Midnight at Mallyncourt (7 page)

Even though Edward had told me we dressed for dinner at Mallyncourt, I wondered if this particular garment wasn't a bit too splendid. A rich emerald green satin, it had great puffed sleeves, off the shoulders, and an exceedingly low neckline. The bodice was formfitting, the waist tight, and the skirt made billowing cascades of emerald over starched crinoline petticoats. “No ornaments,” he had informed me, and I saw now that he was right. My eyes, surrounded by long, soot-black lashes, were as green as the material, and my rich auburn hair, gleaming with copper-red highlights, fell in abundant waves. Perhaps I wasn't beautiful, but I had never looked more striking.

Edward will be pleased, I thought wryly.

He was to take me to meet Lord Mallyn, and then we were to join the others downstairs for dinner. I wasn't nearly as nervous as I had been earlier. I was fully into my role now, the costume, the setting giving me a confidence that had been lacking as we rode to the house. I was Edward's wife now. Jenny Randall would exist only in those moments when I was offstage, alone, free to indulge in the luxuries of privacy and emotion. As I glanced around the spacious room, it was hard to believe that it wasn't actually a stage set.

The lower half of the twenty-foot walls were paneled with white wainscoting, the upper half with creamy white plaster work with designs picked out in gold leaf. The gilt work was continued on the white ceiling, making circular designs around the crystal chandelier that hung down with hundreds of pendants glittering with violet-blue facets, for all the world like diamonds. The towering bed with its purple velvet hangings embroidered in gold and matching counterpane was fit for a queen, and Edward had casually informed me that Mary, Queen of Scots had slept in it for two weeks when she stopped at Mallyncourt en route from one stately prison to another. A rich blue carpet covered the floor, and there was an immense wardrobe, a dressing table, elegant chairs upholstered in violet. Above the vast white marble fireplace was an alabaster freize depicting the wooing of Helen. A fire burned merrily, orange-blue flames devouring a stout oak log, and candles shed a warm golden glow from blue and white porcelain wall sconces. There was, I knew, a servant whose sole duty was to attend to the lighting and extinguishing of candles, another who tended the fires.

“Impressed?” Edward inquired.

I turned to find him lounging in the doorway, resplendent in a black broadcloth suit and white satin waistcoat embroidered with dark blue fleurs-de-lis. Although impeccably attired, black leather boots gleaming, sky blue ascot perfect, there was, nevertheless, a certain carelessness that augmented the total effect. He might have been wearing any old thing, as comfortable in this attire as he would have been in frayed hunting jacket and soiled jodhpurs. An errant lock of dark blond hair had tumbled over his brow, and his expression was slightly bored.

“It's an incredible room,” I said.

“The carpet's threadbare,” he remarked. “The upholstery's faded, and the plaster's beginning to flake. The room is too large to heat properly. There's an icy draught, you'll notice. You mustn't let all this crumbling splendor overawe you, my dear.”

“Your wife wouldn't be awed?”

“Not at all. Indifferent, rather.”

“Even though Mary, Queen of Scots slept in that bed?”

“It's full of wormholes. Pray the whole thing doesn't collapse on top of you one fine night.”

“You have no romance in your soul. None whatsoever.”

“I'm probably the least romantic chap you'll ever meet. I'm a realist, my dear.”

“And entirely mercenary,” I retorted crisply.

Edward Baker made no reply, but I could see he hadn't liked my remark. I was rather pleased about that. For some reason I hoped to goad him out of that aloof, distant poise he maintained. Even anger would be better than his chilly remoteness. He studied me now, lids at half-mast, mouth set in a tight line. I thought he was going to make some cutting comment, but he didn't.

“Come,” he said tersely, “the old man will be waiting.”

Neither of us spoke as he led me down a narrow hall and then along a much wider one with windows looking out over the front gardens. He held my elbow in a firm grip, a habit that was beginning to irritate me, and his handsome profile might have been sculptured from marble. Nearing the end of the second hall, he stopped, turning to me with a grim expression.

“I think we should set one thing straight,” he remarked. His voice was calm though exceedingly chilly. “You're my employee. You were brought here to perform a role. We've had our little verbal spats—I've rather enjoyed them—but henceforth, you'll show respect. Is that understood? Even when we're alone together, you'll show the proper respect.”

“The respect due an employer?”

“Precisely.”

“And if I don't?”

The question seemed to amuse him. His lips curled in the thin smile I was beginning to know so well. There was something chilling about it, and I felt a slight alarm, almost afraid of him. I managed to conceal it, however, meeting his gaze with one of cool disdain.

“I admire your spirit, my dear, but don't push me too far. The consequences might not be at all pleasant.”

“You don't intimidate me.”

“You've made a point of telling me that on more than one occasion. Methinks the lady doth protest too much.”

“I wish—”

“I know,” he said wearily. “You wish you'd never agreed to this. You did agree, Jenny luv, and there's no turning back now. Forget your personal feelings. Do your job like the competent little actress you are, and the reward will be more than ample.”

Never before had the folly of my decision been brought home so sharply as it was at that moment. I must have been mad to have accepted his offer, mad to have come here, and I wanted to rush madly down the hall, out of the house, to forget Edward Baker and everything connected with him. I could feel tears welling up inside. I had never felt so alone, so vulnerable. Edward gazed at me with level blue eyes, fully aware of my emotional crisis, calmly waiting for it to subside. I hated him for knowing me so well, hated myself for displaying signs of weakness. For several seconds I seemed to be torn asunder, and then I braced myself, mentally as well as physically. The tears never materialized. I summoned strength from a hard core inside, and when I spoke, my voice was as cool as his own had been.

“Very well, Mr. Baker.”

“I wasn't mistaken in you,” he replied idly. “I sensed the stuff you were made of. You've got strength—fire. You're going to do a splendid job.”

“I'll do my best.”

“Your best, I'm sure, will be superb.”

“Let's not keep Lord Mallyn waiting any longer.”

Opening a door near the end of the hall, Edward ushered me into one of the most bizarre rooms I had ever seen. It was vast, almost barnlike, the walls paneled in varnished golden oak, long yellow silk drapes hanging at the tall windows looking out over the west side of the grounds. Although a fire roared lustily in the immense fireplace, the room was icy cold, and it was filled with an amazing clutter of furniture. Vivid Chinese screens stood behind Regency sofas, Oriental tables of beaten brass beside Chippendale chairs. There were great brass gongs and delicate wind chimes, red lacquer chests, piles of colorfully embroidered pillows. Persian carpets were scattered over the parquet floor, and ornaments jostled one another on every available surface: delicately carved ivory figures, tiny jade idols, lacquered boxes inlaid with mother-of-pearl and semiprecious gems, exquisite Ming vases, small crouching dragons of red and silver. A large golden Buddha with a ruby in its forehead sat complacently beneath one of the windows, and there was a veritable forest of dark green plants in ornate brass urns. The place was incredibly dusty, thick coats of it on all the furniture, balls of it under the sofas and chairs. Half a hundred candles filled the room with brilliant light.

“Mementos of my uncle's travels,” Edward said. “He used to be quite a collector.”

“What beautiful things—”

“Some are quite valuable, some mere trash. He refuses to let the servants touch them—won't allow the maids in the room. Another of his little eccentricities.”

“I can hear every word you're saying! I'm not deaf, Edward! Thought maybe you'd be afraid to show your face—and who's that trollop with you? Red hair! Never liked a woman with red hair! Bring her closer, you scoundrel! Let me get a good look!”

Totally unruffled by this harsh outburst, Edward held my elbow tightly and led me across the room toward a huge bed that might have belonged to an Eastern potentate. It was hung with fraying Oriental tapestries, piled high with colored cushions against which the sharp-faced old man was propped. He wore a crimson silk robe and, incongruously enough, had a patchwork quilt of multicolored squares spread over his legs. The quilt was old, decidedly mothy, and might have been made by some farmer's wife. The table beside the bed was piled high with dirty dishes, bottles, jars, a magpie's nest of papers and magazines and paraphernalia. There was the unmistakable odor of medicine, of old age, and another, stronger odor that was explained when three ancient, decrepit Pekinese scrambled from their nests of bedclothes and filled the air with shrill, agitated barking.

“Silence!” the old man thundered.

The Pekinese whimpered and scurried back under the covers with remarkable alacrity. Lord Mallyn heaved himself up higher against the cushions. His long, scrawny fingers were festooned with rings. He was very thin, his skin like fine old parchment, and his hair, still profuse, was the color of tarnished silver, spilling over his high forehead in unruly, sweat-damp locks. There were deep hollows beneath his high, bony cheekbones. His nose was beaklike, his mouth a thin white slit. He must once have been an exceptionally handsome man, I reflected, but he showed every one of his seventy years now. Nevertheless he was still imposing, would still dominate any gathering without the least effort. His eyes, dark brown, almost black, seemed to snap and smoulder, showing now venom, now amusement, now impatience as he regarded us.

“I see you're as feisty as ever,” Edward remarked dryly.

“You expect to find me cringing under the covers like a frightened old woman? You expect me to whimper and whine? You know me better than that, my boy! When I go, it won't be with a whimper—it'll be with a bang, the loudest bang you ever heard! Not that I'm about to go. Far from it! These bloody doctors are out of their minds, all of 'em! Well, boy, this is quite a stunt you've pulled! What have you got to say for yourself?”

“I think my letter said it all,” Edward replied, his voice cool. “I met Jennifer and fell in love with her. I married her. There's no more to say, is there?”

“You know bloody well I had my eye on Meg Stephenson for you, planned to match you up with her!”

“Meg Stephenson is a simpering bore.”

“Be that as it may, she's also one of the wealthiest heiresses in this part of the country. After I kick off, boy, you're gonna
need
a rich wife! This one—I suppose she hasn't a penny to her name.”

“Not a penny,” Edward said.

“But breedin'! She's got that. I can tell. Cool, aristocratic, right down to 'er fingertips! Looks, too. You may be a dyed-in-the-wool bounder, you may be the bloodiest, most impudent pup in captivity, but you've got taste. Jennifer, eh? That your name, girl?”

“That's my name,” I said crisply.

“Oh, la! She's got a temper, too. Figures, with that red hair. Don't like me, do you, lass? Think I'm an abominable old man, a preposterous old crosspatch who should be taken out and shot. Don't bother to disagree with me! I can tell what you think of me. It's there in those eyes. Green eyes! Whoever heard of anything so outlandish!”

“Really, Uncle,” Edward began, “I think—”

“Get out of here! Go on!” Lord Mallyn stormed. “Who needs your grim face? Out! Jenny and I want to get acquainted—Jennifer is too formal, my girl. Jenny it'll be. Come closer, girl—ah, no doubt about it! You're a beauty all right—”

“I'll meet you downstairs in the drawing room, Jennifer.”

“You still here!” Lord Mallyn cried hotly. “Thought I told you to get out! I'll brook no insubordination, boy, nor from that cousin of yours either! Think they can defy me just because I'm on my deathbed,” he told me. “Think they can run all over me, both of 'em. Begone, boy, or I'll turn the dogs loose on you!”

Completely unperturbed, Edward made his exit with cool dignity. His uncle let out a loud, hoarse cackle, gripping the edge of the quilt with scrawny fingers. One of the dogs peeked out, gave his master's hand a rapid lick and then burrowed back under the covers. Once the door was closed behind his nephew, Lord Mallyn seemed to relax. He chuckled to himself, a wry amusement snapping in those dark eyes. He looked up at me, grinned and told me to sit down. I obeyed, sweeping a pile of magazines off the chair at the side of the bed. The old man studied me with his head cocked to one side, making soft clacking noises with his tongue.

“Love to keep 'em jumpin',” he confided. “Fools! He and Lyman both. They think I'm about to die—you never saw such a rubbin' of hands, such greedy looks. I may cut 'em
both
off. I've had a fierce bout with the flu, lass—it's hung on for weeks—and my gout bothers me somethin' terrible, but I'm not on my deathbed. I've got another ten years in me, and I intend to relish every one of 'em!”

“That's an admirable resolution,” I said.

“He tell you I was dyin'?”

“He said you were gravely ill.”

“A lot
he
knows! I'll be up and about in another week or so. Just you wait and see! Never sick a day in my life till this crept up on me. Those damned doctors think just because I'm seventy I'm headed for the graveyard! I'm bedridden, true, have been for months, but that last journey is a long way in the future, let me tell you!”