Midnight at Mallyncourt (23 page)

“You've had enough,” he said brusquely.

“Lyman! Hello! My, you're scowling again. Don't you ever smile? Do you know, I've never seen you smile, not once. I wonder how you'd look? I can't imagine—”

“Come with me!” he muttered.

“You're abducting me? That's enchanting. I've always wanted to be abducted—”

We moved down a long, narrow hall, the sound of music growing fainter and fainter as we moved. I tripped along beside him, his hand holding my wrist securely, and I was still enchanted and delightfully bewildered, everything hazy. Lyman walked briskly, angry. I wondered why he was angry. We turned down another hall. It was in darkness, a shadowy void, and we moved down it, eventually reaching the long back hall. It was gilded with moonlight, the tapestries like ghostly shrouds on the walls. Lyman was silent, grim, leading me to the back door, leading me outside. The night air was cold, unpleasant. I protested, trying to pull away, but he paid no attention at all, forcing me to follow him across the veranda and onto the lawn.

We walked. We walked for a long time, passing the shrubs, passing the tall, broken statues that watched us with sightless eyes. The lights and music were far away, and here there was only the silvery sheen of moonlight and shifting shadows, black, blue-black, gray, no sound but the sound of our footsteps and the rustle of leaves. Lyman didn't speak. He held on to my wrist, forcing me to walk. The sky overhead was ashy gray frosted with stars that glimmered like gems. I closed my eyes, stumbling along, hating him because the pleasant haze was going away and my head was beginning to hurt worse than ever. I don't know how long we walked, but when he finally stopped the haze was completely gone and I felt wretched, ashamed of myself, ashamed he had seen me like this.

“Ready to go back now?” he asked. His voice was indifferent.

“I—I suppose so. Why—why did you do it?”

“You were on the verge of making a spectacle of yourself, Mrs. Baker. I felt someone should step in.”

“Why should it have mattered to you?”

Lyman didn't answer. He gave a curt nod of his head, indicating that I should follow, then started back toward the veranda, moving in long, brisk strides. His shoulders rolled, the tail of his jacket flaring out behind him as he walked. He stopped at the veranda and turned to wait for me with his mouth set tight, his eyes dark with impatience. I stood in the middle of the lawn for a moment, my bare shoulders trembling with cold, and then, wearily, I went to join him. My head throbbed furiously, as though brutal fingers pressed against my temples, but all the dizziness was gone now. I looked at Lyman, trying to regain some semblance of dignity.

“I don't—usually do things like that,” I said.

“You were upset when you came back in from the gardens with Edward. I kept my eye on you, suspecting something was wrong.
Is
something wrong, Mrs. Baker?”

“Of—of course not. I was merely—over stimulated.”

He was silent, studying my face with a dark, intense scrutiny I found extremely disconcerting. It was almost as though he were reading my mind, as though he knew everything. His sullen manner and rough-hewn exterior were quite misleading. Lyman Robb was a highly intelligent man, and he was altogether too observant. I brushed at my skirt nervously, avoiding those probing brown eyes.

“I spent an hour with Lettice this afternoon,” he said in a matter-of-fact voice. “She showed me the doll clothes you'd made for her. She chattered like a magpie, singing your praises. I've never seen her so natural, so vivacious. She was like a completely different child. You're responsible for that.”

I looked up at him, startled by the abrupt change of subject.

“I—I've done nothing,” I said.

“On the contrary, you've done quite a lot. You're the first person who has ever shown a genuine interest in the child, and it's made all the difference in the world—already. I appreciate that, Mrs. Baker. I'm beginning to think I may have been wrong about you.”

I made no reply. There was another long moment of silence. The veranda was spread thickly with shadows, only a few rays of moonlight spilling over the stone balustrade. It was cold and damp here under the low ceiling. I shivered. Lyman continued to stare at me, as though waiting for some sort of confession. He must think I was a scheming trollop who had married Edward for money, I thought, and he must despise me for it. The truth was even worse. What would he think if he knew that? Another long moment went by, the silence broken only by the raspy whir of crickets in the cracks of the flagstones, and then Lyman scowled, brows lowered, and said tersely that we'd better get inside.

Skirt rustling softly, I followed him down the veranda. He opened the door for me. I preceded him into the long hall. He closed the door quietly and took my arm in his hand, guiding me toward the hall that led back to the front of the house. He stopped, abruptly, his fingers tightening painfully on my arm. I was startled. I started to protest, and then I heard the footsteps, too. Lyman pulled me over to the back wall, into the nest of shadows between two windows. This side of the room was shrouded with thick layers of blue-black darkness, while the moonlight, seeping through the windows, brushed the tapestries on the opposite wall with a misty light and coated the wide stone steps with a dull silver-blue sheen. Someone was coming down. The footsteps rang loud and clear in the silence. Lyman was tense, standing rigidly against the wall, his fingers biting into the flesh of my arm. My heart pounded. The darkness was so dense here that I couldn't even see him beside me.

Gerald Prince came slowly down the steps, a thoughtful expression on his face. In the shaft of moonlight gilding the steps, every detail was quite distinct. He stopped two steps from the bottom and smiled. Locks of glossy brown hair lay across his forehead. He reached up to brush them back and then tugged at the lapels of his jacket, shifting his shoulders around until the hang was right. His stock, so carefully folded against his neck earlier on, looked rumpled, carelessly tucked into the top of his elaborate satin waistcoat. I realized I hadn't seen him since he and Vanessa had left the dance floor at the beginning of the break. There were more footsteps, light, tapping ones this time, and he turned, looking back up toward the landing.

Vanessa came down leisurely, her great silver skirt sweeping over the steps with a crisp, silken rustle. She paused halfway down to fasten one of the emerald pendants back on her ear, and then she sighed. She had never been lovelier. The gown was only slightly crushed, and her ebony waves were still flawlessly arranged. She smiled at Gerry. A warm glow seemed to suffuse her. Moving down the remaining steps, she touched his cheek with her fingertips, rubbing the skin with gentle strokes. He made as if to gather her into his arms, but she held him off, shaking her head.

“We've been gone long enough as it is, love. We'd best join the others now. There'll be other times.”

Leaving the steps, they walked to the door of the hallway and disappeared down it. We could hear their footsteps echoing for a moment or two, and then there was silence. Lyman said nothing. Neither did I. We continued to stand there in the darkness for what seemed an eternity, and then Lyman released my arm. I rubbed it. There would probably be a bruise tomorrow. Still not speaking, he started toward the doorway, moving across the darkness until he reached the misty silver light. He paused at the doorway and turned to wait for me. His face was like granite, impassive, his eyes flat and expressionless. I joined him. We went down the hall. I could hear the music, far away, and as we turned down the second hall it grew louder, a merry, lilting waltz, and I could see the lights ahead, and, a moment later, we were back in the drawing room, mingling with the crowd.

We weren't going to discuss what we had seen. That was plainly understood. Lyman was frightfully composed, far more composed than I was. One of the squires came over to him and said something about crop rotation, and the old duchess, eyes slightly glazed, tapped my arm and indicated I should join her over in front of the white marble fireplace. When I complied, she looked around the room like a conspirator and told me in a low confidential whisper that the pâté was almost gone and I'd better get some right away. She bustled off, and I shook my head. Lyman had left the room.

A short time later, I went back into the ballroom. My head was still throbbing, and I felt dazed, wondering how I was going to endure the rest of the evening. The candles in the great chandeliers were half burned down now, and there weren't nearly so many people dancing. Those who lived some distance away were already leaving. Lord Mallyn stood near the door, shaking hands. Although his eyes were as bright and lively as ever, he looked weary, his face sagging, his shoulders slumping a little. I went over and stood beside him and, when we were alone, told him that Edward and I would see the rest of the guests off and suggested that he call it a night and go up to his room. He snapped and fussed and called me a spoil sport, a nagging hussy, a wet blanket, but that was merely for show. Summoning George to assist him, he took his leave, holding onto the husky footman's arm for support.

Another hour passed. The crowd thinned even more. I hadn't seen Lyman since he'd disappeared from the drawing room, but I saw Gerald Prince, chatting with a cluster of matrons, dazzling them, his manner as florid and dramatic as ever, and, later, I saw Edward standing beside one of the tall French windows with Vanessa. That rather surprised me. Head cocked to one side, he smiled a tight, humorless smile, his blue eyes cold as she spoke to him at length. Then he nodded and made some short remark which seemed to amuse her. She laughed and moved away to be immediately claimed by a young man in uniform who swept her back onto the dance floor. The tight smile remained on Edward's lips, and I could see that he was angry about something. I wondered what Vanessa had said to him.

The candles burned down even more, sputtering, and more guests departed. Edward joined me in the front hall, and we made farewells and shook hands and exchanged pleasantries, and, finally, the last guest had gone, the last carriage had pulled away from the drive. I sighed, weary through and through, filled with relief. Beside me, Edward was silent. He seemed unaware that our duties were over, a grim, distracted look in his eyes as though he were contemplating some problem. I wondered if it had anything to do with what Vanessa had said to him. After a moment he looked up, becoming aware of his surroundings again. It was at this point that Gerry sauntered into the hall. His cheeks had a ruddy glow. He seemed to be in a jovial, expansive mood, regarding the two of us with mocking brown eyes.

“Quite a show you put on tonight,” he remarked amiably. “First rate performances from both of you. You look a bit flustered, Jenny, but radiant—as always.”

“Save your gallantry for someone else,” I said coldly.

“I say, you're not still resentful, are you? I thought I'd been a most engaging fellow these past few days.” He grinned and then stiffled a yawn with his hand. “A delightful evening, this. Wine, music, sparkling companions. This is the life—I could grow quite accustomed to it.”

I glared at him with open hostility, but Gerry's baiting didn't seem to bother Edward at all. In fact, he seemed almost pleased to see him. To my surprise, he asked Gerry to join him in his study for a nightcap.

“Hunh?” Gerry seemed as surprised as I was. “I say—that's a ripping idea, old chap. You—uh—have some good news to impart?”

“I had an interesting communication from London this afternoon.” Edward replied. “I'd like to settle things tonight.”

Gerry extended his arm toward the door with a dramatic flourish. “After you, my good man,” he said, “after you.”

They left, and I returned to the ballroom. There was no sign of Vanessa or Lyman. I supposed both of them had already gone upstairs. The ballroom looked vast and empty as footmen swept up the litter with long-handled brooms and housemaids gathered up dishes and stacked them noisily on trays. The great chandeliers had been lowered until they almost touched the floor. George and another footman snuffed out the candles one by one. All brightness and gaiety was gone now, the tattered remnants of the night being removed with swift efficiency. The ball was over, at last. Weary, I went up to my room, too tired even to think about all that had happened during the course of this eventful night.

Chapter Twelve

I was tired, but it was a pleasant tiredness, a relaxed, rather languorous feeling after having walked for what must have been miles. Two days had passed since the ball, and this afternoon, after sewing with Lettice and taking tea with her in the nursery, I had simply left the house and started walking with no particular destination in mind. Past the stables, down the long avenue of lime trees, over the empty fields beyond, I walked, enjoying the solitude and the exercise, enjoying the wind whipping at my skirts and tossing my hair, enjoying the smell of the countryside and the arching gray sky that stretched endlessly above. Perhaps it was foolish to go so far afield after what had happened that afternoon when I was returning from the village, but I gave no thought to that.

I had walked over the fields to the sloping knolls beyond, then over the moors, a vast sea of land covered with thick, dry, grayish-brown grass only faintly brushed with green, a vague blue-green. There were shales of crumbly gray rock as well, and, here and there, strangely shaped black-gray boulders that seemed to grow out of the earth. I walked, thinking of all that had taken place over the past weeks, trying to resolve the dilemma I felt inside, and, as I started back, nothing was resolved. It was as though Mallyncourt had cast a spell over me, becoming the only reality. My life before seemed dreamlike, insubstantial, and I couldn't visualize a future away from the great house. I had become inextricably involved with the people there, and although I told myself I would be leaving soon, that I must leave before it was too late, I couldn't visualize that either.