Mally : Signet Regency Romance (9781101568057) (14 page)

Chapter 20

The cobbles were slippery, shining with the reflections of torches and lamps as Mally hurried across behind Richard. A torch flared and crackled by the low arched door at the foot of the Norman keep, and Richard drew her into the lee of the keep as he reached up to lift a rusty key from a hook by the door.

Mally laughed. “Surely you aren't taking me into the dungeon?”

“That's exactly where I'm taking you.”

Her smile faded. “I have had enough of such things tonight—”

He pushed the key into the lock. “There's something I think you'd like to see in there. Oh, don't begin to think of miserable things from the past again—” He caught her hand as the door opened. “Think of some more pleasant times for a change.”

The rain pattered in on the dry, worn steps inside, and as Richard lifted the torch down from its bracket, the light leaped down the chilly stairway leading to the castle's single, deep dungeon. The air was unbelievably cold and the dampness was clinging, seeping into everything. Richard handed her the torch and took off his coat, wrapping it around her shoulders. There was a faint drift of sandalwood clinging to it.

He looked at her as he took the torch again. “You aren't afraid, are you?”

“No.”

She followed him on down, glancing at the monstrous shadows cast by the torch, shadows which seemed to coil and recoil as if about to pounce. The stone slabs at the foot of the steps were wet and the walls ran with moisture as they walked to the end of the low passage.

The door of the dungeon was open and the light seemed to swamp the tiny square room as Richard stepped inside. She could hear the spluttering and hissing of the flame as she stood looking around.

“This at least hasn't changed,” she said.

“Ah, so you remember it.”

“Of course—one of the worst dares we could think of was to come down here alone and count to one hundred.”

“But you don't remember everything, do you?”

“Why do you say that?”

“Here.”

He went to a far corner where the wall was surprisingly dry, and raised the torch closer to the wall. She stared at the two words carved there in rough, childish scrawl.
Daniel. Mally.
And a heart.

Oh, go on, Mally, no one's going to know we've written here!

But it's not our castle, Daniel, not really.

Yes it is, but we've got to let it know. We'll have a castle one day, Mally, all to ourselves
—

She turned away. “I'd forgotten,” she whispered. “It was a June day, the hottest that summer. Oh, we did get into trouble when we got back, because we'd slipped away from Maria and she'd been left alone all day—” She looked at him suddenly, she should ask him about Maria. Now was the right time surely—

He pushed the torch into an ancient bracket on the wall nearby. “I'll warrant Maria didn't appreciate that very much.”

She couldn't say it, she couldn't accuse him— “She didn't, she told tales on me for a month after that and I hated her so much I cut her hair when she was asleep. And that got me into boiling oil for another month.”

“I can't believe you'd be so willful, Mally. Maria, yes. But not you.”

“I had my less lovable moments.”

“Mally, there's nothing I can say about Maria, you know. Don't look so surprised, it was written all over your face that you wanted to ask me again.”

“I'm sorry I was so obvious.”

He smiled, leaning back against the wall. The frill at the front of his white shirt was intricate and costly, and the white fabric bright even in the dim light of the torch. “As you say, you have your moments.”

“And what does that mean?”

“Well, not so very many minutes ago you most firmly said you didn't wish to discuss your affairs with me, so perhaps I should not say—”

“This is most unfair. You cannot make cryptic remarks and then shy away from explanation.”

He smiled. “Very well. You are obvious—to me—when you let Annabel cleave even closer to Chris.”

“I don't—”

“Oh, yes you do. You could give her elbow a nudge which would have her arm in a sling for a year, but you don't even tap her on the shoulder and wag your disapproving finger. Tonight, for instance. The backgammon.”

She flushed. “I was in a miff with Chris.”

“That wasn't why. But it
is
another thing. You are content to let him be in a miff with you, aren't you?”

“Richard, I don't think it's right to go on talking like this, it isn't fair—”

“Who to? Chris?”

She said nothing.

“Mally, what you're doing now is unfair to Chris. You'll never give completely to him. Because there's tenderness, but no deep understanding. You don't love him as much as you loved Daniel.”

She turned to leave, but he caught her hand and pulled her back. “Let me go, Richard, please!”

“No, for you'll rush off in a miff with me too.” He smiled. “I have already told you that I know what I'm talking about. Marriage with a second-best is senseless, and in your case very wrong. I know what I'm talking about, for I've been here before you, Mally, and everything I see you doing now I once did myself. I recognize all the signs.”

“It could—which heaven forbid, of course—be that you are wrong for once.”

“I'm not. You are a woman of the world, Mally, and you
know
your love for Chris is somewhat less than Chris's for you. What happens then when you meet a man who sets you by your ears, whose very glance melts you? As Daniel's glance melted you, but Chris's never will. Answer me that.”

“Are these the same persuasive arguments you used when my sister met Andrew York?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Maria needed no telling, Mally.
She
could see for herself that the dreadful Thomas was too dreadful for contemplation. She wanted Andrew and he wanted her, and that was the end of it.”

“And I need telling, is that what you mean?”

“In a way. You too can see for yourself the mistake you're making, but you're like spindrift, carried along by the force of outside influences and not stopping once and for all to say exactly what you really feel.”

“I can't hurt him.”

“It's getting to the point where he's hurting you—in self-defense.”

“I don't know that I like being understood so completely when I hardly know you.”

He smiled. “I said—I have been there before you. And I feel that I know you because I know Maria so well.”

“How well?” she breathed.

“As an intended member of my family. Andrew was my wife's cousin.”

She stared at him. She wanted to believe him, and yet she could not. Maria was here, in this castle, she was sure of it, and that certainty mounted with each passing moment. Maria was somewhere close by. In that south tower perhaps?

He put his hand to her face suddenly. “You look so confused and uncertain, and you should not be. It is born of your engagement to Chris, and will remain as long as that ring is on your finger.”

“You do not care that you suggest I wreck Chris's happiness?”

“I do nothing I do not think Chris is already beginning to realize for himself. But he will cling to you, I feel, because he's always loved and wanted you. What man would not want you?”

Her face felt hot. “We'd better go back—”

“Why?” He took her hand and pulled her closer. “Because you fear being closed in?”

“I'm not afraid of that now.”

“No, because you're with me.” His mouth was soft as he kissed her, and then he drew back. “Give Chris his ring back, Mally. You're not for him.”

She couldn't speak, staring at him. Then she turned and hurried from the dungeon and up into the rain-beaten night.

Someone was standing in the courtyard calling Richard. It was Abel, the rain making his dark skin shine as he held his leather jerkin over his head against the storm.

“Mr. Vallender! Mr. Vallender!” He turned as he heard Mally. “You know where Mr. Vallender is, Miss Maria?”

She halted as she heard her sister's name on his lips. Her heart was thundering, both from what had happened in the dungeon and now from this new shock. “Yes, Abel, he's in the dungeon.”

Abel seemed uncertain, coming closer and peering at her through the darkness. “Thank you, Miss M——” His mouth snapped shut as he realized his mistake, and his eyes were large suddenly. He ran past her and through the doorway at the foot of the keep.

Mally stood in the rain, holding Richard's coat around her shoulders. Maria
was
here, she had been right. She stared at the black doorway where the door swung in the draft of cold air. The gale moaned around the castle and the rain lashed over the courtyard, splashing into the ever-increasing puddles which gathered in each dip and crevice. Richard had lied. After all that, he had still lied. She looked up at the tower where the light still burned.

Richard followed Abel up from the dungeon and he stopped as he saw her. They stared at each other for a moment, and then he nodded at Abel.

“Get my horse and I'll see what's been going on down there.”

“The tree down, Mr. Vallender. Maybe more go down.”

“Get the horse.”

Abel nodded, glancing worriedly from Richard to Mally, and then he looked at Richard again. “I'm sorry, Mr. Vallender—”

“That's all right, Abel. Now get on with it.”

The Jamaican's steps splashed away across the courtyard, and Richard turned to Mally. “Mally?”

She shook her head, and turned to run toward the door leading to the solar. She didn't know what to do, but for the moment she wanted to be away from Richard Vallender at all costs. As she pushed the door open and went in from the rain, she almost screamed, for Louis was standing there.

“Madame?”
He bowed politely.

She glanced back out in the rain, but Richard had gone. Louis stood silently, watching her.

“Louis,
où est ma chambre, s'il vous plaît?
” It sounded so horribly lame, but it was all she could think of, and the thought of a room where she could be alone to think was reassuring.

“Madame.”
He bowed again, indicating that she should follow him. With one final look at the stormy night, she hurried after him.

Chapter 21

The maid bobbed an awkward curtsey, wiping her nervous hands on her crumpled apron.

“Mishur
Louis said as I was to attend you, ma'am.” Her eyes were frightened and she straightened her mob-cap anxiously, pushing a black plait neatly beneath it.

“That would be kind of you— What is your name?”

“Gwynneth, ma'am.”

“Gwynneth. Are you from Llanglyn?”

“No, ma'am, from over the mountains at Crickhowell.”

Mally took Richard's damp coat from her shoulders and set it carefully over a chair. A fireplace had been built recently, its yellow stone standing out from the worn, ancient stones of the rest of the room. Some pretty tapestries hung on one wall, and a gold-framed painting of a woman with some hunting dogs. The fourposter bed was immense, dominating the room, and its beautiful dull blue curtains found an echo in the sapphire-colored carpet which almost fitted from wall to wall it was made so exactly to the size of the room. A narrow slit window high on one wall had been glazed, and on the other outer wall a new window had been made, an elegant, arched window with latticed panes. She could see Llanglyn far below in the valley, its lights blurred by the rain. Gwynneth went to draw the curtains, bobbing another nervous curtsey.

Mally smiled, gathering her own scattered senses at last. “Have you been a lady's maid before, Gwynneth?”

“No, ma'am.”

“Have you been here long?”

“Two months, ma'am. I came when my mam heard they wanted someone up here.”

Mally sat down before the old-fashioned dressing table. “Unpin my hair, if you please, Gwynneth.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

The maid fumbled awkwardly, and Mally smiled at her in the mirror. “Don't be afraid, Gwynneth, I shall not bite you.”

“No, but I think Lady Annabel might.”

Mally laughed. “No, she won't.”

“I nearly dropped when
Mishur
Louis said as I was to attend you both; I thought you were bringing your own maids with you.” The girl's Welsh accent was melodic.

“Lucy wouldn't come because she and my mother do not see eye to eye with Mr. Vallender. So, you see, Lady Annabel and I are more than glad to have you look after us.”

“They're all wrong about Mr. Vallender, ma'am. He's kind, more kind than anyone I know. And handsome enough to whip the devil's tail.” The maid blushed.

Mally said nothing. The girl was right, Richard Vallender could whip the devil's tail ten times over—

Gwynneth finished unpinning her hair and then unhooked the gown with great care. “Oh, such a lovely gown, ma'am, I think it must be wonderful to wear something like this.
Mawreddog.”

“If you think
that's
grand, wait until you see Lady Annabel's toggery.”

Gwynneth smiled. “She's an earl's daughter, isn't she?”

“Yes. A title as long as my arm. Gwynneth, what do you know of this business with Abel?” Mally slipped into her wrap, tying it slowly around her waist.

“Abel? Oh, it's all so wrong, you know. Abel wouldn't do anything to an old lady like that, he's as gentle as my sister's pet lamb.”

Mally watched the way the girl avoided her eyes. “Is there anyone else staying here, Gwynneth? A lady?”

“No, ma'am. There's just yourself, Lady Annabel, and Sir Christopher staying here.”

Mally brushed her hair thoughtfully. She'd get nothing more out of the maid. But Abel had definitely thought for a moment that it had been Maria in the courtyard— “Where is Lady Annabel now, Gwynneth?” She changed the subject.

“Still in the solar with Sir Christopher, I believe.” The maid smiled shyly, biting her lip. “I got it wrong, you know. I thought
you
were to marry Sir Christopher, not Lady Annabel.”

Mally turned. “I am, Gwynneth.”

The maid's eyes widened. “Oh—I—”

“Getting on well, were they?”

“Oh, ma'am!” Gwynneth looked as if she wished the floor would open and swallow her, and her hands were shaking.

Mally put her hand on her arm. “It's all right, Gwynneth, you haven't stepped out of line.”

“Oh, ma'am, I could cut my tongue!”

“Don't do anything so drastic, please.” Mally continued brushing her hair, pondering what Gwynneth might have seen in the solar. Had Annabel been fairly stampeding over that lost ground then?

Someone knocked at the door and Gwynneth opened it. Chris stood there, his face set. Gwynneth took one look at him and scuttled out, closing the door behind her.

Mally turned. “Chris.”

He looked around, his glance falling immediately on Richard's coat. “I trust you enjoyed your
tête-à-tête
with Richard.”

“As much as you enjoyed yours with Annabel, I would imagine.” She held his gaze.

“And what was it he had to show you? His memories?”

Her chin came up stubbornly. “No, as a matter of fact they were
my
memories! Mine and Daniel's. And if you don't like to hear that name then I am sorry.” She put the brush down angrily.

“No doubt you found it most enjoyable.”

She thought for a moment. Richard was right, she wasn't facing her decisions. Slowly she took the ring from her finger. “Enjoyable? Yes, Chris, I did, more enjoyable than I find most of my time spent with you now. Take the ring, give it to Annabel, for she is the one who should wear it, not me.”

He stared at the ring. “Is that your final word?”

“Yes, I would rather spend my life alone dwelling on the past, than with you continually arguing and misunderstanding.”

“But you won't be alone, will you? You'll be with my good friend Richard!”

She shook her head. “This has nothing to do with him really, Chris. It's been on the cards ever since we were foolish enough to become engaged in the first place.” She took his hand and pressed the ring into his palm, closing his fingers gently over it. “I love you very much, Chris, but we should remain what we always have been, the very best of friends. We are killing that friendship and love at this moment, aren't we? Look at me, Chris, look at me and admit that I am right.”

He met her eyes, and then bent his head, brushing his lips over hers. “I know, Mally, I know. But
I
do love
you
as much as was needed, you know that, don't you?”

She lowered her eyes. “You did, Chris, for a long time. But not anymore. And don't be at odds with Richard over this, for it isn't his fault.”

“Isn't it?”

“No.”

He glanced at the coat again, and then back into her eyes. “I wish you well, Mally, my love.” He put his hand to the nape of her neck and drew her lips toward his again.

She touched the hand holding the ring. “Give the ring to Annabel, Chris.”

“Is that where my happiness lies then?”

“You tell me, Chris.” She smiled.

As the door closed behind him she turned to look at her reflection in the tall cheval glass. She felt so weary—

Gwynneth tapped timidly on the door. “Shall I do anything else, ma'am?”

“No, thank you. Do you know where Lady Annabel is?”

“Gone to her room, ma'am. I'm to attend her now.”

Mally smiled. “She's no doubt tired out with her ghostly searchings for Lady Jacquetta. Amongst other things.”

“Lady Jacquetta? Haven't you seen her then?”

Mally stared at the maid's surprised face. “No. Have you?”

“Oh,
Duw,
yes, the first moment I came here. I always see them if they're there, and
she's
there right enough.”

“What's she like?”

“Well—she's sort of
watery.
Gray and floaty. Like gossamer.” Gwynneth blushed. “You don't think I'm—?”

“Fey? Probably. Go on.”

“Well, that's it really, she moves around the castle a lot. Up in the south tower, the gallery in the great hall, and down in the dungeon sometimes, but then that's where Sir Francis put her first off, isn't it?”

“I don't know, Gwynneth.”

“Oh, there is something else. She never shows her hands. Never once, they're always hidden away. Almost—well, almost as if they aren't there anymore.”

Mally shuddered. What was it Annabel had said. Tearing with her bloodied hands?

“Shall I go then, ma'am?”

“Yes, Gwynneth.
Nos da.”

“Nos da,
ma'am.”

“Oh, and Gwynneth. Don't tell Lady Annabel you've seen her precious ghost, she'll never forgive you.”

“No, ma'am.” Puzzled, the maid closed the door.

Mally sat on the bed, looking down at her ringless finger. Annabel had won. She took a long, soothing breath. Or had common sense, perhaps, been the victor?