Midnight at Mallyncourt (28 page)

“Good morning, Jenny.”

I had been so immersed in thought that I hadn't heard Lettice come out of the house. She strolled across the lawn toward me now, her white dress billowing, her long hair glistening golden-brown in the sunlight. Demurely, a bit shyly, she joined me by the marble bench and, taking my hand, smiled a shy smile, her gray eyes shining. Could this be the same sour, hostile child I had seen that first night? It hardly seemed possible that such a change could take place, yet it had. The proof was right here before my eyes.

“What are you doing?” she inquired.

“Nothing in particular. Just—thinking. What are
you
doing? I thought you and Partridge had history lessons at this time of day.”

“We do,” she confessed. “Partridge has one of her migraines, and she went to her room for a short nap. I'm supposed to be reading about Richard III, but I skipped—Partridge would be very upset, but I'll be back before she wakes up. I wanted to talk to you about my plan, Jenny.”

“What plan is that?”

Lettice released my hand, a trifle irritated.

“My plan to be beautiful,” she said. “Don't you re
mem
ber? You told me all about that woman—Mary Ann Evans. I found one of her books in the library. It had a picture of her. She
was
plain, Jenny, much plainer than I am, but she was beautiful, too. Only a beautiful woman could have written that story.
The Mill on the Floss
. I read it straight through.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

“I cried,” she said.

She frowned, and, avoiding my eyes, stepped over to the back hedge, idly stroking the leaves with her fingertips. “I plan to be beautiful, too, just like her. I couldn't ever write
books
, but maybe I could learn to know people and understand them like she did. That's what being beautiful is—understanding people, liking them, accepting them no matter what faults they might have.”

“That's—that's very wise, Lettice.”

Lettice turned around, a rather peevish frown creasing her brow. “I'm a very
bright
child. I told you that a long time ago. Jenny, I—I know I can't change overnight—I still feel very hateful at times, I still want to lash out at people and make shrewish remarks—but I—I
am
going to try to be different. I want to like people. I want them to like me.” Her expression was intense, her eyes determined.

“I'm sure you'll succeed,” I told her.

“Last night I put away my dolls,” she said matter-of-factly. “I put every one of them in the bottom drawer of the chest. I shan't take them out again—” Her voice trembled just a little, and I realized how painful that ceremony must have been for her. “I—I loved them, and I still do, but from now on I'm going to concentrate on real people.”

“That's an—admirable resolution.”

“My birthday's next month. I've decided to have a party. I'm going to invite all the local children—even Squire Brown's twins, and they're
horr
ible boys, mean and rowdy, both of them. I—I'm going to have a party, and I'm going to be polite and gracious no matter how detestable the others are. I'm going to make friends with Lyle Radcliff's little sister. She's just my age. It's going to be hard, but—will you help me, Jenny?”

“Of course I will.”

“Mother wouldn't, I know. She couldn't be bothered. But Daddy'll let me have the party, I know he will, and if you're there to help—” Lettice looked up at me with a worried expression.

“I will be, dear. I—I promise. You're growing up, Lettice. You're going to be a beautiful young lady. You're going to have lots of friends, dozens of them.”

“I don't expect miracles,” she said quietly, “but at least I'm going to try. I'd better go back in now before Partridge wakes up. I—I love you, Jenny. There, I've said it!”

Shoulders squared, she marched briskly back across the lawn. Her white skirt fluttered as she stepped onto the shadowy veranda, and then she disappeared. I stood there by the leafy back hedge, refusing to give in to the emotion welling up inside. I wouldn't cry. No, I wouldn't. I was going to be very firm and resolute. Something good had come from my dishonesty, and I vowed there would be even more to come in the future. Lettice, Lyman, Lord Mallyn: All of them were going to benefit by my decision to marry Edward. I vowed that. I was going to make up for the wrong I had committed. Mallyncourt hadn't been a happy place these past weeks. There were brooding undercurrents, tensions, an atmosphere of bitterness and strife, but the future was going to be different.

I intended to use everything in my power to see to that.

It was almost eleven when I finally went back inside. Vanessa was coming down the steps as I entered the back hall. Wearing a lovely pearl-gray velvet riding habit with tailored jacket and wide skirt, she carried a hat with three long dark blue plumes curling about the gray velvet brim. There were faint mauve shadows etched over her lids, and her mouth drooped down at the corners. She looked troubled, I thought, her violet-blue eyes dark with some private anguish. Was she still brooding about Gerry's departure? Had it affected her so deeply? Seeing me, Vanessa paused at the foot of the stairs. Her features tightened, eyes hostile.

“Hello, Vanessa.”

“Hello, luv,” she said. “I'm glad to see you up and about. I missed you last night at dinner.”

“Did you indeed?”

“Edward said you weren't feeling well. I imagine you were just
tired
. He said you two were planning a trip to London.”

“That's right.”

“Don't count on it, luv.”

I gazed at her, too startled to reply.

“I saw you coming back in the carriage yesterday afternoon,” she said in a flat voice. It was almost as though she were making an accusation. I found her attitude totally perplexing. Why was she using that tone and why was she looking at me with such intense hatred?

“You looked
so
disheveled,” she continued, “—you and Edward both. I suppose you had a divine time.”

“It was quite satisfactory,” I replied.

“No doubt,” she snapped. “Did he make love to you?”

The question startled me. “I—I'm afraid that's none of your business, Vanessa.”

Her nostrils flared. I had never seen such hatred.

“Is something
wrong
, Vanessa?”

“Yes, luv, something's wrong. I think it's about time you know that—” She broke off abruptly as Edward strolled into the hall. Her cheeks flushed a vivid pink.

Edward paused a few feet away, gazing at the two of us with an ironic expression, one brow arched, the other straight. He sensed the tension immediately, of course. The air was charged with it. Resting his hands on his hips, he lifted one corner of his mouth in a wry smile as though appreciating some private joke. The flush had gone from Vanessa's cheeks. She looked pale now, and worried.

“What a lovely pair you make,” Edward remarked. “Am I interrupting something?”

Neither of us replied. Vanessa glared at him with pure venom.

“Uh—I believe you were about to say something, Vanessa.”

“It can wait,” she said coldly.

“I rather fancy it can. My, what a lovely outfit you're wearing this morning.”

“I'm going riding,” she said stiffly. “I—I intend to ride over the moors. I shan't be here for lunch. I don't imagine I'll be back until two or three o'clock—” She turned to me, all icy dignity now. “You and I can continue our little discussion then, Jenny luv. I think you'll be extremely interested in what I have to say.”

Moving past us, Vanessa walked briskly down the hall, the long gray velvet skirt trailing behind her. Edward stood beside me, watching her with that same ironic expression, the smile still curling on his lips, and when the door slammed behind her he shook his head in mock dismay.

“Such an unpredictable creature,” he remarked. “Vanessa has her problems, no question about it.”

“She seemed terribly upset about something.”

“Oh? What did she say?”

“It wasn't what she said, it was the way she said it. She mentioned seeing us returning from the ruins. She—she seemed almost to be accusing me of something.”

“You probably imagined it,” he said dryly.

“No—no, I didn't. Something is bothering her. I suppose I'll find out what it is this afternoon.”

“No doubt you will.” Edward shrugged his shoulders, bored with the subject now, indifferent to Vanessa's woes. “I've finished in the study for the morning—I think I'll take a long walk. Lyman keeps complaining about the crows. I may fetch my pistol and try to pick off a few. Care to accompany me?”

“I think not, Edward.”

“Suit yourself,” he said.

Edward hadn't returned from his walk at lunch time, and I ate alone. I was in a distracted mood, strangely disturbed by the encounter with Vanessa and unable to put it out of my mind. What had she been about to tell me? No matter how I tried, I couldn't forget that look of venomous hostility in her eyes. Vanessa had been cool and bitchy to me from the first, but it was only since Gerry's departure that her hatred had become so open, so obvious. She had every reason to resent me, of course, but somehow or other I felt that there was another explanation, one that should have been quite clear. I had the feeling I had missed something, something that would have answered a number of questions that kept recurring in my mind. It was similar to the feeling I had about that bizarre red room. I felt I should know the answer to that puzzle, too.

Despite my intentions to forget about it, I found myself thinking about this morning's encounter with Lyman in the drawing room. I remembered his cryptic rdmarks:
I'm on your side, I want you to know that … the time isn't ripe yet … You're a bloody, naïve little fool, but under the circumstances that's just as well
. I found them even more puzzling than I had when he first uttered them. Lyman's remarks, Vanessa's attitude … there was a connection. I felt sure of that. I remembered his curious manner that night when I discovered him in the east wing, remembered Edward's anger when he found me in the red room. That was all a part of it as well. It was like a great jigsaw puzzle, various pieces floating around disconnected. If only I could fit them all together. If only … I left the dining room, trying to put it all out of my mind. Everything would be explained in due course. Everything would be resolved. I mustn't brood about it. That would accomplish nothing.

The afternoon seemed long, endlessly long. The old house was strangely silent, the servants moving about their duties quietly, unobtrusively, like phantoms. I wandered from room to room, restless, uneasy without knowing precisely why. My earlier confidence had evaporated, and try though I might I couldn't shake the feeling of apprehension. I went to the library. I tried to read. I couldn't. I went to my room, thinking I might rest, but the lovely room seemed like a prison, confining me, the walls pressing in on me with steady malevolence. Lyman was gone, and Vanessa, and Edward still hadn't come in from his walk. Lord Mallyn was in his room, taking his afternoon nap, and Lettice would be napping, too. The house seemed empty, desolate, so still, so silent, yet the very air seemed to be charged with tension, like the still, silent tension before a storm. I passed down the long gallery, moved slowly down the wide stone steps, and for some reason I kept remembering Cook and her tarot cards. Death and disaster. That was nonsense, of course. I … I was merely restless. The encounter with Vanessa had disturbed me and, unwisely, I had dwelled on it, had dwelled on those other disturbing incidents. I must pull myself together.

I paused at the foot of the stairs, frowning, and when the scream came I wasn't really surprised. It was loud and shrill, muted by distance, coming from outside. I stood there for perhaps half a moment, perfectly still, my heart pounding, and then I began to run.

A deafening explosion sounded as I hurried outside. It came from the avenue of limes. I ran, stumbling past the cobbled yard, past the stables, and then I was on the rough, uneven ground and the lime trees were on either side and I saw the excited figures at the end of the avenue. I saw the grooms, the head coachman, Anderson the gardener. I saw the still thrashing body of the horse, and the blood, bright scarlet blood, and I saw the other body, too. The long gray velvet skirt was twisted under her, and her head was at such a peculiar angle, all limp, hanging to one side, ebony waves spilling over the grass. I stopped, paralyzed, unable to move any closer.

My heart was still pounding. My breath came in short, painful gasps. Edward looked up. He saw me. He broke away from the group at the end of the avenue and hurried toward me, clutching a still smoking pistol in one hand. His face was ashen, his high cheekbones chalky white. I shook my head, denying it, knowing it hadn't happened, knowing it couldn't have happened. Edward dropped the pistol. He seized me. I was trembling violently, still shaking my head. Edward said something, but I didn't hear. I cried out, and he tightened his arms brutally, turning me around, turning me away so I couldn't see that grotesque tableau that was all too real.

Chapter Fifteen

I
T WAS
over now. The doctor had come and examined the body and signed the death certificate. They had come with their wagon for the body, taken it to the funeral parlor in the village, and Edward had gone along to talk to the constable and explain the accident and take care of the necessary formalities. It was almost seven, and I felt weary, so weary. I had gone up to the nursery. I had explained the accident to Lettice. The child had been stunned, too stunned to say anything, and I had persauded her to take the sedative the doctor had left. Lord Mallyn had been thoroughly shaken when I told him what happened. He had his own sedative, a bottle of port. Silently, defiantly, he took it out of the chest of drawers by his bedside, and I left him with it.