, smiling.

  “You probably do,” I told him.

  “Am I such a monster, then?”

  “Yes,” I said peevishly.

  “We’ll have to change that image, my dear.”

  “You’ve been avoiding me all evening.”

  “And that upset you?”