A Lady in Disguise (12 page)

Stepping farther into the room, she noticed a motif of vines and leaves running through each vault. The image of the blind face above the gateway returned to her. She felt colder, as though her mortal warmth were seeping away.

Staring upwards, Lillian did not see that the floor was uneven where bricks had pushed upward. She tripped and dropped her candle. Briefly, all she wished to do was hold her foot in its thin slipper, comforting her wounded toe.

Then, the weight of the darkness began to press in. The vaulted ceiling, which she knew perfectly well maintained its place as it had for centuries, suddenly seemed much, much lower than the candlelight had led her to believe.

Opening her eyes to their fullest made no difference in the darkness. She could not find the slightest point of light to steer by, only a teasing dazzle of red spots floating before her straining pupils. Slowly, Lillian turned to face what she hoped was the direction from which she’d come. How much had she deviated from a straight line in entering the vaulted chamber?

Taking a hesitating step forward, she shrinkingly stretched out her hands to feel for the exit. She thought about the wrong turns she’d made with the aid of a candle dripping hot wax, and felt the first flutters of panic at the thought of the dark, endless corridors that wove a maze beneath Mottisbury Castle. The hostility of the living residents was as nothing compared to the dislike she seemed to feel beating out of the stone walls about her.

Lillian tried to smile at herself and this tendency to the gothic she’d never before suspected in herself. Perhaps the smile would have been possible if she’d not at that moment heard a footstep, accompanied by a dull clanking sound. Was it then that she shut her eyes tightly, in the vain hope that whatever passed would not see her if she could not see...
it
?

When a live hand clutched hers, Lillian struck out, gasping for air.

“Here now, here now,” Thorpe’s warm, blessedly human voice came to her ear, as he evaded her blow and caught her hand in his. With the other safely held, he drew her closer to his strong body. “Did your candle go out? Never mind, Lillian. You’re with me now.”

Lillian raised her face. Light, from the loosely constructed lantern on the floor, brought her once more to herself. Yet the expression in Thorpe’s eyes, both serious and tender, drowned her senses. When he brought her hands around his waist, she did not protest. Gently holding them still behind him, he mastered her lips with his own.

Unthinking, Lillian sought to partake fully of his kiss. When he released her hands to curve his arms around her, she moved at last but only to embrace him more closely. He was warm, so warm, and she’d been cold for what seemed forever.

With a sigh, he broke their kiss, but did not release her. Lillian found that his shoulder might have been made to cradle her head. She had no sense of the passage of time, for what had such mundane things to do with the glory of this moment?

“I tried to follow Lady Genevieve,” she said eventually. “How did you find me?”

“I followed the candle grease. There’s a trail of it from your holding your candle at an angle to let it run off. You followed your own track two or three times, didn’t you?” His hand moved in a soothing circle on her spine. “You must have been frightened in the dark.”

‘Terrified. I’m sorry I tried to strike you.” She breathed in his scent, compounded of all the clean, free breezes she thought she’d never know again, and shivered a little. Lifting her lashes, she saw his gaze fixed on her, with a smile behind the green.

All at once, Lillian knew she’d made a fool of herself. From shivering, she burned white hot. When she withdrew from his arms, he did not try to stop her.

“Well,” he said, bending elegantly to pick up the lantern, “the others are waiting for us outside. We’d best go join them.” He found her candle and scooped that up too. “I think next time I’ll equip everyone with a lantern. Candles go out too easily. I hope this experience hasn’t given you a dislike of the castle.”

“No, not in the least.”

“This chamber is most likely the oldest portion, you know. Some people say it wasn’t built by the Everards at all, but was the seat of some older religion, pre-Roman possibly. Of course, none of that work exists anymore. It was all so long ago.”

“Most interesting. May we go now?”

“Certainly.”

Oh, his smile was definitely in evidence now. He offered her his arm. Lillian refused that comfort. “You’d better go first,” she said. “You know the way.”

Coming along behind, she grimaced at his straight back and at the dark head set so perfectly above his wide collar. He had no right to find her while she was terrified out of her self-control, no right to find her and be considerate. She knew, though she hated to admit it, that the kiss he bestowed on her was prompted only by his good nature. He had not kissed her because she was so beautiful he could not resist. He had not held her because of an overmastering desire for her nearness. No, he was only being considerate and comforting.

If there’d been a loose brick in the corridor, Lillian would have willingly heaved it at him, if only to relieve her feelings. Obviously, he wasn’t affected in the slightest by their embrace. His heart hadn’t sped up by so much as a single beat, nor was his body still tingling with the first knowledge of passion. Her anger ravaged her so that neither her psalm nor the sight of the sunlight on the grass had the slightest power over her emotions.

A small mound of still-mortared bricks stood waist high in the corner of the courtyard, where, no doubt, a mighty tower had once stood. Now the remnant was spread with a dazzlingly white cloth. Becksnaff stood by, working the cork from a bottle of the sparkling wine of Anjou. An entire meal al fresco was spread out beside him, a footman still laying out the silver on the white tablecloth.

“I found her,” Thorpe announced, approaching the small group seated on chairs around the impromptu table.

Judging by the expressions on their faces, it was a matter of complete indifference to Lady Genevieve and Addy. Frank was interested. “Didja see any ghosts down there. Miss Cole?”

“No. Absolutely none.” Her pride allowed no mention of the ones she’d heard or conjured up herself from the darkness. She drank thirstily of the wine Becksnaff gave her. Then, with a glance around, she finished it more discreetly.

“That’s too bad.” Frank swallowed the large bite he chewed. “This chicken’s right good,” he said as if surprised.

Thorpe said, “May I serve you, Miss Cole?”

“No, thank you, Mr. Everard. I can help myself.” If only he would show displeasure at this slight, Lillian thought, she would have some hope that the moment they shared meant something to him. But he only nodded pleasantly and went to carry a glass of wine to his grandmother.

Lillian ate only a few bites before she found herself answering young Frank’s questions about the reasons the castle had been ruined. This naturally led her to discussing Cromwell and the overthrow of the doomed Charles I. Finding that Addy and Gina seemed also to be listening, Lillian pitched her voice a trifle louder and tried to tell history like a story. Although when she had learned the facts herself, she’d always sided with the romantic Cavaliers, talking to the children forced her to give due weight to the arguments for the other side.

So caught up was she in imparting this sad, yet romantic tale to the children that she hardly noticed when the youngest of the four footmen employed at the castle approached his master. Only when she found that her audience was distracted did Lillian stop speaking. Like the others, she watched Thorpe as he tore open a note.

“I’m sorry but it seems we’ll have to end our picnic prematurely,” he said. “Visitors have arrived.” He handed the paper to Lady Genevieve, who held it out to arm’s length in order to be able to read it.

“Oh, dear, not her again,” she said under her breath, the thin lines of her brows drawing together.

As Lillian gave her plate to Becksnaff, she wondered if perhaps Paulina Pritchard, unable to contain her curiosity, had come herself. If Thorpe had no real feelings for Paulina, he might not be pleased to see her, and Lady Genevieve would undoubtedly resent any woman with designs on her grandson. Lillian knew it was wicked to hope to be in the room when Lady Genevieve told Paulina about the curse and the ghost. It was certainly wicked to hope that Paulina would leave as soon as she heard the tale.

“Papa, is it... ?” Addy’s small face crumpled worriedly. “Is it my grandparents Grenshaw?”

Thorpe squatted down to see into his daughter’s gray eyes. “Yes, they’ve come with your cousin, Nora Ellis.”

“Do I have to see them? Can’t I run away?”

Lillian felt a little shocked by this reaction on Addy’s part. Though her own father’s parents had died long before her birth, her maternal grandfather had doted on her until his own passing seven years ago. The feeling had been entirely mutual. Lillian could remember running into Mr. Wentlow’s arms with shouts of elation.

Thorpe gave a low chuckle. “You’ll be glad they’ve come once you’ve seen them.”

“No, I won’t,” the child said firmly, but her father had stood up.

“We’d better go and greet them.” He did not seem any more delighted by the prospect than Lady Genevieve or Addy. He asked Lillian, “Will you see to it that Addy is washed and combed before she is presented?”

“As you wish, Mr. Everard.” Lillian watched as Thorpe gave the key to the gate to Becksnaff. Then he offered his arm to his. grandmother and led her beneath the gatehouse arch. As he disappeared into the shadows, Lillian felt that he glanced back, perhaps at his child, perhaps at her.

Addy, still frowning, came over to Lillian’s side. “I don’t need a bath,” she said wearily. “But Grandmother wouldn’t like this dress. I’ll probably have to wear something with lots of lace like the ones
she
sends me. Come on, Miss Cole.”

Slowly, Lillian said, “I don’t suppose there’s much of a hurry. Your father did not say that there was. Why not finish your luncheon before we go back to the house? And I suppose you might take a nap on the grass afterwards.”

Addy raised doubtful eyes. “Do you mean it?”

“Certainly,” Lillian answered with decision. “I have not done with telling you about King Charles and Oliver Cromwell. Frank, Gina? Come sit by me.” Even Becksnaff bestowed an approving beam upon her as he began to unpack the luncheon basket once again.

When at last Lillian escorted Addy, properly washed and dressed in a simple dress of white muslin unadorned except by a knot of pink ribbon, into the cavernous salon, the child shrank behind her. She peered out from behind Lillian’s shiny caramel-colored lutestring and whispered, ‘That’s my grandmother Grenshaw sitting beside Great.”

“Don’t point, Addy.”

The lady thus indicated sat on a spindly chair close to Lady Genevieve. She was both plump and pale with thin blond curls that looked rather damp, as if newly washed and left to dry. Her soft voice ran on, now rushing, now hesitating, and every so often pausing for a breath, usually in the wrong place. Sometimes she giggled nervously, as though not apologizing for her actions or words so much as for her very existence.

“And of course, the maids are very good about caring for Lympie Hall while we are gone, so that wasn’t a concern. The vicar’s wife stops by to see that all is well, else they’d dawdle abed till all hours. So though it is no trouble to us to come, I know we shouldn’t do it without an invitation. But Claude so wanted to see little Adrienne again. He just said, ‘Fiddle!’— excuse me, but he does not always constrain his language— Thorpe won’t mind. You know him. He’d not turn a beggar from his doorstep.’ “

“Quite.” Lady Genevieve dryly dismissed Mrs. Grenshaw’s explanation. “You and Mr. Grenshaw are always welcome to come for brief visits.” It sounded as though Lady Genevieve were repeating something she’d said several times already. Whatever sincerity there’d been in her tone had vanished. Lillian understood why when Mrs. Grenshaw once more began to ramble on about the lack of an invitation. Lady Genevieve cut her short, by saying, “I know that Adrienne is all eagerness to see
you
again. I cannot think what is keeping her now.”

That was as good an introduction as any, and Addy seemed to recognize it even as did Lillian. The girl took Lillian’s hand and tugged. “Remember how tired I am, please, Miss Cole. I must go to bed at six. Six, not seven.”

“I shan’t forget.” She couldn’t very well as Addy had told her half a dozen times since leaving her bedroom. She felt like adding, “Be brave,” but could not have said why.

Addy let go of Lillian’s hand as she went up to Mrs. Grenshaw. “Good evening, Grandmother,” she said, her hands tucked behind her back, like an admiral facing cold shot.

Mrs. Grenshaw peered into Addy’s face, and her lower lip began to tremble. “Oh, how she takes me back,” she exclaimed. Tears began to overflow her sandy lashes. As she groped in the reticule at her wrist, she said, “How like my poor tragic child! Exactly the same, the same eyes, the same sweet face.”

“Now, then, Ursula ...” her husband began from the other side of the room. Lillian noticed that he’d not turned from where he stood near Thorpe to attend his wife, merely throwing the words over his shoulder. He immediately continued talking to his son-in-law, gesturing widely with paddle-like hands.

“Here, Mrs. Grenshaw, pray take mine,” Lady Genevieve said, offering between two fingers a dangling square of cambric.

Mrs. Grenshaw pressed the fabric to her cheeks and sniffled heavily. Then, raising her face, she saw Addy once more. With a howl and sobbing anew, she reached out and gathered the child into her arms, stiff though the small figure was.

Lillian’s gaze met Lady Genevieve’s. For once, it seemed they were in perfect accord.

“Come, come, Mrs. Grenshaw, you mustn’t give way like this,” Lady Genevieve said. Perhaps the gentle hand she laid on the other’s arm was not so gentle after all. Certainly, Mrs. Grenshaw suddenly jerked erect with a scarcely muffled, “Yowch!” She turned upon Lady Genevieve an aggrieved stare. With Addy’s grandmother thus distracted, Lillian gently peeled the child free. Addy’s face was red, and she let out her breath gustily.